Jeb by Eastbayjag

Jeb by Eastbayjag Jeb

by Eastbayjag@aol.com

This story is posted for the exclusive enjoyment of readers of the Nifty Archive. While you are free to make a personal copy, no copy of this manuscript may be published, copied, posted to another web site, or otherwise disseminated without express permission from the author.

The contents of this story are fictional. Any resemblance of characters to living or lived persons is strictly coincidental. Certain characters engage in sexual acts which may or may not be legal in the state or country in which a reader may reside. Any reader with objections to graphic descriptions of sexual encounters between males who may not have reached the legal age of consent, or whose local, regional, state or national jurisprudence prohibits such descriptions, should not read further.

I got to Rhein-Main Air Force Base at seven in the morning on Wednesday, after a seventeen hour non-stop flight from Travis, in Northern California. I was lucky to get a seat on the big C-5A, which had limited seats for hitchers. I'd just called up Ops, told them I was on voucher for assignment to Rhein-Main, that all my household goods had already gone before me, and I had only a small duffel and a sports bag. They told me to be at the counter at 6 am the next day, and I could be 99% certain of getting on the C-5. After that there was nothing for a week. I had to be there on Sunday, so I'd have three days fewer leave days..

Since I had the voucher, I could have flown commercial out of Sacramento, through San Francisco to Frankfurt, then taken a bus to Rhein-Main, but I figured it was worth a chance to try Ops. Not to save Uncle Sugar money, just to avoid the hassles of changing planes in San Francisco, New York and busing at Frankfurt. What the hell, I could practice on my High School German for the two extra days I'd be there.

Besides, I was getting pretty edgy at home. Redding, CA is not the most lively of places for a nineteen year old military guy whose parents are in their fifties and only just moved here. They escaped from Morgan Hill after I graduated from High School and enlisted. They sold the house for ten times what they paid for it, and bought this cute little house on the north side of town, four up four down Victorian, on a city-size front lot, but with a huge back yard, because the previous owners had bought the land behind them all the way to the walls of the strip mall on the main road.

Mom and Dad are swell, really, but a guy needs people his own age to hang with, and I knew zero people in Redding. All Mom and Dad's friends were in their fifties as well, and it was mid-term, so all their kids were away in college or too dumb to string two syllables into one word. I swear this is true.

I went to a couple of bars, but of course with my GI haircut, I got ID'd every time, and never got served. Cruised the mall, went to a couple of Raves, hit on a couple of babes, but I didn't get laid once, didn't even score a BJ.

I guess I could have gone to the cruising area and found a gay guy to do me, but I didn't want to take the chance again. I almost got caught in San Antonio by the MP's, letting a little mexicano chow down on my meat in the cruising area near the river promenade. I stuck to girls after that, except I hadn't found one willing to take me on for free since then. I beat meat a lot - and sometimes thought about the little Mexicano, his sweet face and mustache, beautiful butt. I bet he would have let me screw him if I'd had the jack to rent a hotel room. But you don't make a lot of money in Basic Training . . .

Besides, I never screwed a guy before. I mean, I knew I was probably gay and all that, or at least part, but I didn't want to do it yet. I wanted . . . I wanted somebody special, not just a guy I find in the shadows who's wearing balloons on his heels. Girls don't count, for some reason. I can screw a prostitute with no hesitation at all, get my jollies twice in a half hour if I'm careful not to let them know when I come the first time, just pretend that I want to make it last, get my money's worth.

So for three and a half weeks, I stayed pretty much around the house, helping Dad with some dry-rot replacements, painting and stuff. I worked out a few times at the YMCA, using Dad's card, but there was nobody there interesting except one of the lifeguards, and he was drooling over a blonde girl, who maybe had her fourteenth birthday coming up soon. The women were all over forty, both in age and in waistline, I think. I got the usual "I wanna eat your toe jamb" looks from a few of the women, but I had no interest.

I beat meat every morning, ran my usual ten klicks in forty minutes (I know, a leisurely pace, but hey, I was on vacation!) then worked where Dad needed help. I'm pretty good with my hands, and I like gardening, so it kept me occupied. We'd have a quiet dinner, watch the tube a little, and go to bed at ten. Yawn.

I was actually relieved when Dad dropped me at the main gate at Travis at five am. Naturally, the MPs at the gate were sexy as all hell, and I think one of them was a DADT (Don't Ask . . . ) but of course there would be no chance. He checked me out pretty good while the other guy logged me in. He had a cute butt and a promising bulge. One of these days, I was going to have to try sucking a cock, but it had to be the right guy, somebody I really liked.

The flight deck was all salt and pepper - not a person under thirty. The Comm Officer was a woman, everyone else was a guy. There were two complete crews, since it was such a long haul. The hold was full of cargo pallets, all USAF, one as inscrutable as the next. Lots of shrink-wrap.

There was nobody deadheading but me, so I had a row of five seats all to myself, and naturally slept almost all the way, under a pair of blankets one of the flight deck officers provided. Good thing - those babies get pretty damned cold at altitude if you're not on deck, even if they are heated.

We didn't even refuel. Just plodded along in screeching disharmony. I guess these things must have a range of maybe ten thousand miles, as long as they aren't loaded to the gills. The CoPilot of the second crew told me he once made a non-stop flight from Diego Garcia all the way to Travis, something like half-way around the world, with one midair refuel. Diego Garcia is somewhere off the coast of India, I think.

So, I get to Rhein-Main, and find my squadron HQ, and report in, but not for duty. You'd have thought I was something Santa left under the tree. Turns out the unit had been short-staffed for two months, there was a backlog of avionics components needing testing and tuning, and if I could work right away, the Old Man would probably let me take comp time later on.

Instead of taking three days of leisure to explore, I agreed to check into base housing, shit shower and shave, then get over to the flight line and report to my new C.O., Captain Whelk. The same day. I'm a sucker for this kind of thing. I used to take care of feral kittens down in Morgan Hill, until Dad pointed out that by feeding them, I was making them dependent, and they would perish to the coyotes or the cold when I went away.

I got directions to the housing office, and got the good news: I got a dorm room, a roommate, and zero chance of off-base housing until I hit about a hundred. I was only going to be here for a year or so, so I might as well accept that I'd be on-base all the time.

I got the key for my room, directions to the building, and walked it, since it was cool and I'd already noticed that the buses ran pretty sporadically.

I found the unit pretty quickly, right next but one dorm to the sports complex, and two dorms back from the main base road, so away from the noise. My room was on the left side, at the far end, and my new roommate's name was Herman Miller.

I opened the door to the room with the key, after my knock got no response. Not bad, as rooms went. Fourteen by eighteen, maybe, a big closet between this room and the next one along the corridor, divided in half. There were clothes in one of the halves, neatly hung, and a laundry basket under the fatigue and sports shirts. Shoe racks full, a couple of pairs of boots, two pair of trainers, a pair of runners and two dress shoes, loafers, that sort of thing. Posters of Switzerland and Austria covered the sliding closet doors of my roommate. Mine were bare, freshly painted.

The beds were "twins," not the skinny singles we'd had in Basic as well as in Tech School, so at least there was enough room to turn over at night. They were on either side of a long unit of combination nightstand and dresser, one for each occupant, up against the corridor wall. Two desks and four chairs, a low table that raised up to full height, and lino floor. Blinds on the three windows (there was one on the end wall as well as the wall opposite the corridor wall.) were half open. The back window looked into woods, the side windows at another dorm, but also more woods.

The toilets and showers were at this end of the dorm, but the entrances were almost in the middle, so there wouldn't be a lot of noise. The card and TV rooms were at the other end, near the front entrance. Better yet.

I looked at the beds, trying to figure who got which. Mine was closest to the door, I guess, as there were two photo frames and an alarm clock on the nightstand next to the bed nearest the side window. I couldn't resist looking at the photos. One was of a couple with their (I presumed) children. The father was big, burly, a broad face and huge smile, with big teeth, light hair, a mustache. The mother was short, slim and somehow looked French, with dark hair, a slightly pinched nose, tall forehead and square chin. She was very pretty, the crow's feet adding to her smile.

There were three kids, one a girl of perhaps seventeen, smiling like someone who wears braces, slightly pained. She was beautiful, no two ways about it. She had her mother's eyes, chin and cheeks, and her nose was sort of a compromise between her dad's broad one and her mother's pinched version, with a little bob at the end. Her eyes sparkled, and you could see the mirth in them. She looked about two inches taller than her mother, and very slim, with a nice figure.

The youngest boy was about twelve or thirteen. Dark hair and eyes, a giant smile that said a world of good things, hints of a handsome future, the high cheekbones and square chin giving strength to an aquiline nose and tall forehead. You could see dad and mom in him, no doubt.

The third child was totally different. Blonde, scandanavian-looking, light hair and eyes, a long, narrow face, taller than the man by at least half a head, slim. Perhaps seventeen, maybe sixteen. His expression was open and pleasant, but there was less mirth there, more . . . caring, is the only way I could put it. You felt him to be sympathetic, just from the photo, even if it was only in black and white.

I couldn't tell how old the photo was, and it had been taken in front of a big blooming bush, a hibiscus, I think, so I had no way to use the background as a reference. Hairstyles looked contemporary, but then most of them do, especially out in the country.

The second photo was of a large dog, which I automatically thought of as being a strange kind of poodle, perhaps a cross with a mastiff or something. Curly hair, but a blunt snout, massive shoulders. It had a happy look on the face, if that's possible.

There was a PC screen and mouse on one of the desks, the tower below, and a keyboard in one of those pull-out drawers under the screen. Everything was neat as a pin. I wondered if Herman was one of those neat-freaks that drive you around the bend. But then I saw dust on the windowsill, so I knew I was safe from that fate.

I threw my stuff on the bed and stripped, donning one of the bath towels from the rack next to the door. I really needed the shower - my pits were a little sour, and I could smell my crotch, slightly musky. I dug my flip-flops out of the duffel, and padded down to the showers, my dopp kit and my keys in hand. I didn't see a soul.

I had to shave twice -- my beard grows pretty quickly, and it's like barbed wire, blue-black, and covers my face in a classic "beard" pattern. I have no hair at all on my neck, though, and just a light mat on my chest. It looks pretty good when I'm tan, and after all the outdoor work for Dad, I was nut-brown. I brushed and flossed, then plunged under the warm spray, and just relaxed; I felt the little tingle in my left nipple that lets me know I'm horny. I looked out into the open area of the shower room and saw no one, so I took my meat in my right paw and started to soap it up good. I was just starting to get a good piece of wood established when a squeak let me know the outer door had opened. I turned and faced the wall to hide my erection.

"Hey," called out a voice behind me. "You my new roomie?"

I turned my head and looked at the shower stall entrance.

It was my new roommate, no doubt. The little kid in the photo had grown into a strikingly good-looking man, deep reddish brown hair, the aquiline nose between high, almost Indian-looking cheekbones, over a strong square chin. He had a lush mustache, parted in the center by a hairless center. He had a towel around his slim hips, and his torso gleamed with perspiration. It was long, smooth, well-defined and simply gorgeous.

"You Herman?"

"Only to the census bureau," he laughed lightly. "My friends all call me Jeb."

I rinsed off my hands and turned to shake his offered hand. He'd pulled off his towel and hung it on the peg next to mine.

"Hey, Jeb," I said. "I'm Duane Sharp. My friends call me DJ."

"Good to meet you DJ," he said, dropping his eyes for a tenth of a second to my nether regions, where my traitorous dick had failed to fully retreat from erection, and hung down at maybe a 45º angle. "I come in at a bad time?"

I could feel my blush, hot on my face and neck. "No, I just . . . I mean, I . . .well, you know." He was just standing there in front of me, his dick not at all hard, and I had a half hard, going on hard again.

"Hey," he said, turning to open the tap to the shower next to me. "no problem. I won't ask you how when where and with whom you toss your cookies, if you won't tell about me tossing mine."

I blinked at the DADT reference. Was he telling me if I was gay he didn't want to know? Signals, damned signals.

"How long you been here?" I tried to change the subject.

"Only long enough to see you got a pretty good-sized piece of equipment, there," he said, his eyes closed under the stream of water as it cascaded down his front, over the nicely-shaped torso, more defined that I had at first thought, down to his pubes, smoothing them down, making his dick look larger than before. No, it was larger than it had been, jutted out a little farther. His legs were ropes of sinew and muscle, slim and fairly long, in perfect proportion with his torso.

"It was a long flight," I said. "Bouncing around all over the place. Got me worked up a little, I guess."

"I guess!" he said grinning, his eyes still closed. "Were you close?"

"No," I laughed back. "I'd only just started."

"Good," he said. "I want to watch."

"What?"

"While you toss your cookies," he said, opening his eyes and looking into my baby blues. Well, not baby, really. They're sort of dark blue and pale green, all mixed together, but they look pale blue at a distance.

"Here?" I said, a little incredulously. "Aren't you afraid someone will think . . ."

"No, not here, Dum-dum," he said. He gave me a punch in the arm. "Get us boxed and shipped sure. No, back in the room."

"Oh," I said. "Any particular reason?"

"I like your looks, DJ" he said with a grin. "I'm curious what you look like when you have an orgasm."

"You gay?" I asked without thinking.

"Ah-ah," he taunted. "Don't ask, don't tell!"

I laughed nervously. Was he trying to suss me out?

"How long since you last got off?" he asked, unrelenting.

"Four days," I said.

"Alone, or with a friend?"

"My friend Sally," I said, holding up my right hand and wiggling my fingers.

He laughed. "Same here," he said. "I don't speak enough German yet to wander out and play, and I'm not sure if I'm going to like German food or not."

I turned off the water and grabbed my towel. I was still semi-hard. He turned off his shower and turned around to grab his towel as well. He was more erect than he'd been before. I looked up into his eyes, waiting for mine to reach them.

"Shall we?" he said. Matter-of-factly.

I just nodded, and dried off, trying not to get any harder than I was already.

The walk down the corridor to our room was as long a trek as I'd ever taken. I was horny as could be, my dick was getting harder with each step, and I was scared to death that this was a trap, that I'd been put into the standard test to weed out "funnies" as soon as they hit base.

"You off the rest of the day?" Jeb asked, startling me from my thoughts.

"Uh, no," I said a little dully. "I have to work this afternoon for a few hours to help get some AVs back on line."

"We'll have to hurry the first time, then," he said, giving me a little shove towards the room. "The Air Force needs you in prime condition, man."

I opened the door and walked in, a little nervous. Was this really happening?

Jeb closed the door and threw the latch, threw his towel on his bed, and went over to it and lay down, his hand already at his groin.

"C'mon, DJ, get it off and get to work!" he said with an evil grin.

"You're sure I won't . . . gross you out?" I was playing coy. I already knew I was going to do it, the Hell with the risk. I was too damned horny to turn back.

"Hell, no," Jeb said. "You're a fine-looking guy, and your piece is packed for action. Why should that gross me out?"

"Well, it's kind of . . . gay, isn't it? I mean, to beat off in front of another guy?"

"We all do it," he said, waving around a wand of youth and virility. It was about the same length as mine, eight inches give or take, but not quite as big around.

I gave in and lay on the bed, my dick poking straight up except for the little leftward curve that no doubt resulted from my doing it too much with one hand.

I started to stroke, slowly and deliberately. I looked over at Jeb. He was slowly stroking his piece, looking directly at mine.

"How are your eyes?" I asked.

"Huh?" he said. looking up at me.

"Are you straining them? You can always come closer if it will give a better view."

He looked a little glazed, his eyes going back to my dick, waving with the gentle ministrations of my hand. He stopped his stroking and sat up on his bed, swung his legs over the side, and stood. His dick was dripping, a droplet at the end of a one-inch long strand. It got longer as he moved slowly close to my bed. I twisted a little, my head close to the edge, my legs pointed at the corner of the foot of the bed farthest from him.

"Could I . . . touch it?" he said. His voice showed none of the confidence he'd had in the shower. He had perhaps then been joking, but this was serious.

"Go for it," I said, stretching a little farther, making him reach for me.

As he reached, his dick came closer to my face, and I moved my head up a little to be directly under the droplet of pre-cum that hung down nearly three inches now. It stretched a little more, and my tongue snaked out and caught it, just as his fingers brushed the root of my dick.

I took my hand away from my own dick, leaving it for Jeb to play with or not, and moved my hand to the base of his dick, using one finger to point it down at my mouth, the saliva in my mouth coming in torrents.

My lips brushed the tip of it, and he moved forward a little, just enough to put the head of it behind my lips, my tongue already caressing and bathing it, probing the slit. He moaned, and than I felt the warmth of his mouth descend on my dick, slowly, just as his dick moved into my mouth, then my throat.

Somehow, we ended up side-by-side on the bed, slowly plunging our dicks into each other, pulling each other to the base by the hips, gradually increasing in speed. He groaned around my dick, and I felt the head of his dick begin the final expansion, just as my own orgasm punched through my feeble defenses. I felt the first spurt of his cum go right down my throat, and my first spurt went the same path to his stomach. I pulled him into me in short strokes, letting him shoot down my throat in great pulses, and he did the same for me until we both ran out of breath, and had to withdraw, letting the rest of our juices flow into the suckling soft mouth of the other.

After, we twisted around on the bed, and kissed as if we had been lovers for years, not minutes. He was tender, but strong, and our love-making made me tingle all over. His kisses were like none I'd ever had, and his body seemed to mold into mine.

"You have to go to work," he whispered into my ear. "Hurry back to me."

He might as well have said "I love you." But that came later, and many times over the next four years. The last time he said it was a few minutes ago -- he called from the office to suggest we eat at the little Mexican Taqueria down the street tonight, rather than cooking when we got home.

We got our discharges last year (yes, Honorable, thank you very much for asking), and both got jobs, but  only after long searches. We had to start from scratch, with this little apartment here in East Palo Alto, no furniture, no nothing. We haven't got much yet, because rent and the cars take almost half of what we make, but we've got the future, we've got each other, and that's what really counts.