Copyright © 2003

By Lee Mariner

The author's copyright and all provisions of the original disclaimer remain in force.  All Rights are Reserved.

This story is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the provisions of their submission guide lines. It may not be reproduced, copied, printed or displayed on any other web site without the written consent of the author,   It will depict homosexual acts between males and it is intended for ADULT READERS ONLY.  If you are not of legal age in your locality or you do not approve of such material, please leave.

My friend Dean has edited this work and I am deeply grateful for his invaluable assistance.

All of my stories are listed in: /nifty/prolific.html#leemariner.

Any reader wishing to be notified of future episodes to this or any story, please contact me at:


Chapter #28

The barracks was just starting to stir as I came through the door from the parking lot and went to my office.   The morning watch petty office was sitting behind my desk; but, when he saw me come though the office door, he got up and handed me the night log book, saying, "nothing eventful overnight, Boats.  A couple of the guys came in late, and they will probably be sporting hangovers, but other than that nothing out of the ordinary." 

"Thanks, Kemp," I said, laying the log back on my desk. "Where is your messenger, on rounds?"  I asked looking around but not seeing the seaman that is assigned for messenger and fire-watch duties.

"Blakeman just finished his rounds; but I sent him to the mess hall for coffee;  you're out," Kemp answered.

"Damn, I forgot about that.  I meant to get some yesterday before I left," I exclaimed as I sat down.

"He should be back any minute, but I can take the coffee pot to the mess hall and fill it for you if you want?" Kemp offered just as Blakeman, his watch messenger, walked in."

"Never mind about that, Kemp, you go ahead and close down the morning watch.  I can make a pot of coffee while Blakeman runs over to the personnel office and gets Lawton's leave papers; he's leaving right after muster.   After you secure, take a tour through the upper decks and get the men moving. "

"Aye, aye, Boats," Kemp answered smartly as he turned to leave my office with Blakeman hot on his heels.

It didn't take long before there was a fresh pot of coffee brewing and from the noise of the cursing and shouting drifting down from the upper decks,  I could tell Kemp was making more enemies than friends.  The mess hall would be open in another half-hour and then another hour before morning quarters.  If things went like they should with muster and getting the crew started on the days routine, it shouldn't take long for Weidemeyer to finish his inspection.  I wasn't looking forward to following the old man around, but it was a pretty sure bet I would have to fill in if Senior Chief Knickleman was in his usual hung over state.

The first bell rang summoning the men for morning quarters, and five minutes later the final bell rang.   Mustering the crew went off pretty much as usual; and, when Gil answered, I told him his leave papers were in my office.  Weidemeyer gave his usual pep talk; and, as I had expected, he instructed me to meet him on the quarterdeck in fifteen-minutes so I could accompany him on a material inspection of the yard.  I gave Knickleman a sour look, my gut telling me he had already sucked up to the skipper; but he only grinned as he went up stairs to his office; and I went to mine after motioning for Lawton to follow me. 

"Your leave papers are all in order, Gil," I said, taking them from the top of the pile of papers that Blakeman had brought from the personnel office.  "What time does your flight leave?"  I asked looking across my desk at him.

Gil looked at me for a moment; and then hanging his head he said softly, "I'm taking the bus, Mike, I can't afford to fly."

"Your doing what, taking a bus?" I exclaimed and then looking around to see if I had been overheard.  "Jesus, Gil," I said, lowering my voice.  "That's at least a couple of days or longer just to get there and back.  Christ, by that time your leave will be shot."

"I don't mind the bus, it'll give me more time to think." he said looking at me with his strikingly beautiful blue eyes.  "Besides," he continued, "the nearest airport to where I live is in Green Bay and I'll have to take a bus from there on home."

"Bullshit, Gil," I said, pulling my wallet out of my rear pocket and fishing out my Visa card.  "You take this and get a flight out. If they ask any questions, tell them to call me."

"But, but, Mike, I can't do that," he stammered.

"You can and you will with no arguments," I said anxiously, looking up and seeing Weidemeyer coming down the hallway and hearing him calling me, "are you ready, Homan?"

"Yes, Sir.  I was just getting Lawton off on leave," I answered, shoving his leave papers and the credit card into his hands.

"I'll see you, Gil and you be sure and call me when you get back," I said, glancing at him as I went out of the door to meet Weidemeyer, leaving a nervous and confused Lawton standing in my office.


" I...I will, Mike," I answered a little shakily as he left but not sure that he had heard me even though he had given me a quick glance as he went out the door.  There was a knot in the middle of my chest with a feeling of anxiety and helplessness spreading over me as I watched Weidemeyer and Mike walking side by side toward the barracks exit; it was a study in comical contrasts.  Mike was the perfect specimen of what a military man was expected to be,  broad thickly muscled shoulders with a beautifully tapered torso, a small waist and tightly muscled hips.  His uniform was precisely tailored; and he walked ramrod straight, moving with a self-assured athletic grace  across the floor.  Weidemyer had shoulders; but his ass was half again as wide; and, if he had a waist, it disappeared in the rolls of fat that hung over and hid his belt.  His gait reminded me of the way penguins walked, waddling from side to side, while Mike had to measure his stride in order to not out distance him.

When they reached the double doors, Mike hit the panic bar and looked back at me again as he pushed the door open for Weidemeyer.  After Weidemyer had passed, Mike smiled as he ran his hand down, teasingly, over his flat stomach brushing the bulge on the left side of his fly.   There was a tingling in my groin; and, inhaling deeply and smiling back at him, I threw my shoulders back sucking my stomach in tightly. Pushing my chest out, I stood ramrod straight gazing at him as I mimicked his movements, letting my hand linger over my crotch.  He winked at me, and I could see a twinkle in his eyes.  "I'll see you," he called out softly as he let the door close and followed Weidemyer down the steps.

"I'll see you," rang in my ears, as I stood alone, nervously clutching my leave papers and Mike's credit card,  looking at the closed doors for several seconds.  I felt the knot growing larger in my chest as tears started to well up in my eyes.  Suddenly a voice called out from behind me.

"Hey, Lawton, aren't you supposed to be going on leave?" 

"Yeah, Mathews," I answered wearily, blinking my eyes against the tears and feeling a little despondent as I turned around.  "I was going to wear civvies, but I think I'll change into my uniform.

"If you're going to be hitchhiking, it makes it a lot easier,"  he replied from where he was standing on the stairs leading up to the  second and third decks.

"I'm not going to be hitchhiking, Matt; but being in uniform does make it easier traveling," I replied, moving toward the stairs where he was standing.

"Whatever," he answered, turning and dashing on up the stairs.  "I gotta get my work shoes, you have fun but don't do anything I wouldn't do," he called back as he ran upstairs taking the steps two at a time.


Mathews might have thought wearing a uniform when hitchhiking helped out, and maybe it did, but I was pretty sure  being in uniform helped when I gave the ticket agent Mike's credit card.  She smiled, looking at me briefly; and, using the information on Mike's credit card, she processed the round-trip ticket to Green Bay.  I hesitated briefly when she handed me the charge slip with Mike's name on it before signing, "Michael Homan" almost as if it were my name. 

"Your flight number is 1263 leaving at nine-forty-five from gate thirty-three, Mr. Homan. There will be a one hour lay-over in Chicago before your next flight on to Green Bay.   You can use the escalator or the steps up to the main terminal." She said as she handed me the airline folder with the ticket and charge slip.  "Enjoy your flight, and thanks for flying United."

"Thanks," I said, smiling at her and glancing at the large clock on the wall behind her before I picked up my bag and turned to move through the crowd.  It would be another hour and a half before they would load the plane.

I had never waited in an airport; and, as I rode the escalator up, I saw the main terminal lobby was crowded with a virtual menagerie of people, all rushing in different directions.   There was an isolated smoking section that was filled with people, sitting in a blue haze, either just smoking or reading newspapers.   Fast food restaurants, coffee kiosks, clothing and souvenir discotheques were busy with people picking up reading material or some supposedly wanted souvenir that would eventually be discarded.  The bars were closed until eleven o'clock in the morning, but there was a small breakfast coffee shop open close to the causeway that led to my loading gate.   It seemed to be pretty full; and, for a minute, I thought about going on to the gate where my plane would be loaded; but I spotted a small standup counter off to the side of the dining patio that was empty except for some plastic cups that had been used but not discarded.    I didn't really want to spend a  lot of time standing around at the loading gate waiting for my  flight to be announced, so I decided on a sausage biscuit and a cup of coffee.  If I were lucky, there would still be a place available at the small counter.

There were two young marines sitting in the patio area, and I saw them give me a cursory glance when I passed.  I couldn't help but notice the tailored fit of their green uniforms, and my mind wandered back to how well Mike looked in his tailored uniforms,  His blouses and shirts were cut to fit and show the cut and ripped definition of his broad shoulders, chest and abdominal muscles tapering to a small waist. His tailored trousers fit like an extra layer of skin, displaying smoothly muscled hips, thick muscled thighs and calves.  

They  wore their uniforms like Mike did, tight, revealing and tantalizing, but not obscenely so.  Just as I was about to pass their table, the one facing me looked up and flashed a beautiful smile, his brilliantly white teeth gleaming.  I felt my face turn blood red with embarrassment at being caught looking at him and his companion.  Averting my gaze, I quickened my pace on into the serving area.

Just as I was about to set my food and coffee on the counter, one of the marines called out, "Hey, swabby, wanna join us? We've got an empty seat."

 "Sure, if you don't mind," I replied, looking around and seeing it was the one who had smiled at me as I had passed.  I hesitated for just a moment before moving to their table.

"We won't tell anyone if you don't,"  he replied, his voice a smooth evenly modulated baritone.  "We still need the Navy to haul us around."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that, the Navy does other things than just carry marines." I said as I pulled the chair out and sat down, looking into the shining green eyes of my good-looking but mild-mannered antagonist.  "My name is Gil, Gilbert Lawton. Thanks for asking me to sit with you."

"Hey, Gil, just kidding; we military types gotta stick together; you know," he replied as he extended his hand, our eyes locking. I could see the brilliant green softening to a deep jade as we gazed at each other for a brief moment. 

His grip was strong and firm, and a  tingling feeling shot through me at his touch.  When I started to withdraw my hand from his, his grip tightened; and, looking at him, I tightened my grip.  His jade green eyes twinkled impishly, and I could see the warmth radiating from within their depths. The reddish highlights in his well-groomed auburn hair glinted in the glare of the restaurant and overhead terminal lights.  Unlike some other marines' closely shaven haircuts, his was tapered on the sides and up the nape of his neck.  His jaw was square with succulently full, tantalizing and inviting rose colored lips.  When he ran the tip of his tongue over them, it revealed how straight and brilliantly white his teeth were.  He was clean shaven and his obviously tailored uniform revealed broad muscular shoulders and the classic 'V' tapered torso.  We broke our gaze when his companion leaned forward and said, "Hi, I'm Marty Herzog, and this deserter you're looking at,  is Cliff, short for Clifford Walter King the Fourth.  That's a mouthful, isn't it? His old man has so much money that it's stored in Fort Knox."

Cliff shot Marty a sharp glance as his hand slid from mine; and I heard him hiss, "Jesus, Marty, can it will you?"  Then he looked back at me as I replied, choking and sounding dumbfounded as well as  surprised, "Deserter?"

"I'm sorry, Gil, don't pay him any attention, that's his way of being funny instead of saying 'ex-marine'.  Marty has a habit of  using his mouth for things other than eating chow." Cliff said almost angrily before looking back at me.   "I was discharged yesterday, but he still has two years to go at Camp Pendelton.  Don't you, big mouth?"

"Hey, buddy, it's not because I wanted to," Marty said anxiously, glancing furtively between the two of us.   "If you had extended for a couple of years, we could have been going to the West Coast together instead of your going home to Chicago."

"You caught me by surprise when you called him a 'deserter', Marty," I said, slightly embarrassed and looking at the both of them.  "You mean Cliff is deserting you, not the Marine Corps.  You shouldn't say things like that; the wrong people might hear you."

We fell silent for a moment; and, from the way they looked at each other, I was wondering whether they had caught my sly attempt at being subtly suggestive when I said,  "deserting you."  I had never attempted double talk often, and I wasn't sure whether Cliff's comment about Marty's using his mouth for something other than eating his food had a hidden innuendo or not.  I had tried being sexy and what I thought was coquettish when I was with Mike  in his car the morning it was raining so hard.  I felt like I was making a fool of myself then, but I was getting a different feeling sitting next to Cliff and watching his reactions than I had gotten when I was with Mike.  I sensed a sudden tension had developed between them, but I wasn't exactly sure if it really meant anything other than he was pissed at Marty for shooting his mouth off.

Breaking the sudden silence, Cliff glanced at Marty before saying, "That's what he means, Gil; but he isn't known for being clever with words.  Where are you headed, a new duty station?" He asked, quickly changing the subject.

The brief moment of tension seemed to pass; and, even though I had the feeling that they both were gay, I wasn't sure until I felt the pressure of Cliff's leg pressing against mine.  When I turned my head and looked at him, there was a twinkle in his eyes and an impish grin playing at the corners of his soft, succulent lips.    My first reflex was to pull away but, the pressure of his leg against mine, was electrifying, and I felt my cock starting to swell.   Returning his gaze, I licked my lips seductively before answering his question.

"Nah, I'm headed home on leave for a few days.   I'll be here in Shit City until I finish the next year or so of my reserve hitch," I answered, absentmindedly sipping my coffee and noticing that Cliff's eyes were locked on my face and the pressure of his leg against mine was increasing as I spoke.  The twinkle in his deep green eyes had changed to a hot gleam of lust. My cock was rock hard and aching to be freed from the restrictions of my tight white pants.  Common sense told me there was no sense in getting horny when there was not much chance of anything developing in the middle of an airport terminal, so I moved my leg.  Cliff's look changed to one of inquisitiveness, but I just smiled at him over the rim of my almost empty coffee cup.

"Where's home, Gil?" Marty asked, breaking the line of unspoken questions that flowed between Cliff and me.

"Sturgeon Bay, just north of Green Bay," I replied, quickly turning my head away and answering Marty.

"Then you know where Dyckesville is?" Cliff asked, looking at me as he lifted his water glass to his lips.

"Sure, I do," I answered.  "You drive right through it on Rt. 57; but, I thought Marty said you lived in Chicago?"

"He does," Marty injected although I hadn't directed the question at him.

"I do," Cliff replied, giving Marty an exasperated glance before continuing. "We have a place on the bay but it's not in Dyckesville; it's north of there a mile or so on River Lane off of fifty-seven.  The family doesn't use it much, but Dad likes having it if he wants to get away. My mother can't stand what Dad calls roughing it and she's never been there, at least not with the family." I couldn't help but see his eyes twinkling as he said it and, I wondered why he would hint that his mother was maybe doing something his dad didn't know about.  A sudden grunt from Marty changed my train of thought and I looked away from the hypnotic effect of Cliff's hazel eyes.

"Unh huh, a place he calls it," Marty grunted around a mouth full of Danish.  "He makes it sound like a shack or something like that, but I bet it's a frigging mansion," he finished saying after washing down his food with a gulp of milk.

"Marty, will you please stop talking about my family?  Gil doesn't want to hear all of that crap," Cliff said, giving me an apologetic glance.

"Sheesh, it's not my fault you're famiy is so frigging rich, Cliff.  Some of us are lucky and got it; but most of us ain't; and my old man is so frigging poor that he can hardly rub two shekels together,"  he answered glibly as he looked at his wristwatch.  "You better finish up, Cliff; they should be calling our flight pretty soon.  I gotta hit the can before they call our plane for boarding; I can't stand those ittybitty heads on planes.  Sometimes people don't flush the toilet, leaving the heads stinking like shit."

"That's understandable, Marty," I said chuckling softly.  "That's why some people call them 'shit houses' instead of 'heads'."

"Ah hah, he gotcha on that one, Marty," Cliff said laughing softly.

"At least I don't jerk-off in them like some people do," he answered sarcastically as he pushed his chair back and left for the men's room on the other side of the terminal lobby.


I watched Marty walk away from us and realized that he was shorter than I by maybe as much as four inches. Also from the look of his rear, I gathered that  he was probably a few pounds heavier.  He was not unattractive, but Marty was the nondescript type of person that would never be noticed in or out of a crowd.  Unlike Mike or Cliff, his lackluster physical appearance could probably be attributed to the way he had devoured two Strawberry Danishes and one Cheese Danish without thinking of the adverse effects the concentraton of sugar would have on his health.  "Funny how you can get a totally different impression about someone until you see all of them," I thought to myself, my mind wandering for a minute thinking of when Mike and I had been together in his apartment; and then my thoughts drifted as to what Cliff might be like, naked.

Mike was everything anyone could dream of standing, sitting or walking;  but, when he stripped, he was so magnificently gorgeous naked that sculptors such as Michelangelo or Rodin might well have competed for the opportunity to render that masculine beauty in marble.  Cliff, dressed, resembled Mike on only a slightly smaller scale and I couldn't help but wonder if he would be as gorgeous as Mike when he stripped.   The same feelings I had had with Mike flowed over me, and my cramped cock ached in the tight confines of my crotch.  A mixture of thoughts about both of them naked and hard whirled through my head; and, I gagged involuntarily when a rush of anticipatory cock-sucking saliva suddenly flowed down my throat.   Swallowing  hard, I cleared my mouth; and, as I rapidly blinked my eyes in an attempt to dispel the erotic and confusing thoughts from my mind, I heard Cliff speaking softly.

"Don't let Marty get on your nerves, Gil, he's always like that.  It's like he has appointed himself my personal public relations man."

"I don't know enough about him to let him get on my nerves, Cliff;  we just met less than an hour ago," I answered, trying to be nonchalant and noncommittal.

"Lucky you," He replied glancing at me with a grin on his face.   "I've been with him for two years, and he can be pretty aggravating at times.  I've told him people don't want to hear about it, and I've asked him not to keep spouting off about my family's money, but he doesn't seem to be able to get it through his thick skull.   He doesn't do it all of the time, but every once in awhile he gets carried away, and it can be embarrassing."

"I got that impression while he was talking about how poor his father was.   I don't think he worries about embarrassing himself or other people. There are some people, you know, that just don't know when to shut up.   What I really didn't get was that crack about people jerking off in airplane heads. Where did that come into the conversation?" I said, breathing in deeply and feeling my composure returning although there was still a lingering feeling of nervousness and a quivery feeling in my loins. 

"I think that's just his imagination, Gil.  He said it smelled like cum once before when he was on a plane.  I can think of better places than that, but I guess some guys can't help themselves,"  he said.  He had an impish look in his eyes as he asked,  "If you're going to Green Bay, you'll have to transfer in Chicago if that's the way they routed you.  What's your flight number?  I'll bet it's the same as ours."

"It's flight number 1263.  The agent down below told me it would load at gate thirty-three and I would have an hour lay over in Chicago," I replied, checking my watch for the time.

"I thought so," He said with a twinkle in his eyes as he smiled a bit coyly, his even white teeth flashing briefly as he licked his lips. "I kind of figured it when you said where you were going.  You want to walk on down to the gate?  Marty can catch up with us."

"Sure," I replied as he pushed his chair back, stood up and turned slightly, his crotch at my eye level.  He pulled his green tunic jacket down, and then he adjusted his very full crotch  making no effort to turn away from me as he did.

Wiping my mouth, I stood and deliberately adjusted my half-hard cock and balls.  He grinned widely, his eyes gleaming; and, looking at me, he said, "Damn uniforms are too tight for big packages."

"Tell me about it," I answered, locking his eyes with mine and breathing in deeply as I deliberately squeezed my cock and balls before  pushing my chest out and straightening my white uniform blouse, a flush of excitement rushing through me. 

"Do you work out, Gil?" Cliff said, his eyes casually moving over me as we started toward the causeway that led to the loading gates.

"Yeah, at the base gym mostly," I replied as I picked up my travel bag and fell in step with him.  We were the same height and we automatically fell into step as we walked.

"It shows," he said seductively, "and those tight white uniforms don't leave much to the imagination; do they?  Especially if someone is horny and looking for action."

I sucked my breath in expanding my chest; and, exhaling, I was about to answer his not too coy innuendo when we heard Marty. "Hey, you guys, wait for me."  Cliff groaned and glanced at me exclaiming softly, "Fucking pain in the ass," just as Marty caught up with us.


The call to board was being announced as we reached the loading area.  Marty had inserted himself in the boarding line between Cliff and me; and, from the almost venomous glance I saw him give Marty, he didn't seem to be happy with his marine buddy.  I was kind of glad since it gave me a little time to get my emotions under control. I knew there was no way anything could happen between Cliff and me on an airplane, and sex in public rest rooms was too damn dangerous.  For a brief moment, I wondered what Mike would have done in similar circumstances.  Cliff was making it more than obvious that he was gay, and I was sure he had picked up on my interest, but we were going to different locations. His family's having a place in Dyckesville, just a few miles south of Sturgeon Bay, would have been great; but that didn't solve anything if he was getting off in Chicago and I was going on through. 

The ticket agent was stationed by the door, and I moved forward with Marty behind me.  I could hear snatches of words as he turned his head and talked over his shoulder to Cliff, but I was not really paying any attention.  My mind was elsewhere, and I had a feeling of guilt about Mike and the way I was consciously and subconsciously comparing him with Cliff.   I wasn't doing very well in getting my feelings for Mike and my head straightened out if the first good-looking hunky guy I met had me feeling like a schoolboy.

The line moved fairly quickly with some people pushing while others were carrying small pieces of luggage.  The three of us were carrying shoulder bags, and every now and then Marty's would hit me in the rear when he turned to say something to Cliff.  I didn't protest but when I looked back at him, I could see Cliff's eyes look at me, rolling almost imperceptibly, feigning boredom.  The same feelings of warmth and desire that had filled me before were flowing freely, and I could feel the passion and heat boiling in my nuts.  "God," I thought to myself, "he is so fucking hot, I  might pop a fucking nut standing here."

The agents comment, "your ticket, sir," brought me out of my reverie.  "I'm sorry, I mumbled, blushing,  as I handed him the ticket."

 "You change planes in Chicago for Green Bay, Mr. Homan.  There will be a one hour layover between your flights, but you should be able to have your lunch with time left over to reach loading gate sixty-nine on the south concourse.  Have a good flight, Sir," the agent remarked, smiling and handing me my boarding pass and the remainder of my ticket.

"Homan, I thought your name was Lawton," Marty said with a surprised tone in his voice as we started down the covered walkway to the plane.

"It is Lawton, I'll explain it later," I replied anxiously, a little piqued at him for asking but  feeling a little like an undercover agent using someone else's identity and being caught at it.


There was a steward and a stewardess stationed at the plane's doorway directing passengers to their seats.  I heard the stewardess tell Marty, "your seat is 22A, Mr. Herzog, that's midway down the aisle on your right."  I quickly checked my seat assignment; it was 22B, next to Marty.  

Cliff had handed his boarding pass to the steward while I waited for Marty to move down the aisle, and I heard him telling Cliff that his seat was 25B, three rows behind mine.   That presented a quandary if he and I were going to be able to talk during the flight.  Looking at Cliff, I nodded in Marty's direction; and he raised his eyebrow inquisitively. 

"It looks like I've got Marty for a seat mate, Cliff," I said as the steward was handing me my ticket and giving me seating instructions.

"Not really, Gil," he answered, grinning cheerfully.   "Marty can't stand sitting by a window while flying. He can't help looking out the window, and then he gets sick.  You watch; he'll want to swap his seat with me," Cliff said grunting as he put his carryon luggage in the overhead storage bins.

Cliff was right.  The minute Marty realized he was sitting by a window he turned and asked Cliff to swap seats.  Cliff protested mildly as he looked at me and winked.   After a few more words, he acquiesced, feigning exasperation with being asked and wearily changed seats.

After storing my canvas travel bag, I sat down next to Cliff who had slipped into his seat ahead of me.  The plane didn't seem to have a vacancy in business class, but there were empty seats in first class.  Cliff saw me looking forward and leaning toward me he whispered,  "I started to get a seat in first-class, it's a lot more comfortable, but Marty couldn't afford it.  I'm glad I didn't now or we wouldn't be sitting next to each other," he said, touching my arm lightly but firmly.

There was a surge in my crotch from the electrifying touch of his hand, and I was wishing I wasn't wearing my tight white uniform.  My balls and cock were bunched up in my briefs; and  I knew it would be an uncomfortable trip if I didn't straighten them out. 

Quickly looking around, I saw that several passengers were still trying to stuff their possessions into the overhead racks and trying to get into their seats.  I sucked in my stomach; and, sliding my hand down inside of my trousers, I quickly rearranged my cock and balls with my cock down the right leg and my balls down the other. 

Pulling my blouse down and exhaling a sigh of relief, I heard Cliff chuckle under his breath and say, "tight uniforms and briefs can be a bitch, can't they, Gil?"

"You said it. I wish I'd worn my civvies like I started to," I whispered.

"Hindsight is always 20/20, and we've got a three hour flight ahead of us." He replied as he removed his belt and unbuttoning his tunic.  Leaning closer he asked quietly, "do you have any civvies with you?"

"Yeah, in my bag," I answered, just as softly and nodding up at the overhead luggage compartment.

"Why don't we go into the head after we get into Chicago and change out of our uniforms?" he suggested, grunting low while lifting his hips and pulling his trousers down to give the bulge in his crotch more room.   "That's what I usually do," he said, winking at me, as he rearranged his package.

"That sounds good to me; Cliff,  but what about Marty? He might want to change out of his uniform. " I said, glancing around to see if we were being overheard; but, with all of the noise from people trying to put their luggage away and struggling to get into their seats, there wasn't much chance of it.

"Marty is on his way to Camp Pendleton, Gil;  and, being the nerd he is, he will stay in that uniform until he reports in. That's the way he is.   Remember how he was fussing about me deserting him? You and I get off in Chicago where you change planes to Green Bay,  but he stays with this flight all the way to San Diego," he said as he leaned forward and removed his tunic before continuing.  "I hadn't planned on going directly home after I was discharged.  I was going  to hang around the beach and see what the action might be, but Marty kept asking me to at least fly this leg of his trip with him, so here I am," he finished, dropping his tunic across his thighs.

"You and Marty must be pretty close with each other... if you would do that," I said as I pulled the seat belt tight across my lap.

"Nooo, Gil, not really," he answered slowly as he pulled his seat belt tight.  "Marty was a good buddy, but we never were really close to each other," he mused, his eyes searching my face before continuing,   "Don't you or didn't you have someone that you sort of hung around with, but you weren't that much involved with them except whenever you wanted to go to a movie on base or maybe the enlisted club for a beer and pizza, that kind of buddy?"  He said as the stewardess passed us, checking passenger seat belts.

"Nahhhhh, not really" I answered with thoughts of Mike going through my head as I fibbed but not looking at him when I did.

The noise from the jet engines increased to an almost deafening roar as we took off and when I glanced across Cliff, out the window, I saw him studying me; and, before I turned my head away, our eyes locked.  From the look in his eyes and the grin on his face, I had the feeling he knew I was hiding something, but he didn't say anything while the plane was ascending.   As the plane leveled off and the engine noise level decreased, I felt his hand moving across my thigh; and,  placing my hand over his, I looked at him saying softly, " As much as I would like it, Cliff, this is the wrong place,"

The green of his eyes changed to a vivid verdure shade, and a tingling shiver flowed over me when I heard the husky inflection in his soft baritone voice saying, "I know it isn't;  but one of us had to make a move sooner or later, and I was tired of waiting to find out what I  was pretty sure of."   He squeezed my thigh before pulling his hand away and looked out the window at the clouds floating just below. 

I sat looking at his chiseled profile in the glare of the window for several seconds; and, placing my hand on his forearm, I said in a low voice, "I'm sorry, Cliff; but, as much as I wanted to say something, I didn't know what.  I'm going home on leave, but you've been discharged and you live in Chicago, that's where you are getting off and we separate.  We only met this morning in an airport, and now we are on an airplane.  What does that tell you?" 

Turning from the window, his brilliant green eyes were glistening and, his voice was low and husky, "What does any of that have to do with it, Gil?  We both were thinking the same thing and we both want the same thing," he said hesitating and breathing in deeply, trying to control the heaving of his chest.   "You're right though, there's not much we can do about it here but I've got an idea if you're willing," he said, moving as close as he could and dropping his head down closer to mine.

"What?" I whispered, a little apprehensively.

"I told you I hadn't planned on going home right away, remember?"

"Yeah, you said something about hanging out at the beach, but Marty pestered you into flying with him," I replied while checking around to see if anyone was paying any attention to us.

"Well, you haven't said whether or not anyone is meeting you in Green Bay;  but, if no one is, we could get a layover on your flight to Green Bay; and we could spend a day or two together at my apartment in Chicago," he said moving his head closer to mine and whispering seductively, " we wouldn't have to change clothes in the terminal head, we could get a cab and change at my place."

"You have an apartment in Chicago, Cliff?  You aren't pulling my leg; are you? I heard what Marty said, but I just thought that was a bunch of bull," I asked in a surprised tone.

"Unh huh, I do, and I'm not pulling your leg, not yet," he answered grinning, his eyes twinkling.    "My Dad leased a place  for me in the Drake across from Lincoln Park when I started college.   He doesn't know I kept the lease up after I got tired of school and joined the Marines.  It's handy having a place to relax other than home; and, even if Dad should find out, it's my money not his," he said, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders and smiling, his jade green eyes shining as he slipped his hand under his tunic, inhaling deeply and exhaling softly.

I could see the movement of his hand hidden under his tunic, and my cock started to harden as I thought about the bulge I had seen in his crotch and what might be hidden under his marine uniform.  I hadn't told anyone except Mike where I was going on leave; and he thought I was going home to get away for awhile and straighten my head out. I hadn't been looking for someone like Cliff to come along;  but the thought of spending time with someone as hot as Cliff was exciting, so exciting that my legs were shaking, my heart was beating so fast, I could hardly breath and I could feel the juices churning in my nuts.  "Why not?" I whispered more to myself than him, but he heard me and moving his head closer,  whispered, "Yeah, why not?"