Jack Scribe
Warning: The following story contains graphic descriptions of sex between consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such materials, or if reading this sort of material is illegal in your jurisdiction, then read no further. This multipart story is entirely fictional, and any resemblances to actual persons are completely coincidental.
Special acknowledgements to Brad from Denver for providing diligent proofing and editing of the story, and to Carey for being a patient teacher.
If you have any comments or suggestions for the author, feel free to write me at jack.scribe@gmail.com. I love feedback. Support Nifty!
Part 6, BARS AND STRIPES
From Part 5,
Jim looked at me with a concerned expression. "Any regrets?"
"None."
After a few moments, we looked each other with the biggest shit-eating grins and proceeded to really shower, making sure our "evidence" was washed down the drain.
Jim said, "Hey, Dave, that was awesome."
"That's what friends are for," I said patting his butt.
We toweled dry, dressed and straightened up the locker room facilities. He grabbed his gear, turned off the lights, and we walked out the back door, locking it.
Missing the bus, we proceeded to walk down the hill to the Mess Hall. 'That was hot,' I analyzed. But it was just that. Hot, lustful sex. Nothing more. I think Jim felt the same way.
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DAVE
After a relaxing dinner at the Mess, Jim revealed more about himself. He was 20 with two more years to go with his enlistment. Religion was pretty much a non-issue. His Dad was a non-practicing Jew and his Mother was a DAR wasp of English descent. He had two older sisters who had doted on him when he was younger. They were both now married and he was uncle to three offspring. His brothers-in-law were friendly. He had never come out to his family.
As we compared notes, Jim admitted to having some sexual experience. He had a few "fuck buddies" on the gymnastic team in high school. But this had really been on the QT. Jim had messed around a few times here at the Naval Air Station. Generally at the gym and nothing special. I told him about Russ and the limitations of our relationship. He laughed when I mentioned that Russ was the gymnast. "Well, I guess I'm lucky to be your type," he observed in reply. Nothing was mentioned of our shower together.
We got back to the barracks around 2100, and squeezed each other's hands as he went into #9 and I went into #11. We were determined to explore our new friendship, both knowing that friendship would be as far as it would go, I sensed. We planned on working out later in the week.
I opened my door to an empty room and turned on the lights. On the desk was an iced beer bucket with six chilled Coronas. On the desk was a card addressed to me.
I opened it and read: "Hi David, You probably are wondering if your roommate actually exists? I do and am alive and well. I've had a hectic time. A lot of social stuff. Here's a little libation for you. If I don't get back when you arrive, have one on me. I should be back by 10:00 pm (whoops, 2200). See you then. Regards, Brent."
Well, 'when in Rome,' I thought, popping open a beer as I stripped from my uniform in favor of khaki shorts and a tee. Routine set in as I settled in to my nightly duty of polishing my black shoes and brass belt buckle. Never accuse Airman Swenson of not being squared away.
While pondering my first day on the job tomorrow, I heard a key slide into the door slot. I subtly braced myself for the entrance of Brent. Sure enough, larger than life, entered one of most striking blond men I have ever seen. 'A & F model material,' was my first thought as the young Adonis entered our room.
I stood and said, "Hey, Brent, thanks for the beer. I knew you'd surface at some point. I'm Dave Swenson." I looked squarely into his blue eyes and smiled broadly. 'Yeah,' I surveyed, 'we were the same height.' And, from what I could tell, fairly similar in other dimensions.
He grabbed and shook my hand. "Sorry I wasn't on hand when you arrived. This has been a crazy weekend." With that, he popped a Corona and toasted by clinking our beer bottles. "How's it going?" he continued.
"I've been at the base for the past 10 weeks going through Naval Air Tech Training. So I'm not a total stranger." I continued to give him the same edited version of my status that I had now developed into a five-minute sound bite. Brent did the same.
"Dave, I'm kind of plugged in around here. I work in the Admiral's office. Don't be shy about asking me for advice. This base is a warren of political fiefdoms," he said in a rather matter-of-fact manner. 'This man had a social bearing about himself and vocabulary that doesn't match the typical enlisted sailor,' I observed.
"Well, I will appreciate a rundown on the officers that I may run into at the 'O' Club once I have been there for a while," I mentioned.
"The first thing is to subtly suck up to the new Club Manager, Ensign Mike Cole. He is in a position to be a "mover and shaker" on the base. He's only been here for less than two months, but the Admiral's wife likes him...a lot. That's like the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval," nodding his head. "And, he seems like a pretty decent guy. I've only spoken to him on the phone."
"I'll meet him tomorrow?"
"Probably. Listen, Dave. I'm in a position to help out a friend. If I can ever pull some strings for you, don't hesitate to ask."
"Thanks." I filed that information away for future reference.
We rambled on for about an hour when we decided it was time to crash. I went down to the head to take care of business. When I returned, Brent was sawing zzzz's with his lanky frame covered under a sheet. Finishing my evening routine, I joined Brent's "sawing" in my bunk. 'We are going to have some further conversations,' I thought, as I drifted to sleep.
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ENSIGN MIKE COLE
A year ago June, I heard my civilian name called as I received a BS from Cornell University's School of Hotel Management at mass graduation. This year, taking advantage of a U.S. Navy program offered to Hotel School graduates, I'm officially "an officer and a gentleman." After completing Officer Candidate School as another "14 week wonder" and commissioned a Naval Officer with the rank of Ensign, I'm was Ensign Mike Cole, USNR.
After additional "Mess Management" training, I arrived in Memphis in April to manage the Naval Air Station Officer's Club. While my Hotel School pals were going through the sub-level, lackey corporate training programs for Hilton or Fleming's Steak House, I was running the show. I wanted a fast track...and got it.
How long I would be in Memphis was a crapshoot. The Naval Air Station was scheduled to be de-commissioned or changed in its mission. My future at NAS Memphis was certain only until the end of the year. Nothing official had been decided. In the meantime, it was time to make things happen with my young life professionally and privately.
I checked in at the BOQ - Bachelor Officers Quarters to civilians - and was assigned a room. The BOQ was a short walk across the parking lot from the Officers Club. And, like much of the base, a wood-framed, sprawling, one-story relic from WWII. With TLC, the building and interiors have been updated several times. Each room was furnished in Spartan fashion with a joining, shared "head" between two rooms. The first evening after I had moved in- I lucked out by getting an end corner room just off the parking lot - I heard a light knock coming from the door that led to the head. Wearing only briefs, I hastily grabbed my recently discarded khaki shorts and threw on a fairly clean polo shirt. When I opened the door, a smiling man about my age, still in uniform, looked me straight in the eye and said, "Welcome to your new home, Ensign Cole. I'm your neighbor, Doug Di Marco."
I looked puzzled that the Ltjg. knew my name. Upon quickly studying this man of somewhere in the early to mid-20's, I noticed his Ltjg. rank on the collars. "Hi, Doug, or should I say Lieutenant?" I replied with some uncertainly in my voice but a smile on my face.
"Well, actually I answer to 'Hey you' most of the time." When he grinned, the room lit up and the smile lines in his face became more pronounced. "But, since we are going to sharing this crapper, I think Doug will do just fine." He extended his hand and projected a trusting aura.
"Doug, come into my room, please." He strolled in and sat down on the desk chair. "How do you know my name?"
"Oh," he added, "The front desk informed me of your name, rank and when you would be arriving last week. And since you're the new boss of the "O" Club, we will be working together indirectly. As Special Services Officer, I supply you the lifeguards for the pool. And when the Admiral wants a big blowout party, my entertainment funds and manpower always get tapped."
I sat down on the bed. "Well, Doug, it looks like we need each other to survive. I answer to Mike." I immediately warmed up to this guy. "But I must warn you, I play a pretty mean game of golf. You're in charge of the golf course, also?"
"Mike, you'll never have to worry about tee times." His smile could melt glaciers.
He showed the organizational plan of our shared head. Doug had thoughtfully left empty half the storage area for my gear. We agreed upon the housekeeping standards of the space and settled upon a routine. Ltjg. Di Marco was up and out early to make sure all the recreational facilities, golf course, and tennis courts were operating efficiently. He would be gone by the time I rolled out of the sack at 7:00 am.
"The last thing I need to do is piss off the Admiral's wife because muffins and croissants aren't available at the golf club house before her early tee time with her socialite buddies from Memphis."
We agreed to get together for lunch mid-week at the Club. Over the next month, Doug and I got to be really good friends. Since we both had politically sensitive jobs interfacing with all the senior officers and their wives, Doug gave me a short course on how to maneuver around the officer ranks and the ranks that wives unofficially wore. He filled me in on the pecking order.
Being at NAS Memphis for over two years, he had become friends with several junior officers, many living in the BOQ. I rapidly was brought into the fold. In a short time, I was bouncing between handball matches, scratch golf, and penny ante poker card games in the BOQ lounge next to the bar, that I also managed. My social life was blossoming.
At 23 years of age, single, and a presentable, single tall man, I became the "go-to" guy for a blind date. Since I was considered Prime "A" marriage material and a new face in town, the girl friends of my new fellow officer friends always wanted to fix me up. I become good friends with several of these blind dates. Emphasize "friends." Except for some expected heavy petting, I never had gone beyond first base. 23 and a virgin to boot! Oh yeah, I should add "perpetually horny." But nothing my best friend the left hand and a little lube couldn't handle.
My daily routine since arriving in April, after taking care of the morning necessities - S.S.S. (shit, shower, and shave) - was to get dressed in a clean uniform and have breakfast and a quick read of the NY Times in the Officer's Mess in the BOQ. At 0800, I'd cross over the shared parking lot to the 'O' Club and come in the back service entrance of the Club. I always went out of the way to say "Hi" to the morning crew of civilian workers while I grabbed a cup of coffee. Most of the kitchen staff were black and had been part of the "O" Club family for years. I couldn't help but think their secure jobs may be in jeopardy.
Today was Monday, the 1st of June. After getting my morning coffee, I entered the lobby and walked over to the office. Marge, the front desk supervisor, was already on the telephone taking reservations and handling inquiries for the week ahead. Added to the chaos were the paperwork and receipts from the weekend business. The Naval Air Station was the home base for several reserve squadrons in the South. The pilots, after getting their hours in, were always ready to hoist a few at the 'O' Club. Big revenue.
In addition to the dining room and bar, we booked the three private function rooms and a ballroom frequently. Between the Naval Air Station, the Naval Air Training Center, and the Naval Air Reserves, there was a running list of parties, receptions, teas, bridge clubs, sit-down lunches, formal dinners, and monthly theme parties, in addition to serving lunch and dinner daily. Outside, the pool has a snack bar that is open daily during the late spring to early fall. And, the bars in the Club and BOQ did brisk business. The pilots loved rolling dice for drinks.
Marge gave me a warm nod as I passed through to my private office, grabbing my messages on the way in. I lucked out with an office that had a window looking out to the back patio and pool. Most of the time the pool was populated with wives and their "rug rat" dependents. However, during lunch hour, several of the junior officers come to swim laps and eat at our snack bar. I always have reason to check out the business activity at the snack bar during this period. I was making friends real fast. Several of the guys I had gotten to know from the BOQ gathered at the pool.
The pool was "L" shaped so that was room for serious lap swimming, with the short part of the "L" ideal for the older kids. The little tots had a small wading pool. It was drained and sanitized daily due to some of the kids not being potty trained. With chaise lounges and umbrella tables with chairs scattered around the perimeter of the pool, the area could easily handle 200 guests on weekends.
There was always an enlisted sailor assigned by Special Services to be a lifeguard at the Club swimming pool. Today I looked out my office window about 1000 and was taken back by the image of the new lifeguard and the sheer masculine beauty of this young body and stunning face. He was skimming the water with the net for leaves. He must be Jim Weiss's replacement that Doug told me about.
'Fuck,' I grimaced, 'what a lie I'm living.' I noticed his taunt muscles stretch and glutes tighten as the lifeguard walked around the pool deck. His back muscles expanded as he skimmed the pool. As much as I tried to suppress it, I was really only turned on by men. Thinking about my high school and college experiences, I concluded, "Mike, you're a fucking hands-on, cock sucking homosexual. Have been for years. You're kidding everyone but yourself.' I sat in my desk chair long enough for my erection to subside.
After achieving relaxation, I grabbed my cover and started walking out of the office so I could to introduce myself to him. "Marge, I'll be outside in the pool area for a few minutes," I remarked as I passed her desk. "It appears Jim's replacement has arrived. I'll give him a little rundown about our operation. Page me if I get a priority phone call."
"OK, Mike," Marge, replied. We both knew that the priority call would be the Admiral's steward calling about provisioning the boss's wine cellar.
As I walked out to the patio and inside the pool area, dressed in my summer khakis with the one brass bar on each collar still pretty shiny, I came up to the lifeguard watching me and said, "Hi, I'm Ensign Mike Cole. I'm in charge of the Officer's Club. I noticed that you are new and wanted to say 'hello'." I extended my hand. The young lifeguard grabbed it and volts of reserve energy shot through my body. 'What is that all about,' I wondered.
"Good Morning, Sir." He radiated a super-charged smile. I thought I heard the 1812 Overture in the background. 'Real cannons in St. Petersburg, for sure,' remembering one of my favorite CD's.
"First day on the job, I understand?"
"Yes, Sir. I was here yesterday so Weiss could show me around."
I inventoried this lifeguard. Standing at about six feet, the new guy was about three inches shorter than I. He was really in shape. Wearing sunglasses, he had well-defined arms, solid pecs with small nipples, and a natural-appearing six-pack. There was a subtle treasure trail that disappeared into his red lifeguard trunks. His cute Nordic nose was coated with white zinc oxide cream. The regulation red lifeguard trunks, while cut in a boxy fashion, were very snug in the crotch area. 'Yum,' I concluded. 'Score one for the home team!' "Did Jim tell you about the lunch arrangements at the Snack Bar?"
"He did. Thank you, Sir."
After removing the sunglasses, he introduced himself as Airman Swenson and said that he had been assigned to the pool for the summer. His classic all-American chiseled face, jaw line and military buzz-cut were recruit poster worthy. If it weren't regulation, I doubt if he had to shave every day.
When I asked him what was his first name, he volunteered that it was David, or Dave to his friends. At that point, I turned on my best 2,000-kilowatt smile, and said, "Well, Dave, we're going to be working indirectly together. Let me officially welcome you to the club staff." I extended my hand again. He took it and returned my firm grip. Second helpings of excitement shot through me.
Dave beamed with a warm smile that made his azure blue eyes sparkle and replied, "If there is anything special that you'd like to have done, just let me know. I will be here at 0800 Sunday through Thursday and secure the pool at 1700. Jim Weiss gave me the rundown yesterday about my duties and all the keys."
I released our hands just before it got to the point of being a little too obvious. God, what a warm grip! I continued to feel the flowing electric currents after we touched. 'Yes,' I thought, 'there could be something special he could do.' However, I replied, "Dave, just to let you know, I usually come out here just before closing and after the kids are gone to do some lap swimming for daily exercise." Feeling my cock stirring in my khaki pants, I smiled and immediately turned away to walk back to the clubhouse before my body signaled my feelings of interest in this hunky lifeguard. Thank God that baggy Navy officer's pants were the regulation.
'Slow down, Mike,' I thought to myself as I left the pool and walked through the patio that would be serving lunch to around 100 officers, wives and their guests in about an hour. 'Thinking that way about an enlisted man, no matter how hot, could get me into serious shit!'
DAVE
'Holy fuck, what just happened?' I asked myself, dumbfounded. Meeting Ensign Cole had been a major physical revelation. The first time he walked up and shook hands, I was almost paralyzed from the static surge passing from his body to mine.
Out of the corner of my eye I had seen this tall, young officer approach me while I was prepping the pool for opening. As he came closer I turned and watched as he walked directly towards me. Handsome in a casual, unstudied way, he had to be a couple of inches or so taller than me, with a developed chest and trim waist. He was wearing a hat but the medium sideburns and arm hair suggested a light to medium brown color. I remembered Brent's suggestion to "suck up to him." This was not going to be difficult to do.
All through our brief conversation, I was fantasizing about he and I were in the pool, swimming butt naked. When he offered the second handshake, I thought I would melt right on the spot from emotional overload. I babbled something about offering to do anything he wanted done.
"Dave, just to let you know, I usually come out here just before closing and after the kids are gone to do some lap swimming for daily exercise," he told me before going back into the Club. I couldn't help but notice his crotch starting to expand.
'Wow, I'll see him again in seven hours,' I calculated. It was 1012. I could hardly wait. I would use the rest of the day to analyze what had happened between the two of us.