Date: Mon, 20 Mar 2023 18:38:26 +0000
From: Bill Drake <billdrake@hotmail.com>
Subject: Naval Tradition Revised 42

Naval Tradition
REVISED EDITION

Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)
with Corporal Cody


NOTICE: THE FOLLOWING IS FOR ADULTS ONLY. It is gay erotic fiction
explicitly depicting sexual acts between men, including male relatives. If
that offends or disturbs you, read no further.


Thanks to all the great work that the Nifty Archive does and the writers it
publishes. Please consider supporting them with a donation.

This is the revised and retconned version of Naval Tradition, told in
chronological order. While the overall story is the same, there is lot of
new content here (and some of the old parts didn't make the cut in this
version). This revision has been a collaboration with fellow writer
Corporal Cody. My thanks to him for his considerable contributions to and
inspiration for this version.

Feel free to drop a line if you enjoy it: billdrake@hotmail.com. I hope to
have a (free) ebook version at the end of this, so you can let me know if
you want to be on the mailing list for that.

This chapter has no sex, but more will be coming soon. I appreciate the
patience - this section has taken time to write.


NAVAL TRADITION

PART SIX: BASEBALL DREAMS


Chapter Forty-Two Norfolk, MLB Draft 2006


We all were almost crowded in the living room of Dad's Norfolk house - me,
Dad, and Uncle Mike. Coach Weir from my high school team was there, as was
a sports reporter from the local newspaper, The Virginian-Pilot. Even my
high school buddy Rick Bryant was in town and over for moral support. The
UVA coaching staff were on standby by phone.

Nerves had woken me up at 4 a.m. despite getting to Dad's later in the
evening the night before. It was finally Draft day.

Uncle Mike had been on his cell phone most of the morning, talking with an
agent buddy of his. Now, he held the phone to his ear, standing in the spot
between the living room and dining room, nodding and listening to what the
man on the other end was saying as we all watched him expectantly. He
finally looked up and shook his head. We knew immediately what he meant:
not this round.

The MLB draft isn't the spectacle of the NFL's. It's a conference call
between GMs and their staff. And there are no cameras on drafted players
putting on uniform jerseys. Even the top draftees play in obscurity for a
couple of years, and may never make it to the majors.

I wasn't wanting cameras, and I wasn't going to be one of the top
draftees. But I'd had a standout season my senior year and my stats were
great. We'd known the first rounds of the draft were out of the question,
but we were cautiously optimistic that Day 1 would bring my turn at some
point. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Only it was late morning and round nine had come, and I wasn't going to be
part of that pick either.

As Uncle Mike continued his phone call, Dad looked over at me from his
recliner and could read my mind. "Doing OK, Jimbo?" He was nervous and
excited for me, too, but he had this calm that helped me feel more
optimistic.

I wiped my palms on my shorts. "Just nervous."

"Why don't you take a walk or something? Work off your energy and clear
your head?"

"I can come with you," Rick chimed in. "If you want company."

"Yeah, sure. Good idea."

Rick and I walked around the block, not hurrying as we kept to a slow
stroll. It was a nice summer day, not Virginia-hot yet, with a nice sea
breeze kicking in. Rick and I made some small talk for a bit as we rounded
the corner and lost sight of Dad's house, then he turned to me with that
familiar easy-going expression of his.

"You feel like talking about it, Jim?" he asked.

Maybe I hadn't been as close with my high school friend since we'd gone to
different colleges. And our life paths would probably diverge even more now
that we had both graduated. But at that moment, it was easy to remember why
Rick was such a great friend.

"I dunno," I said, rubbing the back of my neck as I adjusted my trusty
Orioles ball cap. At that moment I realized I might have to start wearing
another team's cap on a regular basis. "It's like I'll jinx it if I talk
about it." I laughed nervously as we walked along.

"Superstitious?" he asked.

"Not normally," I replied. "But with anything baseball, I am." I thought of
spilling what was weighing on me. How I told myself I had a real chance at
this and was pretty sure I'd get drafted in one of the 50 rounds. But there
was a steep curve in baseball between the good and the great, and between
the great and the legendary, and the more rounds I went, the more nervous I
was about my own position on that continuum.

"Um, so how long you in town for?" I asked Rick, deciding to change the
subject.

"Till Saturday. Then I'm heading to Durham to do some apartment hunting,"
he said. My buddy had gotten into Duke law school, and even if he was
downplaying it, I knew he was both proud and super stoked to be starting
there in the fall. Duke had been his first choice for undergrad, but he'd
gone to Vanderbilt instead. Mr. B had gone there as well, so now Rick would
be legacy after all.

"Is it going to be weird not having Courtney there?" I asked, knowing Rick
had gotten more serious with his girlfriend of a couple of years, who I met
at New Year's in Nashville a couple of years before. Rick was crazy about
her then, and he was crazy about her now. Though Courtney was still a year
behind him.

He shrugged and nodded. "A little, yeah. But we'll make the long-distance
thing work. She'll move there after graduation, but we'll see..."

"That's cool," I said. I looked over at him. "You excited?"

A smile curled on his lips. "Yeah. I mean, my plan is to move back to
Nashville afterwards, but I'm looking forward to a change of pace."

"I don't think I'd be up for more school," I smirked.

"I don't mind," Rick said. He had the confidence of someone who had a plan
in life. Law school, private practice, then getting involved in local
politics and working his way toward elected office. I envied that sense of
direction, though I had to admit I'd worked equally hard, harder even, for
my baseball career.

After a minute of silence, Rick spoke up again. "So... I haven't told you,
Jim, but my Dad came out as gay this year."

"Wow," I said, taken aback by Rick's revelation. Maybe I didn't figure
Mr. Bryant would come out. I know I blushed thinking of the man. My first
date. The guy I'd fucked behind Rick's back on more than a few occasions. I
still felt low for that.

"How you taking the news, man?" I asked.

Rick looking off into the distance but seemed pretty even keeled in his
mood. "It's a little weird, I guess. I mean, only `cause there's this side
of him I didn't know or suspect. But I'm happy for him." His hands were in
his pockets now, shoulders hunched some. He looked over at me. "I should
thank you for opening my mind to the whole gay thing. I don't know how I'd
be handling it if I didn't know you."

I was surprised by his comment. Rick had always been laid back and
accepting of me, so I didn't realize I'd opened his mind to anything.

"Thanks, bud," I said, giving him a genuine smile. "I..., well, I hope
things are OK with your family. We all have to figure out our
journey. Hell, I'm still figuring mine out."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Going pro. IF... I go pro. I gotta keep the gay thing under wraps," I said
with a frown as I matched his posture, hands in my shorts pockets as I let
my shoulders hang a bit.

"That sucks." Sometimes the simple statement of fact was better than
someone trying to convince you things were going to be OK.

"Yeah," I agreed.

Rick shrugged his shoulders. "Hell, if you can survive Norfolk, you can
survive life in the minors."

Rick always knew what to say.

We'd circled around the block and it was time to head back in. When we
walked back into the living room, I could sense a palpable
excitement. Uncle Mike was on the phone again, and the other guys were all
leaning in, anticipating.

Round Ten was starting.

Rick and I went back to our places on the sofa, and then we all sat
silent. Everyone seemed to be avoiding eye contact. Dad looked focused,
sitting on the edge of his recliner with his hands clasped tightly in front
of him as he stared at Uncle Mike from under the bill of his ball cap. He
was so normally calm, that I was surprised to see how his fit body looked
tense, even through his thin polo. Dad didn't like the feeling of big
decisions being out of his control. He'd just been in Navy leadership for
so long.

Finally, Uncle Mike's bearded, goatee-ed face broke into a huge smile. From
across the room, he looked me straight in the eye.

"Number 309, Astros!"

The room erupted in a cheer, and Dad leapt up to clasp me in a big bear
hug, even before I could fully stand up to meet him. "Oh Slugger!" he
growled in my ear as I stood upright and clung tight to him as well. "So
proud of you, buddy."

Only then did the realization sink in. Holy fuck, I was going pro!

My uncle walked off into the other room to finish up his conversation, and
when he came back he had more details. $10,000 signing bonus, and I'd be
reporting to the rookie league team in a week and a half.

He clasped my shoulder excitedly. "That's an amazing pick, Jim," he said.

My former coach shook my hand then clasped me in a hug, too. Maybe now was
not the moment, but seeing and feeling, Coach Weir was a bonus. If
anything, the years had only made him more handsome. "We're all proud of
you, Jim," he said. Maybe Coach Weir wasn't in the same league as Coach
O'Connor at Virginia, but there's something about a high school coach
that's personal in a way college just isn't.

I heard a pop and saw Dad with a bottle of champagne and some plastic
cups. I hadn't even had champagne up to that point, but it was the best
tasting thing at that moment. The guys toasted me, and I thanked them for
their support over the years.

I'd barely finished my little thank you speech when I felt my phone ring in
my pocket. It was Matt and I knew immediately Dad had texted my brothers.

"Hey," I greeted, feeling pumped of adrenaline.

"Hey Squirt," my older brother beamed. "You fucking did it!"

"I did," I said, getting up and going to the other room. "Dad tell you?"

"Yeah. Good thing for the time difference, `cause I wanted to call you when
the news came."

"Glad you didn't have to wait around all day," I said, increasingly proud
of my high round number, now that it was all sinking in.

"I had no doubt you'd do well, little brother," he said.

We talked a little more and I started to ask how he was doing. But before I
got a full answer, I had another incoming call.

"Oh fuck, it's Paul calling," I said, after I looked at the display.

"I'll let you go Jim. But so happy for you, man."

"Later," I said, then hit the button to hang up and answer the incoming
call. My conversation with Paul went a little longer, but was pretty much
the same. Lots of enthusiasm, a little teasing on his end. It was like
having my brothers' acknowledgment of the event let me see my
accomplishment reflected in them.

After I hung up, I remembered the promise I made to Kyle Avery, my college
roommate. I told him I'd call him first. With Avery, I had more of a
discussion about the basics - my bonus and my start date. Hell, I realized
I didn't know all the minor league teams in the Astros' farm system.

"Fuck, man, you made my day, Jim," Kyle beamed.

The others, family and friends, were thrilled for me, but with Kyle and
Uncle Mike... they knew baseball and knew what this meant. I told my friend
I had some more calls to make and told him I'd catch up with him soon.

Next, I knew I wanted to call Holt and tell him. But I decided I had one
thing to do first. I walked upstairs to my old bedroom, fired up my laptop
and sat down on my bed as I quickly composed an email to Command
Sgt. Major, Sean Carter. Even if he was in a different time zone or not
able to check his email, I couldn't wait to share my news with him. Leading
up to the big day, I'd been telling him how I was feeling and he'd been a
neutral and grounding voice who gave me a lot of good advice. I wanted him
to know that I made it. I gave my email one final read-through before I hit
send.

Holt wasn't at his phone, but I left a voicemail. I had no doubt I'd hear
from him later. Just like my brother John would end up calling me later
that afternoon.

For now, I shut my laptop, stuffed my phone back in my pocket and went back
to join the guys gathered in the living room as they chatted about my
signing.

"Sorry, I had a couple of calls to take," I apologized as I settled back
into the free space on the sofa.

"Your uncle was just explaining how it works from here," Rick said.

"Mind if I get some pictures?" the reporter guy asked. Of all of us, he was
the most formally dressed, in a pair of summer trousers and a button
down. We took a number of photos, then I talked with him for a bit so he'd
have some good quotes for his story. He congratulated me again before
speaking to Coach Weir, then taking off.

Rick headed out next, giving me a bro hug and telling me we'd hang out
before the end of the week.

Dad said he was taking us out for a steak dinner to celebrate that evening
and invited Coach Weir to join us. He said he'd have to check with his
wife, but that sounded like a good plan.

It was weird: I looked up to Weir as an authority figure through high
school, only now he seemed to be looking up to me. That was my first rush
of feeling that something was different in my life now.

After Weir left, I got some more of the basics from Uncle Mike. The Astros
organization would be FedEx-ing me a contract in the next day or so, and
after signing I'd be on my way within a week or so to the Greeneville
Astros in East Tennessee as my rookie league assignment.

"Look over it and let me know if you have any questions or see something
that doesn't look right," Mike said, his hand still on my shoulder despite
my being taller. "But honestly these are pretty standard, unless you're a
first or second round player. If you want my advice, you take what they
give you."

"Oh yeah," I said. It hadn't even occurred to me that I'd be in any
position to negotiate anything. "Thanks for arranging the agent, Uncle
Mike," I added. "Maybe I can put my signing money to the costs."

Mike waved off my suggestion. "Nonsense, Jim. Like I said, it's my gift to
you. Besides, I kind of called in a favor for this."

I nodded, feeling grateful and more than a little emotional. "Well, it's
incredible." I looked around. "I'm not gonna forget everything you guys
have done for me."

I called Coach O'Connor at UVA and filled him in. He'd heard the news
already from the MLB organization but was holding off calling to let me
have my time with my family. He put me on speaker with the other staff
there. They were still waiting on news about another top prospect from my
graduating class, Mike. But my news was welcome indeed. O'Connor was
thrilled, and I got the sense my high round in the draft surprised even
him.

After I hung up, Dad suggested I take a little down time before
dinner. "Big day all around, Jimbo," he said with a smile.

He had a point. I was too wired up to nap, but I rested in my old bed,
staring up at the ceiling and looking around at some of the baseball
posters and trophies I still had decorating the room from my youth. Of all
the emotions I felt that day, one that I remember most is the sense that I
did good on the dreams of my younger self.

I ended up talking to John and to Charlie. Nervously, I checked and
rechecked my email on my laptop, but I hadn't gotten a reply from Sean.

Feeling the afternoon get later, I decided to get ready for dinner. I
showered and put on a dress shirt, slacks, and blazer, and gelled my
curling blond hair.

As I came down the hall, I heard Dad and Uncle Mike talking out on the back
porch. I couldn't hear their words, but I could hear the pride evident in
their tone of voice.

****

Dad took us out to Byrd & Baldwin, one of the new, nice steakhouses in
town. It was funny seeing Uncle Mike all dressed up. Without his usual ball
cap, I noticed his light brown hair was not as gray as Dad's, but I could
see it in his trimmed goatee. Dad looked handsome as usual in his fitted
sports coat and cleanly shaven face. His gray eyes looked happy matching
the smile seemingly stuck on his usually stoically handsome face. Watching
Dad with his younger brother, it was clear that Uncle Mike was the
boisterous one while Dad was the serious one.

Coach Weir joined us a few moments later, also freshly groomed and dressed
up. Lust has a weird way of showing up at unexpected times, and I silently
enjoyed sneaking looks at my former coach over dinner. As an ex-jock, he
was still a beefy stud. Even with his thinning brown hair and gray-streaked
temples that only seemed to accentuate his jowly and tanned masculine
face. I'd been stroking off to fantasies of Coach Weir for years, and it
seemed like that wasn't going to change anytime soon.

Dinner was on the early side, and it was still light out when me, Dad, and
Uncle Mike got back. Uncle Mike asked if I wanted to enjoy a beer on the
back patio. I said sure as we both slipped off our jackets and settled into
a couple patio chairs. When Dad didn't come out to join us, I knew he was
giving me and my uncle space to talk, man to man, about baseball. Whether
it was planned or not, I don't know, but indeed, Uncle Mike gave me a pep
talk and prepared me for the road ahead.

"I'm not gonna lie, Jim, it's going to take drive and perseverance. You may
have one and not the other, and I've seen guys get stuck in double-A, and
I've seen guys give up in frustration."

I sat back and looked at my uncle. The top buttons of my shirt already
undone with my sleeves pushed up over my forearms as I turned my beer in my
hands. I didn't perv on Mike but instead I had a shudder as I imagined
being an ex-pro like him one day. It's kind of weird to think about what
you'd look like twenty years on, but I did at that moment.

I thought his words would scare me some, but they fed into my excitement
for a challenge. "How long did you play in the minors?" I asked. I felt
like I had my uncle's pro career memorized, having followed it as a
kid. But I realized then, I knew only of his major league years.

His hazel eyes twinkled a little. "Three years. But I had a pretty quick
rise through the ranks."

I could read something in his tone. "You think I won't be that quick," I
observed.

He shook his head softly. "Statistically speaking, you won't." His face and
tone suddenly grew more encouraging, more uncle-like if that makes
sense. "But you shouldn't give a damn what I think. For the next few years,
your gut is gonna be what you need to listen to, everyone else be damned."

I chuckled at his bluntness. "This is why Dad left us alone?"

Mike grinned. "I'm sure Robert would love to give you a lecture himself,"
he said.

"Ok, I'll listen to my gut," I replied. "But I appreciate any wisdom you
can give, Uncle Mike. I feel like I'll need all I can get."

We talked some about the boring side of the minors. How to eat healthy on
the cheap, how to make the most of your workouts, how to keep a sense of
home on the road.

Finally, Mike lowered his voice and his tone got more serious. "I don't
like being the a-hole who brings this up, Jim, but how good have you gotten
at hiding?"

I knew he was referring to being in the closet. I frowned and
shrugged. "Pretty good actually," I sighed. "Unfortunately." I put on a
game face, though. "I mean... I remember what you said to me my freshman
year..."

Uncle Mike sat quietly, a friendly but serious expression on his face as he
let me talk.

"I wouldn't have to be a monk," I shot a grin. Something about my uncle's
no-bullshit personality let me feel like I could talk freely. "But I've
been pretty careful."

Mike nodded. "Again, listen to your gut, Jim. That's all I gotta say."

"Got it," I said. For all of Mike's talk about perseverance and drive, I
knew dealing with the closet would be another part of that for me.

****

My uncle flew back to Phoenix the next day, leaving me and Dad to enjoy
some alone time that afternoon. Dad seemed to be in his serious mode,
talking about my finances and my future plans. I had my signing bonus, and
a couple hundred a week in pay. I'd save rent by staying with Dad in the
off season, and hopefully I could up some seasonal employment. I'd be
scraping by, but not as bad as I feared.

It was early evening and we were back on the deck again. This was my
favorite time of the year, I thought, maybe because it reminded me of
baseball and being out of school and just enjoying being a kid.

It was a burgers-on-the-grill kind of dinner, and Dad seemed to relax some
now that everything about the Draft was said and done. We stayed seated at
the patio table even after we'd finished eating. I asked him about his
upcoming deployment, which was in a few week's time.

"How long are you gone for this time?" I asked as I leaned back in my
chair, enjoying the later daylight as I looked at Dad seated next to
me. The summer heat hadn't yet come to Norfolk, and I could still feel the
cooler sea breeze rolling in.

"A good while. Till December," he said, giving me that sad smile of his
that said it was expected. By now Dad was used to the yearly rhythm of time
at sea, but I doubt that made being away from home any easier. "You'll be
fine looking after yourself?" he asked, a little playful in his response
but also genuine, too.

"Yeah, I'm good, Dad," I replied.

"I should be able to catch a couple of your games before I ship out," he
said.

There was a bit of a pause as I caught his eyes.

"You gonna have a chance to see Jack before?" I asked, trying my best poker
face. Maybe it was a forward thing to ask my father, but I wanted him not
to feel uncomfortable around me when it came to Jack Grant.

He nodded with a small smile. "I'll probably head up to DC in a few days,"
he said. "Once I get work matters tied up here." He gave me a look that was
almost challenging in its sincerity.

"I hope you don't feel like you can't have him visit, Dad," I said.

"I know Slugger. It's my house," he said with a wink. "It's actually a
little more private for us there."

I guess that hadn't occurred to me. I told him so, then asked, "Does it
feel weird dating a guy?"

He chuckled. "You don't know how weird it is for me, Jim. Jack and I have
known each other for years, but yeah... we're still figuring a lot of
things out."

"Like how?" Maybe I was being nosy, but I felt like Dad and I had a bond
and could talk honestly.

"I'd rather not go into specifics, if that's OK," Dad said.

I blushed. "Yeah, sorry."

"No need to apologize," Dad said with an encouraging look. "Let's just say
I'm feeling out what it means to be more bisexual. Jack and I aren't in a
rush to define ourselves for others." He paused, and now maybe it was Dad
who had the better poker face, because I couldn't tell what he was
thinking. "I did tell your brothers, though."

That caught me by surprise, and I even sat up in my chair a bit. It's funny
how I came out to my brothers years ago, and now Dad was doing the
same. But he had his relationship with Jack stacked on top of it.

"How'd they react?" I asked cautiously.

Dad sighed. "Paul may be a little weirded out, but he didn't say anything
bad. John's been supportive, maybe more than I expected." For some reason I
felt protective of Dad at that moment, but also glad he was sharing this
with me. "Matt... well, with Matt, I don't think I could do wrong in his
eyes." He gave me a wry smile.

"Wait, that's what they're always teasing me for," I said. My brothers had
long picked on me for being Dad's favorite.

"Maybe a few years ago that was the case," he said.

I was surprised by the turn in conversation. "And now?"

Dad didn't hesitate in his reply, "Now you know I'm a big grade-A
hypocrite."

"Dad!" I objected, giving him a frustrated look. "Come on."

"I'm serious, Jim. I was the one who told you we had to cool things with
sex, and yet I kept stringing you along because I enjoyed it too much."

"I enjoyed it, too," I reminded him as I shrugged.

He nodded. "Would you do it all again, knowing what you do now?"

"Knowing what?" I challenged.

"The emotions it's brought out in both of us, Jimbo. The complications." It
had been so long since Dad and I had a conversation like this. But it felt
less scary than I had anticipated.

I relaxed back into my seat. "God, Dad. Maybe it's a selfish thing to say,
but I would. I mean, I feel like I had a special experience out of it, and
we can figure out how to deal with the aftermath."

Dad smiled at my response. "I'm glad to hear you say that, that you don't
have regrets."

"You regret having sex with me, Dad?" I asked. After hearing my own words,
I was suddenly frightened of the answer I may get.

He seemed to think it over. "Deep down, no. You helped me learn a lot about
myself, Jim, and I'm grateful."

"About sex with guys?" I asked.

He nodded. "I had some experience, but I realized just how much I was ready
for more. It was the right experience at the right time."

At the moment, the only problem with our conversation was that I was
feeling really attracted to Dad at the moment. If he'd asked to have sex, I
would have said yes.

Instead, something else was on his mind, and the look on his face went a
little conflicted. "I wasn't sure how to bring this up, or if I
should... but Jack told me about you and him."

Along with my smile, the color drained from my face. So he knew. "Oh," I
muttered. Then, "I don't know what to say. It's my fault really, I should
have had better judgment."

I had no idea I'd looked away, that I was staring at my lap until I heard
Dad's voice. "Hey," he said soothingly, making me look back up at him

He gave me a slight grin to put me at ease. "It's OK, Slugger. I mean, it's
complicated as hell, but we McGrath men seemed to love complicated."

"Doesn't excuse my behavior," I asserted, feeling apologetic and majorly
guilty.

"Oh, it's his fucking behavior I'm more concerned about," Dad half-joked,
finally cracking a full smile. "But Jack and I pledged we'd be honest with
each other, about anything and everything." He looked at me with a
vulnerability I hadn't seen in a while. "I felt I owed it to you as well."

"Um, you haven't told him about us?" I don't know if that would have
bothered me. But the idea that Jack would know made the incestuous affair
with Dad seem real in a deeper, almost scary way.

Dad shook his head quickly. "We promised that would be between us, son."

I nodded. "We did." I let out a big exhale. The evening had gotten heavy,
quick. "I think I need another beer, Dad," I announced, standing up from
the patio chair. "Can I get you one."

"Yeah, sounds good," Dad said. I thought he'd be pissed off at me, but the
way he looked at me when I went inside and then when I came back was
strangely similar to the look of pride he'd had at graduation. As I offered
him a fresh, cold bottle and sat back down, I half expected a lecture from
him.

But none came. Instead, we made small talk, and Dad checked in with me
about my plans for my last week in Norfolk for a while. Finally, the dusk
turned dark and it was time to go inside. I helped Dad clean up and load
the dishwasher.

The evening's conversation was still heavy on my mind.

"Now I know why Jack's not visiting," I observed.

"Maybe there's a little of that," Dad admitted as he rinsed off a plate and
handed it to me. "If I'm being honest."


"I hope it gets to the point where he can come here again," I said
sincerely.

"I'm sure it will, Jim," Dad said.

****

Rick invited me over to his place the next night. He was leaving town
Sunday, and I had a feeling we'd be celebrating my news in a less formal
way. But when I showed up, it turns out there was a full-on party in the
rec room in the Bryant basement. I felt touched in a way that my friend had
invited all my old teammates who were still in town or nearby, other than
maybe a couple of the more asshole guys on my high school team.

A couple of his high school friends were there, too. Rick and I didn't have
exactly the same circle of friends back then, but it wasn't a huge high
school and we all knew everyone. At any other time, maybe I wouldn't be so
eager to revisit those connections. I'd grown a lot in college personally,
and in retrospect, I realize how out of place I'd felt in high school, no
matter how well my efforts to fit in were successful.

Now, it felt like a heartfelt way to celebrate my signing. And, I dunno,
after all the heaviness of hanging out back home, and navigating the
emotions of what Dad meant to me, and now what Jack meant to me, it was
just nice to have fun like a normal 22-year-old.

It was understood I was sleeping over at Rick's so I got drunk. Not sloppy
drunk, but let-loose kind of drunk. Seeing a number of the guys burn down
made me realize I didn't miss pot like I used to, but if I didn't have the
possibility of testing in my life, I'd probably be joining them in that.

Rick's dad, Ed, came to check on us. He was the textbook cool dad, and I
had to laugh at how different he was from my father. I mean, there was no
way Dad would have let me have a party like this.

I had to admit, I still had the hots for Mr. B. He was a couple of years
older than when I last saw him, though he still looked young for his
age. His closely cropped, dirty-blond hair was definitely grayer, and his
body was more normal, back to his compact squash-player's build and less
gym-honed than when I saw him last. But he also seemed happier, if it was
possible to tell that. I thought of what Rick had told me about his coming
out and I wondered what that was like for him.

There was one point when I went to find the restroom to piss, and as I
walked back down the hall, I figured I'd see if I could find Mr. Bryant to
say hello. His house was pretty big, so I had to peek in a few rooms
upstairs, but I found him in the living room, watching TV and sipping a
glass of wine.

"Hey Jim," he said as he looked up at me. His sea-blue eyes caught the
glare of the TV. "You guys having a good time?"

"Yeah, Mr. B," I said, clearly a little buzzed. "Just thought I'd say
hello."

He looked at me with a gentle smile. I remember first being told about the
"look" from men. This was different, but it was a look that told me that
Mr. B found me desirable. I was definitely becoming more aware of that
effect, and it made me smile with an almost giddy realization.

"I didn't say it earlier, but congratulations, Jim," Ed said. "That's
really amazing."

"Thanks, Mr. Bryant," I said with a smile as I blushed. "I guess I'm on
cloud nine."

"You deserve to be," he added.

I took a look around to check that we were alone and dropped my voice. "Um,
Rick tells me you came out."

I wasn't sure what his reaction would be, but he seemed happy and proud
more than anything. "Took me a while to figure myself out, but yeah, I was
overdue," he said. "Rick's been taking it like a champ. My ex-wife less
so," he joked.

I laughed. "That's cool." I kind of stood there dumbly as we made silent
eye contact. I knew Mr. B wanted me, and god knows I still found the man
attractive. I had to throw it out there. "Um, Ed... you think maybe... You
feel like messing around?"

The man let out a sigh but shook his head. "I'm gonna be a good boy
tonight, Jim. All right?"

I gave a conciliatory nod. "Yeah, and sorry if I'm being stupid."

I could see him wrestle with his lust and that gave me an ego pump. "You're
not being stupid," he assured me. "But I'm gonna pass. Go on, have fun with
the guys..."

"Will do, Mr. B," I said. "But just for the record, you're looking good
these days." Maybe it was a cheeky thing to say, but I wanted to give him a
compliment and let him know I still found him hot.

He laughed, smiling as he ate up the flattery. "Later, Jim," he said.

I gave a playful wave then let him be, making my way back down to the
basement rec room.

****

Dad took the weekend to spend up in DC. I'll admit, I had a strange
excitement thinking of Dad and Jack having sex. I knew Jack bottomed, but I
also vividly remember Dad's mammoth size and girth. It all made me wonder,
if not fantasize, about the two men together. But mostly, I was still
reeling from Dad's revelation that he knew about me and Jack. Things were
already complicated and I'm sure they'd be even more so now.

I was in my old bedroom, busy packing my duffle and getting ready to leave
for my rookie league assignment in Tennessee. I hadn't been at home long
enough to fully unpack, so packing for my first stint in the minors wasn't
a tough task. Just the essentials and enough changes of clothes to get
between laundry day. The fact that I only had to pack for the summer made
it easier.

I stopped and looked over at my cleared, and neary barren old desk and my
laptop, closed and charging on top. I considered not taking my
computer. Uncle Mike had warned me I wouldn't have much privacy in the
lodging and not to take anything too valuable. But I'd had my laptop five
years now and I liked having it.

I walked over, taking a seat and firing it up to check my email one more
time. I felt the immediate smile on my face as I was rewarded to see a new
message in my inbox from Sean Carter:

"Jim,

Congratulations you fucking hot shot! Wow. Honestly don't think I can say
how awesome that is. Write me back when you get a chance. Tell me the
details, everything.

And damn, here I was gonna gripe about the food I had today. You made my
day, buddy.

your friend, CSM Sean"

My heart fluttered some as I typed back a longer email explaining my minor
league assignment and when I was driving to Tennessee. And admitting that
the thrill hadn't worn off yet. I wrote the email and rewrote the parts I
didn't think sounded right. Then sent it.

After I did, I went through my hidden private folder and pulled up a photo
of Sean. A month ago, I had navigated my way through the Army website,
looking at the command photos of all the top Army leadership, making my way
to the page for the 82nd Airborne Division. I looked at a few of the
battalion pages until I found it. Sean's Army command photo - "Command
Sgt. Major. Sean J. Carter." I was glad I had a visual reminder now.

I enlarged the photo to fill the screen. There he was. Ruggedly fucking
handsome with brooding dark brown eyes, olive skin, thick brows, and hard
edge, with his chiseled square jaw, and tight lip. Despite being cleanly
shaven, he still had that perpetual 5 o'clock shadow. His camo uniform
looked tight over his square pecs and wide shoulders.

I knew first hand the body the Command Sergeant Major had underneath. My
dick hardened at the memory of him, and I reached down to massage the
thickening shaft through my khaki shorts. Then, knowing I had privacy, I
unzipped and pushed them down my legs along with my briefs, letting his
pool just above my feet. I was gonna stroke off.

My attention returned to Sean's image. Even his thick neck looked rugged
and muscled. His rank in the middle of his chest looked different from the
Navy ranks, with its stacks of chevrons and rockers. Over his left pec,
over "U.S. ARMY", he had two stacks of patches, and more covering the rest
of his chest. He looked so accomplished and distinguished as he seemed to
stare back at me. The maroon beret on his head, with its little crest over
his left eye, distinguished him as "Airborne."

My 8-inch prick was now rigid and my touch felt great as I softly wrapped
my fingers around the fat shaft, beginning a slow, feather-light stroke. I
was already leaking. This was gonna be a good masturbation session, all
right. But I needed lube. I pulled my eyes from my laptop, standing and
stepping out of my shorts and underwear as I went to find my toiletry
bag. Seconds later, I sat back down with the little travel-sized tube in
hand. When I finally applied the slickness, it made every coursing touch of
my fingers and palms send electricity through my dick and balls.

There was a thrill jerking off to CSM Carter's picture. I actually hadn't
done that before. And now there was this new overwhelming need to make this
session special, remembering my Uncle Mike's words that I'd have little to
no privacy where I was headed next. So now, with the house to myself, I
decided that a good edge session was what I wanted. A part of me was upset
that I packed away my 11-inch dildo in storage. So no toy this time for
added stimulation. I peeled off my shirt, now leaving me completely naked
as I resumed my slow stroke on my cock. I looked at Sean in his uniform
staring back at me, almost like he was watching me. I could hear his voice
in my head, a clear recollection from all the phone calls we'd shared. A
deep, Southern Georgia accent calling me college boy and telling me in
detail how he'd fuck me if he was with me. That memory, combined with the
cold piercing stare of his portrait, sent jolts of pleasure down my stalk.

But I wanted to edge for a while.

I cooled my fantasy, clicking around my folder and pulling up one of my
favorite videos next to Sean's picture. It was a military scene, a barracks
bay with rows of bunks, an older, gruff Drill Sergeant standing above a
young blond-haired private on his knees as he sucked the older man's fat
and veiny cock. My mind played between the porn NCO and the fantasy of
Sean. I could see myself in front of the older Army man wearing nothing but
his boots, dogtags, a brown round DI hat and a grin. I could feel myself
relishing the feel of a thick piece stretching my lips as I steadily bobbed
up and down on that Army cock, massaging that shaft with my tongue as his
length challenged me. My imaginary non-commissioned officer, gripped my
skull, finally thrusting his hips, fucking my face with urgent need. And
then that magic sensation Holt taught me, of a fat cock head riding the
entrance to my gullet...

I had to let go of my cock. I clutched at the base, almost choking it as I
could feel my balls nudge up against my fist. I slid further into my seat.

Looking back at Sean, his brooding brown eyes still holding mine, I could
almost hear that Southern drawl. "Did I tell you to stop, College Boy?" Or
maybe that's what Admiral Henson would say. I don't know.

The porn scene still played, and I released my dick entirely and watched,
feeding off its horny energy and my own. The Drill Sergeant and the young
private recruit now rutted on one of the bunks. The young guy on his back,
his booted feet and legs in the air, his perk bottom ass just about hanging
off the bed. The big gruff Drill Sergeant was now on his knees, his face
plastered between the private's smooth pale buns. He had his bottom moaning
as the kid's decent-sized prick was spewing sap against his smooth tight
stomach.

I watched the scene and my fevered mind overlaid Sean onto the Drill
Sergeant, who stood back up and lined up his oversized cock to the kid's
wet hole. I watched the older NCO immediately begin plowing the younger
blond guy, and I could almost feel all that fighitng-fit muscle fucking
me. I tried to recall the dark, fine, smooth hairs matted to Sean's skin
and the feel of him fucking me in that Philadelphia hotel room. Even
visually fixated on the porn video, I could hear Sean's dogtags jingling
between the concrete slabs of his chest.

I avoided my dick and reached between my legs with my ball throwing hand,
slipping past my taint and between my buns. I tapped my softly furred hole
with my fingertip. I wanted a tongue there, and I felt my pucker spasm at
the thought.

"Oh fuck!" I hissed and let my head roll back onto my shoulders. How long
had it been since I'd been eaten out?

My fingers played with my hole, not pushing but teasing its rim. I looked
back down to watch the Drill Sergeant fuck a load out of the private. It
was tempting to jerk my own out, but it was a pleasant kind of torturous
tease to just watch without masturbating. In short order, the Sergeant
yanked his thick, oversized tool out of that fucked hole and just as
quickly peeled off the rubber, giving a couple of jerks to unload over the
20-something toned body.

I closed the video.

The visual stimulation gone, I dared to give myself a slow stroke
again. Achingly slow, sending pleasure that made my muscles tense up.

I thought about Coach Weir and how I'd love to eat his beefy ass and suck
his cock and lift his legs onto my shoulders and enter him. I thought of
Coach Thompson, who I'd hooked up with a couple of weeks earlier, and the
greedy, horny part of my brain imagined having both older men in bed with
me at the same time. Writhing against their meaty, middle-aged bodies...

I tensed my jaw as the pleasure was about to boil over. I choked my cock in
my fist, fighting the urge to finish off my session. I took just a couple
more strokes. The head in my fist looked swollen and deep pink as the slit
puckered, letting a fresh dribble of sap ooze down the head.

I examined my hard prick, proud of its girth, and with a naughty idea,
compared it to Dad's huge endowment. In my sexed up frame of mind, I
pictured Dad fucking Jack Grant's ass with that ten inch dong, railing the
junior officer...

"Oh shit," I grunted, feeling a half, almost-orgasm make a particularly
cum-white spurt of precum spray out of my tip. I guess I knew my deepest
trigger.

I went back to my laptop and scrolled a bit more until I pulled up another
favorite, a coach-jock video. The Coach was a hot porn guy, sure, but in
comparison with Stan Thompson or Coach Weir, he looked fake. Still, I
enjoyed the cheesy script as Coach gave the jock a sports massage after
practice and after a minute was leaning in to lick and eat at that
jockstrapped ass. This is when the video got great in my view. A lot of
videos just have a quick rimming scene, but this older muscle coach guy
went all-in in licking and munching, even sucking at that jockhole.

I was ready to cum, overdue even. I gripped my throbbing boner and it took
only three tugs before my nuts pulled up tight and my dick jerked in my
fist. "Goddamn!" I growled as I felt my balls empty out in heavy
jets. Volley after volley of jock batter splattered onto my torso, the
first rope smacking my chin before streaking down my neck, the second not
far off in its reach.

I turned off the video and chuckled at just how worked up I got. That was
an intense and a messy cum.

I cleaned up and then started to put my computer away. Only an idea
occurred to me. There was too much incriminating stuff on my laptop. I
opened the screen and went to the spot on the hard drive where I stashed my
porn. Maybe I was a little too fond of my collection, but it had served me
well the last few years.

I felt a lump in my throat. But it had to be done. I dragged the folder to
the recycle bin on my desktop. All the videos, the pictures of Dad, the
photo I'd download of Sean Carter... all of it.

Then I clicked and hit OK to empty. I powered down and tossed the computer
on top of my duffel bag.

It was gonna be a long few months.