Date: Thu, 26 May 2011 01:20:28 -0700
From: Rob Y <haverimseat4you@gmail.com>
Subject: 12 Days with Sgt Tate - Day 11

My eyes open.  I focus, or at least, try to focus.  I never thought I would
wake up, as I thought I would never go to sleep.  Last night was rough for
me.  As much as I tried, it was very difficult for me to fall asleep.

The previous nights' attempts were easy as they resulted out of exhaustion.
Last night however, I was more preoccupied with Sgt Tate's reaction to our
fucking Boris.  He loved what we were doing to Boris, and then he didn't
want to be around me.

He took my Dad's room leaving me in here.  He came out of the room once.  I
followed him downstairs, but he wasn't there.  I faintly heard him yelling
with Boris.  I knew that I needed to return to bed.  I spent so much time
trying to figure things out.  I didn't fall asleep until after four, the
last time I looked at the clock.

I don't even know what time it is.  Looking at the clock on the far wall, I
see it is twelve thirty.  I can't believe that slept in so late.

I have lost the sense of time on this trip.  Having to concentrate to
figure out the day of the week, I realize that today is Saturday and that I
go home tomorrow.

Wow, tomorrow this is all gone.  I knew this day was going to come, when
everything starts to wind down.  My sexual awakening and exploration will
need to transform back to blowing men in the mall.

I don't know what my life will be like when I go back home.  Emptiness
begins to set in, and I am not even home.  The emptiness comes from knowing
that Sgt Tate will not be with me.  He doesn't even bring me breakfast like
he did the past two mornings.

Climbing out of bed, I walk to the bathroom and take a piss.  I will miss
this bathroom.  I have spent a lot of time in here, showering, getting
fucked, and eating Sgt Tate's ass.

Walking out of the bathroom, I decide to get something to drink.  As I
enter the kitchen I hear Sgt Tate for the first time this morning,
"Stevens!" He has addressed me by a lot of names: Danny, Dan, Cunt, Bitch,
Faggot, and other degrading names that elude me.  But he has never called
me by my last name.  That's how he addresses my dad.  "What are you doing?"

"Sir?"

"You couldn't do anything right without a dick waving in your face.  Get
the fuck back upstairs and put some goddamn clothes on! I don't need to see
your pathetic little toothpick cock anymore."

I now remember what he said last night about me wearing clothes.  I race
back upstairs to my old room and get out a T-shirt and pants.

Putting them on, I have a sense of dread.  I don't like how he's reacting.

Going downstairs, I head back to the kitchen to get something to drink.  I
pour some orange juice.

Sgt Tate comes into the kitchen.  "Better."

Looking at my orange juice, amazed at his coldness, I respond quietly,
"Sorry Sir."

"After breakfast, I need for you to leave the lodge for a few hours.  I
have some business to tend to, and I do not want you to be a part of it."

Fuck! When he wants to be cold, he's frigid.  I change the subject to food.
He mentioned breakfast.  That sounds good.  "Breakfast?  What's for
breakfast?"

"I don't know.  Maybe we can go into the bathroom so that I can shit out a
life size Martha Stewart to make you a gourmet meal just for you.  You know
where the fridge is."

I just stare at him.  "Sir.  I thought that we would be civil to each other
for the remainder of the time we have with each other.  I can't believe
what you are saying to me."

He looks at me with his cold stare.  That's even worse than the words he
uses.  Then, his face unexpectedly relaxes; his DI stern look relaxes.  He
closes his eyes and minimally nods in agreement.

After a few moments, he calmly adds, "I do need for you not to be here.
It's a nice day out.  You can go for a walk.  I need a few hours."

"Can't I be upstairs?"

"No, this is not negotiable.  I do not want you a part of this."

Disappointed at his pushing me away, I respond, "Yes Sir." He leaves me to
make breakfast.  I eat it on my own too.

I don't even tell him when I am leaving.  It's probably for the best.  I
decide to walk around the lake, like we did in the first few days.  It will
take a few hours if I remember.

About half around, it starts to look like it is going to rain, and not just
rain, but rain hard.  The sky to the west is extremely dark; another system
is moving in.  This doesn't look like the gentle shower from yesterday.
This looks like intense lightning and thunder.

I move quickly to get back to the lodge.  Business or not, I am not going
to be left out in the rain.

Running back, I am caught in the first few minutes of the downpour.

I race into the lodge as the first clash of thunder is heard.  I am
dripping wet.  Racing upstairs I run to my old room, trying not to drip all
over the place.  Changing into dry clothes, and returning downstairs, Sgt
Tate doesn't seem to be anywhere.  I sit on the couch and look out at the
torrential rainstorm.

I cannot believe that I was out in that mess.  A flash of lightning strikes
not to far off.  Immediately the thunder shakes the windows.

A voice that is not Sgt Tate says, "That was close."

I look over towards the door to the office, and there stands Tard.  He is
not restrained.  He is alone.  And he is walking to me.

Oh God! What the fuck am I to do?  I scream the only two words that I can
think to scream, "SERGEANT TATE!" Repeatedly I call for him.  I do not know
where to run, as the places I could escape to are behind him.

As he walks towards me saying "No, no, no," I continue to shout for Sgt
Tate.

"SERGEANT TATE! SERGEANT TATE! SERGEANT TATE!" Then I see him come up from
the downstairs.  "Sgt Tate! Tard is here."

I run to him; I don't care if Tard gets me first since Sgt Tate is here.

Tard repeats his No's.

Grabbing onto Sgt Tate body, I feel protected and safe.  Sgt Tate looks
down at me, "Dan?  It's all right." My body shakes from fear.  "Dan, calm
down." He addresses Tard, "Tard! Go over there."

I look at Tard; he moves quickly to the couch I was sitting on and stands
still.

"Dan, Tard is not here to hurt you--far from it.  He's here to pick up
Boris."

I stutter, "W-w-what?"

"I called him to help me with Boris.  He's not here to hurt you." I look up
at Sgt Tate, then at Tard only to return back to Sgt Tate.  "I showed him
the video of what Boris did to you."

I look over at Tard cracking his knuckles.  His face looks worried.  He
says to me, "Dan, I'm sorry for what Boris did to you.  I really am."

I look up at Tate looking down at me.  With a nod, I feel safe.
Unclenching from his torso, my body relaxes.

"What is he doing here Sir?"

Sgt Tate responds, "I brought him here to take Boris away.  I was hoping
that you would have been out longer.  But I see that the storm brought you
back early." He pauses.  "Boris is never going to hurt you again.  I was
going to have Tard talk to you after we got Boris taken care of.  I guess
now is as good as any."

"I thought they were good friends."

Tard walks up to me.  For a moment I am fearful, but watching Sgt Tate not
react I my fear beings to dissipate.

Taking off his baseball cap as if walking into a church, Tard speaks: "We
ain't no more.  Sgt Tate showed me the video.  Wh-What Boris did t'ya."
Just referring to it makes Tard visibly shudder.  It is interesting that
his Southern voice comes back, "I'm real sorry.  What he did . . . that
jus' ain't right.  It jus' ain't."

Sgt Tate asks me, "I have to make some calls.  Will you be OK here with
Tard?  He's not going to hurt you.  He'll talk your ear off before he does
anything to hurt you.  Ain't that right?"

"Yes Sergeant!"

"I need to make these calls uninterrupted.  So the two of you just sit here
and talk.  Compare recipes or something."

I feel safety in his words.  But still, something makes me not trust him.
I sit at the dining room table opposite Tard.  He sits on the other side
looking down.  He looks like a teenager having to go to the Principal's
office.

He looks nervous.  I don't get it; why is he nervous to be with me?  It
should be the other way around.  Tard begins, "I'm sorry Dan.  I'm sorry
fer what Boris did t'ya.  It was wrong."

Sgt Tate leaves the room into his office.  Even though the door is closed,
he is still within shouting range.  "I ne'er thought that Boris'd do
somethin' like that.  Yeah, he'd get purdy riled up sometimes.  But I never
thought . . . How you feel anyhow?"

I didn't expect him to ask something like that.  "I'm better.  Thanks for
asking."

He nods and looks down.  I stare at him.  The initial shock has lessened
and the mistrust is going away.  After a long pause, "Sure am glad I seen
that poker when I did." I do not follow what he is saying.

"What?"

"In the window, I seen Boris, wavin' that poker all around like a brandin'
iron, so I said to Sarge, 'Sarge what is that?' then Sarge looked up where
I was pointin', and man he hightailed it so fast to the lodge.  I ain't
never seen him move so fast."

"Thanks.  I guess that's the second time your have saved me."

"Sarge's the one that saved ya.  Beat down Boris but good."

I remember seeing Tard in the doorway.  "Why did you turn away at the
door?" He looks blank.  "You know, right after Sgt Tate burst in the door.
Boris wanted you to help him, and Sgt Tate . . ." He starts nodding.  "
. . . wanted you to go back to the fire pit."

"I known Sarge for years.  I trust him like kin, even more then some of my
kin.  When I come in and saw 'em goin at it like that.  I just know,
Sarge'd be in the right.  If he tells me to go to the pit and wait, that's
what I do."

"I thought that you were friends with Boris."

"We are. . . was.  But Sarge knows what's what.  'n Boris gets hisself into
more trouble than a deacon in a whoreshouse."

This conversation is not going very well; it is hard to follow his words.
He senses my unease.

"Look, I know why I'm called 'Tard'.  But I ain't retarded.  I ain't stupid
neither.  I'm just simple.  I likes simple things.  I leave complicated
ideas to other men.  Boris and I is just hunt'n buddies.  Sometimes we do
things; like fish'n and shit. . . .But he treats me like I AM retarded.
Sarge don't."

"Why did you have Boris as a friend?"

"Don't talk to any Marine brothers anymore 'cept for Sarge and Boris.  And
it don't feel right to call Sarge 'a friend' . . . .he's 'Sarge'.  Always
look up to him.  Always will be, y'know.  Not like I can have him over for
a beer or nuthin, it jus wouln'd be right.  So, I be with Boris.  But if
Sarge calls, I'm right there for him.  He knows he can count on me."

"Did he call you for this trip?" For some reason, I feel the need to
validate Sgt Tate's timeline.  I'm hearing all this, but it still doesn't
feel right.

"Nah.  He called Boris.  Boris called me.  Same thing really.  I wanted to
see Sarge again.  Been two years since I was up here huntin'.  Last year
your Pa was here, and he'n Boris don't get on."

"That is an understatement."

He looks confused for a moment, only to move on.  "Ain't never liked each
other.  Like oil and water.  But when your Pa went after Katy, well he done
broke the rule.  When Sarge said you was Jack Stevens boy, I figured
Boris'd get to have some fun with 'ya.  I did'n know 'at Katy was knocked
up 'n all."

I am puzzled by the openness.  I ask, "Why are you telling me all this?
You really don't know me.  Why do you need to tell me this?"

He looks down for a moment.  "Sarge said to talk to you.  Said for me to
tell you the truth.  Everything.  That's what your 'titled to."

Now I am starting to feel set up again.

"Sarge ordered me to tell you the truth no matter what it was.  Says you
need to know.  So that's what I'm doing.  Tellin' you the truth.  'The
whole truth 'n nut'n but the truth'" He makes a mock gesture of crossing
his heart.

The feeling of being set up leaves me as fast as it came into my head.

"Do you always do what Sgt Tate tells you?"

"Abso-fuckin-lutely.  Every time; no question.  He more a Pa to me 'n I
ever had."

"You don't have a father?"

"I do.  But he and Ma divorced when I was twelve.  He left for Connecticut
after.  Never really got to see much of him.  The last time was my wedding
'leven years ago.  Ma remarried when I was fourteen.  Frank.  And my sister
and I got a stepbrother.  Keith.  They's the first to call me stupid
. . . retarded.  Keith and Frank." His voice trails off and I can sense the
pain behind the reminiscence.  "But you probly don't wanna hear all this."

"No, if you want to continue, I have plenty of time." The room fills up
with light, followed by the clash of thunder.

He smiles.  "Frank was hard.  I got punished for everything that either
Keith or me did.  Keith'd blame me for everything and my step-pa'd believe
him.  Had to go to the work shed behind the barn.  He had a bench that I'd
have to lean over 'n . . . .  First he'd jus swat o'er my pants, then I had
to pull down my drawers.  Two or three times a week he'd take a switch to
me.  Man, did his whoopin's hurt like hell."

Damn.  I am starting to feel sorry for Tard.

"This one time my step-pa really tore into me.  Told me to stay there over
the bench 'til he come back.  But he forgot.  Keith came in n'saw me there,
wait'n.  Took out his pecker and. . . .you know.  From that point, Keith'd
always lie t' get me in trouble, just so he could, you know, after my
whoopin'.  My step-pa actually caught us once.  Told Keith to high tail it.
Then he tells me that he has to tell my mom that I is queer.  I begged him
not to tell no body.  Then he starts coming to my room at night, telling me
that he'd go to my mom less'n I'd be queer for him.  I did anything so he'd
not say nothing."

I recall walking in on Sgt Tate fucking him the other night.  He kept on
going over and over about not being discovered.  I ask, "Did you ever do
anything about them?"

"No I took it.  Never complained.  Kinda got used to it.  But, when I
turned 18, I joined the Marines.  But when I went through boot camp in San
Diego, I realized that I missed, . . . you know."

"Getting fucked?"

He whispers, "Yeah." He continues at a regular tone.  "When I got liberty,
I knew I wanted to go to one of those sex clubs that are in the back of the
pussy rags.  I Ômember lookin' at an ad that said that anything goes.  It
had a pic of this big tittied bitch grabbin' this guy's pecker while
another dude was grabbin' his balls.  I knew that I had to be there.  It
was across town from the base.  I didn't want no one to see me.  I drive
there and I am real nervous; I'm as jumpy as a long tailed cat in a room
full o'rocking chairs.  I find the place.  You wouldn't believe where it
was.  Guess."

I don't realize that he actually wants me to guess.  Having no clue where
it could be, I just shrug my shoulders.  "No clue."

"In a fuckin' strip mall.  Can you believe that?  A fuckin' strip mall."
The other stores were all closed, but there was this one store that had
"Nathan's Imports" on the sign.  There were tons of cars around.  I saw
this guy and girl go in.  She was real slutty.  I knew I was in the right
place.  So I goes in.  Wow.  I seen lots of pretty girls.  Titties
everywhere!  Girls with guys, girls with girls, and guys with guys.  I walk
into the locker room.  It's nuthin' like what was in the Corps.  Boys and
girls are in the same locker room.  Walking out, I'm only in my towel and
tags.  The place is huge.  There's like a hundred rooms."

A hundred rooms seems like a bit much.  Having only been to one sex club
last, I can understand how large these places can be.

"Walking around, the broads are lookers; every one of them are scorin' with
whoever they want.  But there are more men than women.  A lot more.  I even
see guys bonin' each other up.  I come in this one room and you will never
guess who I see."

Oh shit, he wants me to play along.  "Um, Sgt Tate?" There was only one
obvious answer.

"Fuck yeah!  Good ol' Sarge.  Staff Sergeant Tate.  That was the first time
I really eyed him.  He's fuckin' a guy up the ass whiles the guy's in the
arms of his wife.  He was pound fuckin' the guy, really tearin' it up like
newspaper.  But his wife was so sweet to him, her husband.  They are
holding each other like they are on a date.  His ass is gettin' pounded,
and he's swappin' spit with his girl.  There must have been about six or
eight guys standin' around givin' it a tug.  The Sarge is sweatin' up like
a cold brew in August.  He tells the woman, 'Hand me that towel.' She gets
up and brings him the towel.  As she's about to hand it over, he yells at
her, 'Wipe me the sweat off of me.' She walks behind him and starts wipin'
him while he slams into her old man.  It was fuckin' hot."

If I hadn't experienced what I did under Sgt Tate, I wouldn't have believed
his story.  It sounds like a bullshit fishing story.

"I recognized Sarge from base; I mean with his size'n all . . . and with
that cigar in his mouth.  I just stare at him.  He what I want to be.  He
was a real pile driver.  I wanted to have him do that to me, just like he
did to that guy, just like my step-pa.  As soon as the woman finished her
wipin' Sgt Tate goes to town on the guys ass. When he dumps in the guy's
ass, he just walked off from them.  He left them just like my step-pa used
t'do to me.  Someone came up to him to tell him to put the cigar out.  But
he smoked their ass, told them to 'fuck off'.  I walked around for an hour
and bumped into him.  He says, 'Private Mason'!  I was scared t'think he
knows who I was, but he did.  He's smart like that.  He says, 'I saw you
watching me fucking that woman while her husband watched.  I hope you are
enjoying yourself; your little pecker tells me that you did.' My pecker was
hard.  I knew what he meant.  He didn't want me to tell no one what I saw,
and he wouldn't tell no one that I got hard."

This must have been before Don't Ask Don't Tell.

"A few weeks later, I fucked up.  I don't remember what I did, don't really
matter.  My DI told me to go to Staff Sgt Tate's office.  Everyone was gone
out on liberty.  I just knew that my liberty was a gonner.  I walk into his
office.  He's like reading something.  I just stand there at attention for
the longest time.  Shit, I was there for an hour.  Then he leans back,
'Mason, what am I going to do with you?' I says, 'I don't know Staff
Sergeant Tate.' He says, 'Shut your trap, Privit!  If I wanted your
opinion, I would be an idiot for askin'.' I just shut up.  He gets up and
walks to me.  So that he's like right Ôere."

He holds up his hand to the side of his face.

"He then shouts in my ear, 'Aren't you the faggot that kept following me at
a club a couple of weeks ago?' I says, 'Yes Staff Sergeant.' He says, 'So
you are admitting that you are a sperm burper?' I's don't what to say.  So
I don't say nothin'.  He says, 'Privit, how many pussies have you fucked?'
I had only fucked one woman before.  'One Staff Sergeant.' He says,
'Fuckin' a sheep don't count.  You ever been fucked before?' He gets right
in my face.  'You ever been fucked in the ass?  Answer me Privit!' I just
blurted out, 'Yes Staff Sergeant.' He took a step back. 'Privit, did you
like it?' I says, 'Yes Staff Sergeant.' He says, 'You asshole stretched
out?' I don't know what he meant.  I says, 'Staff Sergeant?' He commands,
'Remove your Boots and Utes, Skivies too.' I follow his orders in no time.
I kept thinkin' that Sergeant Tate is going to do what my Step-Pa did to
me.  Buck nekkid.  I couldn't believe it. 'Privit, bend over, let me see
that cunt of yours.' So bent over.  I could feel him back there.  He says
to me, 'I bet you want to eat the corn chunks off my dick after I cornhole
you.'"

Now that sounds like Sgt Tate.

"Then Sergeant Tate shouts Ah-Ten-Shun!  I scramble to attention.  Sgt Tate
comes back to the side of my face. 'You'd like that?  Wouldn't you Private
Faggot?' I don't know how to respond. 'Don't say a mother fucking word.
You don't need to.  Your little pecker tells me everything.' He grabs my
pecker.  It's so hard that it could chop down an oak.  He then says, 'Get
the fuck dressed and get out of here.  You disgust me.' I quickly get
dressed and start to high tail it.  Then as I am leaving Sgt Tate says,
'Privit! . . . You are forgetting something.' I turn to him.  He's holdin'
a small paper.  I go get it.  Before he gives me it, he says, 'You did say
that this address was important to you, that you had to be there at nine
o'clock tonight sharp, that nothing else on your liberty is as important as
being there tonight.' I take it and look at him.  I ask, 'Staff Sergeant?'
He smacks me on the side of the head. 'Be there at nine tonight.' So I went
there at nine.  The address was near the university.  It was this locksmith
store.  So I goes there.  At nine, a white van comes up.  Sgt Tate is
driving. 'Maggot, get in.' So I gets in.  He speeds off.  We drive up to
LA.  He tells me to tell him about my Step-Pa.  He likes hearin' about my
whoopin's.  Nearly there, he pulls into a truck stop.  He tells me to get
in back and get nekkid.  When I do, I see all these sex things.  He has me
lie down on the floor.  He climbs on top of me.  I hear him unzip and spit.
Before you know it, he shoves in.  I am screamin'.  He does nothin' to stop
me.  I look up and these two guys are peeping in the front.  Sgt Tate goes
out.  I'm thinkin' he's going to tell them to fuck off.  You know what he
did?  Guess.  Guess."

This one does not take a rocket scientist.  "He gets them to fuck you."

"How did you know?"

"Lucky guess." I would have been surprised if he hadn't.

"Well looky you!  Yup, those two truckers came around back and they tag
teamed me.  They felt good.  They weren't rough like Keith or my Step-Pa
Frank or even Sgt Tate.  They slid in like a gopher in a hole.  While they
go back and forth, Sgt Tate moves around to my mouth.  It's the first time
I really wanted one in my mouth.  He tastes so good.  The two truckers do
their business and leave in no time.  Sgt Tate tells me to stay put.  He
then drives some more with me still nakkid lying on the floor.  He stops
and opens up the back doors.  The cool air feels good.  He drags me so that
my ass is out the back o'the van.  He then ties my hands so that I can't
get up.  He puts a bowl near my head.  I don't know nothing what he's going
to put in it.  I hear another voice.  Then I feel a thin one go in.  I
realize that someone else is doin' me.  He, you know, cums.  His used
scumbag goes in the bowl.  No too long another starts.  And he puts his
used scumbag in the bowl.  Another guy and another guy.  Once I looked back
and I saw Sgt Tate and this big black guy.  The black guy was in me!  Can
you imagine that?  A black guy.  Sgt Tate says, 'This doesn't concern you.
Turn around.' I turn around.  Then one rubber after another gets dumped
into the bowl.  Sgt Tate had me squeeze all the spunk into the bowl.  You
know what he had me do?  Guess."

"Drink it up."

"Yeah!  How'd did you guess?  It was real disgusting.  But I did it.  It
was real nasty.  You don't know just how nasty Sgt Tate can be."

"Y'd be surprised."

He realizes whom he is talking to, "Oh sorry.  Forgot."

His story of use seems very similar to mine.  And I kinda miss that level
of piggishness.

"We spent the weekend together.  I never felt like that with anybody
before.  I liked that he took charge.  He always knows what to do.  He
always tells me how to think.  When we went back to base, he acts like
nuttin happened.  I couldn't believe it.  I tried bumpin' into him again.
But he pulls me into his office and tells me to lay off chasing him around.
He told me that nuttin will ever happen again.  I thought about him every
day until I went to SOI at Pendleton."

I have no idea what that means.

He offered, "SOI is the School of Infantry.  One day, I was pulled into a
room by the brass.  They was asking about Sgt Tate.  He was just promoted
to Gunny Sergeant.  This asshole Private Ryder had made a complaint against
him.  They asks me if he ever made a move towards me.  I tell 'em 'No, that
Gunny Sgt Tate was the finest Marine I ever met'.  It was the only time I
ever lied, and not felt badly." He's back to cracking his knuckles.  "But
Ryder is a lying sack of shit.  And he was out to get Sgt Tate.  So's I
lied.  Lied to protect him, and I'd do it again.  I didn't see Sgt Tate
until years later.  We was both attending the wedding for Sgt Schwyn.  He
comes up to me to thank me.  He gives me his personal card and orders me to
call him in one week.  I sure's hell did, to the day too.  We went out on
liberty together.  It was good to be with him again."

"Did you have sex with him?" I don't know why I asked.  I can't believe
that I'm getting engrossed in his story.  It's interesting to hear about
Sgt Tate from someone else.

"He told me that he can't touch me again.  I begged him to bend me over
again.  But he kept telling me no.  On our last night o' drinking, he did
it.  We weren't expecting it, but it happened.  Afterwards, he turns on me
real cold.  I felt really bad for begging him to do it again.  I guess he
felt likes he owed me for somethin' for not rattin' on him."

I am intrigued by the investigation of Sgt Tate.  "What happened when
Private Ryder did what he did?"

"Sarge'll probably kill me for tell'n you, but he did say 'at I'm not to
lie to you. . . .Ryder had gotten it once from Sarge.  But he's one of
those swishy kinds.  He was butch and all, but still, .  .  .  swishy.
Knowing Sarge, he probably had nuttin more to do with Ryder.  But Ryder
said some things.  He was a bullshitter.  Brass asked me, because Ryder
gave my name.  Don't know how he knew, but he did.  Sarge told me later,
that he wasn't worried.  He had pictures of Ryder taking it up the ass by
two men at the same time! I never knew that could be done, but he did it.
Ryder didn't last much longer.  He made the moves on a Private First Class.
But, Sarge knew he could trust me.  And I could trust him.  He's like a
pappy to me." His demeanor is more proud.

"So how did you get hooked up with Boris?"

"Boris.  Hmm.  Well, . . .  After gettin' out, I contacted Sarge.  He was
still in.  I thought we could, you know. . . ."

It strikes me that Tard had feelings for Sgt Tate, more than a hookup.

"We talked on the phone, once a week.  I told him that I felt better with
him around.  Some men are leaders; some are followers.  I follow.  I like
it better following.  When he finally retired, years ago, he invited some
of us up here.  Your dad, Boris, me, Sgt Livingston, and a few others came
up to hunt and fish.  One night I begged Sarge to, you know.  He told me
that this would be one last time.  The next morning he said that I need to
find another leader.  He said that Boris would be more of a buddy to me;
he'll lead me.  He also tell me that I am needin' a strong woman.  I never
thought about it.  I didn't think of bein' with no woman before.  You
know?"

He looks at me.

"I never said this to no one before.  But I'm sayin' it to you, seeing how
you're queer.  I liked bein' with Sarge more than with any woman.  Even
when I married my old lady, when I'm pokin' her, I think about Sarge.
Sometimes I think about other guys.  That's the only way I can get my nut."

"Did you tell this to Sgt Tate?"

"Naw.  He knows that I like boys 'stead of girls, but I can't tell him that
I still want to be with him.  Too many years passed.  Besides, he found
you."

"Me?  We just started messing around on this trip."

"He likes you.  I aint' never seen him happy like that.  Never.  He was so
happy tellin' Boris and me how good of a shot you were, like Eliphalet
Remington hisself came down and blessed yer shot.  Boris and I both said
that we never saw nuthin like this.  I was happy.  Boris was pissed; he
don't like queers like you and me . . . and Sarge."

I am surprised that he lists Sgt Tate as queer.  "Sgt Tate isn't queer.
He's bisexual, you know, likes both men and women.  You are probably too."

"Nah, I don't want to be with my wife no more, at least not like that.  I
wish I could be like you, a fairy from San Francisco." I want to tell him
that I have never been to San Francisco, but that fact would be pointless.
"And Sarge ain't no bisexual neither."

"How do you know?  He likes fucking women."

"I used to think like that, 'til I watched him.  He's never been with a
woman in all the time I've known him.  When he retired and had that big
hunting party, he hired 'nuff whores to start a right proper cathouse.
Your pa was in hog heaven.  But Sarge never touched a one, always sayin' he
couldn't right then or whatnot.  He says that he's been with women, but I
ain't never seen it with my own two eyes.  I find it funny that I am the
only one who sees it.  The smarter ones don't see what's staring at the in
the face." His proud grin goes ear to ear.

Wow, Sgt Tate is gay.  My appreciation for him has improved, but I don't
know why.  We have had gay sex.  I don't know why his lack of lust towards
women now becomes a draw for me.

It does make sense.  He said he was gay to the biker at the tavern.  He
also confronted the guy at the porno shop when we went looking for porn in
town.  He didn't even give it a second thought.  Boris didn't like it, but
it wasn't shocking to him.

This is all very interesting.  The quintessential Marine's Marine is gay.
I am beginning to get a better picture of the master manipulator.  Master
manipulator.  Master manipulator.  Manipulator.  What the fuck! He told
Tard to talk to me.  He told him to tell me everything.  How much of this
was planned?

Fuck! Why do I have to think about this?  What in Tard's story was true and
what was a complete fucked up lie?  Tard says that he doesn't lie, except
for . . . Sgt Tate.  I seem to be getting Sgt Tate packaged just right by
Tard.

"So let me ask this, what is going to happen to Boris?"

"Don't rightly know.  Really, I don't.  When we talked the day after Boris
did . . . what he did to you, we didn't know what to do.  Sarge is in there
making some calls."

"Yeah, but what will happen to him?"

He has a blank look on his face, "I don't know."

I believe him on this.  I don't think that Sgt Tate would tell him anything
he doesn't want to.  Tard does seem to wear his emotions on his face.

"I have one question to ask you, and I want the truth.  Can you do that?  I
want you to blurt it out.  Don't think about it."

"Yes."

"Why did Sgt Tate insist that you tell me everything?"

"He likes you.  When we talked the day after, he cried.  I couldn't believe
that I was hearin' on the other side of the telephone.  He was so sorry for
what he did to you.  I never seen Sarge cry afore.  When he left the Corps,
he was a Master Sergeant, the toughest motherfucker out there.  And here he
was; Sgt Tate was actually crying.  He wanted me to talk to you and tell
you what kind of man he is.  He's a good man."

I don't know what to think.

Tard adds, "Look, I know Sarge did you wrong, but he is doing what he can
to make it up.  If you can find it in your heart to forgive him, do it.  Go
after him, and don't let him go.  But if he has made up his mind to pass on
you, then take it from me; find another man.  You do not want to spend the
rest of your life trying to get him back.  It ain't worth the rejection.
You got brains; so does he.  You got a heart." He thumps his chest with is
fist.  "His is bigger."

Sgt Tate's voice boom from the other room, "TARD!" He races into the
office.  On the way by, he adds, "Don't let him slip away."

After a few moments, I follow him at a slower pace.  When I get to the
room, I see Tate finish an instruction to Tard.  Tard bolts out of the
room, nearly pushing me over.  "Daniel.  What are you doing here?"

"I thought something was wrong."

"No."

"Where is Tard off to?"

"He's going downstairs."

"What's happening to Boris?"

"Daniel, I want to protect you.  I do not know how to do it with Boris
roaming around plotting against your dad, you, and me.  That's what he will
do.  Tard is helping me take care of this.  We will be leaving in a few
minutes.  I will be back in a couple of hours.  We can then hang out
together on your last night here."

The situation with Boris does not sound good.  "Sir, what's going to happen
to Boris?"

"Daniel, I told myself that I would not lie to you.  So I am not going to."
After a few moments, where I wait for the next sentence, "I'll be back in a
few hours."

Tard comes back, "Done Sir."

Sgt Tate starts to walk out, I ask, "Are you going to kill him?"

Both men slowly turn around.  Sgt Tate walks up to me and stands inches
from me.  I am knocked upside my head.  I fall back a step or two.  "Don't
be so fucking stupid.  He's a Marine.  Marines don't kill other Marines.
Period!  He'll be taken care of and won't be a worry for you.  That's all
you need to know."

He leaves the room with Tard.

I look around the room; the burn in the carpeting is gone.  I don't know
how he cleans up this fast.

I hear engines from Sgt Tate's truck running.  The truck is running.  Are
they going now?  Racing to the front window, I hear Sgt Tate's truck start
to drive away.

Due to the pouring rain, I barely see Sgt Tate's huge truck drive away
following Tard's much smaller pickup.

Within five minutes since I am talking with Tard, the two men leaving in
their trucks.  It all happens so fast.

I am left here alone.  Initially I am pissed, but that wears off.  I walk
around the rooms exploring in a way that I couldn't when Sgt Tate was here.
I look in his office, but I still feel weird being in here.  Leaving I walk
downstairs to look in the dungeon.

Yes, Boris is gone.  A cage remains in the middle of the room.  Boris must
have been kept in it.  It hardly looks comfortable.  Good.

Walking back, I pass the laundry room.  I see a pile of Sgt Tate's dirty
laundry.  It lays separated in different baskets.  His whites comprise of
T-shirts, socks, underwear, and jock straps.  I look through the whites.
The aroma that comes from his dirty whites smells like his sweaty ass.  I
bury my face into the pile and inhale deeply.  Oh I want this smell.  I
find a pair of really dirty underwear and a jock.  Smelling them deeply, I
realize that I can take them without him noticing.

Walking back to my room with his underwear, I notice that the jock has a
yellowish tinge at the bottom of the pouch.  A combination of sweat, piss,
and cum must create the delicious rank smell.

I walk into my old room, and see my suitcase.  Opening it up, I place the
underwear in one of the compartments.  It is placed next to my cell phone.

Holding up my phone I want to see if I got any messages, but the battery is
quite dead.  I haven't looked at it since my first day here.  Getting the
charger out, I plug it into the wall.

There isn't much packing for me to do, as I never really unpacked.  I was
naked most of the time.  With my head being shaved, I really didn't need to
use any of my hair products.  So all my things remain here unused.

Walking back into Sgt Tate's bedroom, I see my laptop.  Rather than placing
it in my suitcase in my bedroom, I climb into bed and open it up in my lap.

I begin to surf the internet, when I hear a ding indicating the number of
e-mails just downloaded to be read.  Most of them are garbage, but then I
see another one from Joe:

"Hey Don!  Haven't heard from you.  Hope that you are surviving the old
man.  I would like to see you again.  Next weekend I will be in your neck
of the woods.  My wife needs to go out of town for work.  She arranged to
take the girls with her.  I will be alone.  If you want I can ride up to
you and we can spend the weekend cruising for big fat cocks.  Let me know.
Joe."

Joe.  I smile.  Joe.  I wish he were here.  He was so much fun.

Like last time, I find if very difficult to tell him what's been happening
to me.  Instead of explaining to him what's been going on, I simply respond
with a simple response.  "Joe, that sounds like a lot of fun.  I'll call
you when I get home.  I'll fill you in on the time with Sgt Tate.  So much
has happened.  DAN"

After sending the e-mail.  I continue to search the internet to kill time.

A few hours pass before I hear Sgt Tate's voice call, "Daniel!"

I race downstairs and come into the living room.  There he stands.  He
looks like he just came home from work; there's a sense of relief in his
demeanor.

"There you are.  I was wondering where you ran off to."

"I was upstairs." I look outside; the thunderstorm has stopped and the sun
is about to set.

"Hungry?" He starts walking towards me.

"Where's Tard?"

"You don't follow directions do you?  I asked you if you were hungry and
you responded with another question.  So let me ask again, are you hungry?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good.  So am I, make us something to eat.  To answer your question, Tard
will be here later."

I turn to the kitchen.  Going in I throw together some dinner for us.  We
eat in silence.  I am so curious to what happened with Boris, and Sgt Tate
is offering no information--no information on anything.

"Sir, what happened to Boris?"

"Well, you lasted longer than I expected.  I thought you would have asked
before making dinner." He takes a few more bites.

"Are you going to tell me?  I think you have a right to know."

"To answer you question.  No, I am not going to tell you.  And to respond
to your comment, knowing would be a privilege.  But I wouldn't even
categorize it as a privilege.  Burden is more like it.  You will not ask me
again."

"But, . . ."

"Daniel, you do not need to know anything, nor will you.  Boris will not
bother you again; that's it.  You need to trust me on this."

Trust.  Wow.  I am surprised that he used that word.

As if reading my mind, he adds, "And yes, you need to trust me." I refuse
to believe that I am that easily read.

He gets up, taking his plate into the kitchen.  I don't see him much for
the next fifteen minutes or so.  I clean up dinner.

Coming out of his office, he asks, "Anything good on TV tonight?" His tone
is completely friendly.

"I don't know; I haven't turned on the television."

Rolling onto the couch, he grabs the remote.  He puts on a professional
wrestling show, muting it.  He offers, "I love watching this, but can't
stand the bullshit drama."

He is right; the men are quite hot.  I never thought of muting it; the bad
acting makes it unwatchable to me.

One of the wrestlers looks like Tard.  I even mention it to Sgt Tate.

"He kinda does.  I wonder if he bullshits like him too."

Tard did talk up a storm earlier, but I still listened, "Yeah."

"Told you all about good ol' Sgt Tate?"

"Yes Sir.  He may be a bullshitter, but he seems to have a lot of truth
behind him." Sgt Tate nods.  "Sir, why did you have me talk to him?"

"Because I wanted both you and him out of my hair.  He's someone that I
trust to follow my orders without question, unlike someone else in this
room.  Actually he's one of the few that I would trust with my life.  I
wanted him to share that with you."

"He did.  He also told me how you and he had a weekend together.  You know,
he loved you." Sgt Tate does not take his eyes off of the television
screen; he slightly nods.  "He's still in love with you."

"I know.  But he knows that it can never be again.  He has a wife and
kids."

"So why do you keep fucking him?" Sgt Tate looks at me.  I think I crossed
some sort of line here.  "Sir, that was really none of my . . ." I do not
have time to finish my sentence when there is a completely unexpected
sound, a knock at the door.

We both look puzzled, but Sgt Tate muses, "There he is, a bit early than
expected.  Why don't you make yourself useful for once in your life and get
the door." I get up to answer it.  Sgt Tate adds, "And fix him some
dinner."

I open it and the man standing there is not Tard.  "Hello shithead." It's
Randy, and he is grinning at me under his impeccably manicured moustache.
In addition he is completely naked except for the cock cage Sgt Tate put on
him last weekend.

I am completely at a loss.  "Sgt Tate, it's for you."

"Whoa!  That's some shiner.  Didn't listen to Tate did you?" Randy pushes
me aside.

Sgt Tate turns to look.  "What the FUCK are you doing here?"

"You told me that when I was ready to submit to you as your slave, that I
need to come to you and submit."

He falls to his knees and kisses Sgt Tate's feet.  Sgt Tate responds by
kicking the prostrating man.  It's a light kick, but one with some heft to
it.  "You couldn't call first?  How do you know I didn't have guests?"

"I didn't see any other trucks.  I figured . . ."

Sgt Tate picks Randy up by his neck.  "You figured?"

He barely has enough breath to gasp, "I'm sorry."

"I don't want to know your status in life.  So you figured you would come
here and think of submitting to me?  Cunt, you got some balls there.  And
they are going to be fucking sore real soon.  Like now." He knees him in
the balls real hard.  Randy falls back to the ground.  Now Sgt Tate puts
his foot under Randy's face.  "Now maggot, you may kiss my feet." Randy is
still cupping his balls as he leans over.

As he is about to kiss, Sgt Tate pulls his foot away.

"You are thinking way too much about yourself.  Your balls are
insignificant to me; they are insignificant to you.  What is more important
is your cunt.  When you submit to me, you need to spread your ass with your
hands, show that part of you that really matters.  That's what those hands
should be doing, not protecting those stupid dangling things. Now, beg me
to want you in my presence."

As Randy begins to follow Sgt Tate's instructions, Sgt Tate and I catch
each other's glance.  I must have had a puzzled look on my face.  Sgt Tate
just shrugs his shoulder to me to indicate that this was not expected.

"Sir, please, please, take me as your slave to use for your pleasure.  I
will do what you want.  Please Sir!"

"Aww, you just made all the angels in heaven vomit with that attempt.  You
would fuck up a wet dream.  That was so bad."

"I'm sorry Sir."

"We have already established that maggot.  That's why you are here.  You
are here to find your true calling.  You want to be my bitch?" Sgt Tate
looks at me.

"Yes Sir."

"Are you allowing me to do what ever I want to you?"

"Yes Sir."

His stare does not break.

"You willing to suffer?"

"Yes Sir."

"To serve?"

"Yes Sir."

"To sacrifice?

"Yes Sir."

"Then let's play a game.  It's called 'You Lose.'" With that Sgt Tate
removes his belt.  "This is how it is played." With that, the belt goes
flying and lands in Randy's crack each time.  It also causes Sgt Tate to
break the glance.

I just watch in awe at him.  Sgt Tate can turn his Master side on without
much thought, without any preparation.

After about a dozen swats he stops, "Now maggot, you may offer to submit."

"Sir, please . . ." I cannot hear the rest of what he is saying because of
his sobbing.  I can tell Sgt Tate is enjoying it, from the lump in his
pants.

Rubbing his palms together, Sgt Tate announces, "Looks like it's going to
be an exciting evening after all!"

Sgt Tate grabs Randy and forces him towards the stairs to the dungeon.  As
they walk by me, Randy looks down avoiding any eye contact, and Sgt Tate
glares at me.  The two start down the stairs when I hear some loud thumping
and banging.

Sgt Tate follows with, "Hey clumsy, you look like Helen Keller looking for
her contact lens at a marble factory." I remember him saying that to me,
but I can't remember when.  Then it comes back to me.  It was at the sex
club after he shoved my face into the toilet.

Seeing Randy makes this whole thing feel repulsive.  I am pissed off that
they are together in the dungeon; why did Randy have to come back on my
last night here?

I go back to the solace of my laptop.  I play some music on it as I surf.

About an hour later, I hear the mail ping sound.  Joe has responded.

"Hey Dan, glad to hear that Tate didn't kill you or something.  I talked
with my buds, and they want you to go on a ride with us.  We don't know
where we will ride to, but we'll figure something out.  They all said they
would love to fuck you again.  I hope you are up to it.  If not, I'll be
right there to take what you can't.  LOL.  Talk to you this week, Joe"

Well that is nice.  At least someone is looking out for me.  Sgt Tate
doesn't do that.

That's actually wrong.  He does.  The whole day was spent on getting Boris
out of here, to take care of him whatever that means.  He is looking out
for me when it comes to Boris.  He even got Tard to help out.  Even my talk
with Tard was about me understanding him more.  So I guess I can't really
say that he is not looking out for me.

But why is he downstairs with Randy?  I know Randy just showed up, but why
is he with him now?  He could be spending our last night together with me.
We could be watching television together as he promised.  I hate Randy for
that.  It should be me with him.  Why am I feeling jealous over Randy?

I wonder what he is doing to Randy.  My curiosity gets the best of me.  I
go downstairs towards the dungeon door.  I hear Randy shout in pain.
Looking in I see Randy tied to a giant X.  The strange thing is that he is
half shaved.  The left half of his body is shaved smooth, like what he did
to me.  His legs, crotch, chest, pit, moustache, eyebrow, and head are all
smooth on the left and left alone on the right.  He looks funny with a
lopsided moustache.

Sgt Tate still has the cock cage on him.  Affixed to Randy's left testicle
is a weight.  A weighted tit clamp hangs from his left nipple.

Sgt Tate stands to the side with a flogger in his hand.  He strikes only
Randy's left side.  His chest is all red, again only on the left.

Randy is twisting against his restraints.  I notice that the wrist
restraint on the right is padded.

Sgt Tate enjoys every stroke.  He stands proud; his naked chest glistens
from sweat.  His cock hangs out of his pants hard.  In between flogs he
strokes it a couple of times.  I can barely see that he is producing large
amounts of pre-cum.  My god, he is so fucking masculine, so fucking hot.

I want that pre-cum.  I want to walk over to him right now and start
sucking his cock as he continues abusing Randy.  I want him.

Really, I want Randy gone.  Sgt Tate should be showing me the attention.
He should be shoving his cock into my mouth.  He should be with me.

I want to be in Randy's position, even if that means that I have to take
that abuse.  I want Sgt Tate.  I want him.  I need him.

Walking up to Randy, Sgt Tate caresses Randy's face, on the right side.
Randy responds with nudging his chin into Sgt Tate's palm.  Sgt Tate uses
his right hand to smack Randy's left cheek.  Curiously his left hand still
caresses Randy's right cheek.  A couple more smacks to the same side land
before he moves his hands to his victim's nipples.  I can barely see
Randy's left nipple as Sgt Tate partially blocks my view.  But the other
hand lightly strokes the right nipple.

Randy screams.  What ever Sgt Tate is doing to that left nipple is
inflicting a lot of pain.

Sgt Tate turns to see me peering around the doorframe.  I don't know how he
knew I was here.  Smiling, he walks over to me; I catch a glimpse of him in
a wall mirror.  He must have seen me in it, causing him to turn around.
"This is none of your concern.  Go back upstairs." He closes the door.

What?  No! Don't do this to me.  I begin to turn around when I hear a loud
crack followed by Randy's scream.  I don't move.  Instead, I go back to the
door and put my ear up to it.  I hear Sgt Tate say, "You are going to have
to do better than that."

I can't hear what Randy says, as his voice is much lower and more muffled.
I can hear Sgt Tate laughing.  Kneeling down I try to get a better position
for listening.

My cock is getting hard.  I am surprised; as it is the first time that it
has done it on its own since the other night.  I take it out and start
stroking.  I hear the dampened sound of chains rattling followed by Sgt
Tate commanding, "Get over here!"

I want to be in there.  I know that I struggle to follow Sgt Tate's
desires, but a need is building in me to keep trying so I can be his.  How
do I get him to want to give me another try?

There no sound can be heard for a good fifteen or twenty minutes, except
for a grunt or two every now and then.

I get close to cumming, but hold off for fear my balls will ache.  That
fear doesn't diminish my hard on at all.

Leaning on the door, I almost fall over flat on my face as Sgt Tate opens
it.

"What?  I thought I told you to go back upstairs." He looks down at me.
Shifting his position, he gets a good view of my hard on.

I get a good view of his naked body.  His cock is hard like mine.  I reach
up, and he pushes my hand away.

As he walks away towards the stairs, I smell it.  I smell shit.  I look at
Sgt Tate's meaty ass, and his crack is covered in it.  Looking over at
Randy, I see that he is lying down with a rimseat covering his face.  A
pile of loose shit covers his mouth and most of his nose.  The pile moves
around as Randy move his head as much as his binds allow.

With Sgt Tate upstairs, I decide to go in to see Randy up close.  Looking
down at Randy's face under the toilet seat, Sgt Tate's shit covers his
wide-open mouth.  Only one nostril is free.  But as he inhales through his
nose, I know that some of the shit must be pulled into his nostril on the
other side.

I am really enjoying this site, not the shit itself, but rather the man
underneath it.  He has been an asshole to me for a number of times.  Now he
has a mouthful of shit, and he is doing anything he can to not to look at
me.  I love how the tables have turned.

"I'll let you stay if you give him a kiss." I look at the door; Sgt Tate
fills the frame.  Walking towards us he adds, "And make it a French kiss."
He knows that I have serious issues with it.

I straddle his body and lean forward.  I can see the look of fear in his
eyes.  He does not want do this.  I love every minute of it.  Sgt Tate is
surprised that I move down to kiss Randy.

Inches from his face, I can really smell the rank shit.  I look at him and
say, "No." I spit in his eye.  "I don't kiss shiteaters."

Sgt Tate howls, "Damn boy!  He told you!  You must feel lower than shit.
Ha! You are lower than shit, literally." Sgt Tate grins as I get up.  "Boy,
that was beautiful.  This time go back up stairs." He swats me on the ass
as I pass.  As I leave heading up the stairs, I hear Sgt Tate behind me
say, "Look pretty for the picture!" and then a flash fills the room.

Oh this is going to be a good night.

Going upstairs, I get something to drink and sit to watch some television.
About twenty minutes later, Tard walks in without knocking.

"Hey Stevens."

"Hello there. . . . What do I call you?  You don't like Tard."

"Tard is fine.  That's my name, can't do much about it."

"Ok Tard."

"Where's Sarge?"

"He's downstairs shitting in the mouth of a guy we met last week."

He shutters, "Damn!  That's gross." He sees me and remembers that I went
through the same thing.  "Sorry."

"It's ok.  Did you get Boris taken care of?"

"Sorry, I can't tell you anything."

"Sgt Tate told me everything."

"I may be simple; I'm not stupid.  So if he's downstairs, does he have a
new slave?"

"I hope not."

"Hope?  Sounds like he has moved on.  Has he told ya'?"

"Told me what?"

"Has he told ya that he's moved on?"

"In not as many words.  But yeah."

"Then I think it's a lost cause.  You need to move on too.  Trust me on
this one."

Shouting is coming up from the downstairs.  Tard and I look over.  Randy
comes out first.  "You could have at least told me so that I didn't drive
six hours one way in the rain." Shit streaks cross his face.

Sgt Tate follows him out.  "Well you better get on the road now before the
next storm hits."

Randy points to the cock cage.  "Get this thing off of me." Sgt Tate walks
up to him and stoops down on one knee.  Randy looks at me, "Kid, I don't
know why you would want this asshole."

I now notice that he still has half his body shaved.  Half of his head is
bare including half his perfect moustache and one eyebrow.  Sgt Tate even
shaved half the stubble off.  Randy's left side is completely welted up and
red.  The right looks completely normal.

Sgt Tate grabs the cage below the half shaved pubic hair and yanks it off
causing Randy's balls to be squeezed through a tight opening, narrow enough
to prevent the balls from slipping through, at least not without a lot of
pain from being unnaturally compressed.  Randy screams out.  Sgt Tate
stands up.  "Oops!" He holds up the cage.  "Here, let me get the door." He
opens the door, "Get the fuck out."

Clutching his balls, he staggers out into the darkness of the night.

Closing the door, Sgt Tate walks back to us.

Tard asks, "What happened?"

"I told him he had bad breath." Tard laughs.  "Daniel, go upstairs and get
ready for bed.  We have a lot to do tomorrow before I take you home.  Tard,
in my office."

Tard moves quickly into the office.  Sgt Tate follows and shuts the door
leaving me alone.

Not waiting, I go upstairs to Sgt Tate's room.  I get ready to go to bed.
Then my phone rings.

The caller ID says that it's my dad.  "Hello?"

"Hey son."

"Hi Dad."

"Tomorrow you are coming home."

"Yes."

"Did you have a good time?"

How do I answer that question?  I can't come out and say that my balls were
used as a pin cushion by the father of the woman he knocked up.

"Well, I had some fun."

"Was Sgt Tate hard on you?"

Right now, I would love Sgt Tate's hard-on in me.  "Well, yes."

"Good.  Well, you lost your virginity.  That's a good thing--you're not a
fag."

"Dad . . ." Once again, within a minute of talking to him, I want this call
to end.

"Hey!  It is a good thing.  I was starting to worry.  I don't know what I
would do if I had a faggot son.  But you are not, so why are we even
talking about it?"

"You are the one."

"Dan, what's going on with you?  I thought you would be bouncing off the
walls getting your first pussy, especially with Sgt Tate showing you the
way."

"Dad, I need to get going.  Sgt Tate wants to get up early."

"Where's Sgt Tate?"

"He's in the office talking to Tard."

"Tard?  What the fuck is he doing there?  Is Boris there too?"

"No, Boris is not here.  Just Tard."

My dad curses for a good minute before realizing that I said that just Tard
is here.  "Oh well as long as Boris isn't there.  You need to head off to
bed." I can tell from his tone that he is not happy.  I don't care.  His
tone does change, "Tomorrow my son comes home.  My son left home a boy and
comes back the man!"

I am so glad this conversation is ending, "Good night Dad."

"Good night son.  Oh, are you bringing home some venison?"

"What's venison?"

"Boy!  I oughta whip your ass for that.  It's deer meat!"

Ignoring his threat, I respond, "I think we are.  I haven't given it much
thought since I shot it."

"Well, we made you a man on this trip.  Next time we'll make you into a
hunter."

"I did kill it on my first shot."

"Lucky shot.  Must have been."

"I'm batting a thousand.  How is your average?"

"Don't push your luck Dan.  See you tomorrow."

"Night."

At last, I am off the call.  It was only a couple of minutes, but it went
on too long.

Walking into the bathroom I look at myself in the mirror.  The scab has
decreased, but it is still there.  My balls have gone back to their
original size.  They don't ache as much as yesterday, but the fear that
they will when I cum still resides in my mind.  My clothes will hide both
of those things.  My black eye is as obvious as ever.  The swelling is
completely gone on it, but the discoloration is still there.

I don't know how I am going to explain it to my dad.  My hair is starting
to grow back.  Now instead of having a smooth shaved head, my dark hair
color is starting to form a uniform body of hair.

After finishing cleaning up, I crawl into bed.  I would love to have a bed
like this on my own.  It is so comfortable.

I hear Sgt Tate and Tard talking in the hallway.  Tard wishes Sgt Tate a
good night.

Sgt Tate comes into his room.  He announces, "Well Boris has been
officially taken care of.  You do not have to worry about him anymore.
And! He is very much alive, and he plans to stay that way." He walks into
the bathroom.  After a moment, a strong torrent of piss can be heard
splashing into the toilet bowl.  I want to drink it so bad.  The worst
thing I hear is the flush.  Such a waste.

With Sgt Tate still in the bathroom, I ask, "So what pissed off Randy?"

Sgt Tate laughs, "He thinks he wants to serve.  He's no more a slave than
Tard is a Rhodes Scholar.  He thought he could come here and get a good
fuck.  Well, he didn't get it.  I really wasn't interested in fucking him,
that pissed him off--to drive six hours and not get fucked."

Tate is not interested in fucking?  That seems a bit off.  "Sir, why aren't
you interested in fucking him?"

"'Cause I didn't want to fuck him.  It seems that something is missing with
him.  But, it's not really him.  Fucking just feels . . . wrong."

He didn't want to fuck because of me.  I wasn't part of the equation.  Last
night he had no problem fucking Boris; I was there.

"I got an e-mail from Joe." I decide to see how he responds.

He comes back into the bedroom.  "Really?  What's going on with him?"

"Next weekend I'm going to go on a run for him and his gang.  They are
going to fuck me all weekend."

He stands there, almost shocked.  I can tell that he doesn't like the
thought.  He almost looks jealous.  "Well, you'll have fun.  Time for bed!
Goodnight!"

"Good night Sir!" He leaves the room to go to my Dad's old room, the same
one he slept in last night.

I pull up the covers.  My last full day here is nearing over.  I am just as
confused as I have been the previous eleven nights here.

I am not looking forward to going home to my old life.  It was boring
before, and now it is destined to be again.  I don't know if I can go back
to the mall to blow men through the glory hole; it just won't be the same.
I wonder if this is what Sgt Tate felt when he turned down Randy.

I know that Sgt Tate still cares for me a lot.  He wouldn't have gone
through what he did to get rid of Boris--spending all that time and money
and involving Tard--unless he did.  Seeing his reaction just now confirms
it.

But what do I do?  From what Tard says, Tate is not going to take me back,
despite what I want, or even as he wants.

Joe seems to want to continue hanging with me.  That would be a lot of fun.
I can really get into being with him.  His problem is his wife and
daughters.  I would only see him when he rides.

I don't want to go back home.  None of my options are winners.  My life is
so messed up.

I want Sgt Tate.  I want to be with him.  I want him to be in this bed with
me.

So I decide to do something about it.  Getting up, I walk into the hallway.
Tard can be heard snoring behind his closed door.  As I walk to the room
with Sgt Tate, the door is open.

I can see him in bed, barely illuminated by the nightlights in the hallway.
I can see his eyes are closed.  The bed shakes.  I can see his left hand
furiously jacking his cock.  My god that is a huge fucking cock.

He catches me watching him, "What do you need?"

"I was wondering if I can sleep with you."

He hasn't stopped jacking, just slowed down.  "You know that is not right.
Go back to your bed."

"I don't care.  This is my last night here, and it would mean a lot to me.
The other night the situation was reversed."

"Get in." He moves over and stops jacking.  I jump in next to him on his
side.  His cock is still rock hard.  His hand pulls me into a spooning
position.  His cock rests on the small of my back.  Reaching behind me, I
begin to move his cockhead to my asshole.

He rolls out of bed on the other side.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to my bed."

"I'm sorry Sir."

"Yes you are.  But, if we are going to sleep together, let's do it in my
bed.  There's more room."

I follow him into his bed, staring at his meaty ass.  He cleaned it up from
his time with Randy.  His cock is still hard.  Again we spoon.  And, again
I move his cockhead to my asshole.

"No boy.  Not tonight."

"Not interested in fucking me either?"

"Oh no!  I have the interest; that's what is keeping this hardon going.
But it is not going to happen.  Period.  That is not up for debate."

I lay with him.  Going to sleep early never works on me.  I don't move, as
I don't want to wake him.  By the digital clock across the room, I have
been awake for an hour.

Sgt Tate rolls on his back.  After a few minutes, I feel the blankets move
slightly.  They move in rhythm.  He thinks that I am asleep, and the
jacking off has returned.

I dare not move a muscle to think that I am still awake.  After fifteen or
twenty minutes I feel the bed really shaking.  Had I been asleep, it
probably would have woken me.  I just lay here.

He grunts a few times.  I know he is cumming now.  His body shakes
violently.

He doesn't use a cum rag.  Instead he just rolls over back to spooning.  I
can feel the wetness from the cum on my back as his chest hair pushes into
my back.  His left arm rolls over on top of me.  There is a gob of cum on
his index finger directly in front of my mouth.

Impossible to resist, I spontaneously start licking.

Laughing to himself, he takes the palm and thumps me on the side of the
head.  "Fucking bastard!" He then jams the cum covered finger in my mouth.
"You might as well finish it off." He continues to laugh.

I suck on it for a minute or so.  He pulls it out.

"Ok.  Now let's get some real sleep."

I go to sleep with the taste of his cum filling my mouth.


______________


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