This was absurd. I had just graduated with a master's, having studied abroad at a prestigious university and had multiple FAANG offers sitting at my inbox. I had a measured IQ that was impossible to specify without sounding like I'm bragging and at 24 years old I had made the most efficient use of my time.
How did my nation plan to reward these efforts and to make use of my immense talents and knowledge? Would they try to recruit me in the intelligence agency? Or perhaps put me in a think-tank with the pure aim of solving the world's problems? Well, no. Instead, they would have me serve in the military, indiscriminately and forcibly, driven by some misguided notion that every person is (or must be) the same, of interchangeable worth and ability, and meant to follow the same path.
I don't think so.
My country had failed me for as long as I could remember, so I had no problem returning the favor. There was no incentive for me to waste my time in the army, to suppress my individuality, which took me years to foster, in order to fit along with the dimwitted and the uncreative or, conversely, to pretend like I was capable of any of the physical tasks of a soldier. Some of us are the brains, not the brawn.
My plan, of course, was to show up on the date of my forced conscription and fail the psychological evaluation spectacularly and indisputably, like many others in my situation have done in the past, so I would be instantly discharged having served exactly 0 days.
--
When the day came, I got on an early bus, wearing just a backpack with a few vital things -- so at least I could pretend like I wasn't trying to trick the system -- along with my laptop so I could make some progress on my newest project during the long drive.
With me on the bus, were a group of guys that I assumed were also being conscripted, though they were much in contrast with me. They all looked to be 18-19, with athletic sunburned bodies. Typical of Greek youths that spend too much time outside at an age when they should be studying. Needless to say, these were not academic types. They were all huddled together over a phone and making obnoxious noises.
I tried to switch my focus back on the screen as I launched a console terminal. I wanted to get an updated version of the rendering library I was using so I got to that.
Typo. `gip' command not recognized.
Typo. Compilation Error.
Ugh. My jaw tightened as I glared at them, thinking that would inform them to be quieter. No such luck. But I must have drawn their attention because one of them walked up to my seat and introduced himself with his hand extended for a handshake, "Hi, I'm John, sorry if we were being too loud.".
John was not bad looking but not too great either. He was carried by the thick athletic body that he had developed playing teen sports, which from his proximity now to my own, I could sense the heat of, along with a hint of sweat and deodorant.
My thoughts drifted back to high school when I was surrounded by boys like John and didn't have the skills then to navigate the complex social challenges of being called a faggot openly in class.
Somehow, they knew. All these young jocks knew I had the hots for them even though I had kept my sexuality a secret up until I was an adult and always made an effort to distract from it.
Greece is an exceptionally homophobic country, competing evenly with the rest of the Balkans, Turkey, and the middle east. I wasn't traditionally masculine, and I was a nerd, which made me essentially a faggot in the eyes of most young Greeks (in my case, of course, they were correct).
But after having spent the last six years flourishing in prestigious institutions of higher learning, amidst highly intelligent and diverse people, I had come out of the shell of my high school years and developed mannerisms and a personality that I wasn't willing to compromise on.
I was going to be myself.
I shook John's large, callused hand, uncertain whether he was earnest or meant to intimidate me by coming over. But I didn't care, I told him I would appreciate it if they were quieter for the rest of the ride.
Of course, they weren't.
--
Eventually the bus halted to a screech. We were out in the middle of nowhere and outside was a furnace oven.
The army base was a sprawling mass of small gray buildings enclosed by high fences with razor wires with fit young army men sprinkled here and there.
Here I was, a skinny nerd with astigmatism being surrounded by tall, young guys who were probably eager to be here and were having the time of their lives, getting to know each other and busting each other's testicles in the natural, obnoxious and undeniably hot play of straight dudes.
After a long time of being left out in the sun we were called inside the building and led through long, decayed corridors before reaching a larger open room full of medical tools, army men and doctors. There, in line to get a physical screening (that I couldn't bypass to get to the psychological evaluation), I was forced to listen to the mind-numbing conversations of young straight guys trying to introduce and outdo each other. God they were dumb. And hot.
We were told that we each had to strip to our underwear and stand there (in front of everyone), get our weight and height measured, before being led behind a curtain that the nurse didn't even bother to fully close and get our genitals inspected.
The entire room reeked of body odor, pheromones, and the deodorant they all used to cover it up.
I had a "lucky" vantage point from where I stood in line and enjoyed ogling at more than a few of my army brothers' young dicks. One of them, a particularly handsome rural youth with a mustache and a large piece on him, noticed me looking as the nurse inspected his equipment and he got visibly embarrassed before switching to anger and attempting to stare me down. I did not divert my gaze from his beautiful fat cock because I didn't care to. I wasn't going to see any of those people ever again in my life (or their cocks, sadly), and I felt like I deserved at least a treat during this laborious process.
In fact, I deserved more than that. I deserved a vacation. Perhaps a week or so at a place where I wouldn't have to study, or work, or think. Somewhere out in nature, ideally surrounded by fit young guys, perhaps-- at an army base.
An intriguing plan was forming in my mind. I knew what the army involved: sleeping in the barracks with a dozen other guys in a room, public toilets and showers, lots of sweaty exercise in the morning surrounded by a literal army of fit young men...
For a typical nerd, this was a vision straight out of the ninth circle of hell - but I guess I am a special kind of nerd.
Though extremely unconventional, and a little dangerous, the army could indeed be a fun vacation for a starving young gay guy like me. It would just be for a couple of days and then I'd be back to civilization having made some "fun" memories to fantasize about. Regardless, at any point that I wanted to leave I had only to complain about literally anything and get myself discharged. A win-win.
After the last person was done with their physical, we were all told to put our clothes back on - I guess we had to stay in our underwear out of solidarity -- and, after making us wait (again) for quite some time, they directed us towards the other side of the building where our psychological evaluation would be conducted.
I had to make a quick decision - did I really want to spend the next few days waking up at 6 AM, cleaning toilets and following orders? Again, I looked around and took note of my surroundings - a badly lit hallway filled to the brim with excited, extroverted, sweating, hot young guys. I was standing somewhere in the middle of that wave, and it felt like my senses were under attack from all the testosterone, sweat and young male energy.
I found the mustache boy from the physical, he was absentmindedly handling his package through his Adidas sweatpants, having already forgotten about the awkward moment earlier and having the time of his life with his new army buddies. I knew I couldn't leave just yet. I needed more of it. The army was calling me.