"Seduced By The Sea" - Chapter VI
by Griz
umgriz@protonmail.com
Hi, Sailor Fans;
I could offer you all the Exes: excuses, explanations and exigence, but the truth is, I got nothin'. In July, I left Seattle for a full-time job in Central Montana, directing a healthy and growing non-profit organization. If only that were all; but no, why should anything be easy?! I'm also still farming with my younger brother, and the acquisition of 1,000 more acres in August only occupied more hours in my day. The truth---the bare, naked, vulnerable truth---is that I've never been happier in my life, back living full-time on my land and with my people. Among them, I'll count Captains Zach and Rondo, and Lieutenant Tom. I hope you'll welcome me back, just like the people in this county have done since I stepped off the train in July.
It's good to be back; on this land and on this site. Please make a donation to nifty.org. Things could soon go downward for us, Boys; they've already begun censoring our access to adult visual entertainment sites. This one could be next, all because some scary people feel the need to control your own thoughts, words and deeds. We know who they are. Until then, and hopefully never, send some love and funds to nifty.org. It's an unrequited love that The Archivist has for these stories, the writers and the readers. Requite some love back in their direction, please. I'm sending in what I can afford.
"Seduced By The Sea" - Chapter VI
by Griz
Rondo and I didn't talk much about anything else while watching the wake generated by the massive and mighty propellers beneath us. Although the ship is not powered by internal combustion engines that create inevitable vibrations, it's not like driving a Ford Lightning electric truck versus a Ford Super Duty F350 with the 500 horsepower diesel. There's still plenty to feel on the Nimitz; she's always moving, as well as are everything and everyone aboard. Remember: we don't wait for them'. They' worry in wait for us, and we bring protective fury at over 30 knots. Yeah, a hypersonic missile can carry death and destruction much faster, but it is only a tool. One seaman or five thousand of them carry American history and a commitment to international peace, each with a brain more powerful than any computer that can guide that missile. Logic and Reason allow a man to transcend the brute force of a tool. I think I'd rather stare down a missile than someone like Tom when he gets that look on his face that conveys, "I know what I have, what I want and what I need, and it's all about future generations of Americans never facing the threats to peace that we've known".
After some additional time enjoying a game of find the submarine', during which we didn't find one, Rondo and I returned inside. Oh----there is a game, a challenge exercise, for anyone with binoculars or incredible eyesight. No SONAR allowed. It's the essential of keeping watch'; you search 360 degrees for a barely-surfaced US Navy submarine, and you just presume there's one within reach of your ship. It's never something as easy as a full sail exposed above the water. Radio antennae, revealing prop wake, almost anything that identifies a sub near us. The point of the exercise is to get the new sailors accustomed to keeping their binoculars at the ready. Someday, it might not be our submarine they spot. For the sailor who sees and reports one of ours in the activity, there's recognition and positive documentation in his file. A sailor can never be too good at looking for signs that he and everyone else are not alone.
The brief conference with Tom and Rondo in the clinic implied none of the three of us would be `alone' in terms of conjugal relief for the month at sea. Someone, or a few someones, saw at least a sign that Tom was approachable for some clandestine nookie. A handjob, a blowjob, a fast fuck; even just standing a foot apart from each other and jacking off was enough for some sailors to work off normal sexual longing and tension. Tom said he had options. Good for him. Good for THEM, whomever they are. They'll be lucky. I had not seen every single person aboard the ship since I came aboard, but of those I had? No one came close to Tom in pure sexual appeal and energy. Of course he had options. I had one, and damn, was I glad. I'd have never known Rondo was a potential partner-for-the-moment. Maybe he would not have thought the same about me, had he not walked in on Tom and me in an embrace.
"Zach, I have a conference I need to attend. Maybe an hour. Open for awhile after that. Have any plans at 18:00? Evening mess?"
"No. I'm only a few days into this cruise, and I'm realizing I have twenty-eight to go with games, food, sleep and exercise to them."
"A moment of candor, Zach....?"
Rondo glanced at me with the look of apprehensive skepticism on his face. Good G_d, is that man beautiful. Chiseled jaw and cheekbones on tanned, tight and flawless skin that any woman or man would want to see in their mirrors. Why there aren't more Irish people going onto Cherokee dating apps, I'll never know. Standing beside me was the perfect blend of ancient DNA. That Rondo is also observant, even if only involuntary for the moment, and understood hurried silence and the volumes that it spoke in my quarters yesterday only added to my sudden compulsion to 'get' someone who 'gets' me. And there we were, two men who had been on the stern of a ship watching where we'd been, and now trying to determine where three among thousands were going.
"Of course."
"Neither confirm nor deny, but I don't think you're here to be aboard for a month to keep yourself an arm's length from who you want, and to compromise by being at no length from whom you can have."
"You're no compromise, Captain. Yeah, I know what we said and what we proposed to Donaldson, and you are not a means to an end, either."
"I doubt either Donaldson or I are the reason you're cruising for a month when you could be flying stateside within a day."
"Ah. So that's what you meant. I can tell you I have a purpose here, and that's about all I can tell you. However, if there's an emergent necessity, I'll perform within my rank as required. And no, that purpose is not to make you cry because you can't win at Backgammon."
We laughed and I was assured that if I could make Rondo cry during Backgammon, he could make me cry while we participated in another activity.
"Why, Captain Standing Bear; I don't know what you mean....."
"Oh, I think you do. Involuntary dilation of a specific muscle, to be further specific."
"So romantic. Your foreplay skills must be legendary."
"Foreplay is means to an end, since we're on both subjects. So. We're awaiting test results before you can experience for yourself what one or two others can offer testimony thereof. If you'd like a more gentle preview of cumming attractions, we could crowd your bunk uncomfortably, your big feet at one end and mine at the other."
"Yes. Fuck, yeah. But.....no. Want to wait until Tom sees our test results first. He gave permission, or at least assent, to you and me not being 'sex deserts in the middle of the ocean'. What you're suggesting isn't the same as bareback fucking, and I'm looking forward to both. I just want Tom to know and feel confident we're being respectful and not horny adult teenagers."
"That's good, Zach. Entirely good. Donaldson's sense of relief is worthy of restraint and the respect it carries with it. But here's the deal: I'm not crying at another game of Backgammon until you've cried while on your back, with the soles of your feet planted firmly on the bottom of the top bunk and your entire colon is prolapsing with every out-stroke of 'The Chief'."
"'The Chief'? You named your unit?"
"No, I didn't. My commanding officer's wife did."
"Seriously?! You fucked your C.O.'s wife?"
"Well.....maybe."
"'Maybe'? You're not sure??"
"I'm not sure if I fucked her or if she fucked me, but after that weekend at the seediest of seedy motels, I'd seeded her, one way or the other."
"Damn. You're a stud. A stud who takes career risks, but still."
"It wasn't much of a risk. My C.O. made the room reservation."
"You're not serious."
"I wasn't, until I had been approached by him one weekend we happened to both be on leave."
"Holy fuck. Your C.O. was a cuckhold!"
"No, he was sterile, or just enough that there wasn't much of a chance he could sire a boy like all the men in his family had, for generations. So, yeah, in the other sense, I was a stud. Not for hire, though. He offered payment, but I declined. I'm many things, but a whore, I'm not."
"How did they know you'd even be approachable?"
"Well.....word kind of got around that I might've caught the eye of other wives or girlfriends, and yeah, maybe one or two of 'em might've shouted out my name when they were with me, and later with their husbands or boyfriends.....and, well, word gets around."
"Oh. So you're a slut, but not a whore. My mistake, of course. The difference between the two is as vast as the Grand Canyon."
"You're a dick. Anyway. My C.O. offered me dinner at a steak house that weekend, and I offered my services the next time I was on leave. It was all very civilized and respectful. They wanted a kid to someday wear another uniform. I thought his wife was hot. At the motel, she thought she needed to hold a bible while we conceived a kid together. Considering I almost couldn't get hard because she was holding that book, I considered it a form of birth control. When I said as much, she put the bible back in the night stand drawer, and straddled herself over me. I thought we'd have an afternoon together, but she lowered herself on only three inches---of several available---and flexed every muscle she had, coaxing several billion Little Rondos out of me within thirty seconds. I apologized, but she just smiled and patted my chest. 'I need your child, not your time and attention. The man I love is going to great extremes to give me what he can't. Disabuse yourself of any notion that this is anything else', she told me. Before I could respond in my head that I was both relieved and kind of insulted, she told me this would need to happen until she was pregnant."
"How many more times did you meet for three inches and three minutes in that three-dollar motel room?"
"No more times. She 'took' that same day, apparently. My C.O. pulled me aside one day a couple of weeks later, bursting at the seams while trying to appear boss-like and stoic. He even tried to speak 'in code' to me. 'Mission accomplished, Lieutenant. Well done.' I honestly had no idea what he meant, so he led me over to a corner of the rec center. 'Oh', he said. 'I thought you guys were so great at speaking in code. Like in WWII.' I told him those were the Navajos, or Diné, and I was Cherokee, and that the code was not spoken in metaphoric English. Only the passive-aggressive British do that. Then he told me his wife had conceived, and while they were both very appreciative, the job was done, and she didn't need 'The Chief' again."
"So he culture-lumped you with another tribe, and she made up for that by referring to you as 'The Chief'? Because that's soooo much better."
"I thought the same, but I was told before umbrage could be taken that they referred to my dick as 'The Chief', not myself. I felt only slightly less embarrassed for both of them, but the Irish side of me spoke in a quiet voice in my head: 'You'll forget her, but they'll never forget who got the job done when he couldn't; and Cherokee-Irish DNA will flow in that family forever.' So, I have since then embraced 'The Chief', both the penis and its title."
"Wow. Purely transactional. Did you ever hear if they had a boy?"
"A boy who at this very minute in some military academy, I'm sure. I heard only once about him. While I would like to meet him someday, his parents will need to make that introduction. Wait-----aren't you doing the same thing in the near future? With your ex and her wife?"
"I am. Now, though.....I need to consider myself in the equation. I know what they're going to get out of it. I don't want to just be there for a few minutes and then get pictures in an email nine months later. I told Rache I would like to be involved in the kid's life. She welcomed it, too; it was part of the letter she wrote."
"You're having second thoughts, though? Just because of my own experience?"
"Third thoughts. I want a child for them, and I want to be part of its life. But I also want the kid to live a life well-lived, and well-loved by its entire parental family. My part of that will take only minutes, but the kid has to live with this decision for the rest of its life."
"You think too much."
"SEALs never think too much. We think about cause and effect, and lasting results. The thing is....."
"....'is'?"
"Rondo, I can see myself wanting to raise a son or daughter, too. A family to call my own. Cousins for the kid Rache and Naomi are planning for."
"I can understand that."
"Can you understand, though, that after just a few days, I can also see who I want to have a family with?"
"All too clearly. As clear as the balls on a Scottish Highland bull. You both seem to 'know' that. Beats me how, though."
"Me, too. All I know is that I can still feel him in our embrace, the one you walked in on. I can still taste and smell him. And I can still sense the annoyance of him telling me to put on some sunscreen. And the smile that crept on my face after I returned to my quarters after getting my blood drawn in the surgery. Maybe that's what this is about; he's fearless. He goes after what he wants, damn the consequences. He is a SEAL in every sense but the name itself."
"Oh, that's interesting. He came for you, and you put on the sunscreen."
"I put the sunscreen on, and have yet to take him off. So, yeah. I want my own family. Don't you want one, too?"
"Not sure. I think I can live vicariously through yours, but I can be 'That Uncle' who shows up for birthdays and graduations, sharing all kinds of bad words, good wisdom and humor along the way."
"You'll be a good 'That Uncle'. We're getting way ahead of ourselves at this time, though. We have the rest of this day to get through first. I'm still not entirely familiar with what goes on for recreation. Do you know?"
"Oh, yeah. There's the gym, or gyms. Theirs and ours. Their arcade and game room, and ours. Two theaters, too."
"Two? One for general enlisted, and one for officers?"
"No, both theaters are open to all ranks, but behavior in either has to be exemplary. One of them screens whatever we can get via satellite, which are typically the newest Hollywood blockbusters. Almost always action or superhero comic book movies."
"No French New Wave? Retrospectives of the Silent Era, with strong emphasis on Chaplin, Lloyd, Keaton and Mary Pickford?"
"Not even gonna ask.....but, no. There can not be too much testosterone in the movies on this ship."
"But two cinemas? Do they show the same thing?"
"No. The second theater shows documentaries. Well, one documentary."
"Oh? Is it David Burroughs' 'Planet Earth'?"
"No. It's Tom Cruise's 'Top Gun'."
"That's not a documentary!"
"Tell that to everyone who sees it here, repeatedly. It was filmed on this ship, you know. Well, almost. It was the USS Enterprise. Same class."
"A 'documentary'....."
"Oh, yeah. And it gets really quiet in the theater when the volleyball scene is going on. I think it's a religious experience for some of 'em."
"I almost suspect you're not kidding, Rondo."
"Not at all. You've seen it."
"Ummm....."
"WHAT?!"
"Well, nope. Let's just say, 'not yet'. That'll sound less egregious."
"And yet, you know the names of four Silent Era legends, as well as an entire genre of mid-century European film-making."
"And yet, so do you."
"Do you think Jewish Intellectuals are the only ones who know 'Top Gun' isn't a cinematic masterpiece, in the same realm of 'Citizen Kane', any Spike Lee film, or Film Noir? Some Cherokee-Irish folks are voracious consumers of DVDs at a small, local Oklahoma library, you know."
"Apparently. So which is your favorite?"
"I'd say Buster Keaton, among the first group. Of the second? 'Rififi' and/or 'Elevator to the Gallows'. Yours?"
"Also Keaton, but in the second? Jacques Tati. 'Mon Oncle' is one of those cinematic masterpieces. Jews, the Irish and Indians all agree."
"Truffaut would agree.....in public. In private? He would scream and cry as much as Zach Weiss will, when we.....well, you know. But not for the same reason, of course. And with you, 'three inches' will only be the beginning. I want complete and satisfactory cock burial, for much longer than three minutes. I want to be buried in your ass for so long, only a resurrection will get me out of you again. Oh---and a minimum of three loads."
"If that's what you want and what I'm gonna get, I feel certain I will just lie there, fully anesthetized. Less injury to be suffered that way, I think. I'll count sheep. I'm glad, though, to know we'll have something cultural to talk about after we.....well, you know."
"Disembowel a United States Navy SEAL?"
"Go ahead and try, but I don't think that'll happen. I'm so strong 'up in there', I've been known for my appendix to quite efficiently circumsize uncut guys."
"That's just nasty, Zach. However.....if I get circumcized while I'm pounding your ass, it'll be kind of a relief to lose three or five non-muscle pounds so quickly. I'll miss being able to jack off without lube, though. I guess for almost a month longer, you'll do so I don't have to buy lube at the PX belowdecks."
"Rondo, you realize on The Baseball Team of Man Sex, I pitch as well as catch, right?"
"I believe that you believe that. I'm very empathetic that way, you know. Like Frank Sinatra said: 'Believe what you want, and whatever will get you through the night'. The proof of your assertion is in the pudding, so to speak, Weiss."
"The ass-ertion will be in the pounding you'll receive from me. My hips and your ass will both be bruised, Standing Bear."
"Finally! Do you know how much I want the other guy to feel he has some sense of masculinity, if only for half an hour? Remember: I'm empathetic. I care about how the Less Privileged feel."
"Keep talking smack, and all you'll get is whack."
"Well, after you either pitch or catch, I know I'll be able to talk about French movies and silent movie stars, but all you'll talk about is how much and how soon you'll again want 'The Chief'."
"Such arrogance. Are you sure you're not in the Air Force?"
"I'll be whatever is necessary to get in that fuckin' perfect ass of yours, Weiss. Repeatedly over at least the following twenty-eight days on the water."
Well, damn. Rondo can be subtle, and then he can pronounce the 'b' in subtle, and loudly. I'm not sure I need to see a homoerotic action movie from the 80s, but its real-life representation in the form of a 6'4" hyper-masculine alpha parking his ass in the air for another 6'4" hyper-masculine alpha warrior-class dick was of compelling interest to this SEAL. That, too, is a representation of the real-life life I was pretty sure I wanted with Tom Donaldson, USN. I would gladly take what was handed to me, as Tom took what he wanted, what he needed, a couple of days ago; someone to care about and for, as demonstrated with sunscreen and proxied penises in proximity. I'm not a jealous person, but I know who and what is mine. The sailors who get with Tom for the following weeks were welcome to be there by me, as long as Tom also welcomed him (or them). I didn't want to meet anyone; I just wanted to be met with a smiling boyfriend, wherever we might be on this ship. Umm....I meant, a smiling Tom. Sure. That's what I meant.
Rondo suggested we go to the gym and spot each other. I liked that, and needed the workout. I had not lifted since being aboard, and I missed the muscle fatigue and exertion. We agreed to part for our own quarters to get changed, and then meet in the officers' gym in thirty minutes. Once back in my own postage stamp of a room, I stripped and found my favorite (only) jock in the locker. If I were any fewer in stripes, I would not be able to get away with keeping an un-washed jock strap. Being a captain, though.....well, it came with intangible benefits, and this was one of them. I was looking at myself in the mirror to see where I needed immediate improvement, and it was---as always---in my shoulders, arms and chest. I was pretty much born with this ass and abs, and my legs were no less almost natural in their size and strength. I'll admit, I liked how the straps of that jock framed my ass, and made a mental note to be wearing it when Rondo and I were finally able to fuck raw. I was pretty sure he'd like it, too. If he wants my ass, I want his monster cock even more so.
As I pulled on my gym shorts and the tank top, I hatched a plan that Rondo might need to help me with. I decided that my jock needed the stains and unique aroma of someone else's cum and sweat on it. It needed Tom's essences, right in there with my own, never to be washed away. Note to perpetually horny self: get Tom to sleep in it or wear it at the gym or whatever, for at least a week. Sweat in it, cum on it, hand it over to me, so I could do the same thing and hand it right back to him. And just hope his bunk and locker would not be inspected whenever he had his man's jock. 'Man'? What?? From 'lieutenant' to 'Donaldson' to 'Tom' to 'boyfriend' to 'man', all in one short duration of time? What on the blue-water ocean was going on? Must be delirious.....and United States Navy SEALs do not get delirious. We bring delirium.
Once rigged satisfactorily, I made my way through the multiple levels of the Nimitz' maze to the officers' gym, where Rondo was already warming up with stretches. I joined him, and we synced our movements to get our muscles ready for abuse. Rondo called each group to be stretched, and a few minutes later, we moved to the row of benches and racks of weights. The ship had lifting machines, as well. They were in use by smaller and older officers. While Rondo and I could very likely wear the same clothes interchangeably, the same could not be said for the others in the room. There were all sizes and shapes in there, but with a singular career mission. To that end, we are all brothers and warriors, and whether by a barbell or a machine, we were there to keep or grow what we had.
Nods all around as we got started, I placed two 45s on the bar. We warmed up with stretches, and now we were warming up again with light weight. Laying flat, I lifted 135 pounds up for ten reps. I could feel it, but not with difficulty. Rondo traded places with me, and did the same cycle. Despite the weight being very light for us, we still spotted each other. Anything could happen at any time, and even with that light weight above our chests, a sudden collapse of 135 pounds on our ribs could still do serious damage. Over the next fifteen minutes, two 45s grew to six, and then the sweat broke on our foreheads as we each attempted to defy gravity's challenge. 310 pounds still made their way to the bulkhead above us, but more slowly and not as many reps as when we began. As well, the spotter's hands were in a tight grip on the bar at all times, and his feet kept at a weight-distributing span apart. Rondo and I had felt our efforts by twenty minutes in the gym. They were also visible, and not just to us; other guys voiced their recognition of the routine, and three had gathered around to watch where we placed our hands and feet while on the bench. By the time we attained 300 pounds, our backs were strapped. We kept our spines flat while lifting, but it was just natural reaction to want to stretch the back muscles to accommodate the weight. All my lifting life, I'd said (or been told), 'Spine flat!'. There has never been born the lifter who has not said or heard that.
Working our shoulders and arms next, we immersed ourself in the routine and light chat and banter with the other sailors. Time flew, traveling much faster than the ship's 21 knots, and when we heard the ship's bells announce we had one hour before evening mess, we left the gym with soaked towels around our necks and only the very best-feeling muscle fatigue I think I'd ever felt. It wasn't my goal to get huge; just to create and maintain the best physical condition possible for a SEAL---and maybe someday, Judge Advocate General.
We hit the locker room and cleaned up, although only Rondo had thought to bring a clean uniform with him.
"Just walk back to your quarters with that little towel wrapped around you, Zach. Everyone will forget the volleyball scene in the movie. That work-out did you some immediate good. You're huge, but esthetically."
"You, too. Well, I guess I'm not that far away from 'home'. Okay, see you at mess."
We parted and headed in opposite directions. There were some good-natured whistles and cat calls in the passageway, and from some officers who'd not yet met or seen me. My life is not about competition, but I'll admit: I like seeing a little shock and admiration in a stranger's eyes. Must be doing something right, if I can get that response. My own face has registered the same over the years, when I see someone who has worked a kind of work I know to achieve results. Back in my quarters, I checked the officers' intranet site for the uniform of the evening. Still khakis. That'll work. Once covered again, I looked through my emails. One came through in code, indicating I needed to access an email for higher-cleared eyes. There was no indication of urgency, so I chose not to follow the channels necessary to read and respond. That would be a good use of my late-evening time. For now: my sore muscles were retreating to heal, and my stomach was grumbling for some nutritional attention.
Up at the officers' mess, I found Rondo at a table for six. He sat with two other men, three stripers, laughing and looking at the menu choices for the evening. Fresh sourdough bread was brought to the table, with what I knew would be very good butter. I loved butter on bread. I could live on that, particularly what was served aboard this ship. Rondo introduced me to the two other officers. One worked in communications, and the other was a nuclear engineer. I was not familiar with either department, but considering how much those two talked, I knew I'd have an education by the time the meal was finished. That's okay. Despite evidence to the contrary, I don't really like to talk about myself that much. If I talk, I'm not listening; and a SEAL makes the best decisions when he listens closely. That night, though, was not about discerning information I could exploit for domination. We were just four barely-adult adults, pleasing the server with our decision to all have the same thing: chicken piccata with pasta, green salads with Italian vinaigrette and steamed asparagus. The server smiled and asked if it would be okay with us if she tossed all the salads in the dressing before plating. With unanimous agreement, she was off to also bring us either ginger ales or Seven-Ups on ice. Water on the Nimitz was sea water through a desalination and purifying process, and everyone could tell there was very little mineral content, like we'd find in water on land. However, one very nice detail about it was the clarity of the ice it created. It was almost eerie how closely that ice resembled gravels of glass. Of all the things to bitch about, and I wasn't at all bitching about the water, it was little things like this that put into perspective what we were eating, versus what our mission could be, at any given moment.
We finished eating, and the three-stripers left for the movies. As Rondo and I made our way rearward, we surmised fascinating fiction about our dining companions. Rondo was, as I was already suspecting, in possession of a sense of humor that would, indeed, make him a Good Uncle.
"The engineer.....poor, confused soul. Spends all that time with fission, decay and fusion, and has yet to see the future end of his virginity."
"Oh.....so you think his virginity might end at some point in the future? I'm not so sure."
"It will. He just needs to get off the ship and into the South side of Chicago, where he'll meet an octogenarian dominatrix named Madame Boopsie, who'll ram a cop's night stick up his pussy while she slams his mouth on her own oyster. It's inevitable. A melt-down to rival the one on Three Mile Island will result, and his Mommy Issues will be made manifest. All of his servicemembers' health insurance will be spent on therapy, and his ability to calculate and engineer nuclear power equations will skyrocket into genius levels. I would not be surprised if he has his face on a stamp by the time he's fifty."
"How do you do that? I'm in awe. Anyway, what about the Communications Officer?"
"Hasn't been a virgin for decades. And a big, ol' power bottom."
"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT??!"
"His chair was upside down the entire time, Zach. And here, you're supposed to be the observant one.....whatever....."
We both laughed long and hard about that. Rondo would indeed be a Great Uncle. It was already inspiring me to have more than one kid. Just needed to find out how many Tom wanted. FUCK. There I go again. 'Whatever', indeed.