Shore Leave

"You're a bastard," Terry said, meaning it. "You're just lucky the fleet's in."

"I don't know what the hell the fleet has to do about it, and, yes, I'm a bastard. But you'll have to admit I have an effective seduction line and a talented cock. Got into your pants the first time I made a serious run at you, didn't I? Fucked you twice like I said I could. Did you good. Gotta go now. The spotlights won't align themselves."

Tony was gone before Terry could come up with a retort. There wasn't much of a retort to give, though. Tony's line of bull had gotten him in Terry's pants, Terry had been aroused by Tony for weeks, and Tony did have a talented cocking technique. Terry bet even that Steve, the box office guy, had been enlisted by Tony to tell Terry he needed help with the spots when he didn't. "But it wouldn't have happened if the fleet wasn't in today," Terry said aloud, as he pulled himself up from the pile of costumes.

He worked the rest of the day in the office, far from where Tony was playing with the spotlights and whistling happily. He'd brought a lunch from the apartment that he ate at 5:30, having missed eating it at noon because that's when Tony had spiked him. Then he took a shower in the bathroom off the dressing room where he'd been fucked, taking the time to use a douche and clean himself out.

He didn't often highlight his piercings, but now he put the gold rings in—one in an eyebrow, one in his left nipple, one in his belly button, and the last, under his ball sac, in his perineum. Then he put on the clothes he'd brought with him in his gym bag—silky blue boxer shorts, with a gold jock strap that gave a hint of its existence through the material of the shorts, the gold shimmering through when he moved. A tight black mesh athletic shirt came down over his torso. It showed off his lithe, tanned, but nicely muscled body to perfection. It also showed his nipple and belly rings. He had free access to Alex's gym and spent considerable time there. The time paid off. He pulled on his rope sandals and he was all ready. He knew he had a great face. His dancer's movement would do the rest in drawing attention.

He left the theater, stopping in the hall to get Tony's attention and give him the finger. Tony almost fell off the platform in seeing how the little minx was tricked out. "You're not going back to your old dude like that, are you?" he called out. "He'll have a heart attack. I'll come down and take care of you again right now."

"Fuck you," Terry said, with a laugh. "Don't need you. The fleet's in." He turned, strutted out of the theater and climbed into the Rav4, leaving Tony totally confused again on what the fleet had to do with any of this.

Terry arrived at a dive called The Hole. It was actually named The Watering Hole, but the clientele it attracted had changed the name for it over the years and now even the sign in front of the sprawling shack said just The Hole. He'd planned the time of his arrival. The fleet was in and the first of the day shore leavers had had time to find the place and got well oiled. The bar was chock a block with naval uniforms. It was an enlisted crowd.

Joe Jones was a petty officer third class. His friend, not as talkative or demonstrative as he was, although bigger, more muscular, more intimidating, was also his superior, Petty Officer First Class Julio Hernandez. As the name implied, Julio was Hispanic. He was towering and bald and glowered, standing next to where Joe Jones, all hands, also muscular, but built closer to the ground, had Terry in his lap, touching him here, there, and everywhere, as he whispered in Terry's ear how nice he was and that he was just what Joe and his friend were looking for.

Terry knew that the third class petty officer was hard for him—and was pretty well hung, because Terry was sitting in his lap, and if they both weren't dressed, Joe's dick would be inside Terry. As it was it was pressing up in there despite the material barriers. Of course Terry's silk boxer shorts weren't much of a barrier. The back pocket of the boxers had also clearly revealed the outline of the packets of condoms he had tucked away there, a nice little touch that hadn't gone unnoticed by any of the sailors in the bar. Terry had his pick of sailors. He picked two who he thought could fuck the shit out of him and he'd love it. Even though the first class petty officer wasn't mauling him, Terry could see that he was hard too—and probably bigger than Joe—and was looking at him like he could eat him, and if there was much more tease he might just do so right here.

Jones put his mouth to Terry's ear and said, "How about-?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Terry said.

"I got a friend here."

"I could take you both. I'd like to take you both."

"We're really good friends."

"I could take you both together."

Joe shuddered. Julio gave a little smile. "How much?" Julio asked.

"$400 for both together," Terry said, without hesitating.

Julio frowned, and Joe whistled his doubt. "Pretty steep," Julio muttered.

"This isn't a negotiation—and, no, it's not steep for San Diego when the fleet's in. I said I'd take you both together," Terry said, his voice calm but determined. "That means I'll let you double me. Included is a hotel room, transportation—I've got a car—I'll get you back to the base gate on Alameda by midnight. Between now and then I'm yours. Do whatever you want with me unless I tell you to stop. My safe word is 'stop.' You see anyone else in here who's going to let two good friends put their dicks in them at the same time for any less money?"

The hotel was a two-story one, named the Friendship Hotel, which honored instant friendship and catered to business just like this. It was off University Avenue, in the gay district of the city, west of the downtown area. Terry had booked room 204. He often booked a room here when the fleet was in.

Joe was anxious, and Julio, although senior, let Joe go first. They were barely inside the room before they all were stripped, Joe had Terry bent over the foot of the bed, with Terry supported with outstretched arms, fists pressed into the stained chenille bedspread, feet on floor, and legs spread. Joe fucked him from behind, crouched over his back, grasping Terry's wrists with his fists, and biting into Terry's neck. His arousal had been great and insistent, so he fired off quickly. Julio was standing by, watching, and pulling on his cock, making it very long and very thick indeed.

Terry was glad Joe was first. If Julio had been, he would have reamed Terry so open that he might not have felt Joe when it was his turn. As it was, it was a good progression for Terry.

Julio took Terry hard and long, doggie style, on the bed, crouching over Terry's hips and fucking him with long, hard, deep thrusts, as Terry hung onto the brass rungs of the headboard over his head and cried out his pain, pleasure, and, eventually, passion and release. The headboard was banging on the wall in rhythm to Julio banging his ass, perhaps giving vent to a long sail across the Pacific from Yokosuka, Japan, in the destroyer, the USS Barry, which the two friends both served on. But then again, Julio seemed commanding enough to have gotten whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it on the Barry.

Calmed down a bit, Joe fucked Terry again after Julio had dropped his load, rolled off him, and allowed Terry to go onto his back, panting hard, looking dreamy at the stud who was no older than thirty and who was a virile master of vigor. Tony had stung him with the remark of needing a younger cock, but there was much to be said for that. Joe was younger than Terry by a couple of years, and on the second go, fucking Terry in the missionary position, with Terry hanging on to the brass headboard rungs over his head for dear life and arching his back, Joe proved to be highly competent and long lasting.

With an eye on the clock, having only a day pass, the two didn't take long moving into doubles. Julio was sitting on the bed, with Terry kneeling between his legs and attempting to deep throat him. Joe was sitting, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, beside Julio at the foot of the bed, with Terry working his cock with his hand. Both men were working on opening Terry up more. They both had four fingers of a hand in Terry's ass entrance, one on one side and one on the other, digging in and doing what they could to spread him. Terry moaned for them deeply.

The first double was on the bed, Julio on his back, with Terry on top of him in a cowboy position, facing him, Julio's cock up his ass. Joe was crouched behind Terry and doing most of the thrusting inside him with a cock that was rubbing on Julio's dick from above. Again Terry was grasping the rungs of the headboard, which was bouncing off the wall. They had no concern about the noise this made. The headboard on the other side of the wall was doing the same thing, sometimes at the same time theirs was and sometimes the two passing off the staccato beat to each other. No one in the hotel would mind. This was that sort of hotel.

Pressed for time, the second double was performed in the shower, with the two sailors standing under the cascading water and Terry sandwiched between them, his legs hooked on Julio's hips, his fists locked behind Julio's neck, his lips plastered to Julio's lips, and Julio's cock thrusting up into his ass. Joe was behind Terry, his cock meeting Julio thrust for thrust in Terry's passage, his hands palming and spreading Terry's butt cheeks, and his face buried in the hollow of Terry's throat.

They tossed Terry on the bed when they came out of the shower, and he lay there panting, listening to the thumping on the wall by the bed in the adjoining room, as the two sailors dried off and dressed.

"That was good—and worth it," Julio said. "You don't have to drive us back if you're not up to it. We'll get a taxi."

"I'll drive you back," Terry said, with a groan, as he hauled himself out of the bed and reached for his clothes. He didn't want to tell them, but he had a reason for driving them back.

He pulled the Rav4 over to the curb near the base gate on Alameda Boulevard on Coronado Island. He waved the two sailors through the gate. They made it back just before midnight and they clearly were happy with their shore leave day, shadow boxing each other and badmouthing other sailors as they strutted through the gate.

Terry got out of the Rav4 and perched against the hood, waiting. All over the area, other men and women were waiting. It was a regular flesh bazaar on this street by the gate when the fleet was in. In another fifteen minutes, the Saturday shore leave day had begun and sailors were starting to stream out of the base, looking around for where to spend the twenty-four hours they had away from their floating steel cans that had brought them across the Pacific from Hawaii.

He watched for what he wanted. A somewhat older man, someone looking self-confident and more mature and commanding than the junior sailors. The man Terry was looking for saw Terry; they established and maintained eye contact. The sailor was black, but he was wearing a chief petty officer's uniform, and he was tall and slender, moving gracefully like a dancer, and he was moving in such a way that he knew he owned the world. When a sailor did that, Terry believed it was very likely that he was hung like a horse.

His name was DeAngelo Williams, he was a chief petty officer aboard the USS Fitzgerald, he was hung like a bull, and he was inventive, demanding, and a lover. He fucked Terry through the night in room 204 of the Friendship Hotel. The headboard of the bed was doing a ratatatat against the wall all night. But then, so was the headboard of the room next to theirs.

DeAngelo fucked Terry on the bed, standing over Terry's jackknifed body, with Terry's rump waving in the air, his face tucked into his chest and his arms reaching out for the rungs of the brass headboard as DeAngelo jackhammed down into his passage with a godawful long cock. And he took Terry with Terry in his lap, their legs folded yoga style and Terry arched back and holding onto the headboard rungs, as DeAngelo pulled him cruelly on and off his cock with strong pulls by grasping Terry's hips in his hands. He took Terry by sitting on the foot of the bed, with Terry, facing away, skewered on his cock, his torso arched over the carpet at the foot of the bed, and, grasping his wrists, DeAngelo pulling Terry on and off the cock.

And, as the light of dawn began to steal into the room's window, Terry was stretched out on his stomach, his hands grasping the brass rungs of the headboard overhead, while in a pushup position over him and reversed on his body, DeAngelo fucked him hard and deep in a reverse angle.

The headboard on the other side of the wall had been silent for a couple of hours, but now, as DeAngelo released his seed for the last time, the bumping of the wall from the other side started again.

Terry lay there panting, his eyes dreamy, his satiation complete, and watched the black bull move gracefully around the room after having taken a shower. He took his time putting his naval uniform back on. He was a beautiful man of maybe thirty-five and moved liked he owned the place. He had owned Terry with his masterful performance.

He smiled at Terry, still on the bed, naked, still panting. He leaned down and gave Terry a lingering kiss on the lips, and said, "That was nice. Thanks. I know you said you'd drive me back to the base, but I thought I'd do some cruising around here first."

He dropped $100 in twenties on the nightstand. That's all Terry had asked for. This wasn't about money for Terry. He knew that this guy would do him up special—and he did.

"I'll pay you the hundred back and take you to breakfast if you come back here with me and do me again," Terry said.

DeAngelo laughed.

This time the fuck was tender, the two locked in a missionary position, their bodies plastered together, DeAngelo's face buried in Terry's chest, feasting on his nipples, and Terry rubbing his heels against DeAngelo's calves and squeezing the black bull's butt cheeks to the rhythm of the rocking fuck, DeAngelo's long, thick cock moving deeper and then deeper and then deeper still inside Terry, the two working as one. Fucking, but making love.

Terry drove DeAngelo back to base after all—in the early afternoon—after giving him an "eternally grateful" blow job.

There was no sound from the room next door. In longevity, Terry had won the fuck fest between the two rooms.

He could make it for a while now. Strange to be saying it as much as he had been fucked in the last twenty-four hours by three sailors, Tony, and Alex, but now he could hang in there. Nothing was as important to him as hanging in there with Alex. But Terry didn't think that would be possible if the fleet didn't come in every couple of months and give him relief and the bit of excitement he still craved at twenty-seven.

Chapter Three: Alex on the Prowl

Alex Holden didn't drive up to Los Angeles that day. When he left his apartment and drove off in the red Corvette convertible, he went to his gym on University Avenue, on the edge of the gay district. His location pretty much determined what kind of man used the gym, and that was just fine with Alex. That's why he'd opened his gym where he did. And on days when the fleet was in, he had extra business. The sailors could go to gyms on their ships, certainly, but they didn't go to gyms just to exercise. At least the sailors who came into Alex's gym when the fleet was in weren't just interested in working their bodies. They were interested in being watched by other guys—guys who would admire the results of all their gym work—and they came to work other guys' bodies—to fuck other guys and/or to be fucked by them.

Alex was sure to be at his gym when the fleet was in, standing there in the main gym, watching the young sailors come into the gym, gauging them and separating the tops from the bottoms in his mind. And he looked for the young bottoms, the ones who had been like Terry was when he was nineteen—young, blond, small and perfect of body, a dancer's walk, a shy smile, a come-hither look, pleading for a cock, a tight ass, a plaintive cry as he was being worked. He wanted them to be men, though, not effeminate pansies. That was what was nice about this being a serious body-building gym. Mostly guys who were manly, even if bottoms, came in here. The pansies could be found more in Marion Bear Park or Swiss Park. Terry might be a bottom and a dancer, but he moved and acted like a man.

He moved about the room, talking to this guy and that. Picking and choosing. Spotting guys. Touching them. Checking them out and sounding them out. By 10:30, he'd picked out his choice. He was Seaman Apprentice Sean Lowell, off the USS Curtis Williams and not that long out of a cornfield in Kansas. He was young and naïve, but he was built, wasn't a pansy, and had been fucked before, Alex was sure, and he wanted to be fucked again. He was just shy, not as forward as some of the men who had come into the gym. Some of them could tell that Alex was after male pussy and they were happy to accommodate him. Alex was good-looking and built, even if a little old for the young action guys, and they'd heard that he owned the place. He could give them some action, be grateful a young guy would give him a spin, and could offer free pass to the gym. What was not to like about that? Some of the other trainers even mentioned he drove a red Corvette and would give those he fucked a good ride—both physically and in his red Corvette.

But Alex wanted Seaman Apprentice Sean Lowell, because he was shy and inexperienced, and because he was so much like Terry had been when he was nineteen and came into Alex's gym.

By 11:00, Alex was Sean's spotter and trainer. He was showing the young man how to use the equipment best. Both of them were just in gym shorts. Alex was touching Sean and manipulating his body to show him the best way to use the equipment. Sean was panting and trembling and Alex could feel he'd gone hard. He made sure that Sean knew he'd gone hard too. He made sure that Sean understood that not all of the touching was just to help him with the equipment, and Sean, though panting and shuddering now and then, was not shrinking away from him.

At 11:20, Alex was standing close behind Sean, with a hand on his belly, presumably telling the young man where to breath from when using a taxing piece of equipment. Sean was trembling under him. Alex put his mouth to Sean's ear and whispered, "You are a beautiful young man. Your body is so nice. You've toned yourself up perfectly. You didn't come here just to exercise, did you? You came here to try to hook up—to be fucked, didn't you?"

Sean's answer was a low moan.

"You brought your toned body to me to be used by me, didn't you? You came here to be fucked by me, didn't you?" Alex cupped the young man's chin with his free hand and brought his face around for a deep kiss. Sean didn't resist or pull away. That was all the answer that Alex needed.

"We have private exercise rooms here," Alex whispered in Sean's ear when he released him from the kiss. "Do you understand what I'm saying? I have a private room, with exercise equipment and weights and everything where I can give you a private workout, put you through your paces. This isn't going to be a quick fuck-and-go. I'm gonna use you long and hard—totally. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Sean answered in a breathy voice.

"I like the sound of the 'Sir'. I'm gonna tie you up and you're gonna submit to me."

"Yes, Sir." Sean could hardly get the words out, he was panting so hard.

At 11:35, Sean was strapped up to a weight bench in a private gym room and Alex was turning the lock on the door and pulling a blind down on the window in the door. Alex was on his back on the bench, his butt at the end of the bench. His wrists were strapped to a barbell above his head with enough weight on either side that he didn't have a prayer of lifting the bar. His legs were spread and raised, with his ankles bound to two iron stands at either side of the bench. There was a small medicine ball stuffed under the small of his back, turning his pelvis up. He was biting into a rubber ball gag in his mouth, moaning softly and possibly just now trying—ineffectually and with added arousal—to voice some reticence at what was about to happen to him.