**This is a fantasy story about gay sex in the US Military. It is based on a tale from a former US Army Corporal told during the Don't Ask/Don't Tell/Don't Pursue/Don't Harass era in the US Military.
If you do not like gay erotica, this tale may not be for you...just a warning. Also, no one under 18 is allowed to read these stories. I don't want you to read them, LitErotica doesn't want you to read them, and the Powers That Be will be kind of upset if you do. They have not been written for you.
Also, this story is a prequel to a previous story presented called "The Most Amazing Thing." Please feel free to comment.**
*****
The sky was tremendously red on the evening this story begins. No one in my unit really thought anything about it, except to remark how different and beautiful it was. In the area we were located, Afghanistan was mostly desert anyway. The men in my platoon often wondered why the Afghani people would even want to live there. Our captain even told us that some of the land was so barren it resembled the surface of Mars in contour and layout.
We had come here after Osama Bin Laden's Al Qaeda groups blew up the World Trade Center and damaged the Pentagon. The appreciative people that we had come to help were questionable allies themselves at first. Soon, however, after the temporary removal of the religious extremists, the Taliban, trust developed between the Coalition forces and the many different tribes that were trying to exist as Afghani.
I had never been overseas in my life. I remember as my deployment approached, my mother confided in me that she never thought she would see me again. I , however, knew deep inside that I would return home unharmed. Many of the soldiers in my platoon did not share that view. Many were so negative about our lot that they kept alive a rumor that we would be deployed to Iraq after our tour. No matter their opinion, whether like mine or opposite, I had grown to depend on these men; they were my "band of brothers."
Many nights we sat around shooting the shit. The particular night's red sky brought wishes of being on the beach at home with their girlfriends or hitting golf balls until the sun went down. Some thought of the Grand Canyon, others the Painted Desert, and still others the panoramic view of the Pacific coast as the sun went down on America for the final time each night.
The sixteen men, including myself, had become so close that we knew each others' likes and dislikes; what we ate at the last meal; or when we took our last shit. We knew whose sister was hot and whose would put out. We had been determined to know each other so well that if something did happen to one of us, the rest would remember who we were and what we had lived for.
We heard stories of some of veteran soldiers during World War II who would exclude new recruits from everything because they were afraid to get to know them. They didn't want to spend their time mourning someone who would be a shadow part of their life. They were afraid to get attached, fearing that close attachments would lead to emotional distress, which, of course, could lead to lack of decision on the battlefield.
My platoon was much different from that. The men I bunked with wanted to know for a variety of reasons, but the most important reason of all was that they knew if they died, fifteen other soldiers would bring back memories to their families and each would live on through those recollections. I don't know why we were different than the soldiers of World War II. Maybe it was because modern society better understood the nature of the horrors of war or maybe we just approached death much differently. One thing is for sure, the men I shared this moment in time with had become close.
Sergeant Daniel Teal was a rather large man. Six foot, five inches tall and muscle bound, allowed him to be a huge target, but his speed and athleticism countered the dangers he might face as a lesser man. His short, curly blond hair accentuated the rugged, chiseled features of his face. The total look gave the man the appearance of an Adonis-like farm boy. Many had made the mistake in confusing him as fast in physical ability, but slow in thinking. The truth was when he opened his mouth their opinion changed immediately. The sergeant was educated...well educated, as a matter of fact, having a master's degree in criminology. When he told us his plans for when he got out of the service, the pride in his craft illuminated his entire character. He had already been guaranteed a job with New York City's finest and would bypass the normal track to take the test for detective immediately after graduating from the New York Police Academy.
Corporal Matthew Demorski had two little girls he would never shut up about. We didn't care really if he talked forever about them, although it sometimes became monotonous as he droned on. He never talked about his wife, just his two little girls. We found that extremely strange, but we gave the man the benefit of the doubt and left the subject of his wife alone. His main topic was simply what he planned to get his two little girls when he got out of the service.
I am Corporal Thomas Wright. Although I am the author of this little story, I am also third in command of our little platoon. My life was spent at home until I joined the Army. Since, I learned a little more about the ways of life and found out that I no longer live in Kansas anymore. Most of my ties from home, high school and the neighborhood have been severed. Even my girlfriend, Amilee, cheated on me last month and we mutually broke up. I don't really care, however, because i care for her and I know she is lonely. After all, I am over here with my new set of friends and my new relationships and she was stuck over there twiddling her thumbs. I would have probably done it myself, if she had gone off and left me while she went to college. If she turns out not to be the girl for me, oh well!
Of the rest of the platoon, most were privates or Private First Classes. There was Tony, Jack, Halburt, Jonas, Billy Bob, the kid we called Hormone, Whiskey Jack, Martin, Joey, Jo-Jo, Sammy, George, and finally, Prothrow. Prothrow had been wounded once and we thought he was going home, but we found out that he wasn't hurt as bad as we thought and all he needed was a little recoup and bed rest. Three days after the bullet grazed his forehead, he rejoined us.
We were tight. There were several who were a little tighter than the captain would like, however, making the frightful sounds of grunting lovers late, late at night. We all simply avoided the issue and never questioned who it was. My attitude was simple: "Let them do whatever they wanted to themselves as long as they left me alone." Even though I knew the sounds were coming from men, I sometimes became very turned on whenever I heard them. The idea of homosexuality had always been bizarre to me and I developed that particular attitude about being left alone, but the more it the sounds occurred the more they made me curious, very curious, indeed. I found out later that it made all of us curious.
----
One afternoon, the sergeant and I were returning from the captain's latest briefing on the situation with the remaining Taliban forces around Kandahar and the extraordinary fight they were making. The sergeant was unusually jovial, smiling and talking about a friend in South Dakota that he went to college with. There was a soothing calm in his description of his friend that made me feel as if I had known him for many years.
"I'll tell you that Freddy was as close to me as I'd let any man be. Not even my father was that close," the sergeant continued.
"You sound like you and he were more than just friends, Sarge. You sound as if you were more like soul mates," I commented casually. "Were you really that close? I've never had a male friend that I could share everything with."
The sergeant stopped and eyed me carefully. "It's not like you make it sound," he said gruffly.
"I didn't mean anything by it, sarge. I mean, I would've loved to have someone I could tell my deepest and darkest secrets to, someone I could share little intimacies with."
