My name is Lee Masters and, I was in the Navy when being gay was the kiss of death for any serviceman. If any of my shipmates were gay, I never knew it. However, I will admit that there were a lot of young, good-looking well endowed men that pranced around in the nude as if delighting in showing what they had but that was no reason to lose control, and endanger ones self. I knew several sailors who were discharged for bad conduct while ashore and some that were caught under compromising circumstances on board ship. The one thing that sticks in my mind is that most of these discharges' were young recently enlisted seventeen and eighteen year old kids who lacked any vestige of discretion. Flaunting yourself like some dizzy queen and sooner or later the hammer will fall when it was least expected.

It had always my personal policy to avoid becoming involved sexually with another military man.

I was twenty-five years old at the time of this story about my only, as far as I knew, personal encounter with another sailor. I was old enough to know better but, there are something's such as our sex drive that, under some circumstances, not easy to control

I was five-foot eleven inches tall, well-built with broad muscular shoulders and a forty-four inch chest. My waist was thirty-inches and I weighed one-hundred seventy pounds. I've gained a few pounds since then but, working out three times a week and running five miles a day helps me stay fit and, for the most part, keeps the fat away. My eyes are azure blue, and my hair was a thick unruly auburn. It is not as thick now but, it is thicker than a lot of the men my age

The sailor in this story was eighteen years old and his name is Waldo Saddler. He lived, and probably still does live in a small town not far from Orlando, Florida.

I was a first-class boatswain mate at the time, and when I reported on board US Naval Station, Treasure Island for duty, it surprised me when the Personnel Officer assigned me as the Senior Master-at-Arms of the barracks and mess hall.

There was a detachment of harbor rescue boats assigned to Treasure Island and since I had graduated from the Advanced Boat Handling School in San Diego, I thought I might be assigned to one of the boats.

I learned later that my predecessor was a first-class quartermaster who had been in a severe automobile accident on highway US #1 just south of King City, California, and he was in the hospital. His injuries were pretty serious but not life threatening from what I was told by the second-class engineman that escorted me to the barracks.

The petty officer had introduced himself as Brad Carlson, and he had, what I liked, a firm handshake. He was one of the four men under me in the barracks master-at-arms office and as I learned later, he was the senior in rating to the other three men in the office. Carlson had the wholesome, attractive features of a mid-west farm-boy, and he was close to my height, weight and physique. I learned later from going over his service records that he was nineteen-years old and his home was Omaha, Nebraska. He had played football at the University of Nebraska but for some reason, probably finances, he dropped out after only finishing one year.

The barracks, a three storied red brick building built in the double-wing style of most military barracks with one centered double-doorway entrance between the wings where heads, showers, offices and stairwells to the upper floors were situated. The barracks were opposite the Administrative Offices on the other side of a lush, well groomed parade ground.

Carlson offered to carry my sea-bag while I carried the suit case containing most of my civilian clothes. I wasn't used to someone carrying my gear but, I didn't refuse his offer.

I was wearing my dress blue uniform, normally worn for travel. My escort was wearing the base summer undress uniform of white tee-shirt, white trousers with a white web belt and brass buckle with black shoes and the standard white hat that all sailors wore since the old dark blue flat hat had been retired back in the late `40`s. When Carlson hefted my sea bag onto his shoulder, I got a good view of the muscles in his forearm and bicep bulging from the weight of the sea bag. His waist was small, maybe thirty-inches, his stomach was flat and there was an enticing but not overly large bulge on the left side of his crotch. I couldn't help thinking that under different circumstances, he would probably be an exciting bedmate.

While we were walking across the parade ground, I was looking at the different buildings trying to orientate myself when Carlson said, "Where were you stationed before coming here, Boats?"

"Overseas shore duty, Coco Solo, Panama on the Atlantic side of the Canal." I answered. "How about you?"

"Not that much," he replied. "I was sent to the Midway CVA-41, right out of boot camp. She's operating with the Seventh Fleet right now. While I was on board her, I made second-class enginemen, and I qualified for the Engineman class "C" school in Great Lakes. When the transfer was received, someone in the Ship's Office goofed on the starting date, and they shipped me out too early for the class I was authorized to attend.

"You can bet someone on the Midway is in trouble, "I replied as we reached the entrance steps.

"Yeah, "Carlson said. "It's sure got me fucked up. My orders were changed to temporary duty here on Treasure Island while I wait for the next class to start in September. I was hoping they would send me on to the Lakes so I could get some leave time at home in Ohio but, no such luck."

"Like it or not, Carlson, the needs of the service are always first," I said as we entered the barracks.

The master-at-arms office was just inside the main entrance. There were two large windows on either side of the half glass, half wooden door. Inside I could see three men in undress white uniforms. One was sitting behind a desk, and he was wearing a blue armband emblazoned with the yellow letters DMAA that, I later learned designated the wearer as the Duty Master at Arms.

After, Carlson introduced me to the remaining members of my crew, he showed me the mess hall facilities. The galley was directly behind the mess hall and had three cooks in addition to a first-class who was in charge. He introduced himself as Coleman. In addition to Coleman's crew, there were three enlisted men assigned as mess hall staff. They did the cleaning and any other duties that are assigned by the leading cook. Unfortunately for them, they were in transit status and the lesser duties such as the mess hall and galley were usually filled by transients.

As we passed my office on the way to my quarters, I noticed that my sea bag and suitcase were moved from outside of the door where they had been placed earlier.

"Brad," I said, "what happened to my gear?"

"One of the guys probably had them taken to your quarters," he replied. Just as we reached the door that I had noticed earlier.

"These are my quarters?" I asked in a surprised tone as we entered a well but not lavishly furnished room.

"Yep, there all yours as long as you are the Leading PO," he said, glancing at me. "You have your own private quarters except it doesn't have a private head or shower."

"Where are they?"

"Just past the fire doors." Brad replied. "The head is on left past the doors and the shower room is on the right," he replied with a nod of his head in the direction of the hallway fire doors. "Your quarters are on the same side as the head is."

My gear, that I had questioned Carlson about, was sitting at the foot of the bed. I estimated the room's dimensions as being about twelve by fourteen feet with double florescent lights hanging from a ten or twelve foot high ceiling. The ceiling was white and the walls were a light gray instead of the usual pea-green that the Navy seemed to favor. There was a single double-hung window with a Kenmore air-conditioner installed. A double door metal locker with a small sink and a mirrored medicine cabinet with light shared the wall opposite the wall from where a small desk and chair plus the bed were located. In the corner of the wall with the window and air-conditioner there was an overstuffed recliner with a floor lamp and a small end table with the remote that controlled the fourteen inch television that was mounted about nine feet up on the same wall as the doorway.

"Damn," I said to Carlson who was standing just inside the door while I looked around. "All of the comforts of home."

"Yeah, not bad," he replied. "Humphries the guy before you, had the room painted while he was on leave but, he never got to see it."

There seemed to be a faint tone of melancholy in his voice as he spoke. `Carlson must have liked the guy,' I mused as I listened. `There's nothing wrong with that,' I thought, recalling Williamson my leading hose man on the fire engine he and I operated with three other men. Physically, I knew every thing about Williamson since we lived, worked and showered together and, I dreamed about him and me making love but, unfortunately for at least one of us, that fantasy never materialized.

"Well," I said, exhaling softly. "It shouldn't take me long to unpack. Is there a luggage storage locker in the building?"

"Down below in the basement," Carlson replied. "Let me know when you're finished and I'll have one of the seamen take care of putting your gear away."

"Thanks," I replied, casually taking inventory of the room. "One more thing, Brad, I think you said Madison had the duty until four o'clock this afternoon."

"That's right,"

"Ask him to send me a copy of the duty roster for yesterday, today and tomorrow plus a list of the men who stand duty and what their rotation status is as of today."

"Sure thing," he answered, grinning broadly. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, a cup of black coffee if we have it."

"We do, in the galley, but I can`t vouch for when it was made," he responded as he left, closing the door behind him.

"Whew!" I exclaimed softly before adjusting the settings and turning on the air conditioner before dropping down on the bed for a few minutes after Carlson left.

I took my heavy blue uniform and shoes off and then removed my sweat dampened tee shirt before unpacking my clothes in my briefs. The cool air felt good on my sweaty skin and, I was about half finished when there was a knock on the door.

Carlson entered the room carrying the coffee I had asked for in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other. "Here are your coffee and the papers you wanted, Chief," he said as he deftly kicked the door shut.

Inhaling deeply, I exhaled slowly as I turned to face Carlson who was sitting the coffee and the sheaf of papers on the desk. "Carlson," I said softly. "I'm not a Chief Petty Office, I am a First Class Bosun's Mate. Call me Masters or call me Boats but not Chief."

"I'm sorry, Boats," he replied, looking me straight in the eye. "We called Humphries, Chief and, I guess I assumed we should address you the same way."

Seeing a teachable moment present itself, I grinned and said, "Carlson, never assume anything that you do not know to be factual, it can often return and bite you for being presumptuous."

"I never thought of it just that way, Boats," he replied, grinning with a twinkle in his eyes.

During the interchange, I had a chance to physically size Carlson up. He stood about the same height as me or maybe a tad taller, and his eyes were a dark chocolate brown. His shoulders were broad and the bulging bicep muscles that I had seen earlier, stretched the thin material of his short sleeved tee shirt. The twin nipples of his thick pectoral chest muscles protruded invitingly, and the ripped abdominal muscles of his small waist were clearly visible and there was an impressive bulge resting against his left inner thigh. 'Nice, I mused appreciatively as we briefly gazed at each other.

"No harm done, Brad, it will take a little while before we know each other better."

"I guess so," Carlson said, inhaling deeply and exhaling before he asked, "when do you want me to send one of the men to take your gear down to storage?"

"I should be finished unpacking in another fifteen minutes but, I want to take a shower before you send someone so, lets say half an hour," I said as I turned back to my suitcase.

It took me a few more minutes to finish unpacking and putting my clothes away.

Stripping off the rest of my clothes, I tied a towel around my waist before snatching my toilet kit off the bed and slipping my feet into well worn shower clogs. A couple of men gave me a cursory glance as I walked through the hall to where Carlson had indicated the showers were. They were not unlike others that I had been in when in transit. The stalls were large and all of the walls were tiled in a light tan color. Three opaque windows covered the outside wall and there were two exhaust fans in the white ceiling. Shower heads were large and it was almost like standing in the rain when they were turned on. My muscles slowly relaxed as I showered, and my cock fluffed slightly when being washed. Not an unusual event for most young boys and men. While I returned to my quarters, the fluffed state of my cock was clearly visible and I saw a few sidewise glances as some men passed me. I couldn't help but wonder if they were the envious or normal glances that most men would have given another new man.

Quickly giving my body a final drying, I pulled on a pair of briefs before slipping my feet back into the rubber clog toe thongs. With the exception of a coat hook on the door, there seemed to be no place to hang the towel to dry. `Hmmmm' I mused, `Humphries must have overlooked it when he was having the room redone.' I made a mental note to have a towel bar and a few clothing hooks installed.

Folding my sea bag and placing it inside the suitcase, I was locking the latches when there was a sharp knock on the door and I quickly said, "Enter."

The door opened and a young sailor entered. The reddish highlights of his auburn hair glinted in the glare of the overhead lights, and he was uncovered as was customary while indoors. His tight fitting work dungarees were buckled around a small waist and, revealed an impressive elongated bulge to the left of his crotch. A thin white tee shirt enhanced the clean sculpted definition of his chest muscles and the breadth of his upper torso.

"Yes," I said, gazing into his emerald green eyes.

"Saddler, Sir, Seaman Waldo Saddler," he said stiffly as he spoke to me. "Petty Officer Carlson sent me to take your gear down below to the storage locker."

He was maybe eighteen or nineteen years old and I noticed his eyes wandering over my half naked frame and lingering momentarily at the area where my cock pressed against the pouch of my tight briefs. I turned my head to avoid his seeing me grin as I said, "easy Saddler, call me Boats, not Sir."

The beautiful definition of his chest and abdominal muscles increased as he inhaled nervously, the twin nipples of his chiseled chest muscles pressing against the thin material of his tee shirt. As he exhaled, his eyes focused on a point below my chin as he said, "I'm sorry, Boats, I...I sort of got confused."

"No harm done, Saddler," I said, gently, watching closely as he picked up my suitcase, the smooth bicep muscles of his upper arm bulging slightly under the minimal weight, and I had a good view of his tight buttocks.

"Saddler, is there any way in particular that things are stored away?' I asked.

"No particular way, Boats, Carlson will tag it with your name and rating so no one else will remove it." he replied, breathing softly as he continued. "But, if you are concerned about it, there hasn't been anything missing that I know of."

"It crossed my mind but, that`s good to know," I said, smiling broadly. "That old suitcase may not look like much but, it has been to a lot of places with me."

"I bet it could tell a tale or two," Saddler said as he reached for the door knob.

"It could indeed," I replied, gazing at him calmly as he closed the door behind him.

The testosterone level in the room seemed to have increased after Saddler's departure, and a vision of him standing naked before me slowly materialized in my mind, and my cock slowly rose to it's full uncut eight-inch stature within the cramped confines of my briefs.

Squeezing my aching cock, I whispered softly, "why in hell does he have to be a sailor?"

A sudden knock at the door snapped me out of the erotic state that Saddler's appearance had created, and I called out, "Just a minute," to give me time to yank a pair of work dungarees over my rigid cock.

Saddler entered almost immediately when I said, "enter." He was carrying a three by five card in his right hand and he extended it to me as he said, "this is your registered receipt, Boats."

"Thanks, Saddler," I replied, forcing myself not to lower my eyes to his crotch.

"Tell Carlson to muster the MAA Staff, and I'll be out shortly"

"Yes, Sir," he replied, quickly averting his eyes, his face reddening as he realized his mistake.

I grinned broadly as he left.