My name is Paul Martin, and I am a gay sailor. I was eighteen years old, chestnut brown hair, hazel eyes, six-feet tall, weighing one-hundred fifty-five pounds when I joined in 1955. I guess its hard to believe that I was an eighteen-year old virgin and except for stroking my seven-inch uncut cock, I had only fantasized what it would be like to have sex with another man.

Like most kids in high-school we talked about sex and kidded each other about who had the biggest cock or who wanted to try and get a blow-job from a couple of the known faggots in town but, I never did. I still was not sure about what I wanted.

At the time that I enlisted, I was in the throes of accepting that I was gay, and along with that problem, I wanted to get out of the one-horse, narrow-minded town that I been raised in. Joining the Navy seemed to be the avenue of escape.

My most difficult time while I was in training was in the communal showers with several well built, naked, young men, some of whom were well endowed. I noticed there were more than one or two men who sported a fluffed up cock while showering with the rest of us and, I wondered if they might be gay.

It took a lot of will power to avoid becoming excited with so many hot young studs sporting circumcised and uncircumcised cocks of various lengths and girths that were partially hard while showering.

After lights out, the pungent aroma of testosterone permeated the darkness, and there were muffled but still discernable sounds that indicated there was more than one horny guy jerking off under his blanket. At first I was hesitant but, after the first wet dream, I started taking a sock to bed with me. The sock solved the problem of wet dreams and messy skivvies in the mornings.

We all had heard the rumor that our meals were supposedly being spiked with something called Saltpeter. It was supposed to control sexual passion and avoid unwanted homosexual problems. It did not seem to cut down on the night time jerk off sessions but, there did seem to be less fluffed cocks in the showers.

During training I added about twenty pounds of hard muscle and even though I had not measured my cock, it seemed to have grown heavier and maybe a little longer. My chestnut brown hair had been shoulder length when I enlisted but except for a short stubble, it was cut almost completely off by a base barber who did not ask `how you wanted it'. It grew back to a descent length by the time I graduated from boot camp and, I found that, I liked it shorter.

During the years after boot camp, I managed to control my urges while onboard ship. Except for an occasional jerk off when alone in the showers, a few blow jobs in bus station Men's rooms and fucking a couple of guys in the ass in the back of their cars, satisfied my sexual needs. I never minded jerking some guy off but, it was a long time before I finally gave a guy I had met in a bar a blow job. It was a well-built, good-looking, middle aged man who talked me into going home with him who initiated me as to what gay sex was. But regardless of his physical attributes, I still hesitated, even though I was horny. In short enjoyable stages, my suitor eventually showed me what "around the world" was, and we did things to each other that convinced me I enjoyed sex with a hot man a lot more than I would have with any women. To satisfy your curiosity, provided you are curious, he was the first to fuck me. I wasn't sure I liked being on the bottom but, after a few times, it grows on you.

I made it a personal rule that while ashore, I would avoid, as much as it was possible, from becoming involved sexually with other military men. However, since most of us wore civilian clothes ashore or on leave, it was really impossible to tell who was or who was not in the service.

Meeting a good-looking man and having sex usually satisfied the carnal needs of most men and afterwards these encounters melted into the recesses of the mind to become satisfying memories. To later meet one of these men on board a ship or shore assignment could, if not discreet, prove to be a career buster or at the very least embarrassing as hell. Fortunately, I never had such a problem although I am sure one or two of the just as horny studs that I met were military. Tattoos' can be a give away in some cases or a slip of the tongue using military jargon.

It was most difficult when serving on board a ship and the ship would be at sea for weeks before returning to port. Hormones raged, and I was not alone in making use of Molly Palm and her Five Sisters to relieve the pressures that built in a mans groin. Tell tale signs and stains could be seen in the various less populated areas of the ship and late night showers were not unusual.

I was serving in my third ship, a destroyer, when I took the Fleet Wide Test for advancement to First Class Petty Officer. I was fortunate to advance in grade to Second Class Boatswain Mate within six years after enlisting but, for several years until the Korean War, my rating was frozen. That war loosened a few ratings and, I made First Class. My advancement probably had something to do with beinging transfer to shore duty ahead of when I would have normally been transferred.

My orders were to report for temporary duty at the Naval Training Station School Command, San Diego, California for an eight week course in advanced boat handling before reporting to my permanent assignment at the Potomac River Small Boat Command outside of Washington, D.C.

The time spent while in San Diego was interesting in other aspects than boat handling. I met a handsome young man in the cocktail lounge of the Downtown St. Nicholas Hotel. He later turned out to be a very horny recent graduate of the Naval Academy.

Through the gay grapevine, I had heard the cocktail lounge of the St. Nick was a good place for meeting, attractive, discreet men and the recommendation proved to be true.

The lobby was a throw back to the early 20^th century decor. The walls were covered in dark red velveteen with marble columns, and ceilings covered in art-deco galvanized tin with 1913 crystal chandeliers and wall sconces. The floor covering was a thick blue carpet and there were secluded alcoves for discreet meetings. The reservation desk was dark mahogany and there was a magnificent marble stair case leading to the mezzanine shopping area.

The lounge décor matched the lobby except for chandeliers made with frosted shades and crystal provided a subtle glow, not unlike gaslight, that was sufficient enough to discreetly peruse the interior of the lounge. There were red velveteen draped alcoves with chandelier matching wall sconces, small marble topped tables and over-stuffed chairs of mahogany and red velveteen situated around the outer perimeter of the lounge. To the right of the entrance, a long mirror-backed mahogany bar with strategically placed bottles of an almost unlimited variety of liquor ran the length of the wall ending at marble columned, red draped entrance that led to the Ladies and Men's restrooms.

There were several marble topped tables with décor matching chairs were strategically placed on the blue carpeted area between the bar and the alcoves. I could not help but chuckle at how gay the décor was but, I was more interested in a young man occupying one of the alcoves. The mirrors behind the bar made my interest much easier.

He was clean cut, broad-shouldered and wearing an azure blue open-throated, short sleeved shirt. The shirts color complimented his well-groomed blonde hair and the short sleeves revealed well muscled arms. Khaki trousers with cordovan loafers completed his ensemble.

Short of a direct approach, I was in a quandary as how too meet this Adonis without being to forward. He solved the problem.

The bartender, also a good-looking young man, placed a drink in front of me and nodding in the direction I had been looking, he said, "compliments of the gentleman sitting in the alcove to your left."

Glancing to my left, the Adonis lifted his glass in a salute. I returned the compliment.

Sliding off of the barstool and carrying my drink with me, I wove my way thorough the maze of tables to his alcove. As I ducked my head to avoid the low hanging drapes, he said, "I hope the drink is satisfactory."

"It is," I replied, locking eyes with him and extending my hand. "My name is Paul."

"And, I am Martin," he replied, standing and smiling broadly, his white teeth gleaming, his intense ice blue eyes sweeping over me as he shook my hand.

"It is nice meeting you, Martin," I said, trying to inflect a tone of sincerity in my voice as we shook hands.

"And, it is a pleasure meeting you Paul," he said, matching the pressure of my hand.

We both fidgeted silently for a few moments after shaking hands and sitting down. Usually when I met someone, there was an initial feeling of uneasiness but with Martin, it was more of uncertainty which was understandable since neither of us had any inkling of the others feelings. Most of the very short sexual weekends that I had been involved in were sort of slam, bam, sex bouts that ended with the both of us going our own way afterwards. I could sense that Martin was not of that type. There was an aura about him that said, he would be just as content to talk and if it led to sex, so be it, but he was not forward enough to make the first move.

For a brief moment, we sipped our drinks before I spoke. Cautiously looking around, I said, "Martin, we have only just met and, I'm sure you will think it is a bit cheeky of me but, would you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

Martin swirled the ice in his glass, his eyes downcast. For a second, I thought I had screwed up but when he lifted his eyes to mine I saw a faint glint of amusement in their depths as he spoke, " I believe I already know what the question is, Martin, would you like for me to answer it for you?"

I was thunderstruck by his directness, and for more than a few seconds, I sat quietly, gazing at him before I answered. My voice reverberated with excitement as I said, "if you wish."

Martin's eyes sparkled as he responded, "I believe we want the same thing, and to be frank, I appreciate frankness rather than indulging in idle chit chat. Would you like to join me in my room?"

"Elevator or stairs?" I replied casually.

"Elevator," he responded as he stood up. "It is much faster than the stairs."

Martin was right, the elevator was faster.