Chapter One: Overlooking the Fleet from the 17th Floor
“You’re being a bit frisky today,” Alex Holden said, peering over a copy of the LGBT Weekly and putting his coffee cup down on the nightstand. He’d just noticed that his younger partner, Terry Duncan, was doing his morning aerobic exercises there in the bedroom, beside the bed, in a sparkly red jock strap. It wasn’t unusual for the forty-one-year-old owner of a San Diego men’s gym to scan a newspaper and drink a cup of coffee Terry had brought him in bed before getting up, but it was unusual for Terry to do his extensive morning exercise routine there in the bedroom, especially while making it evident that he had exercises more of a sexual nature in mind.
In fact, after eight years together, friskiness was rarely a word you’d use for their relationship anymore. They’d been quite an active pair when they first were hooking up. Terry had been a nineteen-year-old dancer with the semiprofessional San Diego Musical Theater. Alex had owned his serious-body building men’s gym for five years and was a walking advertisement for the place. It had been a regular David and Goliath matchup, other than that the battles lasted longer, Goliath definitely took charge, and they both won the victories they were after.
Terry still was in the musical theater, working part time as the theater’s assistant artistic director as well as prancing on stage, and still spent much of his time keeping his cute little body limber. For his part, Alex still had a body-builder’s body—albeit one of a more mature man in his forties.
Over time, though, they had settled down into a domestic, committed relationship that included shared assets, delegated responsibilities, and, more often than not, a same-same sexual relationship relative to what they once had had with each other. They still fucked but not with the same explosiveness, challenge, and variety they once had. If they’d thought about it, the sex flared up a bit when the naval fleet was in, but they didn’t think about it much.
Terry’s morning exercises didn’t usually arouse Alex, but then he usually did it in the spare bedroom in their seventeenth floor Harbor Loft apartment in the Gas Light Quarter of San Diego, overlooking the north end of Coronado Island, home of a secondary naval base of the U.S. Seventh Fleet.
“Come her’,” Alex muttered, as he put his newspaper aside and patted his flat, if thickish, stomach. That was a signal between them that the younger Terry would be riding his cock. That’s how they liked to start it these days. But their sex times were usually Wednesday and Friday nights, not Friday morning.
Terry gave him a shy little smile, walked over to the bed, climbed up on it, and moved his lithe, slim body over Alex’s thicker, more muscular, larger one. Terry stretched out on top of Alex’s prone, naked body in reverse, holding himself hovering over the larger man by supporting himself on his knees and elbows. Alex grabbed and separated the younger man’s butt cheeks and pulled Terry’s buttocks down to where he could stick his tongue up between the cheeks and start preparing Terry’s hole for a supersized cock. He ran one hand up under the pouch covering Terry’s shaft and fondled the younger man’s cock and balls while he slowly ate his ass out and opened him up. He periodically slapped Terry’s butt cheek with his other hand. Alex was a bit of a BDSM fetisher—he’d been more so when they first were hooking up than now, after they’d been together for eight years. What had once been bondage, the sting of a whip, and listening for the groan of passion-pain had mellowed into a bit of bondage and a slap or two on the rump.
Meanwhile, Terry worked Alex’s cock with his mouth at the other end.
When Terry wanted the cock, he pulled his ass away from Alex’s mouth, slid down his body, poised his hole over the cock Alex held erect for him, and sank down on it. At the beginning Alex bent his legs and Terry grabbed the older man’s knees and fucked himself on the cock. A few minutes into the fuck, Alex, who liked control and bondage, pulled Terry’s arms back, grabbed his wrists, and held Terry arched forward, taking over control of pumping Terry’s ass. When they had more time than they did today, he would bind Terry’s wrists together with leather restraints and might even use a collar and leash. They didn’t often have the “more time” they’d once had, though.
Ten minutes and it was done. Alex had shot his load. In the early days he would have made sure Terry had gotten off, but this morning, he picked up his paper and his coffee cup, and remained on the bed on his back, while Terry rolled off to the side of him, on his back, pulled the pouch of his jock strap under his balls, and masturbated himself to an ejaculation.
After coming, Terry rolled off the bed, checked the gym bag he was taking off to the theater, and went to the bathroom to shower. Time was when the two of them showered together—before sex, during sex, and after sex. But they’d been a couple now for eight years, and, as Terry sometimes reminded Alex, he was forty-one and not getting any younger.
Alex didn’t want to feel forty-one, though. And he would have been more aroused to be fucking a nineteen-year-old as he was eight years previously rather than a twenty-seven-year old who one of these days would be forty-one too and would look a little silly doing cartwheels across a stage at that age.
“Your turn in the shower,” Terry sang out, as he came out of the bathroom, patting at his toned little body with a towel. “Breakfast in twenty minutes.”
At the breakfast table in front of a full-length window overlooking San Diego Harbor, it was Terry’s turn to scan the LGBT Weekly, although no coffee for him. He was drinking orange juice and spooning wheat germ somethingorother from a bowl. Terry was a vegan and Alex was a carnivore. Terry did the cooking, though, and Alex was snarfing up three fried eggs and four link sausages.
“The fleet’s in,” Alex said to Terry’s newspaper.
“Is it?” Terry answered from behind his paper. “Yeah, I think I read something about that in last week’s paper.”
“Destroyer Squadron 15, I think,” Alex said.
“Is it?”
“You can see them lined up out there beyond Coronado—the naval ships. Tenders are already out there to bring sailors in for shore leave.”
“City will be busy,” Terry answered.
“You remember that I go up to LA for a meeting today. I’ll be back tomorrow, maybe late.”
“Yes, I remember,” Terry responded.
“I’m taking the Corvette.”
“We get better mileage on the Rav4,” Terry said, lowering his paper to give Alex a pointed look. The red Corvette convertible was a bit of a bone of contention between the two of them. Terry had made the mistake of saying that Alex wanted them to get it just because he was feeling old—having his midlife crisis. The topic of getting old didn’t go over well with Alex these days—especially when Terry combined that with the remark that Alex seemed to be slowing down on the sex. The more practical and economical of the two, Terry, had balked a bit about having a maintenance-demanding sports car in downtown San Diego. They both were busy and barely went out of town. It seemed like Alex went to LA whenever the fleet was in, though. Terry couldn’t say much about expense, however. He didn’t make much at the theater. Alex was the sugar daddy here. One reason they’d lasted for eight years probably was because Terry recognized that and was the economical one.
“The Corvette needs to open up its jets. It needs the highway workout.”
“Whatever,” Terry answered. “Since you’re gone overnight, I may just stay at the theater tonight. We’re putting in the lights for Guys and Dolls and we’re short on time on that. They need my help and it’s got to be finished by tomorrow night.”
“Whatever,” Alex said. He’d finished his breakfast. “I’m late. Gotta go.”
“Leave your dishes. I’ll take care of them,” Terry said, adding, “like always,” under his breath. But he didn’t feel in a bitchy mood, so he didn’t say it loud enough for Alex to hear, as he sometimes did. Alex treated him like a wife of eight years. But Alex had given him the cock today, and Terry was keyed up in anticipation of a special day anyway. And it was Friday. And the fleet was in. Nothing to complain about there.
Chapter Two: Terry on the Make
He couldn’t help humming as he sorted through the costumes in a dressing room at the theater. It wasn’t just about what had been this morning; it also was about what could be later. The costumes were going in three piles—those that could go back on the rack and be worn again before cleaning; those that were being kept but needed to be dry cleaned before further use; and those that could be tossed or washed and cut up for other purposes. The box office assistant manager poked his head into the room.
“If the lights are going to be set for the dress rehearsal, Tony out here is going to need some help setting them, I think,” he said. “You’re the only one around who would know what to do.” Then he was gone.
“Shit,” Terry said out loud. He’d been trying to avoid Tony. “Shit,” he said again in case the otherwise empty room hadn’t heard him. He tossed the red velvet dress he was inspecting in the “toss” pile and tromped out of the dressing room. Another “shit” floated in the air as he moved down the hallway toward the stage.
“You got some last night, didn’t you, Terry?” Tony, the temporary light man at the theater, said, as the two knelt shoulder to shoulder on the scaffolding and worked on adjusting spotlights on one side of the theater hall. Tony had come in to cover the honeymoon trip of the regular lighting technician. He was leaving almost as soon as he’d arrived, but he was such a hunky top that he’d run through the gay bottoms in the theater company, which the company had in depth, in record time. He had tried with Terry but not yet been successful.
“You got lots of something, didn’t you?” His hand brushed across Terry’s crotch.
“Stop that, Tony,” Terry said, pushing the hand away—the push was a gentle one, though, which gave Tony hope and confidence. “We’ve got to get these spots lined up and I want to be out of here by 5:30. And, no, I didn’t get laid last night.”
“I don’t believe you. You’ve been humming and acting taken care of all day,” Tony said. “And you know I want to take care of you too.”
“It wasn’t last night,” Terry said. “It was this morning, if you must know.”
“Was it that older sugar daddy of yours—the one with the gym—or have you come to your senses and gone for younger cock—like me, for instance?”
“Yes, Alex Holden fucked me this morning,” Terry said. “You know we live together. We sleep together too. There wouldn’t be anyone else in the morning.”
“There could be. You come home with me tonight and you’ll come back in the morning singing, not just humming. I’ll do you tonight and tomorrow morning too. You’ve been with this dude how long? Can he do you night and morning too?”
“Eight years,” Terry answered. He didn’t respond to how often in a day Alex could or would do him because that was a sore point after eight years. “We’re doing just fine. We’re in a commitment. We made vows to each other. Everything’s going just fine. Just fine.”
“You said that twice,” Tony said, “that everything’s coming up roses in your bed. That makes it a negative. Things are not really going fine, are they? Not so exciting after eight years, is it? And he’s older than you are, isn’t he? By lots of years. He’s burning out. You’re feeling the need for younger cock. I’ve seen that in you. You’ve been jittery. You’re jittery today, like even though he fucked you this morning, it isn’t all you wanted, all you deserved. It’s like you came in this morning primed but not satisfied. What you need is some thick Italian cock.”
He had his arm around Terry and a hand on Terry’s crotch. He’d made moves on Terry before, but not this seriously. It was like he’d known that Terry hadn’t been fully satisfied this morning, that there was something about Terry today that was vulnerable and anticipating a need being scratched.
Terry didn’t push Tony’s hand off his crotch.
“Tony, don’t,” Terry murmured, but his objection was stifled by Tony taking his mouth in a possessive kiss that didn’t stop until Terry had melted to him, was moaning, and was tracing Tony’s hard on through the material of his shorts. Terry hadn’t brushed Tony’s hand off his crotch. Tony was seasoned enough to know that he’d won and could start taking charge. Terry was a submissive. He needed someone to just tell him he was going to lie on his back and open his legs—that he was going to take cock and love taking cock—Tony’s cock.
“You’re going to let me fuck you now,” Tony whispered.
“I can’t. Not someone from the theater,” Terry said. “I have a commitment.”
“And you’ll be more open for him after I’ve done you,” Tony answered. “I don’t do commitments, and you know I’m moving to Chicago in the next few days. You’re unfinished business for me. You know me—One Time Tony. It’s just a fuck. It’s not like you’re a virgin. You take cock. You’re strange today. You want it—more than on most days. One fuck. It will be good for both of us.”
“Tony . . .” Terry meant to object, but Tony kissed him again, giving him tongue, unzipping him, cramming his hand in the fly, but not going for the cock. Going for Terry’s hole and pressing his finger in, moving it in out as they kissed, feeling Terry relax to him, give in to him.
“You’re hungry for the finger. You’ll love the cock. You’re going to let me fuck you now,” Tony repeated.
“Not here. Not on the scaffold,” Terry answered. “One or both of us will roll off and leave a mess that will be hard for the other guys to explain.”
“I’ve fucked most of the other guys,” Tony said. “They’d figure it out.”
And so he had, Terry knew. And his reputation was a good one for fucking. And, what the hell, it was a day that the fleet was in.
Terry came down off the scaffolding, Tony came down after him. They walked to the costume room he had been in earlier, where Terry pulled his trousers and briefs down and off his legs, lay down on his back on the pile of “toss” costumes on the floor, and, grabbing his ankles, raised and spread his legs. Laughing, Tony came down on his knees between Terry’s thighs.
Tony fucked Terry in a missionary position, Terry arching his back and giving a little gasp as Tony penetrated him. Terry let loose of his legs, holding them raised and spread on their own, and grabbed Tony’s biceps, immediately, by long experience, falling into the rhythm of the thrusts.
Tony was good, very, very good. His cock was thick and his technique was off cadence, causing Terry to jerk and shudder as the shaft rubbed all walls and gave Terry’s prostate enough attention that he unexpectedly ejaculated, but not with a full evacuation of cum.
He drove the cock in deep and held while Terry panted and begged him to work him. Then he revolved his hips around, paying attention to Terry’s passage walls all around, and making Terry give little yipping sounds and gulping in his breath. Then the deep dive again, held until Terry got frustrated and tried to roll out from underneath Tony. When he did so, though, Tony clutched him tight and pumped him hard until Terry’s teeth were rattled and his head was bouncing on and off the pile of costumes. Tony continued fucking him to a second explosion before Tony too dumped his load in the bulb of his rubber.
Most of the men in the company were gay bottoms and on the make, and the women had all gone to a workshop in LA today, so there was little chance that anyone would care that Tony was fucking Terry in a dressing room even if they were discovered. Tony was always fucking one of the bottoms somewhere in the theater, and none of them complained about that.
“OK, you can let me up now,” Terry said, irritated with himself that he’d let Tony fuck him, and more so because Tony had done it so well and that Terry had begged him for more of it.
“Not yet,” Tony wished in his ear. “You’re such a flexible little snit. I’ve wanted to try something with you for a long time.”
“Tony. We need to get back to the lights.”
“In a bit. Can you feel it? Can you feel it? I didn’t go completely soft. I’m young and virile. You’re used to that old man. I have more than one fuck in me in a go. I told you I could fuck you at night and the next morning. In fact, I can fuck you twice in an hour. You want a man who has more than one fuck in him. Feel me? I’m going hard again.”
Terry did feel Tony hard inside him, and he was panting shallowly. Yes, he remembered when Alex could go hard again quickly. There were some days when he still could. But young and virile? Yes, that was Tony. And, oh shit, was he hard and filling again.
“Here, let me change rubbers and we’ll go again. Something special this time.”
Terry panted, harder this time, as Tony pulled out of him and he saw the spent condom arcing toward a wastebasket. It was irritating that it went in without touching the rim. He moaned as Tony turned him over onto his stomach, no resistance in him, God help him, wanting Tony inside him again. He gasped as, kneeling between his thighs, Tony lifted Terry’s legs to rise up Tony’s torso and his ankles to hook on Tony’s shoulders, leaving Terry’s chest and cheek plastered to the red costume on the floor. Terry pressed his palms into the material, raising his chest a bit to take the pressure off. And then he jerked and gave a little cry as Tony penetrated him with his newly crowned cock. He was hard as a rock—so soon after the first fuck. And then Terry groaned as Tony laced his arms under his armpits and locked his fists behind Terry’s neck, putting the young man into a full nelson, raising and bowing Terry’s torso back to him. With Terry bent back and hanging in front of the strong lighting technician, Tony began rocking their bodies together, Tony’s cock moving inside Terry’s channel to the motion of the rocking.
“Oh shit, oh fuck,” Terry squeaked.
“You like that?” Tony asked, putting his mouth close to Terry’s ear. “Your old man can’t do this with you, can he? You’ve got to be lithe and flexible to take that. Every time I looked at you, practicing for this show, I wanted to do this with you. I knew you could do it so we’d both like it. You love it, don’t you?”
“Yes, oh shit, yes. Oh, holy fuck. Yes, I love it.”
“Something your old lover can’t do for you.”
“Oh, fuck. Oh, shit.”
And they rocked on to a mutual ejaculation, Terry’s flexibility being put to the test, but up to it—and aroused to it, getting a good release from it, with Tony fucking on, as Terry’s hard cock rubbed rhythmically to the rocking in the folds of a red velvet costume, now ruined even more than it had been before by prodigious sweat and cum stains.
“There, that’s done,” Tony said immediately after ejaculating and rolling off Terry and going into a sitting position. “You’re a good lay. Your sugar daddy better be paying you good attention, but he can’t do that. You need someone like me to give that to you. Too bad I’m off to Chicago soon—maybe as soon as I’ve spiked Craig too.”
Terry turned his face away so that Tony couldn’t see the slight hurt on his face. It might have been guilt, having let Tony fuck him when he was in a long-term, committed relationship, but that’s not what bothered him—the fleet was in today. It might have been that he was just a notch on his belt for Tony. But then Terry had let Tony fuck him with no intention of taking it any further either. Maybe it was because Tony had done him so well—that he couldn’t complain about Tony’s cocking. No, what bothered him was how perceptive Tony had been that his relationship with Alex wasn’t all it could be.
“I can check you off the list,” Tony said, his voice breezy. “There’s just Craig on the list now, and then I can whistle my way off to Chicago.”
“You’re a bastard,” Terry said, meaning it. “You’re just lucky the fleet’s in.”
“I don’t know what the hell the fleet has to do about it, and, yes, I’m a bastard. But you’ll have to admit I have an effective seduction line and a talented cock. Got into your pants the first time I made a serious run at you, didn’t I? Fucked you twice like I said I could. Did you good. Gotta go now. The spotlights won’t align themselves.”
Tony was gone before Terry could come up with a retort. There wasn’t much of a retort to give, though. Tony’s line of bull had gotten him in Terry’s pants, Terry had been aroused by Tony for weeks, and Tony did have a talented cocking technique. Terry bet even that Steve, the box office guy, had been enlisted by Tony to tell Terry he needed help with the spots when he didn’t. “But it wouldn’t have happened if the fleet wasn’t in today,” Terry said aloud, as he pulled himself up from the pile of costumes.
He worked the rest of the day in the office, far from where Tony was playing with the spotlights and whistling happily. He’d brought a lunch from the apartment that he ate at 5:30, having missed eating it at noon because that’s when Tony had spiked him. Then he took a shower in the bathroom off the dressing room where he’d been fucked, taking the time to use a douche and clean himself out.
He didn’t often highlight his piercings, but now he put the gold rings in—one in an eyebrow, one in his left nipple, one in his belly button, and the last, under his ball sac, in his perineum. Then he put on the clothes he’d brought with him in his gym bag—silky blue boxer shorts, with a gold jock strap that gave a hint of its existence through the material of the shorts, the gold shimmering through when he moved. A tight black mesh athletic shirt came down over his torso. It showed off his lithe, tanned, but nicely muscled body to perfection. It also showed his nipple and belly rings. He had free access to Alex’s gym and spent considerable time there. The time paid off. He pulled on his rope sandals and he was all ready. He knew he had a great face. His dancer’s movement would do the rest in drawing attention.
He left the theater, stopping in the hall to get Tony’s attention and give him the finger. Tony almost fell off the platform in seeing how the little minx was tricked out. “You’re not going back to your old dude like that, are you?” he called out. “He’ll have a heart attack. I’ll come down and take care of you again right now.”
“Fuck you,” Terry said, with a laugh. “Don’t need you. The fleet’s in.” He turned, strutted out of the theater and climbed into the Rav4, leaving Tony totally confused again on what the fleet had to do with any of this.
Terry arrived at a dive called The Hole. It was actually named The Watering Hole, but the clientele it attracted had changed the name for it over the years and now even the sign in front of the sprawling shack said just The Hole. He’d planned the time of his arrival. The fleet was in and the first of the day shore leavers had had time to find the place and got well oiled. The bar was chock a block with naval uniforms. It was an enlisted crowd.
Joe Jones was a petty officer third class. His friend, not as talkative or demonstrative as he was, although bigger, more muscular, more intimidating, was also his superior, Petty Officer First Class Julio Hernandez. As the name implied, Julio was Hispanic. He was towering and bald and glowered, standing next to where Joe Jones, all hands, also muscular, but built closer to the ground, had Terry in his lap, touching him here, there, and everywhere, as he whispered in Terry’s ear how nice he was and that he was just what Joe and his friend were looking for.
Terry knew that the third class petty officer was hard for him—and was pretty well hung, because Terry was sitting in his lap, and if they both weren’t dressed, Joe’s dick would be inside Terry. As it was it was pressing up in there despite the material barriers. Of course Terry’s silk boxer shorts weren’t much of a barrier. The back pocket of the boxers had also clearly revealed the outline of the packets of condoms he had tucked away there, a nice little touch that hadn’t gone unnoticed by any of the sailors in the bar. Terry had his pick of sailors. He picked two who he thought could fuck the shit out of him and he’d love it. Even though the first class petty officer wasn’t mauling him, Terry could see that he was hard too—and probably bigger than Joe—and was looking at him like he could eat him, and if there was much more tease he might just do so right here.
Jones put his mouth to Terry’s ear and said, “How about-?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Terry said.
“I got a friend here.”
“I could take you both. I’d like to take you both.”
“We’re really good friends.”
“I could take you both together.”
Joe shuddered. Julio gave a little smile. “How much?” Julio asked.
“$400 for both together,” Terry said, without hesitating.
Julio frowned, and Joe whistled his doubt. “Pretty steep,” Julio muttered.
“This isn’t a negotiation—and, no, it’s not steep for San Diego when the fleet’s in. I said I’d take you both together,” Terry said, his voice calm but determined. “That means I’ll let you double me. Included is a hotel room, transportation—I’ve got a car—I’ll get you back to the base gate on Alameda by midnight. Between now and then I’m yours. Do whatever you want with me unless I tell you to stop. My safe word is ‘stop.’ You see anyone else in here who’s going to let two good friends put their dicks in them at the same time for any less money?”
The hotel was a two-story one, named the Friendship Hotel, which honored instant friendship and catered to business just like this. It was off University Avenue, in the gay district of the city, west of the downtown area. Terry had booked room 204. He often booked a room here when the fleet was in.
Joe was anxious, and Julio, although senior, let Joe go first. They were barely inside the room before they all were stripped, Joe had Terry bent over the foot of the bed, with Terry supported with outstretched arms, fists pressed into the stained chenille bedspread, feet on floor, and legs spread. Joe fucked him from behind, crouched over his back, grasping Terry’s wrists with his fists, and biting into Terry’s neck. His arousal had been great and insistent, so he fired off quickly. Julio was standing by, watching, and pulling on his cock, making it very long and very thick indeed.
Terry was glad Joe was first. If Julio had been, he would have reamed Terry so open that he might not have felt Joe when it was his turn. As it was, it was a good progression for Terry.
Julio took Terry hard and long, doggie style, on the bed, crouching over Terry’s hips and fucking him with long, hard, deep thrusts, as Terry hung onto the brass rungs of the headboard over his head and cried out his pain, pleasure, and, eventually, passion and release. The headboard was banging on the wall in rhythm to Julio banging his ass, perhaps giving vent to a long sail across the Pacific from Yokosuka, Japan, in the destroyer, the USS Barry, which the two friends both served on. But then again, Julio seemed commanding enough to have gotten whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it on the Barry.
Calmed down a bit, Joe fucked Terry again after Julio had dropped his load, rolled off him, and allowed Terry to go onto his back, panting hard, looking dreamy at the stud who was no older than thirty and who was a virile master of vigor. Tony had stung him with the remark of needing a younger cock, but there was much to be said for that. Joe was younger than Terry by a couple of years, and on the second go, fucking Terry in the missionary position, with Terry hanging on to the brass headboard rungs over his head for dear life and arching his back, Joe proved to be highly competent and long lasting.
With an eye on the clock, having only a day pass, the two didn’t take long moving into doubles. Julio was sitting on the bed, with Terry kneeling between his legs and attempting to deep throat him. Joe was sitting, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, beside Julio at the foot of the bed, with Terry working his cock with his hand. Both men were working on opening Terry up more. They both had four fingers of a hand in Terry’s ass entrance, one on one side and one on the other, digging in and doing what they could to spread him. Terry moaned for them deeply.
The first double was on the bed, Julio on his back, with Terry on top of him in a cowboy position, facing him, Julio’s cock up his ass. Joe was crouched behind Terry and doing most of the thrusting inside him with a cock that was rubbing on Julio’s dick from above. Again Terry was grasping the rungs of the headboard, which was bouncing off the wall. They had no concern about the noise this made. The headboard on the other side of the wall was doing the same thing, sometimes at the same time theirs was and sometimes the two passing off the staccato beat to each other. No one in the hotel would mind. This was that sort of hotel.
Pressed for time, the second double was performed in the shower, with the two sailors standing under the cascading water and Terry sandwiched between them, his legs hooked on Julio’s hips, his fists locked behind Julio’s neck, his lips plastered to Julio’s lips, and Julio’s cock thrusting up into his ass. Joe was behind Terry, his cock meeting Julio thrust for thrust in Terry’s passage, his hands palming and spreading Terry’s butt cheeks, and his face buried in the hollow of Terry’s throat.
They tossed Terry on the bed when they came out of the shower, and he lay there panting, listening to the thumping on the wall by the bed in the adjoining room, as the two sailors dried off and dressed.
“That was good—and worth it,” Julio said. “You don’t have to drive us back if you’re not up to it. We’ll get a taxi.”
“I’ll drive you back,” Terry said, with a groan, as he hauled himself out of the bed and reached for his clothes. He didn’t want to tell them, but he had a reason for driving them back.
He pulled the Rav4 over to the curb near the base gate on Alameda Boulevard on Coronado Island. He waved the two sailors through the gate. They made it back just before midnight and they clearly were happy with their shore leave day, shadow boxing each other and badmouthing other sailors as they strutted through the gate.
Terry got out of the Rav4 and perched against the hood, waiting. All over the area, other men and women were waiting. It was a regular flesh bazaar on this street by the gate when the fleet was in. In another fifteen minutes, the Saturday shore leave day had begun and sailors were starting to stream out of the base, looking around for where to spend the twenty-four hours they had away from their floating steel cans that had brought them across the Pacific from Hawaii.
He watched for what he wanted. A somewhat older man, someone looking self-confident and more mature and commanding than the junior sailors. The man Terry was looking for saw Terry; they established and maintained eye contact. The sailor was black, but he was wearing a chief petty officer’s uniform, and he was tall and slender, moving gracefully like a dancer, and he was moving in such a way that he knew he owned the world. When a sailor did that, Terry believed it was very likely that he was hung like a horse.
His name was DeAngelo Williams, he was a chief petty officer aboard the USS Fitzgerald, he was hung like a bull, and he was inventive, demanding, and a lover. He fucked Terry through the night in room 204 of the Friendship Hotel. The headboard of the bed was doing a ratatatat against the wall all night. But then, so was the headboard of the room next to theirs.
DeAngelo fucked Terry on the bed, standing over Terry’s jackknifed body, with Terry’s rump waving in the air, his face tucked into his chest and his arms reaching out for the rungs of the brass headboard as DeAngelo jackhammed down into his passage with a godawful long cock. And he took Terry with Terry in his lap, their legs folded yoga style and Terry arched back and holding onto the headboard rungs, as DeAngelo pulled him cruelly on and off his cock with strong pulls by grasping Terry’s hips in his hands. He took Terry by sitting on the foot of the bed, with Terry, facing away, skewered on his cock, his torso arched over the carpet at the foot of the bed, and, grasping his wrists, DeAngelo pulling Terry on and off the cock.
And, as the light of dawn began to steal into the room’s window, Terry was stretched out on his stomach, his hands grasping the brass rungs of the headboard overhead, while in a pushup position over him and reversed on his body, DeAngelo fucked him hard and deep in a reverse angle.
The headboard on the other side of the wall had been silent for a couple of hours, but now, as DeAngelo released his seed for the last time, the bumping of the wall from the other side started again.
Terry lay there panting, his eyes dreamy, his satiation complete, and watched the black bull move gracefully around the room after having taken a shower. He took his time putting his naval uniform back on. He was a beautiful man of maybe thirty-five and moved liked he owned the place. He had owned Terry with his masterful performance.
He smiled at Terry, still on the bed, naked, still panting. He leaned down and gave Terry a lingering kiss on the lips, and said, “That was nice. Thanks. I know you said you’d drive me back to the base, but I thought I’d do some cruising around here first.”
He dropped $100 in twenties on the nightstand. That’s all Terry had asked for. This wasn’t about money for Terry. He knew that this guy would do him up special—and he did.
“I’ll pay you the hundred back and take you to breakfast if you come back here with me and do me again,” Terry said.
DeAngelo laughed.
This time the fuck was tender, the two locked in a missionary position, their bodies plastered together, DeAngelo’s face buried in Terry’s chest, feasting on his nipples, and Terry rubbing his heels against DeAngelo’s calves and squeezing the black bull’s butt cheeks to the rhythm of the rocking fuck, DeAngelo’s long, thick cock moving deeper and then deeper and then deeper still inside Terry, the two working as one. Fucking, but making love.
Terry drove DeAngelo back to base after all—in the early afternoon—after giving him an “eternally grateful” blow job.
There was no sound from the room next door. In longevity, Terry had won the fuck fest between the two rooms.
He could make it for a while now. Strange to be saying it as much as he had been fucked in the last twenty-four hours by three sailors, Tony, and Alex, but now he could hang in there. Nothing was as important to him as hanging in there with Alex. But Terry didn’t think that would be possible if the fleet didn’t come in every couple of months and give him relief and the bit of excitement he still craved at twenty-seven.
Chapter Three: Alex on the Prowl
Alex Holden didn’t drive up to Los Angeles that day. When he left his apartment and drove off in the red Corvette convertible, he went to his gym on University Avenue, on the edge of the gay district. His location pretty much determined what kind of man used the gym, and that was just fine with Alex. That’s why he’d opened his gym where he did. And on days when the fleet was in, he had extra business. The sailors could go to gyms on their ships, certainly, but they didn’t go to gyms just to exercise. At least the sailors who came into Alex’s gym when the fleet was in weren’t just interested in working their bodies. They were interested in being watched by other guys—guys who would admire the results of all their gym work—and they came to work other guys’ bodies—to fuck other guys and/or to be fucked by them.
Alex was sure to be at his gym when the fleet was in, standing there in the main gym, watching the young sailors come into the gym, gauging them and separating the tops from the bottoms in his mind. And he looked for the young bottoms, the ones who had been like Terry was when he was nineteen—young, blond, small and perfect of body, a dancer’s walk, a shy smile, a come-hither look, pleading for a cock, a tight ass, a plaintive cry as he was being worked. He wanted them to be men, though, not effeminate pansies. That was what was nice about this being a serious body-building gym. Mostly guys who were manly, even if bottoms, came in here. The pansies could be found more in Marion Bear Park or Swiss Park. Terry might be a bottom and a dancer, but he moved and acted like a man.
He moved about the room, talking to this guy and that. Picking and choosing. Spotting guys. Touching them. Checking them out and sounding them out. By 10:30, he’d picked out his choice. He was Seaman Apprentice Sean Lowell, off the USS Curtis Williams and not that long out of a cornfield in Kansas. He was young and naïve, but he was built, wasn’t a pansy, and had been fucked before, Alex was sure, and he wanted to be fucked again. He was just shy, not as forward as some of the men who had come into the gym. Some of them could tell that Alex was after male pussy and they were happy to accommodate him. Alex was good-looking and built, even if a little old for the young action guys, and they’d heard that he owned the place. He could give them some action, be grateful a young guy would give him a spin, and could offer free pass to the gym. What was not to like about that? Some of the other trainers even mentioned he drove a red Corvette and would give those he fucked a good ride—both physically and in his red Corvette.
But Alex wanted Seaman Apprentice Sean Lowell, because he was shy and inexperienced, and because he was so much like Terry had been when he was nineteen and came into Alex’s gym.
By 11:00, Alex was Sean’s spotter and trainer. He was showing the young man how to use the equipment best. Both of them were just in gym shorts. Alex was touching Sean and manipulating his body to show him the best way to use the equipment. Sean was panting and trembling and Alex could feel he’d gone hard. He made sure that Sean knew he’d gone hard too. He made sure that Sean understood that not all of the touching was just to help him with the equipment, and Sean, though panting and shuddering now and then, was not shrinking away from him.
At 11:20, Alex was standing close behind Sean, with a hand on his belly, presumably telling the young man where to breath from when using a taxing piece of equipment. Sean was trembling under him. Alex put his mouth to Sean’s ear and whispered, “You are a beautiful young man. Your body is so nice. You’ve toned yourself up perfectly. You didn’t come here just to exercise, did you? You came here to try to hook up—to be fucked, didn’t you?”
Sean’s answer was a low moan.
“You brought your toned body to me to be used by me, didn’t you? You came here to be fucked by me, didn’t you?” Alex cupped the young man’s chin with his free hand and brought his face around for a deep kiss. Sean didn’t resist or pull away. That was all the answer that Alex needed.
“We have private exercise rooms here,” Alex whispered in Sean’s ear when he released him from the kiss. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I have a private room, with exercise equipment and weights and everything where I can give you a private workout, put you through your paces. This isn’t going to be a quick fuck-and-go. I’m gonna use you long and hard—totally. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” Sean answered in a breathy voice.
“I like the sound of the ‘Sir’. I’m gonna tie you up and you’re gonna submit to me.”
“Yes, Sir.” Sean could hardly get the words out, he was panting so hard.
At 11:35, Sean was strapped up to a weight bench in a private gym room and Alex was turning the lock on the door and pulling a blind down on the window in the door. Alex was on his back on the bench, his butt at the end of the bench. His wrists were strapped to a barbell above his head with enough weight on either side that he didn’t have a prayer of lifting the bar. His legs were spread and raised, with his ankles bound to two iron stands at either side of the bench. There was a small medicine ball stuffed under the small of his back, turning his pelvis up. He was biting into a rubber ball gag in his mouth, moaning softly and possibly just now trying—ineffectually and with added arousal—to voice some reticence at what was about to happen to him.
At 11:37, Alex was on his knees below the young man, eating his ass out, and Sean was huffing and puffing and writhing as much as he was able. The sounds being muffled by the ball gag seemed to be more insistent, but still ineffectual in influencing what Alex was doing.
At 11:45, Alex was fucking the shit out of Sean’s ass and slapping the young man’s ass cheeks red with the palm of his hand. To the extent he could Sean was thrusting back with his pelvis, showing that what he was getting was exactly what he wanted from Alex. The sounds through the ball gag were definitely those of engagement and passion.
At 11:52, Sean was writhing and making muffled pleading sounds through his gag. Alex wanted the sailor to have as good a time as he was having. He took the gag out of Sean’s mouth to check on whether he was expressing pain or anger or pleasure or passion. Sean was most of the way to passion and crying out, “Yes, yes, shit yes. Fuck, yes. Fuck me hard,” so he was having a good time. Alex slapped him on the butt cheek and continued pumping him.
At 12:12, Alex pulled out of Sean’s ass, ripped his condom off, and shot his load on the young man’s flat, heaving belly. Sean had come at 11:58 with Alex stroking his cock hard.
Sean was getting what he’d come to the gym to get, but maybe a bit rougher and more intense than he had imagined it would be. He professed to be happy with it when Alex was done, “But I think I’d like to go back to the ship now,” he said, even though his shore leave didn’t end until midnight. He clearly had been exhausted and lost his need for more carousing on shore.
He perked up when Alex said, “I’ll drive you back to the Alameda gate. I have a red Corvette convertible, parked just outside.”
“Gee, yes, that would be great,” Sean answered.
“It’s really too early for you to have to go back to the ship, though. And I’m sure you haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. How about we go to a bar I know over on University Avenue that serves the best burgers? My treat.”
“Yeah, that would be great.”
Alex scrounged around on a desk for paper and pen, wrote out a note, and gave it to Sean. “Get showered and wait for me at the entrance to the gym. Give this to the guy at reception, and he’ll zero out your entrance tab and give you an extra hundred—for the good time.”
“Gee thanks . . .”
It occurred to them both that, if Sean had heard Alex’s name, he’d forgotten it and that he hadn’t given a name to Alex.
“I’m Alex,” he said, feeling a little thrill of his earlier life when he’d anonymously spike a guy like he’d just done this young sailor and it would have been so casual that they hadn’t even exchanged names. “You know other guys as built and good lookin’ as you are on your ship who you think would give as good of a workout as you did me, feel free to tell them about my gym—and me—for their next shore leave. Here, you can take a handful of the gym’s cards.”
“I’m Sean. Thanks . . . Sir.” And, after taking the cards offered to him, Sean turned and was off to the shower.
Alex watched his tight little butt with mixed thoughts as the young sailor glided out of the room. It was great knowing that he’d split those delicious orbs with his cock, but it was also sad that the young man, hesitating, had called him sir rather than Alex after the master-slave session was over and Alex had offered a relationship on a different footing. The young man no doubt had retained the “sir” in recognition that Alex was old enough to be the sailor’s father.
1:30 p.m., Sean had just put away his third hamburger and his third beer. He was more relaxed and was chattering up a storm. Alex touched him on the forearm and then, when Sean didn’t back off, kissed him on the lips and felt up his crotch. They were in a gay bar, so no one seemed to take notice and Sean didn’t pull back from being felt up either.
“Have you ever been to a Turkish bathhouse?” Alex asked as a kiss chaser. He kept his hand on Sean’s basket. “We have a couple of good ones near here. All-guy places. A different experience. Something for you to remember when you’ve gone back on the ship.”
“What happened in the gym was something to remember,” Sean answered.
“Something to want again too?” Alex asked. “Maybe in the bathhouse? It’s a wall-to-wall fuck fest there.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Sean answered.
“Back in the gym, it seemed like you’d had enough for today. Recovered from that and wanting to go again?”
“Yeah, maybe again,” Sean repeated. He widened his stance under the table to allow Alex to get a firmer grip on his engorging cock through the material of the black trousers he had on under the khaki shirt. When Alex started pulling down his zipper, though, Sean balked a bit. “Umm. Any sailor could look over here. Could be someone from the Curtis Williams. I wouldn’t want—”
“I’ve got a room booked in a hotel nearby,” Alex murmured. He was getting horny again. “We could go at it there, just me and you, in private. Maybe have a special time of it. And then maybe broaden out at the bathhouse.”
“That Turkish bathhouse idea sounds interesting,” Sean countered.
“And maybe the hotel after that?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
2:15 p.m. Alex was sitting on a tile bench below the waterline and running around the inner rim of a pool in the Turkish bathhouse. Sean was sitting in his lap, skewered on his cock, facing him. Alex was holding the young man steady with hands gripping his waist, while Sean pushed off of the tile pool wall on either side of Alex’s torso with his feet, pulling himself on and off Alex’s cock.
3:30 p.m. Sean was on his back on the bed in room 206 of the Friendship Hotel, his arms drawn above his head and restrained by straps around his wrists and the brass slats of the headboard. Alex’s knees were pushed under the young man’s buttocks, and he was holding Sean’s legs spread and raised with hand holds under the young man’s knees. He was fucking Sean in long slides of his cock, and Sean was moaning and groaning for him. The bed was bucking backward and forward, the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall behind it.
5:30 p.m. Alex had given Sean a tour of San Diego in the red Corvette convertible. Sean asked to see the Marion Bear and Swiss parks for future reference, and Alex drove him there, and they sat in the car, fondling each other, and watching guys hook up. The Corvette now was parked in Shoreline Park, across the harbor from the naval base on the northern tip of the Coronado Peninsula. Alex said that Sean would want to see where the visiting ships were ported, and Sean agreed that that was a good idea. Right at the moment, though, Sean had his head in Alex’s lap, as the older man sat behind the wheel of the Corvette, and was giving Alex a blow job.
At 6:15 p.m., they were on Coronado Island, stopping off at a small steak house, where Alex was treating Sean to dinner before driving up into the parking area at the naval base’s Alameda Boulevard gate at 7:20 p.m., where they got out of the Corvette and Alex leaned against the hood of the sports car and waved a hobbling, but happy, Sean into the gate, ending Sean’s first shore leave in the Navy—and giving him quite a bit to think about.
Alex didn’t do this that often. He was serious about his commitment to Terry. But when the fleet was in . . . and when their sex life had once again gone stale . . . and when Alex wanted to think about Terry being nineteen again . . . and him being with a nineteen-year-old, fresh young man . . . holding him bound and completely under his control . . . and plowing his ass . . .
Getting Sean back to the base gate on Coronado Island put Alex in position, along with several other guys and gals in flash cars, a bevy of taxis, and the Navy buses that transported the less brave to various parts of the city, to be there for the evening release of serious shore leavers. Some sailors were held back to work on the ships during the day on Friday, but those who did leave late were given extended hours of shore leave. And some sailors preferred late release because that meant they could be in the city all night. These were the sailors Alex and other hopeful hookups standing by their sports cars in the parking area outside the Alameda gate were interested in. These guys wanted to party all night.
Alex had learned some time ago that all he had to do was wear a little leather draped on his muscular frame—something to make him appear a few years younger—lean against the hood of the red Corvette convertible, and have a riding crop in his hand, flicking it against his calf. When he did this, the right guys—the guys who knew they wanted it rough—would come to him and he could make his choice.
The chosen one who came to him at 7:42 p.m., Friday night, was Seaman Apprentice Mike Pastrol from off the USS Fitzgerald. They made eye contact as soon as the sailor came out of the gate, and Alex made sure Mike saw the riding crop and saw that he looked the young man up and down and gave him a tight smile.
Mike walked like a dancer as he crossed the open space between the gate and the parking lot, keeping his eyes on Alex like he was signaling to those coming out of the gate with him to back off. There were several men standing by their cars and ogling the sailors coming out of the gate. They tended to be split between older corporate types and bruisers. Alex had come as a bruiser. There were women on the prowl too, but the two preferences split off from each other right at the gate into the naval base.
As well as being a panther-like glider, rather than a plodder, Mike was obviously young, lithe, blond, and quite evidently knew how this worked. Stopping close in front of Alex, he gave a pointed look at the riding crop again, licked his lips with his tongue, and then lowered his head to look submissively at his feet. The impression that he gave was that if Alex had growled for him to go on his knees right there and suck him off, the sailor would do it.
Alex’s role was to take command from the get go, so there wasn’t much in the way of preliminaries. The honeypot would give out or he wouldn’t.
“How old are you?” Alex growled.
“Nineteen . . . Sir.”
Bingo. The last box to check on a substitute for Terry when they’d first hooked up. He was nineteen. The submissive “Sir” was an added bonus.
“How much do you want for the night? I’ve got a hotel room.”
“$200,” Mike came back with immediately. That told Alex the kid was a pro at it. A naïve guy wouldn’t have been able to come back with a number that quickly.
“You’ll be bound.”
“$250 then,”
“$150. And you’ll be used hard.”
“$225,” Mike came back with.
“$150 and breakfast and transportation. I have lots of choices when the fleet’s in. Get in the car.”
Mike got in the car.
On the bed in room 206 of the Friendship Hotel, they began with Mike riding cowboy on Alex’s cock in reverse. Alex had a dog collar on Mike’s throat with a long strap that Alex used to motion whether he wanted Mike to ride back and forth, up and down, or from side to side. Mike’s hands were bound at the wrist behind his back. Alex was slapping at the young man’s back and buttocks with the riding crop. The bed’s headboard was bouncing against the wall in whatever rhythm and intensity Alex set in the fuck, and, over the night, he tuned into that sound to gauge how steady the beat had been reached in an individual fuck.
They had both been keyed up from the initial greeting, so they both came quickly the first time. There was a period of rest, in which they both lay, stretched out on the bed, side by side, their backs propped up on the headboard, each slowly masturbating the other, with Alex taking a smoking break.
Even at rest, their bed was swaying gently because the bed in the room next to them now was going, its headboard rhythmically beating against the wall. Muffled sounds of sex were coming through the wall as well. It was that kind of hotel. The knowledge that someone—probably a sailor or a local male whore under a sailor, or two, as it sounded like there were more than two voices—was getting royally fucked on the other side of the wall kept Alex aroused. He’d already had a serious sex day, and, at his age, and although oversexed, he could feel that he was slowing down a bit in recovery.
The beat on the wall ceased for now. It was their turn. Alex crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray on the nightstand, swept up another condom, crowned himself, and growled, “Get on all fours. I’m gonna ride you into the sunset.”
And that’s what he did. Mike went on all fours, but Alex wanted the young man’s wrists tied to straps attached to the brass rungs of the headboard, so Mike actually wound up on his knees, with his rump waving in the air and flat on his chest, cheek to stained chenille bedspread, with his arms pulled above his head. Alex had allowed enough give to Mike’s wrist straps so that once Alex was mounted, crouched over Mike’s hips, and had reached a steady stroke in pumping his ass and beating on his buttocks with the riding crop in his hand, Alex could also tug on the strap attached to the collar around Mike’s neck and pull the young man’s head up to his for all-tongue kissing.
In the forward and back sway of the bed, the headboard was rhythmically bouncing against the wall. It was almost like the men in the two rooms were in a coordinated dance of the fuck, sometimes abusing the wall between them together, sometimes trading off with each other.
The last fuck of the night was a missionary, with Mike on his back, his arms pulled above his head, the wrists secured to the brass rungs of the headboard, and Alex between his bent and parted thighs, mining his passage deep. When Alex wanted it, he pulled Mike’s face up to his by pulling on the collar chain, and they kissed. Mike’s eyes had glazed over and he was near exhaustion.
Alex was near exhaustion too. Age was getting to him. At one time he could go all day and all night. He wasn’t going to make it in fucking through the night tonight, though. And he couldn’t ruin himself for tomorrow. This had all been for tomorrow and for the next week and for as long as he could spin this revving up out until there was another day the fleet was in.
After he’d filled the bulb of his condom this time and Mike had shot his last, weak ejaculation up Alex’s belly, Alex lowered his body on Mike’s and both dozed off to the sound of the beating of the headboard against the wall in the other room and the feel of Alex going soft inside Mike’s passage.
They woke up as the room was lightening from the rising of the sun outside the hotel room window. They stirred and cooed at each other, kissed, and Alex fondled.
“You could release my wrists,” Mike murmured. “My arms have gone to sleep.”
“In a bit,” Alex said. He’d gone hard. He didn’t want to waste it. “One more and then I’ll take you to breakfast and anywhere else you want to go.”
Mike objected, but just a bit. Not enough to make Alex stop scooting underneath his body, facing up, putting Mike to the cock from underneath and behind, lacing his legs through Mike’s and raising and spreading them, planting his own feet on the tasseled sheets, wrapping his arms around Mike’s torso so that he could worry Mike’s nipples, and start thrusting deep into Mike’s passage.
Mike moaned as the headboard once again started to drum against the wall behind the bed.
After breakfast, Alex drove Mike over to the University Boulevard gay district, pointing out the various establishments and what Mike could expect to find in each.
“You’ll have to be careful,” Alex said. “You’re of a favorite type around here. You’ll get a lot of attention—by more than one man at a time. The fleet’s in so there will be a lot of randy sailors.”
“I know a good bit about randy sailors,” Mike said. “I like attention by more than one—of course you seemed like more than one last night,” he quickly added, showing he knew how to handle his men. “God you were big—and you could keep it up. Surprising for a man your age. You gotta be, what, thirty-five or thirty-six?”
“Yeah, something like that,” the forty-one-year-old lied. The young sailor had hit his sore point. He was getting on in age. He needed boosts like this, when the fleet came in, and a night or two with a nineteen-year-old to do justice with his relationship with Terry, who now was pushing thirty himself. He had convinced himself that this all was part of the commitment to Terry, not a betrayal of their relationship. He needed a boost every once in a while to be revved up for Terry long enough to keep their relationship going. Having the fleet come in periodically helped give him that boost.
He wanted nothing so much as to take this sweet little nineteen-year-old piece who took his fetishes in his stride back to room 206 at the Friendship Hotel and bang him again—he still had the room booked. But he couldn’t risk it. He had to go home to Terry later today, and he had to have something left in the tank or at least time for the tank to refill.
“What’s that over there?” Mike asked.
“That’s a Turkish bathhouse,” Alex answered. In fact, it was the same one he’d fucked the young sailor Sean in the day before. “There’s a lot of action going on in there. With the fleet in it will be crawling with randy men today.”
“I want to go there.”
Alex took him there. He wanted to save himself now, so he didn’t fuck Mike in the pool. But he sat below the water’s surface on the bench lining the inside wall of the pool and pulled on his cock while he watched Mike being gang banged by five men on the floor across the pool from him. He was sitting on two cocks, sideways, the two men under him stretched together, the thighs of one over the thighs of the other, cocks bundled together for Mike to take together. He was sucking another guy’s cock, and two other guys had their hands all over him, waiting for a turn that Mike seemed to be quite willing to give them. Alex was half hard, remembering when he was in the thick of such a group fuck in his younger days.
Try as he might, Alex couldn’t make himself go all hard. He’d given it quite a workout and he resigned himself to needing to give it a rest. He felt his age. He didn’t look his age, though, and his age was more of a come on for some young men than a deterrent. One such guy entered the pool beside Alex. He was young, cut, and obviously a sailor from the way he carried himself, the anchor tattoo he had on his arm, and the buzz cut of his head. No local in San Diego who wasn’t nearly bald already anyway would buzz cut his hair.
“I’m randy,” he said as he settled down on the bench below the water surface next to Alex.
“Hi, Randy, I’m Alex.”
“No, I mean I’m really randy,” the young sailor said. “Watching Mike get gang banged over there has me in pain. I’ve wanted some of that on the ship.”
“You’re from the USS Fitzgerald too then?” Alex asked.
“Yeah, how did you know that?” the sailor asked.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you are in need. Can I help you with that? Jack you off until there’s an opening over there and you can get a piece of Mike too?”
“Are you waiting to do him too?”
“I’ve done him. All night. And I’m a bit tired now. But if you’d like, lay back and I’ll take care of you with my hand.”
“I don’t know if a hand job—”
“I can make a hand job good enough,” Alex said.
The sailor laid back, but he turned his face to Alex and they kissed as Alex fisted the young man’s cock and masturbated him to a release. The sailor gasped as Alex pushed his foreskin off the bulb and began working on the bulb in earnest, rubbing and squeezing it and worrying the piss slit open with his pinky. Doing it underwater provided something of a lubricant on the young man’s sensitive spots. The sailor writhed under Alex, starting to move his hips, and Alex made a sheath with the fingers of his hand and let the sailor fuck the hand to a cloudy flow of cum into the water of the pool. Alex dearly would have liked to have more from the young sailor and to do more with him, but the guy was a top and so was Alex and Alex needed to rest himself now—for later, he kept telling himself.
After he’d ejaculated, Alex asked, “Was—?”
“Oh, shit, yes, that was good,” the young sailor answered with a mellow tone.
He sat there, beside Alex, and they chatted a bit about the gay life in San Diego and what you could get where. Seeing that there was an opening on Mike’s dance card on the tiles across the pool, though, Alex urged the young man to cut in.
“You sure you don’t want me to do you?” he asked. “You give great jack. I’d be happy to do the same for you. You’ve got a great bod too.” The “for your age” wasn’t said, but was understood.
“I should. I own a gym,” Alex said. “No, go on. You youngsters have your fun.” One last kiss, and the sailor was moving across the pool to the action on the other side.
Alex could see that Mike was having a good time—quite possibly a better time than he’d had with Alex the night before. So, a little melancholy about that, Alex left them to it, went back to the locker room and dressed, and drove over to his gym. The gym was full of possible tail again today, but Alex went to his office and stayed there, out of sight and out of reach of temptation.
At one point, Hank, one of the trainers, popped his head into the office and said, “You should be out here boss. There’s so much young guy poontang running around looking for it with the fleet being in today that you need to see this.”
What he meant but didn’t say was that Alex needed to get in on it. It was a running ill-kept secret that the boss went off the rails when the fleet was in. He was all so straitlaced about being in a committed relationship—and he usually was good about that—but when the fleet was in, he dipped his wick. All the guys working at the gym knew that, and most of them were glad he did. He made them feel guilty, being so adamant about it when the fleet wasn’t in. They were all tops. They all worked at this gay gym on the edge of San Diego’s gay district to pick off the bottoms who came to the gym to get exactly what they got. It was threatening to them to see Alex so adamant about commitment to one guy—except on the days the fleet was in. So, they goaded him whenever they could to go off the reservation. They all knew he’d worked over a young honey pot in one of the private-session gym rooms the day before. They wanted him to do it today too.
“Some great, willing tail out here, boss.”
“Thanks, but I’m saving myself,” Alex answered. “Whenever I go up to LA for the night, Terry expects something special when I get back. I want to be able to give it to him.”
“LA? You didn’t drive up to LA yesterday, did you?” Hank jolly well knew Alex hadn’t driven up to Los Angeles. He’d been here, fucking a nice little piece yesterday. They’d left together. Hank didn’t have any doubt that the party had continued. He’d been standing by the desk when the receptionist had made the room reservation at the Friendship Hotel. Everyone knew what happened at the Friendship hotel.
“Terry doesn’t know I didn’t go to LA—and none of you are going to tell him.”
The only part of that that made sense was the command that he and the other trainers mind their own business and not take any tales to the boss’s bed partner. Hank understood when he was being dismissed and was on the edge of being fired from a cushy job that allowed him to easily pick off cute fucks. So he withdrew and Alex went back to looking at his paperwork without really seeing it and resisting going out on the floor and joining in on the fun.
Chapter Four: Back in the Saddle
Craig, the head dresser, was humming when Terry entered the theater that afternoon. Terry had spent the day cleaning the Harbor Loft apartment from top to bottom and putting together a gourmet dinner that could be kept in the refrigerator and just popped in the oven twenty minutes before they wanted to eat. An expensive bottle of Pinot Grigio had gone into the refrigerator.
On hearing Craig humming, Terry realized he was humming as well. Craig had a little smile on his face. Terry realized that he was smiling too.
“Do you know if the lights got adjusted yesterday?” he stopped and asked Craig.
“Yes, but late into the night,” the head dresser answered. “I had to help Tony finish them off because I was the only one here when he needed an extra pair of hands.”
“So, has Tony come in yet today?” Terry asked.
“He won’t be coming in today. He left early for Chicago. Said something came up unexpectedly.” Craig looked a little sad in delivering that news.
Terry laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet something came up unexpectedly when the two of you were alone in here last night.”
“Excuse me?” Craig was blushing.
“Was it a good fuck? Did Tony fuck you well? Do it twice, did he? Put you in some positions you’d never been in before?”
Craig flared up. “Yes, he fucked me well. Tony has a cock to die for. I’m just sad he’s gone and won’t be doing me again.”
“Yeah, I agree with you. He did me yesterday too. I’m glad you got some before he left. No judgment from me.”
Leaving Craig with his mouth gaping, Terry went back to behind the stage. The reason why he’d come in was that it had bothered him to leave the costumes the way they were—the red velvet one with his semen stains on them. Maybe it could be cleaned before anything else was done with it—just so he’d know it didn’t have essence of him on it. If not, he’d just toss it. What he didn’t want was for others to see it and to wonder about—or, worse, not wonder about it; know how the stain got there. It would be worse for someone to figure it out. Tony was a braggart. It would be just like him to say he’d fucked Terry and Craig before he left for Chicago. But he was a braggart who delivered. He’d said he wanted to spike both Terry and Craig before he left. So, if he’d left for Chicago, then everyone would strongly suspect anyway if they didn’t know.
The red velvet costume wasn’t in the pile of costumes on the dressing room floor. It was, however, in the wastebasket—along with four used condoms.
So, yes, Terry thought, Craig had been spiked twice too. He lifted the costume out of the basket. There were more stains on it than he’d put there. The material was ruined, but it had some “good times” memories attached to it now, so maybe . . .
He stuffed it in a plastic bag, left the theater, tossed the costume in the backseat of the Rav4, and drove back to the Harbor Loft apartment.
* * * *
Alex came home to the Harbor Loft apartment at 5:00 p.m. Soft music was playing in the living area. He went to the refrigerator and opened it. He saw the meal sitting in there and knew that it was one that could be started at any time and be ready afterward. He saw the wine. The wine was a signal between them. For that matter the conveniently prepared meal was a signal to him.
That the fleet had come in was a signal to him. That he’d supposedly gone to Los Angeles overnight was a signal to him. This had been what had continually reignited their relationship in recent years—not just the signals, but the preparation that had gone into them.
It had been a struggle. It had been so easy to drift into what a lot of marriages and committed arrangements were—complacency and same sameness. Added to this that they weren’t as young as they had been when they’d first hooked up. They’d both assumed that they would continue to approach life in high gear as they did when Terry was nineteen and Alex, although he was thirty-three, was in top shape physically. Their assumptions had been wrong. Life slowed down. Life became humdrum. They both were oversexed, though. That hadn’t changed. The flash of excitement kept fizzling, however.
But thank God that here, in San Diego, the fleet occasionally came in and randy and submissive sailors poured out into the city on shore leave.
Alex took a beer from the refrigerator and drank it off in a couple of gulps. Then he turned and headed for the master bedroom, knowing what he’d find when he opened the door.
Terry was lying in the center of the bed on a red velvet spread that looked suspiciously like a billowy dress, on his back, naked, his legs bent and spread, his cock in his hand. Beside him were straps and restraints, a ball gag, and a riding crop. These were now and again staples of their lovemaking, although their use never seemed to be sustained. They were what Alex liked. They tended to come out when the fleet was in but then disappear within a week when sessions went back to Wednesday and Friday night and easily became hurried and perfunctory, with no time taken to gather props.
This was Saturday night and the fleet was in. On top of that Terry had brought out the toys. Alex’s cock was hard and throbbing.
“Do a striptease for me, Daddy,” Terry said, his voice thick with want.
Alex complied.
When he went to the bed, Terry was snapping closed the dog collar around his throat. The leather leash hung down his back. He held out the wrist restraints to Alex.
As Alex liked, they started with a reverse cowboy, with Alex flat on his back, his knees bent to give him leverage to work with and with his feet flat on the mattress. Terry was saddled on Alex’s pelvis, facing his feet, riding his cock, Terry’s wrists were tied behind him and Alex was signaling the variations in the ride with the differences of his guidance with the leash attached to the collar. He beat a tattoo on Terry’s back and buttocks with the riding crop in the other hand—nothing too painful or that would leave angry welts for more than an hour or two.
When the rhythm became steady, the bed started rocking forward and back, the headboard thumping against the wall. Visions of Terry became mixed in Alex’s mind with that of binding and fucking Seaman Apprentice Mike Pastrol in room 206 of the Friendship Hotel. That didn’t make Alex appreciate Terry less; it just made Alex harder, thicker, longer—and longer lasting—as he fucked up into Terry’s ass.
Then Terry was on his back, arms trapped above his head, tied off at the brass rungs of the headboard. His legs were spread and bent. Pillows were stuffed under the small of his back. He was biting on the ball gag. Alex was crouched between his spread thighs, eating his ass out and sucking his cock and balls. Then he was mining Terry’s ass with a dildo. When he moved his knees between Terry’s thighs and started working his cock in, above the buried dildo, Terry writhed under him and emitted muffled screams of pain, pleasure, and passion through the ball gag, taking the two forms of cock—the natural and rubberized versions—in his stride.
The rhythm of Alex’s thrusts—thrusting the natural cock with his pelvis and the dildo with his fist—caused the bed to thump against the wall behind the headboard. Terry’s vision of Alex became mixed with that of Petty Officer First Class Joe Jones and Petty Officer Julio Hernandez sharing Terry in a double fuck in room 204 of the Friendship Hotel, and Terry’s arousal soared up to the heavens. He exploded in three gushes of cum, arcing it up to splash against Alex’s chest.
Alex came while riding Terry’s ass in a doggie fuck, crouched high on Terry’s hips, Terry’s wrists tied once more to the headboard, Alex, dreaming of both Terry and Seaman Apprentice Sean Lowell, pounding Terry’s ass in a motion that sent the bed thumping against the wall, and flogging Terry’s ass with his riding crop.
They lay, panting, in each other’s arms, nearly spent, but now coming to the part that Terry preferred and Alex granted him on these days that the fleet came in—the high days for their lovemaking.
“Is there something you want?” Alex whispered into Terry’s ear.
“Yes, please,” Terry responded, “If you can do it. I was told you couldn’t, but I want to try.”
Given that challenge, Alex was determined to do it even before hearing what the position entailed.
Terry was on his belly, his body bowed back, his legs rising up Alex’s torso and his ankles hooked on Alex’s shoulders. Alex’s arms were laced under Terry’s armpits, his fists locked behind Terry’s neck, incapacitating the young man in a full nelson hold. With Alex providing the momentum, the two rocked back and forth, the motion moving Alex’s cock deep and then deeper inside Terry’s passage. It was a peaceful, loving, rolling fuck. The headboard gently thumped against the wall behind it. Terry’s vision of the cock fucking him included a mixture of Alex, Tony, and Chief Petty Officer DeAngelo Williams. They came, one last time for the evening, in peace and love, Terry coming from his cock having rubbed in the red velvet of the costume he’d brought home from the theater and would now ceremoniously burn.
Terry’s immediate thought after they’d successfully completed the rocking fuck was, Screw you, Tony. You said my man couldn’t do this one and Alex managed it like a champ. Don’t fucking talk to me about my man being too old.
It had been the best shore leave of the Pacific fleet in San Diego yet for Alex and Terry and there was every reason that, by using it and being sensible, the fleet visits would help their sex life survive the inevitable march into aging for some time to come.
They both were committed to this relationship. They were so committed that they refused to openly connect the shore leaves of the randy sailors of the U.S. Navy Pacific fleet with their renewed sex life. More pointedly, Alex refused to make any conscious connection between Terry’s renewed arousal for him with having, the previous morning, found Terry’s sexy little whore costume and packets of condoms in the gym bag he was taking to the theater. Alex and Terry barebacked, as a hallmark of their committed relationship. There was no need for condoms. Similarly, Terry refused to acknowledge that when he had left the Friendship Hotel that morning, Alex’s red Corvette convertible was parked out front. And each knew the cries of passion of the other. There was no way that the wall between rooms 204 and 206 in the hotel successfully muffled their distinctive sex yodeling from each other.
They each hoped that the U.S. Navy would continue to schedule fleet shore leaves in San Diego for many years to come. Neither of them wanted to erase a genuine—a real—lifetime commitment to each other just because they’d gotten to a point to needing a jolt now and again to keep their engines revved for each other, and neither of them wanted to threaten the arrangement by letting this need come out in the open.