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First time – in the barracks
Jerking off in the barracks was risky but it was all a matter of timing. The duty NCO conducted bed check at midnight each night. After that, you were home free. You could throw back the covers and fap away, but you still had to be discrete. No enthusiastic slapping sounds or loud vocalizing when you came. There were seven other guys in the building with you. Not going into town to fuck the local women was suspect. I never did. Back then, sexual leanings much less sexual activity, could get you a court-martial and dishonorable discharge.
Barracks was a misnomer. It was a WW II-era Quonset hut divided into eight cubicles. The plywood partitions did not go all the way to the floor or to the ceiling, so you could see shoes or feet at the bottom. At the partition top, anyone much over six feet tall was a shock of hair or military head-gear moving past. The entry to each cubicle was covered with a cloth curtain. It was enough to provide a modicum of privacy.
My curtain fell back into place as the duty NCO marked his clipboard and backed out. That evening I knew who my bate fantasy was going to be. I lay in my rack and retrieved the mind’s-eye snapshots I made earlier that morning in the showers.
The sop to personal privacy in the Quonset huts did not apply to the latrine. It contained a row of exposed toilets with no dividers between them, a row of sinks and mirrors for shaving, and a concrete block shower room with multiple showers heads poking out of each wall.
The new electronics tech, Ran? Rand? Randy? I didn’t quite get the name at first, stepped into the shower room and it took all my control not to get an immediate boner. He was six feet tall, with a handsome symmetrical face featuring eyes so black you couldn’t discern the pupils. And eyelashes. Who looks at a guy’s eyelashes? But his were long and just flat-out sensuous. They made his eyes smolder when he looked at you. High cheekbones, a wide mouth with flawlessly white teeth that flashed a laser-bright smile. He was friendly, expressing his anticipation about his new job in the unit. His black hair was wavy and long, parted in the middle, but still within türkçe bahis military specifications. Built, holy shit, he was built. Think Greek god statues. But instead of white marble, envision darkest mahogany. Flawless and smooth, except for a small scar by his right eye that emphasized the crinkle when he smiled. He was outgoing and chatty as he soaped up his perfect body. (“Those should be MY hands lathering up your pubes,” I thought to myself.) It turned out Ranjeet’s parents came to the States from southern India, but he was born in California.
Dark hair covered his chest. It was practically invisible against the coffee tone of his skin. His body hair was not curly, but lay in whorls. It narrowed to a treasure trail, blossomed again around his cock and balls and then evenly covered his muscular thighs and calves. It also coated his forearms and halted just before his nicely proportioned biceps.
He had a wide chest, flat pecs, abs before they were fashionable, an impossibly thin waist, and a V of obliques that tapered to his crotch to point to an uncut cock that had to dangle 8-inches soft, over a pendulous nut sack. I don’t ever recall seeing any penis flop the way that one did in the shower that morning. I wanted to stare, but it was judicious in those days and those circumstances not to be obvious. I contented myself with “random” glances. I spent the whole day mentally photo processing those glances for my bate that night.
The barracks was dark, lit only by the glow of the emergency exit lights over the doors at each end of the hut. I threw back the covers. I alternately pinched my nips with one hand then cupped by balls, while I stroked my own veiny, uncut cock until it was rigid. I mentally retreated to the shower and conjured up Ran. I backed him against the wall, he thrust his hips out and gave me access to his glistening cock. I knelt before him and stroked him, slowly, deliberately, rhythmically. Ran’s meat rose rapidly to its full length and became thick. I could barely get my hand around his dick. The tip, with its piss slit gaped open, was a burnished bronze as it winked in and out of his darkest cinnamon colored perabet giriş foreskin. I slid my free hand up from his full bush, up his hard, hard abs. I reveled in the feel of the shower water as it coursed over my fingers that were tangled in his chest hair.
A squeak from my bunk brought me back to the reality of my cubicle. Have to be quiet. Can’t breathe hard, can’t buck and pitch and thrust and moan and whimper and gasp. Have to stay motionless, except for the fist clenched around my throbbing prick sliding my foreskin up and down, and my free hand’s fingertips languidly caressing ignited nerve endings from neck to pubes to tightening scrotum. Fire started to build in my solar plexus.
My imagination returned to the shower room. Ran’s cock pointed skyward. My thumb and forefinger circled his nut sack, tugged gently and drew down his rigid prick that was drooling precum into the tangle of body hair above his navel. I lowered my mouth over the huge head and shivered as the inside of my cheeks felt Ran’s foreskin slide back, baring the prominent cock head flare and Ran’s precum leaks to my questing tongue. I closed my eyes, determined to throat the entire length of this chocolate pleasure torpedo.
In the showers, Ran’s breathing got ragged. I knelt, bobbing up and down on his massive meat. He regarded me through slitted eyes, made ultra sexy by his long jet black eyelashes. His abs heaved in and out. He was well on the way to unleashing a torrent of cum. In the barracks, my own crotch continued to move past simmer towards the boil-over of reward. I alternately tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed as I stroked steadily towards release. I was lost in a dual sexual universe; the shower and my bunk, teleporting back and forth between the two. Almost ready to fall off the cliff. Tense, relax, tense, relax. Stroke up, stroke down, stroke up, stroke down.
Reality rudely intruded again as a door opened then closed. The sound penetrated my fantasy induced goon. “Shit!”
Surprise bed checks weren’t unheard of. I hurriedly covered up again. Ran’s heaving cock evaporated from my mouth, but my own swollen dick throbbed in perabet güvenilir mi protest under the sheet. I heard footsteps that stopped at the curtain to my cubicle. “Double shit!” I willed my rigid meat to wilt but it acquired a mind of its own dozens of strokes ago. It stayed hard and thrummed petulantly.
The curtain rippled quietly, a hand drew it back and a face appeared in the dim glow. It was Bob, my unit’s sergeant. He was clearly a couple of sheets to the wind and still in uniform with his open collar khaki shirt unbuttoned. Surfer boy Bob! Blond, tanned, a mop of unruly beach boy hair that resented being tamed to mil-spec. His unbuttoned shirt exposed his smooth, hairless chest. Bob signaled quiet with his index finger pressed to his lips. He entered my cube and the curtain dropped closed behind him. I was paralyzed, except for my twitching cock clearly outlined by the sheet that now so inadequately covered me.
Bob moved quickly to kneel by the side of my cot. He never broke eye contact and had this ridiculous liquor-prompted grin on his face. He slid his hand under the sheet and rested it lightly on my stomach. After a few seconds, his hand moved south into a puddle of precum and onto my hard dick. His eyebrows winked up and down and his grin widened, pleased with his discovery. Bob tossed back the sheet, lowered his face to my crotch and engulfed my dick with his mouth and throat. He surfaced a few second later, leaving the tip of my dick between his lips. He chewed my foreskin, skinned it back then tongue-lashed my frenum. Prepped by my jack off fantasy with Ran, I came immediately. My cock pulsed and pulsed. Surge after surge of my scalding cum filled Bob’s mouth. He swallowed some and snowballed the rest with a cummy, salty kiss. I relished the taste but it was nothing new. Eating my own disposed of the evidence. A cum rag could have caused embarrassing questions during inspection.
Not a bed-spring squeaked. All sounds were stifled. No cries of gratification. It was a surreal and silent choreography of cum but it just intensified the ecstasy. I was 22 and that was the first time another man brought me to orgasm. Until our tours of duty ended and we went our separate ways, Bob and I got real good at stealth sex. We had to.
Ranjeet? He joined the routine pilgrimage to the whores outside the post gate. I never had him. But he was always torrid, scorching bate fuel.
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