Avoiding the Inevitable

What was most maddening was the waiting. Not knowing what would happen and yet, in his gut, knowing exactly what was going to happen. If thirty-year-old hunky West Point grad six-foot-three Captain Joel Campbell was going to report them, he would already have done so. Nineteen-year-old Mike Gutierrez of Cuban ancestry and built low to the ground but of solid physique could hardly believe that the captain meant what he'd said when he'd caught Frank and him—making out in the jungle just beyond the camp periphery in Guatemala.

In 1967, if you were a Green Beret, and you were caught with a man, you were drummed right out of the service. It didn't matter how frustrating and stressful this tracking down of guerillas in the Guatemala jungle was. You mess around with another man, Green Beret or otherwise, and you were out.

But when Captain Campbell had found them, what had he said? He'd taken Mike aside—he apparently had no interest in Frank—and he said, you give me what Frank got, Sergeant, and it will be just between the two of us.

When the captain had called him into the operations tent that evening, he just said one word—"Tonight." But Mike understood what that meant—if the captain wasn't toying with him. If this wasn't all just a tease before the captain reported both Frank and him and had them sent home. Mike didn't mind going home. Guatemala was hell. And he wouldn't have gotten it on with Frank at all, he didn't think, if Guatemala hadn't been a guerilla-fighting hell and the local women hadn't been strictly off limits to them.

Part of him wanted the captain to be sniffing around for it like Frank had. The captain was one handsome, squared-away dude. He had a body to die for, and that's how Frank had gotten going on Mike. They'd been showering together under the outdoor spigot and Mike had been hard. Frank had wheedled out of him that Mike had just seen the captain in the shower and the captain had one hell of a body and was horse hung. Somehow Frank had gotten to where Mike let him jack him off to discussions of the various bodies of the Green Berets in camp. It was an elite unit, so they were all cut and muscles—including Frank, who had gotten around to fucking Mike. And Mike had let him.

And the captain had caught them. And this evening the captain had growled "Tonight" at Mike.

Mike had been in his tent, wrapped in his sleeping bag—naked, because that's how he wanted to think about something like this with the captain going down, even if it wasn't going to happen. If it was all fantasy.

But it wasn't fantasy. The tent was in darkness, but the overhead lights were on in the compound. They never let it be totally dark in the compound in case the guerillas used the cover of darkness to steal in and kill them all in their sleeping bags. So, when the captain crept into the tent, leaving a slit open in the flap, he was backlit as, crouching in the tent, he stripped down to just dog tags.

Mike was breathing heavily, realizing it was going to happen, seeing the captain with a raging hard on. Horse hung. Certainly longer and thicker than Frank was. Mike was trembling inside the sleeping bag. He'd gone hard just from the thought of what the "Tonight" meant, and now he was even harder, having watched the captain, backlit by the light outside the tent, strip down.

Campbell pulled the sleeping bag cover back and Mike heard him take his breath in. "Shit, Sergeant, you've got a bod to die for." He touched Mike on the hip and could feel that he was trembling. "Don't be afraid, Mike," he murmured. "You went all the way with Frank. It will be fine with me."

"You're so big," Mike mumbled.

The captain gave a low laugh. He was stroking Mike's flank with his fingers, and it was hardening Mike up. "Yes, yes, I am. You'll love it. Roll over, onto your back," he whispered. He nudged Mike's shoulder and the sergeant went onto his back. "We're gonna sixty-nine now," the captain said, and he went into a pushup position in reverse over Mike's body. He opened his mouth over Mike's cock, causing Mike to moan and then to open his mouth as the bulb of Campbell's cock pressed at his lips.

"Relax. Take it. You'll take it better if you relax," Campbell murmured when they'd both come in each other's mouths and he'd turned Mike on his stomach and moved down to open up his hole with his tongue while he was waiting to recharge. Mike was tense and groaned and gasped while the captain prepared him. And then Campbell was urging him to relax and he was doing it. He had Mike on his side and was behind him. Campbell's hand glided over from Mike's hip, toward his lower belly.

"Frank told me about—"

"Oh shit, oh fuck. Fuck me," Mike suddenly cried out, writhing under the captain's touch now. Campbell clasped his free hand over Mike's mouth to muffle his exclamation, but his other hand continued stroking the spot on Mike's lower left belly that Frank had told him about. Mike clutched at him, trying to pull Campbell inside him, trying to be one with him. The captain decided that the sergeant was more than ready for him.

He was holding Mike's left leg up to give him access to his ass, and Mike was moaning and close to hyperventilating as Campbell was forcing his thick cock inside—moving deeper and cajoling Mike in soft tones, telling him it would be all right, that the captain would be gentle with him.

Fully saddled then, though, he rolled Mike over on his stomach, rolling with him, ending up on top of him. He nudged Mike up onto his knees, covered his mouth with one hand to stifle his cries of pain that eventually melted into gasps of passion and muttered, "Yes, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me hard," as the fit soldier with the fat cock did just that. He set a rhythm of thrusts that built on themselves as lust and passion took over, and before he ejaculated, which was after he'd stroked Mike off with his free hand, he was pounding Mike's ass like there was no tomorrow.

After blasting Mike's channel deep inside, Campbell rolled off him to the side. "Whooie, you've got one sweet ass," he growled. "Passage as tight as a virgin maiden. And believe me, I've had my share of virgin maidens."

Mike was breathing hard, grimacing at the intensity of the fuck, overwhelmed by what they'd just done.

In the silence, as he cooled down, Campbell got control of himself and the lustiness began to drain out of him, although not totally. He reached over, tentatively and touched Mike on the cheek. "I hope I didn't hurt you," he whispered. "Sorry if I did. You've got a beautiful body and a sweet channel. If you could have relaxed, we could have worked together well and you'd enjoy it more. Don't worry, I won't turn you in. Not now, of course. Now I'm in it with you. And I got pleasure from you. And I could have gotten more . . . and you could have gotten more if—"

"Captain," Mike whispered.

"What, Mike? Again, I'm sorry. I won't—"

"I can relax now, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I want it again. I want to try to please you more. Do me again, Captain. I can relax. I want to work with you. I want to get and give pleasure—with you."

"You want to take me willingly? This isn't just to keep me from reporting you?"

"Shit, no, captain. I've wanted you since I arrived here. I didn't know you would . . . that you were . . . that way. That we could. I want you to do me. You can do me hard again. I don't care."

"But Frank."

"When Frank fucked me, I was thinking about you. I want to do it with you, not Frank."

To prove what he was saying, Mike turned onto his back and spread and bent his legs, placing his feet on the ground and elevating his pelvis. "Fuck me again, Captain. Let's work at doing it right."

With a sigh, the captain rose up, moved between Mike's spread legs, pushed his knees under the sergeant's buttocks, slowly entered him again, leaned over to take Mike's lips with his, as Mike palmed his shoulder blades, digging in with his fingernails and Campbell moved deep inside him, deeper than Campbell had managed to sink when Mike was tense, and the two began moving together as one.

Weeks later, when they were redeployed, Captain Campbell to the Pentagon and Mike to Fort Bragg, in North Carolina, they had become seasoned lovers, meeting almost nightly; moving together in one long, synchronized, mutually explosive, passionate fuck; and striving for and often achieving a mutual ejaculation in raw, flesh in flesh stroking.

* * * *

For three years the two men exchanged guarded letters where their affection for each other that had gone beyond that of sex in the Guatemalan jungle was expressed between the lines. They often mentioned getting together again, but the Army was cracking down on homosexuality and it was as if they were purposely avoiding meeting because their coupling had been so explosive that they weren't sure they could keep their hands off each other if anyone from the Army was around them.

Joel, now a major, wrote Mike of an inspection tour he'd be on to Fort Bragg and, although the letter spoke of the possibility they could get together, Mike read more of a warning in it and he made sure he had those days off and went down to Fort Lauderdale, allowed himself to be picked up on the beach by a black bull who was using a PT course just off the boardwalk and admired Mike's workout while Mike returned the favor. He was thinking of Joel while the black bull was pounding his ass in a cheap motel room. Mike didn't give it out on base. It was too risky. But he went down to the Florida beaches whenever he could get time off and lived the life of a hungry bottom.

It was Mike who cracked first—or so he thought. He met a girl who worked in the Post Exchange at Fort Bragg. Rita was of Cuban ancestry just as Mike was, and she was one hot tamale. She was fascinated by his body and couldn't keep her hands off him, and he went along with that to provide camouflage on base concerning his real interests. She got knocked up, and it could have been him, so he married her on the quick in the fall of 1970. About the same time he was mustering out of the service and, because she wanted to stay close to the base, they bought a farmette east of Fayetteville and put in produce that went into the Fort Bragg dining halls. It was evident he was going to do well with that, and his life was taking a big U-turn. This was OK with him. He'd forget about his former preferences.

The problem was that he couldn't forget about Captain Joel Campbell.

To aid in the severing of all ties, Mike sent Joel a wedding announcement. That worked as he imagined it would, although it broke his heart. The letters stopped coming from Joel.

At Christmas in 1970, though, he and Rita got a Christmas card from Washington, D.C. It was from the Campbell family. It came as a hard blow to Mike. Joan Campbell, Joel's wife, must have added the Gutierrezes to her Christmas card list, having seen the wedding announcement and only figuring that Mike and Joel had served together in Guatemala and were service buddies. The card included a family photo. Joel, looking achingly sexy and masterful to Mike, his beautiful blonde wife, Joan, and their two children, a tall strapping, handsome boy, Andy, eleven, and a beautiful, all toothy-smile daughter, Candace, thirteen.

Joel had a wife and two children when he was fucking Mike in Guatemala. Mike had been twelve, nearly the same age as Andy in the photo was, when Joel became Andy's father. Joel hadn't said anything about being married and having children when he was fucking Mike—and beyond fucking him. Making love to him and saying how he wished and hoped they could be together forever.

Mike had been thinking of trying to resume the letter writing, but he gave up that thought now. And he had other serious matters come up to help push the Campbells out of his thoughts. Rita died in February, trying to give birth to a still-born son—one who was obviously black, so not Mike's baby at all. And the farmette became serious and demanding business. Whenever he could get away, he went down to Florida to get laid. He stopped thinking of Joel being inside him when some black bull or Hispanic was fucking him—well, most of the time he managed not to think of Joel being the one inside him.

He saw Joel again later that summer, the summer of 1971. They attended the same funeral. Frank had been caught fucking another Green Beret and was being booted out of the Army. The only life Frank had known was the Army. He accidentally shot himself in the head while cleaning a gun—at least that was the official story. All the men who knew him knew better, though. Joel, as a former unit commander of Frank's, gave a eulogy at the funeral. Mike sat near the back of the gathering. Their eyes met, but Mike left as soon as the ceremony was over.

Joel sent Mike a letter that was breezily worded as "I saw you at the funeral but didn't get to talk to you" but that obviously was really sent to let Mike know that Joel had split up with his wife. He also belatedly offered his condolences for Mike's loss of Rita. "We should get together again one of these days," the letter said, which was more explicit wording than Mike had gotten in a letter from Joel up to that point.

Mike, still upset at finding Joel had a family, even if he was separated now, didn't respond to the letter.

In 1974 Major Joel dropped a note to Mike that he'd be on an inspection tour at Fort Bragg again in May and maybe they could go to dinner together and have a few beers "for old time sake." Mike made sure he was in Florida for those days.

In 1978 Mike was heading up to New York to visit relatives in the city and, without really thinking about it, found himself getting off the Beltway around Washington, D.C., and checking out Joel Campbell's house in Falls Church—the address that the earlier letters and Christmas card had come from. An elderly couple lived there. If he'd seen Joel in the yard, Mike told himself, he wouldn't have stopped. But, since it was an elderly couple, he decided there was no harm in asking about Joel living there. They did remember the name Campbell as the people who had lived in the house before them, but they didn't know where the family had gone. They seemed to recall there was a messy divorce, that the husband was an Army officer, and that they had a son who had gotten a slot at West Point.

And that was that for the next nine years.

Then, from out of the blue in the spring of 1987, Mike got a birthday party announcement in the mail, address from a Captain Andrew Campbell, at the nearby Fort Bragg base.

Sergeant Gutierrez

, it began, addressing Mike by the title he'd given up seventeen years earlier,

you don't know me, but you served with my father, Colonel Joel Campbell, in Guatemala. He told me quite a bit about you—the best friend he had in the Green Berets, he said. I'm a Green Beret now too, stationed at Bragg. Dad is finally retiring from the Army and turning fifty. We're planning to have a surprise birthday party here at our place outside Bragg on June 18th. As you two were best buddies and you live near here, I thought you might be interested and willing to come to the party for him. No gifts, please. Just a card. But if you could come over sometime before that, we'd like to pick your brain on surprises from Dad's past that we could spring on him at the party. Please let me know if you can come over. We have a little place in the woods outside Gate 3 at Bragg. Very casual. We have plenty of beer and wieners

. The note was signed Andy and Chris.

Mike propped the note up on a sugar jar on his kitchen table and stared at it during meals for the next three days. It caused an ache in his gut and dredged up a past that he'd tried to make the past, but now, even at thirty-nine, he realized it never really had been the past for him.

He wrote back to Andy and a date was set for him to visit Andy and Chris. It occurred to him that Andy would be the same age that Joel was when they were lovers. He wondered if there would be a strong resemblance. And he wondered if Chris was Andy's wife or a live-in—whether they were a cute couple. And then he thought again that Andy would now be the same age that Joel was when he and Mike were lovers.

* * * *

Andy and Chris indeed made a cute couple. The shocker, though, was that Chris was a man. He was another Green Beret officer. And the two were affectionate to each other. They obviously were a couple—and both were as sexy as hell. Chris was a black bull. The position on homosexuality in the Army had shifted—it still was taboo, but it was "don't ask, don't tell" taboo now, and whether or not Andy and Chris told, they certainly practiced it.

"You go on into town, babe, and pick up that lumber," Andy told Chris after Mike had driven up and introductions had been made. "I'll take care of Sergeant Gutierrez here." He patted Chris on the butt as the black hunk pulled on a T-shirt and drove out in a pickup truck. The two of them had been chopping wood, stripped down to athletic shorts. Andy, a six-foot-four strapping hunk, who was the spitting image of Joel Campbell when Mike had known the captain, didn't bother to top off his gym shorts. Turning to Mike, he said, "Go on up to the porch. We'll talk there. I'll go get some beers."

He came out onto the porch with a six-pack of cold beer. The two chatted about Guatemala and Joel, with Mike trying to avoid what he really could say about Joel, while they polished off the six beers. Both were mellow and sitting side by side on a wicker sofa on the porch.

They were mellow enough that Andy made a move—and that Mike did little to avoid it. He was still bowled over that Andy was gay and had another Green Beret for a partner and that he was the spitting image of his father at the age in which Joel was fucking Mike. The transference was easy—and probably inevitable, given Andy's intentions—and was aided by the beer.

Andy had left Mike briefly alone on the porch and had returned with another cold six-pack. Mike didn't really need more beer to warm to Andy, who had been working him since the second beers had been half drunk. When Andy sat back down on the sofa this time, he sat very close to Mike and put an arm around Mike's back, resting on the top of the sofa, but with his fingers touching Mike's bicep. Mike didn't move away.

"God, I can't believe what good shape you're in—that you've managed that with being out of the special forces for how long?"

"Seventeen years," Mike answered, his voice a little slurred from the beer. That didn't stop him from taking a deep drag on beer number four, though.

"Dad's in shape too," Andy said, "but he's just now getting out of the service, and he kept up with the personal training. You should see him now. Still a real hunk. But then you're a hunk too. I can see why it happened."

"Farming is hard work," Mike answered. "It's not hard to stay in shape when you're doing most of the farming work yourself." Then he stopped talking and went numb. "What do you mean that you can see why it happened?"

"I can see why Dad spoke of you in such glowing terms—on how sexy and sweet you were—what a good lay you were. How he couldn't keep his hands off you and you became his main lay during the Guatemala operation."

"Andy," Mike said in a weak voice. The young man was leaning into to him now, the arm around his back more clutching.

"I can see why he wanted you. You've kept yourself up great. I could easily want you too. I think I do want you. What was it he said about a spot you had? He said that if he touched you here"—and Andy inserted his free hand under the hem of Mike's T-shirt above the waistband of his cargo shorts and touched Mike on the lower belly on his left side—"that you just relaxed and opened your legs to him."

Mike moaned and collapsed under Andy, as Andy, nearly a foot taller than the slender Cuban and all muscle, moved his body over Mike and came in for a kiss. In the moments it took Andy to make Mike's lips yield to his and his tongue to get inside, Andy was rubbing the erogenous spot on Mike's belly. Sensing Mike was submitting to him, though, Andy moved his hand to Mike's belt buckle and zipper, and had Mike's fly open and his cock out and was stroking him as Andy brought Mike fully under his control with the kiss.