Soldier Student by Noah Green
Chapter one
0400hrs
The night before I lost it my dreams were all fucked up. The most vivid was the first I had, about a dude with a cunt. I was in the Student Union bar and he was a fit, muscled, obviously attractive young guy standing on his own. He kept glancing at me.
Despite longish blond hair like a surfer he looked respectable and strong, not soft or camp. Somehow I knew as soon as I saw him that this guy - as handsome and masculine as he was - had a fucking vagina stashed inside his jeans, and I was aching to try him out. Once our eyes were properly locked, my prick became rampant hard; nothing was going to disarm that missile except jumping the guys' bones. My nuts throbbed with the idea of what it would feel like to penetrate a man; to have a hot, wet slot between rugby-player thighs that was going to grip my dick like a sucking glove.
With the fluid logic of a dream we went over to a quiet corner of the bar and we began getting on. While we were talking quietly together I swear I could smell the great sex odour of his gash. I wanted to get my face down there, to eat him out like a piece of gym-baked pie. I moved very close to him so my lips were at his ear and asked him if I was right, did he have a cunt? The guy grinned shyly and nodded, looking down at his crotch. We both knew under his CKs he had a lock that my own thick, brick-hard key would fit really well. I decided to treat him like a bird, me being the confident one, me being the proper man. I put my hand on his knee and moved it smoothly up the solid muscle of his leg and inwards to between his thighs. Christ, the heat of him down there. He parted his legs and I squeezed him, groping the slot my dick was yearning to fill.
"I really want you mate, take me back to yours and I'll give you one."
"Sure."
On the way back he told me his name was Olly and I noticed he had a butt like tightly conjoined cannonballs, but all I cared about was speeding up the time until I could thrust myself into him. We were both guys; he knew exactly how much getting a ride meant to me and since we were agreed I was going to have a go at him there was no need for seduction. When we got to his flat we went to his room and he finally began revealing what he looked like naked. I pulled my dick out of my strides and began wanking and sighing as he dropped his shirt to the floor to show me his perfect, toned torso with pert brown nipples on top of two sturdy little slabs of pectoral. I wasn't going to miss tits at all. The rhythm of my hand increased as finally Olly unbuttoned his jeans and pushed both them and his underwear to the ground.
Fuck, it looked so right: sweet pecs, washboard abs and then the narrowing of his hips towards a perfect blond haired mott. I pulled off my shirt and dropped my combats as I crossed the room; by the time I got to him I was as naked as he was. I got him down on the bed and opened my mouth against his, one hand at the back of his head pulling his face harder onto mine, my other bending my dick down ready to press it deep into his pussy. He widened his legs to let me in and I felt his sweet cunt give as my dripping bench drove into his vagina. Now we were connected as deep as two people can be: our tongues in each other's mouths and my tool rammed right into him. He was so hot and wet down there, I could feel him flexing his slot around my prick and soon I was starting to take my first stroke out ready to lunge back in. I was grunting loudly, pressing him down onto the bed, an animal that wasn't going to stop until my seed was planted far inside his stomach.
Situation normal, the moment I was about to cum, I woke up, my dick embedded hard into my mattress. I turned over and began wondering what the fuck was up with my dreams. I should have got out of bed and had a shower to wash all that fucked up thinking clean away but I drifted back to sleep and - with my cock still as hard and wet as it was - no surprise, my mind went back to the world of weird.
This time I was on a frosty rugby pitch in a huddle with all my mates from the county's army veterans team but instead of being in with the lads as part of the circle I was in the centre and naked as the day I was born. I could feel the sharp icy grass on the soles of my feet. The other players were in a ring around me, their arms round each other's shoulders and the trainer was walking round the outside, telling them what he wanted to hear. It turned out what he wanted to hear was what each of the twenty or so guys staring at me liked most about me. This kind of thing really happened on our side - a lad would get a beasting for a poor performance or a boost from everyone else if he'd done well; to get it he'd have to stand in the centre of a huddle and take whatever came. But never naked. And the players giving the beast or boost never ever had obviously visible impossibly big fucking hard ons under their shorts as in my dream to a man they did. My best mate on the side, Mello, began the lechery by saying he loved the way my dick was hung, the way it looked when soft. He said it made him spunk to think of my cock. Then each of the other men took turns to let me know they were heaving with desire for me.
"I like his shoulders, he's built like an ox."
"It's his backside that kills me, I'd give anything to get a tongue inside."
"I've smelled his underwear after a match, the scent of his pouch made me blurt one out without even touching my prick."
"He's got the discipline and strength of a soldier, but he's a lad you can talk to. His personality turns me on most."
"His lips are fucking awesome, he's got a mouth I'd kill to get my cock into."
"He's lean but If you watch him in the showers he's nothing but muscle. He's awesomely powerful."
"When I'm turned off fucking the wife I think of Jamie and I'm hard again in a flash. I'd give my house to ride him."
"He looks normal really, brown hair, brown eyes, nothing special. But when I see him my dick just won't go down."
You'll think I was sucking all this up but even in the dream I couldn't stand it. It wasn't just hearing lads I knew to be straight coming out with such filth about another guy, it was the vividness of the whole scene: the steam rising from their backs in the cold, the smell of their mounting sexuality as they wound each other up with lust, and the obscene ram rod erections - some of them with visible damp patches of precum at their tips - that were thrusting up under each and every one of my team mate's shorts. The trainer told them they could break the huddle and queue up to be with me. Once again Mello was first. He didn't touch me, he just put his face near mine and I heard him breathing in. He was just smelling me, as I stood in front of him naked. My dick was still limp but I could see that Mello was going to cum. All he did was breathe in then his face coloured up and he groaned as he squirted out a load of white gravy into his shorts. He stumbled off and Stank - a huge prop - came up. He'd been the one that said about getting his tongue into my ass but he didn't even try that, he gently touched my face while squeezing his balls and within a moment or two he'd shot one off as well. One after another the whole side including reserves and coaching staff did little more than touch me and ended up stickying up their underwear with baby glue. It was fucking sickening.
Where the fuck had this shit come from? What had put these freak ideas inside my head? This time when I woke up I forced myself towards proper consciousness, totally aware of the huge leap my mind had taken overnight into full-scale faggotry.
The thing was, if I could have set myself up any night to do in-depth reconnaissance on myself it wouldn't have been this night. I'd been active all day: digging a pond from frozen earth out the back in the morning then taking a 10k run with brick-loaded backpack before a 5k swim and then sauna and run home. I was slaughtered by the time I hit my bed and sick dreams didn't help restore me so despite my intentions to explain all this gayness to myself I was asleep again and lost in a third bimble through A1 fairy porn.
This one was about Rob Slater, one of the students I was supposedly supervising at Uni. Slater had seemed to hate me from the moment we met and had threatened to wreck my army secondment to a teaching post by sticking in one formal complaint after another. If he had contempt for me it was nothing compared to the contempt I had for him, but I'd never shown it. I'd helped him with the thing he wanted most: to be signed as a professional footballer, by taking out kink after kink in his psychology. But the more I showed him what was up with his game the more he piled his fury against me. Fuck him I'd always thought and in my dream that thought became literally true. I had Rob - drugged apparently, deeply unconscious anyway - at my house and was hauling him upstairs. Seven years younger than me at 23, dragging him about was no easy thing even for me. Using performance strategies I'd taught him, rob had sculpted quite a body for himself and he was hard to lift. Panting by the time I'd got him to my room, I heaved him onto the bed and there he was: the lightly stubbled Hollywood look of his much-admired lantern jawed face and high fashion haircut slightly ruined by the fact he was totally out of it on his ruthlessly horned-up tutor's bed. I wasted no time, climbing astride him and pulling off his shirt. I could feel his balls under my ass and sitting on them - crushing them - turned me on still more. I slid down him so our crotches were smashed together and I began biting at his mouth and neck. I knew he was deeply under but I tested just how far by pinching and twisting one of the arrogant poser's little brown nipples. I could do what I liked to him, he didn't even grunt.
Even though it was male aftershave and the slight scent of a young man's sweat, boy he smelled good. Who gave a fuck what gender it was, to have an athlete in their early 20s to fuck about with was always going to come alongside with what a cock wants, and mine was like a ferret, burrowing into Rob's crotch like it had found its ideal home. And of course Rob was no ordinary student, he'd been biting at me since I first took him on as a tutee, determined he was going to prove he knew more than I ever could about sport psychology and fitness. Well now I was going to show him who his daddy was and in the most definite way possible. I rolled off him and grabbed the weighty packet slung under his trackies. He might have been young but he was a proper man alright, the hot schlong of his big cock was resting meatily against his nuts.
In the army I'd seen plenty of other men's tackle and, impressive though it felt, I wasn't that interested in seeing Rob's so I rolled him over onto his front. then pushed two pillows under his hips with his ass lifted into the air. The navy blue uni trackpants tightened over his backside, the twin muscles of his young buttocks obscenely tasty and available. Shit, this was going to be good. I eased his trousers down without removing his pants. He had on white cotton CK briefs that were thin enough to show the colour of the smooth tanned skin that lay underneath. I liked thinking about Rob sunbathing nude so his girlfriend's pleasure wasn't ruined by a tan line on his bum but still more I liked imagining how he'd feel if he knew the effort he'd put in was being admired by a dude about to rape him. I pushed the soft material further up the crack of his butt until I could feel the little knot of his ringpiece. Certain Rob had never fucked about sexually with his mates I was happy whatever the consequences there were to face afterwards I'd have his virginity forever. I opened up my jeans and pulled my prick out, heavy and hard as a baseball bat. Forcing it downwards, I dug it hard into the cleft of Rob's ass and felt the cotton of his panties against my wet knob. I was going to take this guy so fucking hard, there'd be no end to it.
Except, of course, there was an end to it because the second I felt the head of my cock against the heat of Rob's CK insulated asshole, that's the moment I woke up. This night was finished, there'd be no more sleep for me. I sat up and swung my legs out of bed, ignoring the urgent demands of my throbbing erection and pulled on a pair of old rugby shorts. I remembered waking early in shared military quarters, the shit I'd get off the other lads for getting up before time. Well, I was still paid by the army but I didn't work for them and with my own house there was no reason not to cut myself some slack and - despite it being 4AM - run myself a tub of the hottest water and try to wash off the flitty scum my dreams had left on me.
I went into my bathroom and dozily drew a bath then climbed in. Once I was under the water my rigid cock began to soften up and I could start considering what the fuck it was all supposed to mean. I slid down into the bath so only my nose was above the water, the heat soaking in to every part of me. I'd been trained in intelligence, my specialism was enemy psychology and the systematic analysis of battle situations; so I had no problem applying neutral assessment to myself. This is what I decided: 12 months before my best mate Kev was killed in Basra, 2 months after that booze and depression scorched off my most recent steady bird. Well maybe my low had lifted and without me knowing it or understanding how, months of repressed sexuality had warped into inversion; I'd been without a bitch so long my brain had switched to gay. What was my response to that? At a deep, deep level I'd stopped giving a shit about anything at all years ago, soon after my first taste of real combat. In Northern Ireland I'd seen things that meant the sooner I was dead the sooner I'd be happy. The irony was that without fear of anything I became a better solider, which kept me alive longer. At times I'd begun to feel like someone to whom the release of death is denied. The hot wet pull of the water persuaded my tensest muscles to release. What the fuck? If it turned out I could get my load out over a man's gash the same as over some whore then whoop-de-doo, I'd doubled my chances of getting a ride.
So, that's how I got out of the bath: with my dick soft again but the idea of fucking about with other men sunk into my brain. Not that I wanted a fuck. I didn't want to be close to anyone. Gay, bi or straight the only thing I wanted was to get life over with and join the mates I'd had who'd been removed from action by taking a dink from death herself. I dried myself with a rough towel, glad there was one constant I could rely on; the fact that every scrap of working out I did showed and made me happy at moments like this, when I was naked on my own. I'd always known I couldn't control the world, now it seemed I couldn't control my mind either; but at least I had mastery over my body. Not like the regiment guys who had come out the army, turned to booze and wound up fat knackers. I was never going to be like that. Whenever it came I'd go to my grave with a body tight as a drum, even if I had to wait until I was 90. No fucker was going to rob my power from me. I'd never been beaten in a fight and I never, ever would be. Unlike the sophisticated strategy I taught younger soldiers and the students at uni, for me there was only one rule: win or be killed. Samurai style.
Thinking about my own fitness and determination helped to lash-up my thoughts. Fuck it, I'd try my faggot side out properly. Definitely wasn't going to pansy up to some gay pride arsehole but if it was just me and I had the chance of a shabba rank, as one of my mates called it, why not see if I could knock one out over a bloke? I went back to my room and flipped up my laptop lid. Typing in men didn't do much and I didn't want the history to show anything to do with bent stuff so I clicked on one of my own bookmarks, the site of the rugby club I played for. No photos and that didn't bother me since I didn't want to crank my engine to some fucker who'd I'd heard fart and belch in the changing rooms, I had more class than that so I used Google images and flicked up "rugby shorts" from there it was click or two to a site that showed average rugby guys doing normal rugby things but from a faggot perspective. The site author's writing very nearly made me puke but the photos of Brits, Australians and other races - including lads of colour - stretching, bending and training soon had my fat one back at attention. Despite sounding like a proper fairy, the guy behind the site had amazing taste. He had sections on footballers like Frank Lampard and Joe Cole where he'd chosen photographs that showed you the actual shape and size of the lads' cocks.
It was when I got to the military section that I realised rather than experimenting to see if I could get a bench on over men, I was close to spitting out my load over them. And I knew the ISP search history the Ministry of Defence gets access to any time it wants would now show I'd spent half an hour on a site called "Beautiful Men". I shut Firefox down.
It was 4.30AM. I moved from my laptop back to my unmade bed and crashed down on it, still naked. So, my dreams had the revealed the truth: I had a gay side now. The idea was shifting the furniture inside my head. I fucking hated the gays I saw on tv: camp men sickened me so bad I'd gladly snuff them out; at uni the only self-confessed gay student I'd supervised seemed to have set out with a plan to make a joke of himself. Yeah, I'd never be one of them. I lit a cigarette and listened to the noise of the cider factory starting up behind my house. I'd had a messed up night, but nothing much was different now. I began to feel less bombed out, reflecting that just because I had a slant to my sexuality, it didn't mean I had to express it; I was still me, still had choices. Less fucked off alone than when I was shacked up with someone I had already decided I didn't want a partnership of any kind, least of all with another dude. So the only impact of finding out my dick pointed towards both women and men was that as long as there were people about there'd always be someone I could screw.
I took the heavy head of my semi-hard dick between my index finger and thumb to begin easing the foreskin back and forwards over my bulb. Since Kev's death and then my girlfriend walking out I'd hardly bothered with my cock and it felt good to recall the pleasure it could bring me. It lengthened and hardened in my hand as the juicy cover of my bellend slid over and back, over and back. Maybe experimenting with sex would be the way I drew myself out of the depression of losing my best mate, or maybe fucking about with my new gay feelings would achieve nothing, but then I wanted nothing, I valued nothing, I had nothing to lose. With nothing staked on whether I lived or died there was no risk in doing whatever I liked. Even if all I'd had were poison dreams that meant fuck all I could still act on them as if they carried real intelligence - I could still test to see if I had it in me to fuck a man - since what was the worst that could happen? I could find out I was 100% fag and the women in my life had all been based on denial or I could confirm what I thought already that maybe I could screw with men, but my heart wouldn't be in it.
I got up and moved back to my laptop, my big dick jabbing against my stomach. I'd been worried about the MOD tracking back to find me trawling gay porn but, really, what was the problem? I'd joined the army at a time when Special Investigation Police acted against fairies harder than against hostile forces but all that was gone now - having a flitty side worked out as a career asset these days. I opened up Google and searched for "bisexual action". It didn't take much surfing to find a site that had clips of films that made my nuts leap. For a few quid on my credit card I was able to start downloading a British film called something like "One Beautiful Bird, Three Big Guys" but it was going to take a while to arrive. In any case I knew if I was going to properly enjoy my first decent wank for a year I needed to cut my balls some slack and have a little break.
I left my room and went back to the bathroom. Although since Kev's death I'd been living like a monk I hadn't let things run to slack. Everything in the house was clean and tidy enough and when I pulled the light on and had a look at myself in the mirror I truly began to believe the dreams I had might be good news after all. Testing how much gay I had inside me would be like a mission and I'd never fucked up a mission in my life. My reflection just showed the head of my prick above the lip of the sink and I knew birds I fucked always liked my cock so that was sorted. Above it my stomach was solid and flat; I was proud at the age of 30 of having the same 8 pack washboard abs I'd had at 17. My tits were in good shape and I was tanned enough from a life working shirtless whenever I could. Yes, I was hairier than the young guys I'd seen on the bisexual sites but I could either shave that (fuck, no) or I could put up with it and let whoever was put off by a moderately hairy guy go screw themselves. Like one of the guys had said in one of my dreams I no way had the kind of looks facially that stopped women in the street; I was normal looking, just ordinary. But if the same rules applied to guys as to women, if gay cunts found the same things attractive as bitches, I'd have no problem pulling now because I never had in the past.
I shaved then got in the shower, all the time feeling the long year of my depression starting to lift. Ideas kept coming to me, things I liked the sound of. Whereas the day before I'd thought of the students I had to supervise on my secondment from the army as whining pains in the ass, now I could see they might know where you found faggots and what to do if you fancied fucking one. How could it be brought up in conversation? Since I specialised in enemy psychology most of the students who'd come to me happened to be men and not all of them were dicks like the one who'd complained about me, Rob Slater; some of them were the kind of lads you could imagine having a beer with. Shit - I realised - a couple of them were the kind of lads I'd quite like to plough.
As the hot water blasted away shaving foam and the softness of my bed I found my hands moving from soaping my body generally to concentrating on the areas around my cock. I wanted to make things last so I tried not to touch it as I remembered my dreams - the horny young fucker with the snatch, the guys from rugby splattering hot spunk against me and, most of all, Rob Slater with his ass up in the air and totally available to screw. Jesus Christ I'd damage that self-fancying little twat if I got my hands on him while he was unconscious. I couldn't stop myself starting to pull on my pole as I let anger combine with desire to make me desperate to get my dick deep inside his guts.
I used a trick I learned from a whore on an army base in Germany and pressed the bridge between the back of my bollocks and my ass to push away my orgasm. I pressed hard and felt the rush of it draining away. For five or ten minutes I stood letting the water pound down on me and feeling my erection start to fade. What would the uni make of a seconded lecturer chasing students for hole? And what would the army make of a staff sergeant granted a cushy secondment like mine abusing it with sexually inappropriate behaviour? I'd be on a charge. Things were totally different being posted to a civilian role but I was still subject to military standards of conduct, to military discipline. I found myself smiling as I realised those freaky fucking dreams could have initiated a mission that would act as my ticket out of university bullshit, out of military intelligence, out of the army altogether and back to where I belonged, a solider loyal to only one command, his own. Something about the idea reminded me of something and suddenly I remembered what: in the leave before he was blown up my best mate Kev had stayed with me and my girlfriend for a week. He'd been in a weird state and later when I heard he'd been zapped I wondered if somehow he'd known. One frosty night we'd been walking back from the pub, badly fucked up on beer. We'd been play fighting, acting like kids, but then just near the house Kev had pushed me up against a wall and - it didn't seem believable then or now - kissed me hard on the mouth. "Nation of two," he'd said "one army, ours." and then he'd let me go, laughed and carried on to the house.
I finished my shower, dried myself and went back to my room in a daze. Since the porn I was downloading was still only 80% done I pulled on some grollies and threw myself back down on my bed. Had Kev recognised I had a queer slant? Was he taking the piss out of it? Or had he maybe had a gay interest of his own? I was too thick to know and the only fucker who knew for sure was in bits all over Basra. Not for the first time I felt both grief and rage that the cunt had got himself killed. I could still taste the beery breath and aftershave he'd forced on me when he put his mouth on mine. It did me harm to think about Kev so I consciously moved my thoughts onto less emotional ground, thinking again about the potential of the Uni's male student population to muster up target practice for me to test my dick against. I'd definitely fuck Slater, the lad in my dream, if only because it would teach the twat who's boss. But I knew for sure Slater was straight. If I was going to dick about with lads I was going to have to take a second look at the pansy brigade; surely there must be one of them it was possible to respect, even if only a little. I thought through the blokes I'd taught, the ones I'd coached on the B rugby squad and the ones I saw around the department or Uni bar. Jesus, when I thought about it, there were plenty I'd caught taking sly looks at my cock in the changing rooms or staring straight at me in the gym, some of them proper masculine young guys, good lookers, ladies men. If a couple of those would take a shot at sucking my knob I'd soon find out if I swung both ways.
A tone from my computer told me the film I'd torrented had arrived. I dug around in my cable scrap bag to find a lead to hook my laptop up to the tv in the room where I kept my weights then got up and went in there, my penis threatening to burst free from the cotton of my briefs. I set the film to play without even looking at it because I wanted to show myself the priority was still my physical health. No matter what happened I knew I'd never give up my determination to be as strong and fit as possible, it was sacrosanct. I kept my back to the tv, hearing the setup of the film as three rough sounding London guys fantasised about fucking the same girl while in my own space I began with free weights, doing power reps on my upper body. As things began to flow I felt my mind release from the discipline of physical effort and dart straight towards the kissing and grunting I could hear on the tv. I turned round and saw two guys kissing each other while the third was sucked off by the tramp who'd cornered herself with three cocks. The camera dwelled on the two muscle dudes switching lips, they didn't seem to be faking how turned on they were, it looked as if they were really into it, with one of them stroking and holding the other's head. First it astonished me that they would be so shameless then I realised the really big one was starting to move down the other one's body and my prick lurched as I wondered was I about to see one guy sucking off another for the first time in my life? Fuck yeah, there it was: the big guy was next to the girl and both of them were tooting on tadger, licking dick, giving skull. I couldn't believe it and in no time flat my weights were on the floor along with my briefs and my big wet prick was sliding through my fist. To be able to look from the bird's big tits to the erection the cock-sucker still had bouncing around and the head of his young mate thrown back in ecstasy, fuck it was REALLY good porn.
I sat down bare-assed on my weights bench, my dick hard as a gun between my thighs. The young blond muscle dude was still enjoying being sucked off by the older brown haired Hercules but now that guy - who looked pretty tough - was leaning over to get mouth action with the man who was being sucked off by the bitch. It was so fucking wrong, I couldn't believe it and I had to keep my hand away from my prick to stop myself from letting fly with my spunk there and then. To think people did this stuff was one thing, but then for them to allow themselves to be seen on camera... I had no doubt all the dudes were straight so what did their mates say down the boozer if they caught on at weekends they were kissing and sucking other guys? And not just kissing and fucking. The most perverted of the three guys, the brown haired colossus in his late twenties was soon bending down to split apart the mighty muscles of his ass and inviting one or all of the others to have a pop at putting whatever they fucking well pleased right up his gash. The woman tongued him, the blond lad fingered him while he sucked the third man's dick and then the third man switched and finally I was watching this poor guy get a huge throbbing bench shoved deep inside his pussy lips while the other bloke fed him his cock. I was watching a man - a fit, masculine, good looking man - getting spit roasted and apparently loving it. I kept thinking maybe they're faking it somehow but then the director would close in for a shot of the spit roasted guy's hole with a broad, hard, glossy length of erection powering deep inside it. I'd seen some things in the army - girls with girls, girls with animals, girls being dominated or dominating - but I'd never seen anything that said so clearly "fuck what you like, fuck for fun, fuck just for the sake of fucking". I took the risk of giving myself a few very slow, non-orgasmic strokes while I watched the star of the film fucking the girl while taking two spunky dicks in his mouth then I shut the tv off and went back to the bathroom.
It was coming up to 05:40, the time I normally got out of bed. What a night. I knew enough mental health theory to feel sure that beyond everything else what had happened was the depression I'd been in since Kev died had fucked off back where it came from, to the back of my head. What it had uncovered was that memory of Kev ramming a kiss on me and from that seemed to flow a filthy, unstoppable, angry need to fuck about with other guys.
As I took a second, post-sweat shower I spent a second or so seeing if I could attach my sexual hunger to the chick in the film or to any woman I'd ever known but nothing seemed as interesting or arousing as the idea of exploring the new land I'd opened up, the experiment of seeing what it would be like to get some love action with another dude. I considered what the few army mates I had left would think about a soldier heading out in the morning with the deliberate intention of doing something homosexual; but instead of imagining them repelled and aggressive about it I somehow came up with the idea they'd understand, that they knew the kind of attachments men develop in combat, the kind of bond there'd been between Kev and me. Was there such a difference between loving a mate as deeply as soldiers love their mates and loving a mate in the way the guys in that film had loved each other, in a rampant dick-to-hole free-for-all? I'd slept and fought and ate and shat next to other guys ever since I'd signed up, so long as you uncoupled the judgemental bullshit there was no more difference doing skin stuff with someone of the same gender than there was doing sport stuff, going on holidays, drinking together or any other form of buddy-buddy fun. And even if there was a difference I didn't give a fuck, I was going to try it anyway. I found my rugby shorts, pulled on a training top, squared up my bed and went downstairs.
It was only a two bedroomed little sock I lived in but after dorms and tents and shared quarters on base, I liked the fact I had it to myself. The hall was full of photos from different campaigns with me and my mates in the desert looking bronzy or drinking vodka in the snow; it had been some life I'd had when I was still in action. Of course, I liked the fact research and teaching on secondment meant no chance of getting zinged by a bullet, but I missed the no-bullshit discipline of missions and patrols. My eye caught a photo that included a lad I'd once been obsessed by, a private I'd not been able to command because I felt so soft about him and I wondered for a moment if my whole army career had really been about putting myself next to other men because, without knowing it myself, that had been what my dick demanded?
It wasn't true. Not even I was fucked-up enough to face a theatre of war just in order to get my nut off. I fixed some scran and ate it standing up in the kitchen, trying to think myself out of interest in pleasing my dick into my normal mindset for a day at Uni. I had a tutorial with Slater mid-morning and then skull-cracking staff meetings followed by an afternoon of trying to co-author a course in military psychology that would both satisfy the academics and set up a steady stream of new officer recruits for the army. It was no good: apart from seeing how the Slater of reality compared with the Slater in my dream, I had no interest in any of it. Why the fuck was I living a life so lacking in action? I chucked my plate in the sink, pulled up the blinds on the dark frosty morning outside and considered the shit I'd need to haul to work to get through the day. Within about ten minutes I'd pulled together my computer, some books and some marking and dressed in the usual sweat-wicking work-out gear I wore for my journey in to college. I pulled on a coat and cap, swung my backpack on and left the house.
I had a journey of 30 miles to get to work but even as depressed as I had been, I always enjoyed it. I left the house before the traffic went nuts and while it was still dark so I could track back in my head to patrols in Northern Ireland and whip round the streets at a cant. I went past the football ground and deployed my new queer interests to speculate on the fit fuckers that might be busy on an early morning workout or kicking back together in the sauna. As someone who'd played rugby all my life I naturally assumed all footballers were flagrant, non-stop, cock-hungry poofters. I upped my speed, enjoying the beat of my Nikes as I reached a straight stretch of road and then slowed down as I came to the alleyways and paths that led me to the station. Now I'd thought of it I couldn't get the idea of football apprentices fooling around together out of my head. Imagine one of them lazily leaning over to suck off his mate, or a regular player coming in the gym and picking one of the lads to have for his fuckmate for the morning. Jesus, I bet it all went on if you only had the guts to look for it. The Sunday papers were always hinting premiership players took it up the ass from each other and why the fuck shouldn't they? Young, fit, rich and holed up together in hotels, what was to stop them doing whoever they fancied? I felt fucked off to be left out of it. I flashed through memories of the men I'd been close to in the army who I knew I could have had if I'd only worked up the nerve to ask; so many cancelled chances just because I hadn't forged ahead. By the time I got to the station I was (a) desperate to hide the massive stonk-on rearing up under my trackpants and (b) determined that whatever the consequences I was going to start getting my share of buddy-buddy fucklove.
I'd more or less sprinted a mile and was made up no one could ever have known: no sweat, no gasps for breath. In the train to uni I usually dozed but today the angry certainty that I was missing out on something sexual had me looking round for ways to get things evened out.
I always sat in the bike carriage so I could stretch my legs and by luck across the way from me was a lad in his mid twenties, sitting with his mountain bike, geared up for a day in the hills. Despite the nippy weather he was exposed to me like a bitch in the bikini round of Miss World because the only thing covering his crotch and his powerful looking hairy legs was sky blue lycra. With a hand over my brow so he couldn't see where I was looking I took a good deck of his basket - the outline of the thick mushroom head at the tip of his big sausage-shaped dick and his bulging plumbs underneath. I liked thinking about him banging his woman full of baby batter this morning, using the fat tool I was looking at to plant his seed. But next second it seemed maybe it wasn't a woman he kept in his bed at all because the dude dropped his hand to his thigh and - surely knowing I would see - began flicking his thumb against the helmet-shaped dome of his mighty dick. Any other day I'd have pinned him as mega predatory ass bandit and looked anywhere except in his direction. Today, I dropped the hand hiding my eyes and looked him in the face. Maybe he was happier playing games because he did look pretty ashamed of himself then, his stubbly face blushing as he failed to meet my gaze. Bit it was too late for any of that down below, he'd woken up his beast and when I dogged back down to his groin he was already more than halfway towards a proper bone-on. Finally his eyes met mine and I knew, I just knew - ugly rough squaddie though I was, and on his way somewhere though he was - if I wanted to I could have him. Or so I thought, but right then the train pulled in at the obvious station for a mountain biker to get off and up he got- huge dong still prodding up under the nylon. He manoeuvred his bike towards the doors and stood near me, his crotch at the height of my face. I swear I could feel the heat of his stretching erection on my lips. Should I have got off with him? Well, I didn't.
I had work to get to, no matter what tasty treats were scattered in my path and in any case when the mountain biker got off a load of new people got on, including the usual group of stuck up young fuckers from the local public school. The young ones I didn't mind but the older ones - sixth formers I guess - acted so arrogantly wealthy they always wanted to make me puke my guts up. In the packed carriage, a group of four of them were pressed against me, one with his ass where the mountain biker's crotch had been, practically in my face. Normally I would have scowled out the window until they got off but this day was different and I had a good fucking look at the youth's tidy rear, neatly tailored as it was in the lightweight grey wool of his uniform. There was something about a guy his age - practically a man - made to wear a schoolboy's uniform that turned me on; I liked the dimpled chubbiness at the flank of his ass and the way the two muscles curved together to form his crack, the material of his trousers straining to contain so much pertly tensed flesh. I turned a little in my seat so that my shoulder nudged the haughty cunt's backside. Fuck, it was soft and solid all at once. I wondered if private school sixth formers were as enthusiastic bumboys as everyone made out. Had anyone been up this lad's fuckhole? Was he busy dicking all his mates? I was sick of sitting out of sight, I wanted him to know I'd been perving at his ass so I stood up, grabbed my backpack and asked to get out as if I was getting off at the next stop. The four young toffs did their best to shift for me but there was nowhere else to go. They smelled and looked so fresh and expensive, everything about them perfect. I put my arm around the shoulder of the one who's buttocks I'd been studying and he had the confidence not to be thrown by the contact, turning his head to flash his millionaire's smile. I pushed him forward a little and squeezed behind him, now with a hand on each of his shoulders as I eased past. Then I got the reward I'd been working for, a chance to wedge the brutal hard on he'd given me right up against the cleavage of his butt. I breathed in the smell of his soap and aftershave and gave him time to register exactly what was pressing towards his hairy little hole then I moved along further and past him, not bothering to look back.
There were no seats so I stood near the door by a pregnant teenager who had a dirty looking kid in a pushchair and her chav boyfriend beside her. From public school prefect to scaly smackhead, trains contained the full fucking spectrum. In fact this lad - who, despite his baseball cap I could see was blond, and was about 20, dressed in trackies and a Lacoste nylon hoody didn't look like a drug user at all, he was clean, muscled and alert, catching on straight away that I was sizing him up
"All right, bruv?"
"Uh, yeah, hi." I looked away but when I looked back he was still half-smiling in my direction. Compared to the toffee-nosed cunt I'd just put my prick against this guy seemed open to anything, ready to interact with whoever was around. He was probably brighter by a mile than...
"You like my look, boss?"
He'd picked up on the fact I'd scoped him out and he wasn't bothered by it.
"Yeah, although I've seen something like it before ," I joked with him, knowing he was alert enough to understand I was ripping the piss out of his pikey uniform. I guess there was an outside chance he could've been looking for a fight and pulled a knife, but that wouldn't have bothered me at all. Instead he grinned and pushed past his mrs to come a lot, lot closer.
"You look well fit, mate. Work out do ya boss?" I could smell his high class scent, Dolce and Gabbana or something. Probably the stink of his whole crew. "I do."
"I wanna go to a gym. No fucking dough though, you know what I mean man?" He was really smiling now, almost pleading. He looked handsome, both intelligent and humble.
"I really need cash, bro. The kid and my woman just drain it out of me."
Was he fucking begging?
He looked direct into my eyes. I could see the blue of his irises.
"I'd do anything for fifty quid, bud. Or the Mrs. Either of us, or both...."
For a second I thought he was offering to carry my bag or run me an errand, but he dropped his eyes and when I looked down to see where he'd put them I saw under his trackpants he was gripping a hefty bar of scally cock.
He lifted his head again.
"Desperate, innit. Know what I mean, boo?"
I couldn't believe it. What the fuck had let him in so quickly on my exact mission for the day? And how did he have the nerve to risk a hiding from me by suggesting I'd pay him for sex? He must have been depending on more physical power than his clothing revealed him to have. And I guess he couldn't be expected to know the extent of my training in unarmed combat.
"Sorry, son, I can't help you." His face fell.
"Ok, boss. Apologies, like."
"I mean all I've got on me is cards. Give me your number and we'll sort something out later on maybe."
His mobile came to his hand in a flash. He took my number and buzzed my phone, looking quietly grateful the risk he'd taken had paid off. And he didn't overdo it. He nodded his thanks and went back to stand with his bitch, never even looking at me again except to wink when they got off.
It was my stop as well but I hung back, not just to avoid any more scally boy winking but because my dick was sticking up like a cannon and there was every chance of bumping into either students or tutors from uni. Despite all my training in counter surveillance I'd let preoccupation with my new world of apparently constantly available men distract me form situational awareness and I'd missed the fact a guy in a suit had been looking at me. He had the confidence to approach me directly as we stepped down off the train.
"Nice one fella. You ok mate? That lad had some front didn't he?" He laughed. A cockney with a broad Thames accent. Despite his suit, he was more than down-to-earth and the fact there was no messing with him was very attractive, and he seemed to know it, grinning at me as if we'd agreed beforehand he could listen in on anything I said.
"Can I help you in some way?" I said to him, glaring to give him the message despite all the people around I'd drop him where he stood if he tried any shit with me.
Maybe because of the threat implied by my response we somehow both stopped still as the crowd of passengers around us drew off. Despite the possibility of a severe beating that I'd laid on him, he was still all smiles.
"Yeah, you can help me mate. Whatever that geezer was going to do for you I'll do better ok? Yeah? And instead of you paying for it, mate, I'll pay you. That do?"
For a good few moments I was thrown and my immediate response was to tense ready to take him out. I think he knew that but he seemed to like the risk. Not that he wasn't serious about his offer because he immediately topped it up with the terms and conditions he was offering, "£500, mate. 20 minutes top. Come on, there's a shitter down the platform. Let me suck your lolly lick, we'll go to an ATM, I'll bung you a monkey and you're on your way."
Now I'd hesitated long enough to let him know I was thinking about it I was fucked, he had me and he knew it.
"Spend the money on your Mrs, mate. She'll be so made up she'll help you get over the fact we played about, yeah?"
He turned to set off down the platform, confident enough to leave me behind because he knew I'd follow.
With each step he took towards the toilets the tail of his suit jacket flapped over his well-formed ass. I knew not only would I let him - and like him - to suck me off for nothing but that probably if he pushed me, I'd do it to him for nothing too.
Like any normal person I already knew the queer crowd loved nothing more than sex in the filthiest, foulest little holes they could find. Up to now I'd assumed my role in that world would be as the guy ready to paste anybody who so much as snatched a glance at my dick. Now here I was following a stranger into a station toilet ready to take money for sex with him. I thought about how my old man would have reacted if he'd still been alive to hear about it. It was no exaggeration to say he'd have rather seen me dead. Inside the filthy stinking bog I thought again about the whole operation and almost turned round, but then there in front of me was the guy I was after, looking clean, smart and fit, acting in a way I could respect, offering to shake hands, telling me his name was Darren. Given the fact we'd just met and what we he'd revealed about himself his fucking confidence was something else.
"We can go in a stall, or I'll suck you where you're standing right now? If anyone comes we can just hop it sharpish can't we mate?"
He was saying this as he got very close to me, his hand dropping to my....
But I don't need to describe for you the first time another dude put his mouth around my cock. The surprise of a good-looking suited guy getting down on his knees in front of my crotch, the fumbling at my flies, the sensation of him pulling out my hard on and then the gentle pressure of his soft lips against my knob, the sliding of his mouth down my shaft and the sight of him - fit, smartly dressed and handsome - looking up at me with his lips buried in my pubes and my dick halfway down his digestive tract. I don't need to describe it because if you're reading this you've had it done to you, or if you haven't you should.
I'd heard women say they'd like to have a dick just to know what it feels like to get it sucked. Well, as the owner of a cock himself, Darren knew exactly how having his gob around my knob would feel to me, he was fully in control of every sensation he gave me.
Yeah, so if you're reading this you know how good it feels for a man to be given a blow job by another man. But another reason you don't need the detail about Darren and me was that this day had only just started, although it had begun as it was going to go on. If I thought - as I felt Darren massaging my nuts with his fingers - that this was the climax I was wrong. I'd set out to explore the gay side my dreams had shown up and by Christ the day ahead was going to fulfil that goal.
As I watched Darren frisk more urgently at his own prick; as I felt his mouth tighten round my root, as he started to spurt his seed onto the dirty floor of the toilet, the one thing I didn't have to worry about was that I wasn't going to get any more dick that day. Fuck, no. Anything but.