Private's Assignment: Serving the Military W(hole) By: GHJ, Your Gloryhole Professional gloryholeprofessional@yahoo.com http://groups.yahoo.com/group/M2M_GLORYHOLE
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Private's Assignment: Serving the Military W(hole) By: GHJ, Your Gloryhole Professional
Dylan was six feet, five inches of corn-fed Iowa farmboy. On his eighteenth birthday, the very day after graduating John Deere High School, the well-built, fresh-faced Dylan went down to his local Army recruiting office, located right next to the hardware store and signed up.
It was the thing any clean-cut all-American high school Varsity letterman such as Dylan "Footlong" Larson would do. In a town of five hundred and sixty-nine good, solid Republican farmers, it was either that or do what most of his other football and swim team buds had done -- jump town and hightail it to L.A. or Vegas.
But Dylan was a different kind of a kid. He went to church every Sunday ever since he could remember. Heck, he'd even go and take his little sisters to church with him when his parents had to miss a sermon for one reason or another.
He was smart enough yet also what one might call a big, hunky lug of naivete - a kid inside an over-grown man's physique.
He got his nickname in the sixth grade when his impressive cock stunned his buddies in the school's boy's locker room. Although it wasn't twelve inches at that age, his middle school football team called his outsized dick "Footlong". And the name, being so apt, stuck. No one else much understood the moniker, never quite thinking a kid of eleven might be swinging such a huge meat bat. But then, those people hadn't all been in a Larson man's pants.
All of the male Larsons, descendents of Vikings, had always grown into hung, muscled hunks by age fifteen -- the age, in fact, at which, literally, Dylan pretty much "grew" into his nickname.
Even his high school football coach never failed to mention what powerful and hard-to-miss equipment Dylan sported. "Some of you kids need extra padding on the field...and one of you boys...and you all know who...might want to double up on your protective cup while out there playing the Dubuque Dukes tomorrow...", the coach would say.
The guys on the team would laugh but always with great respect for the side of beef young Dylan had become. After all, he won, nearly single-handedly, every game for them. And although unbeknownst to him at the time, he also provided the best live sex show that over-sexed adolescent boys "in that homo phase of life" could want as they'd watch their horsedicked, star quarterback merely shower after a game. Athletic prowess, big meat, huge nuts, powerful muscles and a winning smile...well, they were just something that ran in Dylan's family.
Dylan, since he was four or five, had always wanted to serve his country. His dad was a National Guard Reservist who flew helicopters two weekends of the month. And Dylan always thought that was the coolest thing a dad could do.
And then there was his Granddad, on his mother's side, who was a retired Navy Chaplain. As a kid, when they'd visit him in North Carolina, his granddad would arrange tours of his former ship. Once, he even let Dylan sleep at one of the naval training stations -- at age seven, he was sleeping with fifty seamen!
Dylan was also all-American in his choice of girlfriends, of which he had many from kindergarten on. He was the boy all the girls swooned for even at that age. Handsome, blonde, sweet and the bluest eyes anyone every beheld. Mothers of kids back then often said, "Mrs. Larson, your little boy is just the heartbreaker. Mark my words, he's going to grow up and become a movie star!"
Of course, no one in Corn Grove, Iowa thought much about becoming an actual movie star. Not for real, anyway. Sure, many of the girls in Dylan's class went through high school hoping they'd be discovered as the next Britney Spears while licking soft ice cream at the local Dairy Queen. But that was about as starry-eyed as most of the locals got.
Although he could have had any girl - every girl (and most everyone else, as well) - in town, Dylan dated the same girl all through junior high and high school. Amber Nicole Powers was a dead ringer for a young Ann Margaret. Bubbly, redheaded and curvaceous, everyone in town thought, no, knew, the two of them would get married the minute they graduated high school together.
So it was a bit of shock, especially to Amber Nicole, they say, that Dylan rushed off and joined up. She cried and they argued in the parking lot of the Rialto Movie House that same night he enlisted. She even pleaded with Dylan to elope with her saying she'd be content to be his Army bride. Even Amber Nicole's parents offered him a job on their dairy farm if he wanted to stay and hitch up with their knock out of a daughter.
But Dylan knew better. These were tough times for the Army and for the country, what with the Bush Administration sending everyone off to die for oil and power after 9/11. Although he wasn't too savvy about most things, Dylan did watch the local news and even CNN sometimes. So he knew that the soldiers got the brunt of the conflict and he felt compelled to help out. That's why he chose the Army, in fact. He wanted to be among those in greatest harm's way.
At the dinner table, as he'd explain his decision, while forking a big heap of macaroni and cheese, his favorite dish, into his mouth, "Yeah, I know, ma, but we all got to help keep America safe. I got the body they need out there fighting for all this great stuff we got here at home." His mother never argued with her pride and joy. Instead, despite having a mother's trepidation, she beamed with pride as her handsome young Dylan would talk such talk.
She knew her boy wanted to serve his country. He believed in Freedom and Truth and apple pie. That's just the way he was raised. Heck, even when he was just an eighth-grader, Dylan truly believed a good Boy Scout doesn't get a free blowjob while out earning a wilderness badge on a camping trip. Sure, he was offered free head from Mr. Smith, the troop's scoutmaster, at Camp Trikiwicki when he was fourteen. In fact, night after night while on that trip, Mr. Smith would pull him aside and plead with the hunky, overgrown teen to "...just unzip and I'll suck it for you...you'll love it, Dylan...you're the handsome scout I've ever fucking offered one to...the other boys won't tell...I suck them all...so they aren't going to tell...come on, son...meet me down by the spot on Lake Trikiwicki where I said you boys could meet me to get a bj...you'll love it...be there after midnight...I'll swallow your teen seed, Dylan...".
Although Dylan could have just as easy walked down the path to the lake where Mr. Smith would be blowing all the other scouts in Troop 65 after midnight, he didn't go. Instead, he'd pull out his Boy Scout manual and look for any passage in it that might have permitted him to give in to the huge boner in his scout uniform. But none such passage existed. Instead, he read that a good Boy Scout practices good values and self-control.
That's just the kind of kid he was.
A couple of weeks after signing up, while his best buddy, Ryan, started a job at Wal-Mart, Dylan got on the bus and headed to Camp Pingingham for his six weeks of basic training.
Along with Dylan, Camp Pingingham also welcomed numerous other young recruits. This newest batch of healthy, young bucks were mostly age eighteen, as was especially common during the weeks right after high school graduations. Drill sergeants looked upon these boys as fresh faces and fresh meat. It took all the grit a career Army man could muster not to bone up as he watched one handsome barely-legal kid after another exit the military busses that brought them the final leg from the local Greyhound station in Brayton, the Georgia town where the base was located.
The moment the drill sergeant saw Dylan climb down the bus steps, he sensed he was beholding a special recruit, a kid he knew might be the extraordinary soldier his superiors had told him to be on the look out for.
Dylan stood taller, broader and handsomer than any of the other youths that stood in line awaiting further orders. Sergeant McAllister barked at them, telling the recruits that they were stupid to have joined the Army. That in their current condition, they'd all be dead within fourteen minutes if sent to Baghdad that same afternoon. But then he added that he was there to change all that. He'd make what was a stupid decision on part of recruits, the best decision they'd ever make. But that they'd have to do everything he said if they wanted that to happen.
"Religious zealots want to blow your nuts off, boys. So I'm gunna work your nuts off before they get to them!", he'd shout, no one seeing his eyes as his cap shaded them from view. "Your pretty little boy asses are mine! And when I'm done, they'll be rock solid U.S. Army muscled asses...that no enemy can ever kick!"
The young recruits, knots in their stomachs churning as they listened to the man who would be their boss, their teacher, their coach, their worst enemy and their best friend over the next six crucial weeks.
Sarge McAllister went right up to where Dylan stood erect, the man six inches shorter than the powerful teen, and barked, "We got a real, real pretty boy here, men! More than a pretty boy. You're down right mat-in-ay idol stuff. What's your name, boy and where you from?"
"Sir, Dylan Larson from Corn Grove, Iowa, sir!", the well-built farmboy replied.
"Well, Dylan Larson from Corn Grove, Iowa...what they do there, boy? Grow corn?", Sarge McAllister barked into the kid's chin. "I bet you had every little girl in Corn Grove, I-O-WAH wet in the panties and down on her knees. That right boy?"
Dylan blushed not knowing what to reply.
"Well, boy?", McAllister yelled.
"Sir, I don't know, sir!", Dylan shouted.
"Oh, we all know you did, Farmboy", McAllister yelled back. "You think just because you got every girl, every housewife... and I bet even some queers... back in your hayseed town all in a twist to suck off such a big muscled boy, that you're now thinking you're gunna waltz into this man's Army, the U...S...of...A...ARMY...and make everyone go weak in the fucking knees. That all you need to do is strut your slab of beef 'round Camp P. and you'll go to the top. You think its just that easy? Don't you, boy!?"
"Sir, no, sir!", Dylan said rather confused.
"You better fucking believe that, son!", McAllister shouted. "No matter how fucking big your dick might be and no matter how ripped your Mtv abs might be...you are in Uncle Sam's world now, boy! A world that you're gunna have to serve in order to get ANYWHERE from now on. No matter how many lips you've gotten used to wrapping themselves around your big dick, boy...there ain't no fuckin' body here that's gunna serve YOU, and YOUR big handsome corncob, boy. Got it?!"
Dylan nodded never expecting to have such a dialogue in his first few minutes of Army life.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU BOY!", McAllister said as he looked at the ground.
"No, sir, I mean, yes, sir?", Dylan replied.
"No sir, that's right, boy!", McAllister stated. "You belong to US now! We OWN you boy! We are going to make a MAN out of you. We are going to make a US of A soldier out of YOU. And your handsome fucking self and big fucking dick and pretty boy mat-in-ay idol looks AIN'T gunna stop me from making YOU into PRIME AMERICAN SOLDIER MEAT! You got that, Farmboy?"
"Sir, YES, SIR!", Dylan said, thrilled to know he's be made into the perfect soldier if he follows orders.
After roll call, the recruits marched to the inductees' building. They were told to strip to their skivvies and wait. Some guys had on boxers, others wore tightie-whities, while still others who'd unfortunately decided to go freeballing that afternoon, were stuck with being naked.
Dylan surveyed the room packed with other guys his age. He stood head and shoulders above all of them yet he wasn't even aware of how many of them were stealing glances as he opened his jeans.
He stripped off his shirt and one guy had the nerve to say, "Fucking A, man. I want abs like that, man!"
Dylan blushed and introduced himself as he pulled his jeans down and off. He stood tall with fifty pairs of eyes stealing darting glances at his huge bulging white Jockeys.
"Name's Klein", the guy replied. "Mark Klein. I didn't mean anything faggy about that or nothing. Just, man, you're like the perfect specimen."
One lanky kid with a goatee, who was among a few of the other guys standing around listening, sarcastically joked, "We all know you want to blow him, Klein! Isn't this suppose to be don't ask, don't tell territory since we got off the freaking bus, man?"
The room of guys laughed, more nervous about what was to come than the jokes about military homosexuality. As a different sergeant came to a doorway, they were told to shut up, form a line, and head into the next room for their first official Army buzz cuts.
As Dylan, wearing tailored, short cotton boxers, took his turn in the barber chair, he hopped up and sat with his legs splayed innocently. The others in the large room tried hard to hide the fact their eyes darted between the handsome blonde farmboy's muscular thighs as they took a gander at the heft his big sex organs created in the thin fabric.
Dylan wasn't even aware of the fact that his young crotch could garner such sneaky glances from a whole room of guys his own age. He was always on sports teams since little up so he barely gave it a thought that other people would be so interested. He was like a na^Ëve Little Leaguer in a "Viking" teenaged body.
The Army haircut, which didn't seem radical on Dylan, since he'd always kept his hair short anyway having been on the school swim team all through high school, only served to make his large skull look even more sculpturally handsome.
The recruits were directed to a medical exam area after their turn in the barber's chair. It would be a brief exam check before being issued a uniform. Dylan joined the line of other young men, all buzz cut and in various states of undress. As they entered the large space, Army personnel told each to strip down fully. Dylan pulled down his white boxer shorts as several officers, who lined the room, watched. He stood and held his shorts and street clothes as he waited for his turn.
Although Dylan was barely thinking of it, all the other guys in the room were subconsciously comparing themselves to him. Dylan stood a good five or six inches taller than most of them, his buttocks were small, smooth, round and well muscled. His biceps were like Texas grapefruits; his pectorals, broad and barely dusted with blonde peachfuzz. And truly impressive were his classic eight-pak abs. And, for those with the courage to look, standing right in front of the drill sergeants, they were amazed by the size of their fellow recruit, Dylan's, swinging dick.
As the line moved efficiently forward, Dylan looked to his left and saw six or so officers along the wall who were watching the process. He noticed that they had acknowledged no one but when he looked, two of them gave him a very brief nod, as if saying hello.
Dylan stood taller, glad he was in the man's Army. He felt comfortable, like he somehow just knew he belonged there.
Getting to the front of the line and to the exam table, each recruit was then instructed to go behind a medical screen for his two-minute exam. The Army doctor, a man in glasses and buzz cut, was back there. He smiled and greeted Dylan pleasantly. In a flash, his stethoscope was on the young man's chest and then back. He had Dylan open his mouth and then open it wider as the man suck two fingers, his hands in rubber gloves, into it. "You have healthy tonsils and excellent, excellent teeth, soldier."
Then, without even asking, the doctor took Dylan's large penis into his hand and while almost stroking it a bit, reached his other hand beneath to cup and examine the youth's heavy, smooth scrotum. "Cough", the doctor calmly instructed with a small smile on his lips. "Cough again. Very, very good. Excellent.", the man said as he slowly released his grip on Dylan's sex organs. "Bend over that, please.", the doctor instructed. "Face forward.". Standing at the end of an exam table, the six-foot, five Dylan, had to bend low to lay forward. As he did, the kid sort of knew what was coming next.
"Spread a little wider, son", the doctor said softly. "Good. Much better." Dylan then felt the man's begloved finger slip into his ass easily. The doctor obviously had to have had a lubricant of some variety on his glove. The doctor held the shaft of Dylan's fat, flaccid cock with one hand as he proctologically examined him with the other.
The man's technique, perfected by doing the same to each of the young men all morning, was smooth and thorough as he penetrated Dylan's tight rosebud. As the man stuck his finger deeply into the muscled recruit, he knew what would occur, especially to such a virile young buck. He felt Dylan's heavy penis thicken and even pulsate slightly as the eighteen year old recruit struggled against a spontaneous erection. The doctor had been doing the same exam on all new recruits for years and years but he never got tired of the effect his finger had up the tight butts of the new kids. Heck, no one ever "asked" if he got off on finger fucking all the teenagers...and he sure as damn never "told". He then withdrew his finger and pulled off his rubber glove.
"Very, very good...exceptional", the doctor said as he had Dylan stand up. The entire process took no longer than two minutes. "You are an excellent specimen of manhood, especially for a young man of your age, soldier. Actually, you're an exceptional male for any age. Excellent."
Dylan was pleased with the man's words but not in an egotistical way. He was simply proud in the fact that his physique could serve his country and the United States Army.
Dylan stepped aside and as the superior officers along the wall watched, he slipped on his boxer shorts again. A sergeant directed Dylan into another room where his uniform and sundries were awaiting him.
"You require the extra large, extra tall package, recruit", the soldier handing out clothing stated as he handed a pile of items to Dylan. "Boot size 13!", the soldier then called out to someone in the racks behind him. As the soldier handed the huge black boots over the counter to Dylan, he said, "Big all over is good for this man's Army, recruit!"
Still in just his bare feet and boxers, Dylan took the items and got into another line.
"Fuck, those are like boats!", fellow recruit, Mark Klein, said as he got in line right behind Dylan.
"He's got more kids than he knows what to do in those boots!", a guy in front of them joked as he looked at the size of Dylan's army-issued footwear.
"Fuck, matinee Farmboy here could hide a goddamn missile in one of them when we get to Iraq", a third recruit added, laughingly.
"Looks like he's already packin' a big scud missile!", a big black recruit piped in looking at the lengthy heft in Dylan's thin boxers. "Fuck, buddy, yo'daddy a bro?", the black guy then laughed.
As they whiled away a few minutes awaiting further orders, the guys asked Dylan if he was that big all his life. Dylan said that all the Larson men were built like he was. "I guess I grew when I hit thirteen...and just been growin'", he said thinking they were just talking about his height and shoe size.
"Fuckin' cool, man, you were swinging THAT when you were THIRTEEN?", Klein asked as he looked at Dylan's bulge.
"Um, not totally", Dylan said. "It's always been big but..."
Just then a whistle blew and the guys were told to shut up and move onto their assigned barracks.
Some naked, others in their jockey shorts or boxers (even one skinny kid in Homer Simpson boxers that his high school girlfriend gave him as a going away present), the young recruits, each carrying a pile consisting of their uniform, sundries and streetclothes, were marched behind the building to another long building, Barracks C.
Once inside they were told to take whichever bed they got and in the order in which they entered. So the first guy in line went to the furthest end of the large room and got that bed, the one nearest the barracks latrine. It was the Army's way of teaching guys not to be too pushy or always be needing to be at the head of every line. After all, their reward could be sleeping for six weeks next to the toilets.
Dylan was in the middle of the line and therefore got a bed in the middle of the vast barracks. It was fine by him. He was simply glad to be getting on with the process of becoming a fully trained and useful soldier.
As he set his items on the bed, Sergeant McAllister stormed into the room yelling, "ATTEN'SHUN! YOU ARE ALL THIS MUCH CLOSER TO BECOMING SOLDIERS, YOU TIT MILK DRINKING BABY BOYS! You now have the hair of a REAL MAN. You have the UNIFORM of a REAL MAN! Army doctors have checked you out, felt you up and stuck stuff in you to make sure you all have what it takes to be a REAL MAN!"
Dylan listened intently as he stared straight ahead with shoulders back. Inside, he beamed with pride in being this much closer to realizing his ideals.
"AND NOW!"McAllister continued, as he paced up and down the aisle made by the long row of metal bed footboards. "I AM NOW... YOUR FATHER, YOUR MASTER, YOUR MIND! You baby boys who got off those busses today will have your namby-pamby nursing mouths taken OFF your mama's teat starting today! NOW! FROM NOW ON, you will be expected to be MEN sucking on the BULL and living on DADDY'S MILK from today forward. YOU WILL BE SOLDIERS SUCKING DOWN THE MILK OUT OF THE DICK OF UNCLE SAM HIMSELF!"
Hearing their drill sergeant's tirade, the roomful of eighteen year old guys were either shocked or trying to suppress a chuckle. Obviously, once inducted, whether or not the action itself was condoned, cocksucking was evidently big on the list of topics in the Army.
"WHAT YOU LAUGHING ABOUT GREENHORN?!", McAllister barked into the face of one young man whose eyes betrayed him.
"SIR! NOTHING, SIR!", the lanky redhead replied, scared that he'd caught the wrath of the drill sergeant.
"DON'T YOU FUCKIN' LIE!", McAllister challenged in the booming voice. "THERE AIN'T NO PLACE IN THIS SERVICE FOR LIARS, BOY!"
"Sir, I...I...", the lanky redhead replied.
"WHAT, BOY!?", McAllister yelled. "GET IT OUT FASTER THAN YOU BEAT OFF IN THE MORNING, BOY!"
"Sir, I was...just picturing soldiers sucking on a bull, sir", the kid choked out. "Drinking milk out of a bull's...you know, sir!"
"YOU KNOW?", McAllister shouted. "A BULL'S 'YOU KNOW'? What are you, boy? TEN YEARS OLD? A BULL'S 'YOU KNOW'??? NO, I DON'T KNOW! WHY DON'T YOU TELL US, BOY!"
The redheaded recruit cast his eyes down as his face turned crimson.
"WELL?", McAllister said. "DIDN'T YOU HEAR AN ORDER, BOY?"
"His...his...cock, sir!", the redhead hesitated to say aloud in the room of so many other guys, all still strangers to him.
"HIS 'YOU KNOW' IS HIS COCK, BOY?" McAllister barked. "YOU TALKIN' COCK, SON? FIRST DAY IN THE U.S. ARMY AND YOU'RE TALKIN' COCK?"
"Um, sir, no, sir...?", the redheaded lad said.
"YOU ARE RIGHT, BOY!" McAllister shouted. "SUCKING THE COCK OF THE BULL TO LIVE ON ITS MILK is what ALL you boys are going to learn to do in this Army! NO MORE mama's tit. No sucking the huge boobs of your little slut girlfriends back in NOWHERESVILLE. YOU ALL UNDERSTAND THAT? WELL???!!!!!"
"SIR, YES, SIR!", the roomful of young men shouted in unison.
"YOU ARE NOW ONLY GOING TO WRAP YOUR SOLDIER LIPS AROUND THE ARMY BULL'S COCK AND YOU WILL BECOME MEN! UNDERSTAND? WELL????!", he barked again.
"SIR! YES, SIR!", the room of recruits replied.
"AND IF YOU DO THAT", McAllister continued, "BY THE END OF SIX HARD, GRUELING WEEKS UNDER MY CONTROL, you baby boys WILL be MEN...SOLDIERS! GOT THAT?", McAllister challenged.
"SIR, YES, SIR!", the young men replied once more.
"GOOD!", McAllister stated. "I don't give a fuck if you LIKE ME or CRAP YOUR PANTS every time you see me. MY JOB IS TO GET YOU SUCKING MILK OUT OF THIS ARMY BULL and NEVER looking for a mama's teat again! NOW...GET YOUR TEENAGED ASSES READY FOR A FIVE MILE HIKE!"
With that, Sergeant McAllister exited the barracks into the afternoon sun.
At ease, the young recruits scrambled to relax for a few, precious minutes before getting themselves ready for what would be their first basic training hike. Guys stood around sorting through their items while others sat on the side of their bed arranging socks and their boots. Most were too nervous to do much talking while other guys introduced themselves freely to the guys assigned to adjacent beds.
"Farmboy, what's your name again?" Klein asked as he lay down on his bed.
"Dylan Larson", the well-built teen replied as he eased himself onto his back in the next bed.
"Fuck, Dylan", Klein said as he watched every move, "These army beds even gunna fit you? You are a fucking side of beef."
"There he goes again!", the same black guy joked from the bed across from them. "I think Klein wants that big side of beef in your boxer shorts, Farmboy!"
"SHUT UP!", Klein joked back loudly. "I ain't no faggot. I mean, LOOK at this guy, man! I seen worse dudes in porn flicks."
"You ever been in a porn flick?", the black guy asked, directly looking at where Dylan was trying to get in five minutes of rest. "Hey, Farmboy...you...ever done a porn flick with that meat of yours?"
Dylan raised himself a bit on his elbows as he was confused by what he was being asked. "I don't get you, friend. Porn flick?"
The black guy, folding his civilian clothes, stepped to the foot of Dylan's bed and said with a big grin, "Name's Sean, my man. I asked if you ever done a porn movie? I'm sure Klein here would love to rent it if you did!"
"FUCK YOU, man!" Klein protested.
"You know you want to see Farmboy hard", some Latino guy said as he also stepped up to the conversation at Dylan's bed.
Embarrassed, Dylan shook his head and said, "No, I ain't never been in a porn thing. Who'd do something like that anyway? And I'm Methodist anyway."
"Yeah, ain't no fucking big dicked Methodists in the adult film biz...", Sean laughed sarcastically. "So, how big is it?"
The three guys and a couple of more who pretended not to be listening, went silent as they awaited Dylan's answer.
"How big is what?", Dylan replied, really not sure what they were asking about.
"Your fuckin' dick, man", Sean almost asked in a whisper as he looked up and down the aisle. "Come on, how big does it get, man?"
"My dick?", Dylan asked, slightly amazed his fellow recruits would be asking something like that so directly in Uncle Sam's army.
"Yeah" Klein said. "How big does it get? I mean, is it proportionate to the rest of you?"
"Fuck", the Latino guy said. "That would make it a foot long if that's the case, Klein!"
"Yup", Dylan said quietly.
"Yup?", Klein asked with some anticipation. "Yup what?"
"Yeah, it is." Dylan said matter-of-factly.
"Is what, my man?" Sean asked, wondering if what they were hearing was right. "You got a foot of dick??"
Dylan nodded as he then laid flat again on his bed, not able to see that all the guys' eyes went right to the massive lump in this thin cotton boxers.
"Shit", Klein muttered with some awe. "A full foot of dick?"
"That would be twelve inches, Klein", the Latino teased. "Like on a ruler."
"Damn, dude" Klein said as he shook his head slowly in awe. "You mean you got an actual foot of dick in those shorts?"
Dylan knew he was hung but since his pop and all the Larson men swung big meat, he had no attitude about its imposing size. "Yeah, about that", the blonde lug replied as he laid in bed with his eyes closed, attempting to get in at least a bit of rest. "Actually it's a little more but my team mates always called me Footlong anyway."
"So you measured it?", Sean said. "I done that too. My brothers and me when we were growing up used to pull out my granmamma's tape measure", he added with a laugh. "But it ain't twelve inches."
"FUCK damn it. Right?", the Latino joked. "What was it?", he asked Sean.
"Eight and a half", Sean said proudly as he scratched his naked stomach.
"Soft?", Klein asked in amazement.
"No, dick!" Sean replied. "Hard. Soft? What am I, a bull elephant like our buddy here?"
"So Private Sean boned up with his brothers!", the Latino teased loudly. "Stroking with your bros, huh?"
"Shut up", Sean replied with a big smile. "Like you hot-to-trot Latin boys don't all beat off with your little brothers and every fuckin' cousin and uncle this side of Puerto Rico, right?"
With that, the Latino said, as he walked away laughing, "This conversation's getting too personal and too cockfag for me, amigos!" And he headed to the latrines.
"Gunna beat off in the head before marching?", Sean teasingly shouted out to the Latino.
After thirty minutes had passed, the recruits were told they had fifteen minutes to be dressed for a five-mile hike.
The guys dashed about trying on their uniforms for the first time. Some got it right, like Dylan; while others, like Klein, had trouble lacing up their boots correctly. But the room of young men was ready and standing at attention when McAllister returned.
As they went outside, McAllister suddenly told them to get in a single line according to height. That put Dylan at the very back of the line. The started slowly, being instructed on each step formation proper to the US Army.
"We'll be going up there", McAllister shouted as he pointed to the wooded foothills on the horizon. "And back. That is exactly five miles. I want to hear NO complaining or whining. I ONLY want to see your teenaged soldier BUTTOCKS busting to make time!"
The group marched down the rows of barracks buildings and past the vast training fields where numerous other groups were busy doing other assorted basic training exercises.
"THAT will be you bullsuckers tomorrow, 0-500 hours!", McAllister barked as they passed a group of recruits wearing only very short gym shorts doing sit ups in the hot sun.
Dylan's group hiked surprisingly well, perhaps fueled by the teen boys' collective first-day enthusiasm. They suffered through the heat and more importantly, breaking in their newly issued Army boots. They got to the base of the foothills and were ordered not to stop but, instead, to turn in order and head straight back to base. There would be no five minute breather on this hike.
As the young men were in mile three, on their way back, another group of soldiers approached fast in a Jeep. They were on a training mission as they sped along a route that would cross Dylan's marching group.
Sergeant McAllister and the young men could hear but not see a vehicle approaching. Just as McAllister said "What the FUCK...?", the Jeep, containing three recruits and their drill sergeant roared over a knoll, through the trees and apparently lost control.
The Jeep zipped through the end of the marching line, clipping Dylan as it did so. The handsome youth attempted to jump out of the way and fortunate he did. Otherwise the speeding Jeep would have probably killed him.
McAllister's recruits stopped and were stunned by what had happened - and happened so quickly.
Dylan lay on the leafy ground, apparently knocked out. McAllister shouted for none of the other recruits to approach or touch him. Instead he rushed to where Dylan laid unconscious and checked the muscular boy's body for injury. "We have a broken leg here! VERY shallow breathing!"
As the marching recruits stood in a half circle watching, McAllister shouted at the other sergeant and his trainees behind the wheel of the Jeep. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU PEOPLE THINK YOU ARE DOING?"
Then McAllister barked at his own guys, telling them to form a single line facing the base. Klein and the other guys scrambled to follow orders, worried about their new buddy, Private Dylan.
"You will follow me now!", the other sergeant shouted to Dylan's group as he climbed out of the Jeep. "Your Sergeant McAllister will stay with his man down. That is the Army way. My men will remain to aid your buddy as is also the Army way! NOW MARCH!"
And off went Dylan's group of new buddies, not even allowed to look back as they returned to base, following Sergeant O'Halleran.
That evening, after mess, the guys in Dylan's barracks wondered endlessly about what had happened to the big, strapping "Footlong" farmboy, Dylan. They couldn't get over how he'd been clipped by a military vehicle the very first day of training. For some it sent chills through them since it made them realize this was the real army and not some game they'd joined. Some expected the Iowa hunk to walk in during mess. But that didn't happen.
"He'll be in the infirmary" Sean said as if fact. "We'll hear about it tomorrow and he'll have to catch up with us. That's all."
Then, later, McAllister made an appearance at nineteen-hundred hours. He had the barracks of guys stand at attention as he somberly announced that at sixteen hundred hours, Private Dylan Larson had been fatally struck while in training exercises. There was an audible gasp in the room of eighteen-year-olds upon hearing the news.
"SILENCE!", McAllister shouted in a grave tone. "This is a MAN'S ARMY and you will bear news like MEN! This regrettable accident will be investigated. Those recruits involved in this situation will be discharged if found accountable for recklessness."
Then the man paced the aisle of beds more slowly, stopping at Dylan's bed. It had been cleared out of all his items even before the group had returned to the barracks after their hike."May this serve as a hard lesson that in the Army, even the biggest, handsomest and bravest of young men will be struck down. When you are sent to fight for Freedom, you may live this reality again. Do not think that you are invulnerable. THAT is why you must PULL YOUR WEIGHT and BECOME the best you can be. For yourself and ALL your fellow soldiers while in battle.", McAllister stated with great restraint in his voice. Then he added, "Be prepared for EXERCISES, 0-500 hours! AT EASE!". The man then stoically exited the barracks.
The guys were floored that such a thing had occurred. It was the buzz of conversation throughout the remainder of the evening.
Klein was quite unnerved as he said, "Man, this is the real thing, you guys. I mean, you read about basic training being hard and accidents happening but, fuck, that's so horrible!"
Sean stood tall, clearly deflated by the sad news. "It's a fucking bitch. Raw fuckin' deal for our bro, Farmboy."
"Yeah, even a huge dick can't save ya in this man's Army", the young Latino half-joked.
As taps played, the barracks room of young men quickly fell asleep due to the day's tremendous physical and emotional exhaustion.
The next morning, looking around as his eyes slowly parted, he couldn't tell what time it was since there was no clock or windows in the room.
Grunting slightly as he sat up and yawned, he opened his eyes wider and looked around. He was naked beneath the Army sheet. "What time is it?", he asked almost out of habit.
"Thirteen hundred hours", a deep, friendly male voice replied.
He shot out of bed, and stood beside it in all his splendid nakedness. "Oh, man, oh man! Eleven hundred hours? Oh man, I am so sorry!", he said as he hopped around looking for his boxer shorts. But there was nothing in the room but the bed and a small table.
"Calm down", the man's voice said. "No need to worry, son."
As he looked around, coming to his senses, he asked, "Where am I?"
The voice, coming into the fluorescent-lit room over a speaker, replied, "You are in a hidden location at Area 51, Private Larson."
Dylan stood still as he was confused and slightly scared. "Didn't...wasn't I...didn't like a...Jeep...like...hit me?", the finely built youth asked.
"Does it look as if you were hit by a Jeep, Private Larson?", the voice calmly replied.
Dylan looked down at his smoothly muscled teen physique, not seeing even a bruise on himself. "Um, no?"
"You look fine to us, Private", the man's voice said. "You look more than fine to us, in fact."
Dylan again realized he was naked and made a reflexive move to cover his big genitals.
"No need to do that", the voice said calmly. "We've all seen it. Nothing to be modest about there, Private Larson."
Dylan's hands moved away from his crotch, as he was more embarrassed that he'd brought greater attention to his cock by trying to cover it.
"Um, what's going on?", the eighteen-year-old asked. "Am I, like in trouble or something?"
"No, no. Not at all, Private Larson", the voice assured the recruit. "No trouble at all. In fact, very much the opposite. Relax, you are physically fine and in no trouble whatsoever."
"Then what's going on?", Dylan asked softly.
"All your questions will be addressed in just a few more minutes, Private Larson. Rest assured, you will be informed thoroughly", the voice said.
"I'm in Area 51?", Dylan asked, recalling that base's name from Sci-Fi movies. "Like the UFO Area 51??"
There was no reply from the voice.
"Is that where I am?", Dylan again asked.
And again there was no reply.
"Am I in Area 51 like in Nevada?", Dylan asked hesitantly.
"Your questions will be addressed in only a few more moments, Private Larson", the voice suddenly said. "Why don't you lay down and rest until you're called. If you would like water, there is a pitcher on the table beside you."
Dylan poured himself a glassful of the very cold water and gulped it down as he sat on the side of the bed, his muscular legs spread wide, innocently showing off his huge dick.
"Please rise to your feet, Private Larson", the voice then politely instructed. "You will soon be escorted to another part of the facility."
"Um, can I get something to put on?" Dylan asked as he pawed the only material in the room, the twin sized bedsheet.
"There will be no need for that, Private Larson", the voice stated. "This is a heavily secured Army facility which you are in."
"Yeah, but I'm like...you know...naked", the handsome slab of teenaged beef replied shyly.
"Yes, we are aware of that", the voice replied pleasantly. "Rest assured, you won't be requiring anything at this point, Private Larson."
"So I don't get any clothes, I take it?, Dylan replied.
"Relax. You require nothing at this time, Private Larson", the voice said.
There was then a rattling at the steel door and suddenly it opened. Outside were four armed soldiers in full uniform. Dylan could not even see a face beneath the helmets.
"WE ARE HERE FOR PRIVATE DYLAN LARSON!", one of the four shouted.
Dylan stood up, inches taller than the soldiers. "Yeah?", he said.
"YOU ARE PRIVATE LARSON?", the lead soldier asked.
"That's me", Dylan said, his heart pounding in his chest.
"PLEASE FOLLOW US, PRIVATE!", the soldier states loudly.
As Dylan, completely naked, went through the doorway into a cold, gray, windowless, empty military corridor, the voice over the loudspeaker said, "Thank you for your service, Private Larson."
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