It was Seaman Terry Whicher's first shore leave. He had been with the navy just over a year, and his crew and their boat had docked in NYC the night before. Now, he was "out on the town" with three of his buddies, in a city he had never visited in his young life. Terry was 23. He was 22 when he enlisted in the Navy, and had turned 23 on the boat, complete with a party, a drag show, and anything else the sailors could put together. He was well liked. He was eager, did what he was told, frequently picked up for a sailor who may have fallen asleep on duty, etc. He kept his uniforms spotless, went to all of the workouts on the ship - be they required or optional, and very much kept himself busy.
The workouts had shown results. Terry was never going to be a muscle god, but he had good biceps, a great set of legs, and there were the beginnings of a four pack in his abdomen. None of that could have happened back at home: the nearest gym was 15 miles away, and while there was a certain amount of benefit from doing things around his father's farm, lifting hay bales and fixing tractors wouldn't give him the body he wanted.
Terry was gay. He knew that from his sophomore year in high school. He learned to make furtive glances at the boys he craved - usually the bigger, sturdier football players who seemed to have facial hair since 6th grade - and had somehow managed to keep his porn collection away from his folks and siblings. He didn't use the computer much, because the family shared ONE computer, and the chance of someone at home looking over his shoulder was pretty good.
The population of his farm town hovered between 6000 and 6500, depending on births, families moving back, families moving back and folks settling in for retirement. Everyone knew everyone. There were rumors about a gay couple who farmed some miles from the house, but Terry had never been out that way. The nearest gay bar (he had checked) was 50 miles away. He COULD borrow his father's car, but a trip like that would usually require him to explain why he needed to go to town. He didn't want to get into that. Apart from everything else, Terry didn't like to lie. He felt guilty about keeping the gay part of himself secret, and he didn't want to compound the lie.
Of course, if you haven't figured it out, Terry was a "theoretical" gay man. He jerked off to porn before he burned it, he looked at other guys, but at 23, everything was still "intact." Stories about the "gay old Navy" and "Sodom and Gomorrah in the cities" didn't scare him - they titillated him. He didn't see much chance of satisfying what he wanted if he didn't get out of the town, and joining the Navy was the easiest way to go.
His father had been a military man. He wasn't a career guy, but he felt like the Army "made me what I am today," in his words. He recruited for the Army at Terry's high school, and when his oldest son decided to enlist in the Navy, Mr. Whicher had very mixed feelings: yes, his son was joining the Armed Forces, and doing his part for his country. On the other hand: the Navy. That was for fancy, white collar types. Would his son fit in?
Every letter Terry wrote home thanked his Dad for all of the discipline he had taught him. He told his father that yes, he was right. The Navy was full of a lot of stuck up sorts, who would tease him about corn stalks behind his ear, or tease him about growing soybeans on the deck of their ship, but he stayed out of fights, and eventually found Bob, Manny and Ken, the guys who were taking him on his first shore leave in "The Big Apple." All three of them had been on leave in NYC before, and they were more than happy to guide the young man with them. Apart from everything else, Terry's looks got them more play than they would have gotten themselves.
Terry was about 5'9" . You know about his body. He had reddish blond hair, a peach fuzz kind of complexion, and eyes that seemed to move between hazel and brown, depending on the light. He had full lips: the kind some people would call "cocksucker lips," (a fact which became very useful to him after that shore leave), and a somewhat tentative gait.
There was no cockiness about Terry: he struck more than one "older woman" as "a young boy in a Navy uniform."
Anyone who comes to NYC for the first time is amazed. For a farmer's kid like Terry, culture shock was inevitable. He got jostled a fair amount, lost more than once, and had his ass felt up a few times. It was as if the city were saying "Welcome to NY, kid. Now, can you handle it?"
One of the things Terry was wondering about was: could he have his first gay experience in NY? He knew that there were places and chances to do so: he had read up before they left the ship; he didn't think he could talk his three buds into visiting gay bars, or gay clubs, or even gay bookstores, and he was too afraid to go out on his own. Frustration built. There were temptations everywhere. One night, when they were going back to their ship, taking the subway, Terry saw an NYPD cop on the train. The guy had a bit of a belly, which suited Terry just fine, dark curly hair, a moustache, arms bigger than Terry's, and a cocky smile. The parts of him that most intrigued Terry, however, were the handcuffs, hanging from his hip. Every time the light of the subway fell on them, they glinted, and Terry felt almost hypnotized. The other part of the officer that drew him in, were his boots. These weren't the muddy old "clod hoppers" he and his dad had worn on the farm: these, at least to Terry, were high quality, well polished, black boots that seemed to bet him to lick them. He had read a story once, where a Topman had yelled to his sub "lick those boots boy!" and Terry couldn't go on: the only image he had of boots were the ones they wore on the farm. THESE boots, however, THESE - yeah, he could imagine getting his tongue on them.
"Hey, we still got time. How about one more stop. We're in Chelsea. There should be a bar to hang out." Manny was "traffic director" and headed them off the train. He was thinking of a Hooters where he had gone on one of his earlier visits to NY. Well, anyone who knows NY, or knows Hildy's song from "On the Town" knows: NY changes every ten seconds. Manny didn't even look at the marquis of the bar, so he didn't see the name "Pitchers and Catchers." Hooters had closed up six months ago, and the space had been taken over by a gay bar.
"WHAT THE...." Manny looked around, "this ain't Hooters. No chicks in here. Just... FAGS" Yes, "just fags," and those "fags" saw the new meat walk in - or should we say the new seafood - and were intrigued. Wanna see some "schooling activity?" Put four young sailors into a gay bar that caters to a rougher crowd. Terry wasn't the only one who got his ass grabbed that night. His ass wasn't the only part of him to get grabbed.
"Let's get the fuck outta here. Manny, you're gonna pay for this," Bob said, shaking his head. "Leaving so soon, boys? " An older guy with a toupee and a moustache that had been dyed, teased them as they left. Terry took one look around the place, and he saw "the man of his dreams" over in the corner. He looked a lot like the cop on the train, but just a bit older, and just a bit beefier. Terry felt his cock stiffen.
"You guys wanna catch a cab back to the ship? That last subway stank like shit," Ken asked. "Won't be that much if we split it" Manny added. As Bob went to hail one, Terry started patting his pockets. "SHIT. I must've dropped my cell phone in that bar. I gotta go back." "Not waiting for ya Terry. Think you can find a cab on your own?" Terry laughed. "I think I can hold out my hand and do what you're doing Ken, but thanks for asking. I got cash too." "Ok, we'll see you back at the ship." Telling that lie had cost Terry a lot. He didn't want to pass up this chance. Did he belong here, or not? He found his way back, and went in. A few guys recognized him. "WOO HOO. A merman just walked in. How's it going kid?" Someone asked, and he blushed. He wondered: was that dark haired guy still there? He looked around, and thought: "SHIT. He's gone. "Looking for someone sailor? Ship sail already?" He heard a deep voice and felt a hand on his shoulder. "Uh, yeah. And no." He turned around: it was the guy! Up close like this, he realized: he didn't LOOK like the cop he saw on the train: he WAS the cop on the train. "I SAW YOU BEFORE. YOU WERE .." Paul cut him off. "Yeah. The guy you were cruising. Badly." Terry blushed. "But... but... you're not in uniform." Paul laughed. "You think I'd wear a cop suit into this place. I left my gear in my car, locked tight. Just took off my shirt, and here I am. " He winked at Terry. "But I kept those boots you liked so much. And..." He reached behind and puled cuffs out of his back pocket. "Whatcha wanna do sailor?" "Uh.. uh... I don't know. I'm... I'm new at this." "NO! I never woulda known." Paul laughed. He leaned over and whispered into Terry's ear. "Don't let anyone know you're a virgin." Terry looked at him, blushing "How did you know?" Paul laughed harder. "You think a seasoned old fart like me can't tell? Gimme some credit. I'm not just some hot guy with attitude. I got a brain." "I'm sorry Sir. I didn't mean to insult you." Paul caught the Sir. His instincts were right. "So, listen up. I don't even know your name. I can keep calling you sailor if you like. I'm Paul. You can call me that, or Sir, or officer." "I'm... I'm Terry, Sir." "Terry. Terry the novice. What you want to do Terry?" Terry didn't expect to be asked what he wanted. It WAS in fact, the last time he would be. "Whatever you tell me to do , Sir." Paul smiled. "That's a good answer. " He jingled his cuffs. "You ever wear these?" Terry gulped. "No Sir. Never." "First time for everything." Paul moved his head over toward a wall. "You've watched tv. You know what I mean when I say "assume the position." "yes sir." Terry moved over to the wall and spread out. Paul skillfully pulled his left wrist behind him, and Terry felt his cock pulse when he heard the clink of the cuff. Paul grabbed Terry's right wrist and locked that one too. "Ever hear of Westchester, terry?" "No Sir. " "Well, that's where we're heading. Half hour ride." Terry gulped. "But... I'll miss curfew." Paul looked terry right in the eye. "You want me to uncuff you, and you can head back?" Terry gulped again. "No Sir. I wanna go with you." "This way. Let's go, handsome." "Handsome." terry felt another pulse in his cock. He hoped he wasn't leaking. Paul led him to a late model car in a nearby parking lot. Terry got nervous when, instead of popping the passenger seat, Paul popped the trunk. "You're getting in there, terry." Terry shifted in his cuffs. "No Sir. Please. Not that." Paul smiled. "You can still go back to the ship. I'll even drive you. But if you're going home with me, you're going in the trunk. " He smiled more broadly. "Your bunk on the ship is probably just about the same size. You'll be fine for half an hour." Terry was scared. This wasn't how he imagined his first gay experience. "GET IN. My boots need attention and I'm not waiting forever." "Yes sir." Cuffed, terry positioned himself as best as he could. He saw Paul's white teeth as he closed the trunk. He felt the car move. The gentle rocking, and the dark had its effect. He nodded off, wondering what Paul had in store for him. Quite a bit, as it turns out. And you'll read all about that if you come back.