Date: Sun, 28 May 2000 07:39:01 -0400 (EDT)
From: svcbn_2000@yahoo.ca
Subject: Convoy Cock

I was working as an intelligence operator with the
U.S. Army in Kosovo.  I worked at KFOR Main, which was
the NATO HQ, located at "Film City," perched on top of
a hill looking down on the city of Pristina.  My job
was to make maps and charts, plotting different
incident, trends, and activities.  It was interesting
enough at first, but fairly repetitive through a six
month tour.

I was always on the lookout for ways to break up my
routine, which was, well, routine.  I lived a life of
work, workouts in the gym, reading or movies in the
evening -- and repeat.  There were lots of people
around -- Americans and from other countries -- but I
hadn't found any action, if you know what I mean. I
was always scoping, especially in the gym and in the
showers, but I never got any signals or vibes.  So I
did a lot of reading.

Like I was saying, I was looking for things to do,
ways to get out of the camp, so when a task to do give
a briefing down at KFOR Rear came up, I went for it.
I convinced the captain that I could give the briefing
just as well as the 1Lt, who was "really busy right
now," (whatever).

KFOR Rear was in Skopje, Macedonia, about a two to
three hour drive to the south, depending on the
weather, traffic, and congestion at the border.  Best
of all, Skopje was an actual place -- stores, bars,
coffee shops, the works.  Pristina didn't have much to
start with, what with the war having just ended, but
we weren't allowed out on the town anyway.  Skopje, on
the other hand, had a walking out policy.  Skopje had
possibilities.

I didn't exactly rate my own jeep and driver, so I
called up log ops and told them to save me a seat
somewhere in the daily supply convoy.  I reported to
the FLG in the morning and they assigned me to a cargo
10-ton.  I threw my kit up to the driver who stowed it
behind the seat.

"Thanks," I said to the driver.  "No problem,
Sergeant," he answered a little stiffly, not looking
at me while drove the truck into his spot in the
convoy line up.  I looked him over.  He was young,
about 19 or 20, and looked physically fit, muscular.
I tried to decide how tall he was, maybe 5'10",.I
wasn't sure.  He had brown hair buzzed down to the
wood and a thin, angular face.

Neither of us said anything for awhile.  There was
some chatter on the radio, but I wasn't listening.
It was overcast, but warm and humid, and I was
sweating in my body armor and helmet.  The U.S. is the
only army in Kosovo that makes everyone wear all that
gear outside the camp, for no good reason, as there
was no real threat.  After half an hour, I asked him
what the hold up was.  "One of the sea containers
shifted off the rail as they were loading it.  They
have to bring up the forklift to get it on straight."

I didn't have anything to say to that, but I decided
to start asking other questions.  He was Private
Steves, from San Diego.  Obviously a little nervous
around a sergeant he didn't know, I kept asking
questions until the ice was broken and he loosened up
a little.  He was 20, (just turned last month), joined
up after high school, and liked to watch ice hockey.
He complained about all the playoff games not starting
until 0100 because of the time difference.  He had
been pretty good at math in school, but he thought
that being in the army had made him stupid and he
couldn't remember any of it.

By this time, we were underway and driving on what
passed for a highway -- a two-lane road that was as
much pothole as it was pavement.  There was nothing
resembling American rules of the road as civilian cars
and trucks jostled with the military traffic and each
other, moving back and forth trying avoid the worst of
all the holes and the tractors and the horse-drawn
carts, without any reduction in speed.  Vehicles
passed each other whenever they wanted, but the local
drivers seemed to prefer passing uphill and/or around
bends.  The traffic stayed like that for the whole
trip.  I only thought we were going to be killed
twice.  The first time when the car in front stopped
abruptly with no warning or obvious reason; the second
was when a van who was passing whipped in front,
clipping our front bumper and denting his fender.
Steves didn't slow down or otherwise react.  I decided
that it was a commonplace incident.

But getting back to where we were, Steves was turning
out to be alright.  He seemed like a smart guy, but
bored doing nothing but convoy driving.  I assured him
that the int shop was no better, making "updated"
ethnicity maps that were just the same data every
month.  We started joking about an article we'd both
read in a recent Stars and Stripes newspaper.  Some
loser officer had been quoted about his "stressful"
experiences in Kosovo and his "difficulty with the
terrible atrocities that he'd seen."  Bullshit.  That
lazy flopper was a staff officer who hadn't seen
anything in Kosovo besides the back of his eyelids.
The truth of things that was there was little going
on.  L.A. has bigger firefights every day.

He started to ask questions about me and where I'd
been.  I was 26, just made buck sergeant, a little
fast.  I hadn't been overseas before, except for one
year in South Korea.  My regular posting was to the
Corps HQ staff in Fort Hood, Texas, but I was
originally from Buffalo.  I'm 6' tall, blue eyes,
buzzed brown hair.  I've got fair skin and freckles,
and not much body hair above the waist.  I like to
swim to keep fit stateside, but in Kosovo I only had
the gym.

By now, we'd been on the road an hour and I was
starting to get hard.  I hadn't jerked off that
morning -- no time -- and I was developing a case of
convoy cock.  It's well known in the army that the
vibration of bouncing around in truck on road moves
will give you one of those semi-hardons, stiff enough
to be uncomfortable, and not going away either.  I
asked Steves if he had a girlfriend back home.  He
said no and went back to talking about ice hockey.

We came to a stop for a moment as the traffic in front
was jammed around some potholes and a tractor.  Steves
took the opportunity to reach in the front of his
pants and shift his dick around.  "Convoy cock," he
said, grinning at me.  He still had his hand in there.
 "Tell me about it," I replied, and did the same.  The
traffic started moving again and Steves put both hands
back on the wheel.

"I get hard while I'm driving all the time," Steves
told me.  "And once you get a boner, there's nothing
to think about on the road except your dick the rest
of the way.  I spend half my day with a case of blue
balls."

"And the other half of your day?" I asked.

"I pull myself," he replied.  "But I have to share a
room with 5 other guys, so I sometimes can't get any
privacy.  So sometimes I just jerk off while I drive."

"Don't you have a passenger with you?  I thought
vehicles weren't allowed out without two people?"

"We aren't supposed to.  But every once in awhile
something gets changed around at the last minute and
I'm on my own."

"Well, I can't blame you.  I wouldn't getting off
myself," I said, getting harder all the time as I
tried to guess how big Steves was out of the corner of
my eye.

By this time, we were in the pass through the
mountains that separate Kosovo from Macedonia, just
short of the border.  The road twists dangerously
along the side of the mountains while the green hills
rise high above and fall below to the river and the
train tracks.  We came up to the border and the
civilian traffic mixed in with the convoy swung into
the customs line.  We swung into the line for the KFOR
bypass.

The bypass is a through road for KFOR vehicles only
that goes around all the customs and border nausea.
Unfortunately, it's only one lane, so you have to wait
until your packet is allowed through.  Fortunately, we
didn't have long to wait.  Halfway through, however,
the traffic backed up and we came to a halt.  Steves
had stopped the truck close behind the one in front so
I couldn't see what the hold up was.  Neither could
anyone else from the pointless comments on the radio.

We sat with the truck idling.  Steves had his hand
down his pants again.  "Oh yeah," he undid his
seatbelt and wiggled around.

"There's accident up ahead at the intersection.  A
Hungarian BRDM hit a civvie tractor trailer," said the
convoy commander over the radio.  "It's gonna be a
long wait."

Steves was now clearly stroking himself inside his
pants.  I started feeling myself up too.  "Hey, uh,
Sarge..." he trailed off.

"What?"

"Um, oh, never mind."

"Go ahead, Steves.  What do I care?"  I looked him
straight in the eye, with a smirk on my face.  He
didn't take any more prompting.  He undid his combat
pants, pulled his dick out through the fly of his
boxers, closed his eyes, and started stroking.  It was
a good-sized dick too, he was no slouch in that
department.  I was all fired up now and I pulled out
my own dick too.

I looked over at Steves again and he was looking
breathlessly at my crotch as I pulled on myself.
Without really thinking about it, I decided to take
the risk, reaching over and taking over on his cock.
He closed his eyes and whimpered.  I didn't know how
long we'd have, so I went hard on him, trying to bring
him off quickly.  It didn't take much time at all and
with a fairly loud cry he spunked all over my hand and
himself.  Just then the traffic started moving again,
so I put myself away while he cleaned himself up with
a rag he had under his seat.

Skopje isn't very far from the border so it didn't
take long to get to KFOR Rear from there.  Neither of
us said anything about what just happened.  When we
arrived, Steves stopped to let me off at the duty
center before he went to unload his truck.  I drew a
billet, turned in my weapon, and ditched that damned
body armor.

My briefing wasn't until tomorrow morning, so I
changed into PT gear and went for a run to take my
mind of Steves and his thick cock.  I showered, read
the paper, and ate dinner.  I was pretty determined to
go downtown, but I decided I'd hang around the canteen
for a bit first, to give Steves a chance to find me if
he wanted to.

When he hadn't shown up by 1930 hours, I grabbed a cab
for the city.  I did some shopping and bought myself
some new Nikes and a pair of counterfeit Tommy
Hilfiger jeans.  I found the English language
bookstore too and bought a pile of stuff.  Everyone
recommends buying gold jewellery in Skopje because
it's cheap, but I wouldn't be able to tell if I was
being ripped off or not, so I didn't bother. I spent
the rest of the money I exchanged on some ice cream
and an espresso.  Then I took a cab back.

By the time I got back and dumped all my stuff, it was
2245.  But, the bar at the canteen was still open for
another 15 minutes so I thought I'd give Steves one
more chance.  It worked.  I found him slouched in a
couch watching a movie, (Anaconda, I think), by
himself, sipping a beer.

"Hey," was all I said.  "Hey," he answered, his face
brightening up.  "I'd given up on you.  Not that we
have anywhere to go."  There's very little privacy on
a base, few places where it's safe to get it on.

"My room.  I have a double to myself in an empty
wing."  Being a sergeant gets you better
accommodations.

As soon as the door was closed he grabbed my crotch
and felt me through my jeans.  Steves was wearing a
tight t-shirt and I ran my hand over his pecs and his
nipples.  I leaned over and kissed him with an open
mouth.  He returned it and our tongues ran over one
another.

Still kissing him, I slipped one hand inside the back
of his shirt up his back against his bare skin.  My
left hand slid down inside the waistband of his jeans.
 He wasn't wearing any underwear.  His ass was firm
and smooth.  He started to grind his crotch against
mine while he pulled on my ass.  I started pulling off
his shirt and started to move him towards the bed.

It wasn't long before we were both naked and giving
each other a hand job while lying on my bunk.  His
build was muscular, you could tell he worked out, and
kind of compact; he wasn't very tall, maybe 5'6".  I
slid down and started licking his balls and cock.
After a little of that, I pulled his foreskin all the
way back and started blowing him in earnest.  He put
his hands gently on my head and I looked up at him.
His eyes were tightly closed and his face was
contorted with pleasure as he made groaning sounds,
trying not to be too loud in the barracks.

After a few minutes he pulled my face off him.  "Fuck
me," he moaned, lifting his legs back.  I sucked on
each of his nipples for a few seconds as I fingered
his ass.  That got a positive reaction, so I reached
down into my duffel bag for some lube for my hand, and
went back to his asshole, slowly inserting one finger
and then two.

I applied lots of lube to my own raging hard on and
pressed it against his anus.  He was tight as I went
in, but he took it like a trooper.  I took it easy on
him, and let him get used to it.  When he started
begging to be fucked again, I started in on a rhythm.
Too bad I didn't last long.  I came with a massive
gush inside him and that set him off too.  We
collapsed, breathless, in each other's arms.

I gave my briefing the next morning and hopped on the
next convoy going north back to Pristina.  But I made
sure that Steves knew how to find me at KFOR Main.  He
normally made the trip up and back three times a week,
and neither of us were going to waste any
opportunities to get laid.  The rest of my tour in
Kosovo was considerably more fun.