Approved: moderated.stories@bigfoot.com Keywords: xmmmmmm xreal
NEW STORY: Naval Exercises (m/m/m/m/m/m) (real)
Someone on the list asked for Navy stories. Here's one as told to me by a friend of mine who was a U.S. Navy commander and a ship's doctor during World War II. I've put it in the first person, repeating it as best I can remember as it was told to me. In the final scene he wasn't quite as specific about himself as I have been, but from what he implied and what his son told me much later I don't think I'm far off reality there. He was a horny bi guy, the father of my best friend when I was in high school, and my mentor in male sexuality. Back when it was not at all okay to be gay he let me and his son know that it was okay, healthy, and normal for a guy to have feelings for other guys and express them. His name has been changed in the byline to protect the innocent.
The byline BTW is taken from a real family in town. There were two Dickhaut (yes, it's pronounced dick out) brothers about my age and a favorite pastime was thinking up nicknames for them. Perhaps I'll write about that later.
Any comments would be welcome, especially to my e-mail address below.
NAVAL EXERCISES
By Lt. Commander Randolph (Randy) Dickhaut, M.D., USNR
As told to Jay Harvey (Harvey69@Eudoramail.com)
We have been at sea for about three weeks following a long lay-up for repairs at Pearl. I figure the guys have pretty much emptied their balls while on shore and it is a good time for a ship wide short-arm inspection to check for VD. We have also picked up some new crew -- young, raw recruits -- who should get the standard VD protection lecture again before we hit port. Besides, our three weeks at sea since Pearl have been uneventful and everyone is bored, especially me. This will be a break in the monotony. I love talking and thinking about sex and I really love doing short-arms. Some of the dicks on sailors are really handsome. There must be something about the salt air.
Among the new men we have taken aboard is the chaplain. Name's Gray. He's a spanking new lieutenant in his early twenties, just sworn in. He seems to be kind of a fundamentalist theologically. I have never heard of the denomination he comes from or the Bible school he attended. He is kind of cute but everything he says and does indicates he is a straight and naive arrow.
Navy SOP is that both the doctor and the chaplain conduct the VD lecture, but since he is so green I sit him down in the wardroom to go over the drill with him. Several other officers are sitting around drinking coffee.
"I always tell it the way it is," I say. "This is a bunch of young, horny guys and I've found that the best way to get through to them is to acknowledge up-front that they're going to seek release one way or another, and that's perfectly natural. I tell them how to tell if they've picked up a disease and how to avoid getting one. I don't tell them not to have sex when in port because they are going to anyway. But I do tell them the safest way to get their rocks off is to masturbate themselves, but if they think they must visit a prostitute while on shore most whores will be happy to jack you off and some of them are pretty damned skillful at it and may even give you a discount, at least so I understand."
The other guys in the wardroom laugh. The new chaplain glares at me. "My faith does not permit me to condone that," he says.
"Well, shit, haven't you ever jacked off?" All ears are at attention now.
"No, sir! Certainly not."
"Ever had a wet dream?"
"I beg your pardon, sir."
"Okay, a nocturnal emission then."
No answer. His face is flushed. He lowers his head. I don't know whether he is praying or looking at his crotch. Anyway, that's where everyone else is looking and he definitely is getting a hard-on. I can't resist goading him a little further. He is such a hypocrite.
"Well, at least I see you do know about erections." Everyone roars with laughter.
That's when I get my devious idea about how to have a little fun with the chaplain. We have to do this VD orientation thing in a series of small groups because no enclosed area on the ship is big enough to assemble the whole crew and besides some men are always on watch or sleeping. Usually I do the short-arms in the dispensary while I give my medical talk and then send the guys on to the chaplain wherever he wants to do his thing. But this is a different chaplain. The last one wasn't hung up about sex. In fact, he was about as horny as I am. In no way am I going to let this new guy imply to these men that male sexual urges are abnormal, immoral, or anything to be ashamed of. It will take longer to do the whole thing in the dispensary, but that is my territory and I can control it there.
The first group is 20 guys. Most of them know the drill. As they stand hip to hip in two rows facing one another, I stand before each guy in turn and look closely while he takes his pecker out, skins it back and milks it down. I am looking for any signs of infection -- sores, blood or pus. While I move from one man to the next I keep up my running commentary about how cocks work and what to do about it if they get sore or start oozing pus. I try to put a little humor into it to help put the shy ones at ease. The finale of my spiel is a horror story about a guy who is too bashful to seek treatment when his dick gets sore and his balls swell up. Then one of my corpsmen does a condom demonstration with a broomstick. Jack is the most talented at it. He puts the broomstick between his legs, letting it protrude about two feet in front of him at an up angle. Then he strokes it, rubs the end and groans appropriately before installing the condom.
This generates a good deal of laughter, some crotch rubbing and some erections. As Jack does his act Chaplain Gray watches intently, covering his crotch with his notes for his part of the training. Jack is going to be a hard act to follow.
Now if you haven't had a short-arm inspection, let me tell you about it. You can tell quite a bit about a guy by the way he reacts. Some are very timid and obviously hate it. You have to wonder what they've been taught about sexuality. Other guys are outright exhibitionists and like to show off what they've got. The timid guys pop it out quickly, halfway skin it and milk it, and pop it back in. Sometimes I have to have them do it over again and sometimes they're fast because they've got a problem they don't want me to know about. Some of the exhibitionists haul out their balls as well as their dicks and skin and milk with such energy that they're practically jacking off.
Some guys show erections when they take their schlongs out. Some get erections before they can get them back in. Before I am half done with the first group it is obvious that the chaplain has thrown a rod. In his talk he keeps his notes over his fly and can't seem to think of much to say -- mainly that in his religion any sexual activity is reserved strictly for marriage and for procreation, that men must learn to control their primal urges. That brings a few laughs and a question: "How do YOU control it, sir?"
"Force yourself to think good thoughts. Or you might recite in your head some of the Bible verses you learned in Sunday School."
As the men in the first group file out I hear one say, "I can't think of any better thought than fucking."
"Yeah," another replys, "and I can't think of any Bible verse better than that one about some king who fucked his harem non-stop every night." Personally, I've never come across that verse, but I don't know my Bible all that well. Maybe it's there.
When we take a break for lunch, I tell the chaplain quietly that it would be better for him to take care of his problem than to risk priapism.
"What problem? What's priapism?" he asks.
"Priapism is a dick that won't go down. It can become painful and there can be serious consequences. Yours has been up for about three hours now. If you don't take care of it I may have to -- with a needle. You won't like it."
The chaplain looks away from me, head down, embarrassed. "Mr. Sawyer just came off watch. Right now he's probably in his bunk in our cabin trying to get to sleep. We have an agreement that I don't intrude on him when he's just come off watch and trying to get his rest."
Sawyer, eh? I know him pretty well. He is something in the engine room; I don't just what. A few months ago he came up with a pretty bad case of the clap. He'd let it go without doing anything about it. He finally came to see me, but not because of his sore dong. He couldn't get to sleep. And the reason he couldn't get to sleep was because it hurt to jerk off and jerking off was what he did to put himself to sleep. I am tempted to tell the chaplain that if he hurries to his cabin he'll probably find Sawyer stroking his eight-incher and can help him get to sleep while Sawyer helps him get his rocks off and get his erection down. But I don't say that. This kid is so fucked up that I feel sorry for him.
I outline the medical facts for him: "Look, guys have dicks. Dicks get hard, usually at least once a day, sometimes about every five minutes. Any guy who says he has never had a hard dick is either sick or he's a liar. So is any guy who says he's never played with his hard dick or claims it didn't feel good. If he doesn't pursue that to its explosive, orgasmic conclusion he's missing the best thing about being a man and sooner or later his dick will take over and show him what it's like.
"It is perfectly natural after spending a morning looking at dicks being manipulated to get a hard-on. I sometimes do myself. It is most unusual for a dick to stay up for three hours and if it does it can be a symptom of something seriously wrong. Shit, when I was your age I could maybe keep mine up for an hour if I could keep the fantasies going, but never for three hours.
"I think you do know something about masturbation. You've just told me Lt. Sawyer is in your cabin. Okay, fair enough. Here's a key to an out-of-the way storage locker where we keep some bulk supplies. My corpsman, Jack, has the only other one, and he's at mess, so you'll have privacy. Go in there and do what you have to do to get that thing down or I'll strap you to the gurney and get it down with a needle. I don't want you turning on the rest of the crew all afternoon." I send him on his way.
Gray doesn't show up in the wardroom for mess, but he's in the dispensary when it's time to resume the short-arm inspections. He looks a little sweaty and his cheeks are flushed but he looks happy and the tent pole in his pants is gone.
It isn't long before he tents again, and this time I can't say I blame him. I throw a rod, too. Until it's time for the condom demonstration I don't realize Jack isn't there to do his routine. While I'm trying to find the broomstick and a rubber one of the veteran seamen who has been short-armed many times pipes up with "I'll do it, sir. Where's that damned rubber?
"Before I can answer he whips out his stiff cock and dangling balls and stands there skinning and milking his pole, turning for all to see. I finally locate a condom, but it's too late. The seaman -- a very able seaman -- shoots the first spurt of his wad on another guy's shoes, the second on somebody's pants, and the rest if it on the deck. Everyone but Lt. Grey and I applaud. The chaplain is standing there pop-eyed. I am speechless. It turns out to be an impossible act for Lt. Gray to follow. He gamely tries but he is somewhat less than coherent. In desperation he consults his notes, but that exposes the tent in his pants, highlighted by a growing wet spot. More applause. "Dismissed" is all I can say.
I should put my demonstrator on report, but I didn't notice his name. I kind of think I have seen him with Jack. Where the hell is Jack? Yes I have seen him with Jack. He is one of Lt. Sawyer's men. Jack suddenly appears.
"Sorry, sir, I fell asleep after lunch and just woke up." I knew that Jack often went to the storage locker, "to check the inventory," he would say, or to find something we needed. Is he sacking out down there, or jacking off? I don't really care. He is a good man, cute too, with a nice chest, tight ass, and a handsome dick. I have seen him naked a few times when we had swimming parties while anchored in some Pacific lagoon.
Then I remember that when we were at Pearl Jack, Lt. Sawyer, and the guy who had just jacked off for us arrived at the dock together in a cab, all happily drunk and considerably disheveled. Do these three have something going -- maybe in the storage locker? And then it hits me. Geezus, were they in there when I sent the chaplain to get his rocks off? No wonder he looks so tented and contented.
Chaplain Gray and Corpsman Jack are strangely silent most of the afternoon. They do not look one another in the eye but I catch them stealing looks at the other's crotch. Gray keeps his tent up all afternoon -- another three-hour erection. Jack is up and down. So am I, looking at them. Jack doesn't do his broomstick act with his usual zest. I keep thinking what it would be like to see him put the rubber on his own stiff cock, like his buddy almost did.
When we finally finish up with the last group at about 1600 hours Chaplain Gray clears out fast. Jack is not far behind him. It is then that I realize Gray hasn't returned the key for the storage locker. Better check on that, I think, or should I let nature take its course? Hell, if nature is taking its course I might like to see what's happening.
I find that the locker has not been secured. I open the door a crack and see that the light is on. I hear a noise. I quickly step inside and close the door. There are the chaplain and Lt. Sawyer, wearing only T-shirts and socks, stiff cocks nearly head to head. The preacher's dick is no match for Sawyer's, but he has a fat uncut six-incher that is pointing upward and oozing pre-cum that runs down his shaft onto beautiful, big hairy balls.
We stare at one another in silence for an instant. I can feel my cock reacting. Since I am the ranking officer and this locker is my territory the next move is up to me. One part of me says to order them out of here. Another other part of me is rising to control. I can't have a priapismic chaplain on my hands, now can I? I have told him to get it down and he is trying to get it down and I shouldn't stand in his way. Quickly I unbuckle my belt and start to push down my pants and shorts. Just as my dick pops out I yell "Ten-shun!" It is standing ramrod straight. I stroke it a little bit and say, "As you were."
Sawyer laughs and says "Sir, I don't think it's going to obey.
The chaplain's left hand is now holding Sawyer's throbbing cock. Gray seems to be staggering a bit and holds on to the rigid handle as if to steady himself, but the handle is squirming as Sawyer's hips begin gyrating in a rhythmic swivel and thrust. As I stand there stroking my throbbing pole, Sawyer squirts rope strings of cum onto the chaplain's cock, balls and legs.
Just then there is a thud from a dark corner behind some crates. Still stroking my dick, I hitch up my pants enough to move to where I can see around the crates. There are three sailors -- Jack, my condom exhibitionist, and another guy who is also one of Sawyer's men. All three are butt naked. Terror is written on their faces. All three are sporting rigid, dripping cocks. Jack's is the biggest, skinny and long. Not quite a two-foot broomstick, but a good ten inches. They snap to attention and the third guy even tries to salute.
"Carry on, men," I say as I hobble back to officer country. "Continue naval exercises." Sawyer, I notice, is now on his knees, licking his cum off the chaplain's dick and balls. I move closer as Sawyer expertly skins the chaplain's foreskin back, exposing his swollen, purple cockhead. Sawyer then milks him down and licks the honey dribbling from his puckered foreskin. As I watch and stroke myself I can see there is a logical sequence to it -- skin, suck, milk, and lick. The chaplain's left hand moves out to fondle my balls, then his fingers move up and down my pole while his thumb smears my juice around my cockhead.
This guy is either a fast learner or he has been through graduate school many times. I am so hot that it takes only a few trips with his hand up and down my pole and I have arrived at the point of no return. I hose down Sawyer's eye, ear and nose while the chaplain gets into the swing of fucking his throat. Shit, I'm a surgeon, not an EENT man.
My first intention when I entered the locker had been to leave things as I had found them, each one to his own duties. Now I would like to stay but my watch tells me I am due in the captain's quarters in just five minutes. I struggle into my shorts and pants, but it's not easy. My dick is still waving around trying to decide whether to be at ease or come to attention again. The chaplain is moaning and muttering "Oh my god, my god, I am going to heaven." From behind the crates I can hear scuffling and slurping and breathless comments, such as "Yeah, you fucker. Fuck my fucking ass" "Give me an injection, Jack. Shoot your load down my throat" "When this ramrod gets in there it will be all the way through your stomach and sticking out your asshole." The last voice is Jack's.
I see a key on the floor -- the key I loaned the chaplain. "Last one to cum mops the floor," I say, as I pick up the key and go out into the companionway. I secure the locker, so they won't be disturbed. You don't need a key to get out. I don't know who was the last to cum, how many rounds were shot, or when the last blast was, but I don't see any of these guys until the next morning. The chaplain has an angelic, satisfied smile on his face and about half a hard-on in his pants. Sawyer and his men are in the engine room, doing what I don't know. Jack is his efficient, ebullient, self again. "Commander Dickhaut, sir," he says, I checked out the storage locker early this morning and found it in better shape than it's ever been."
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