Shot of Whiskey

Shot of Whiskey Ch 1: Arrival Debrief

The day I arrived on the massive Forward Operating Base in Afghanistan I had very low expectations and was still somehow deeply disappointed, at least that was my impression on the landing strip. I had transited through the same orientation given to all civilians at the massive training facility at Bagram and was somewhat prepared for life on the remote outpost in the southeastern edge of Afghanistan, along the border with Pakistan, but the real thing had smells and dust and ants and other things that tried desperately to crawl into your boots while you just stood there under a relentlessly hot sun. There was no slide for the feeling of despair sinking into your DNA, at least not in my training sessions.

We arrived worried about police capacity, police training, the legal system and how we might, possibly, if we were lucky, build a foundation for a modern society to emerge. We did not start out thinking about sharing toilets with people who refused to learn how to use them, so that each shit had to be prefaced by a wiping down of muddy footprints on the toilet seat, as most locals preferred to squat over the toilet than sit on it. They thought sitting was dirty. And let's not discuss the distaste for toilet paper among some of the local workers with whom we sometimes shared bathroom and shower facilities on our little corner of the massive military base.

Perhaps worse than the living challenges, I was cynical about the work from the start. I needed money and this was a lot of money. As a former police trainer focused on weapons, munitions, safety and explosives, I was the ideal fit for the $350,000 a year contract they were offering. This was life-changing money, and if I completed my two years, I could walk away set for life, for my kids' lives, with multiple rental properties under my name and a wad of cash to spare. I did not have high hopes, however, for our mission. It seemed a one in a million shot that a tribal culture would turn away from their clans and their traditions and embrace a life organized by outside institutions like courts, legislatures, or provincial governments -- never mind a national government few recognized as legitimate.

People often talked about the religiosity of Afghans as a major hurdle. I never saw that as a hurdle. There was no real organized religious structure to what most people did day to day. There were family leaders, clan leaders, tribal leaders, that was the structure. Faith was an element that shaped the culture, to be sure, but authority, order, that was fundamentally a family and clan decision. Even religious interpretations were heavily influenced by what clan an imam might belong to, that was the framework. There was no single, coherent, enunciated view of religion that shaped traditions, it was really the other way around. Yet here we were, in Afghanistan, asking people to yield their trust and their roles within their tribes, the anchors of their identity, and to adopt a national identity instead. Don't listen to your elder, listen to your district administrator, don't let your tribal council decide what should happen to a goat thief, listen to a judge hundreds of miles away. That was the shift and it seemed to me almost impossible to imagine how we would get there.

I stepped off the helicopter and First Lieutenant Dorado, the XO for the Provincial Reconstruction Team I would be supporting, was waiting. We were one of dozens of units sharing the massive base, one of the smallest parts in fact, charged with helping the provincial government establish its authority. I jumped off the helicopter, grabbed my backpack and stepped forward, "Lieutenant, good to meet you, I'm Nicholas Strayer, please call me Nick."

"Great to meet you, Mr. Strayer. Welcome to FOB Salerno. Please, follow me," he signaled with his head that I should jump into the armored vehicle waiting a few hundred feet from the landing zone. We drove towards a series of four identical buildings as he pointed out key, architecturally significant landmarks along the way.

"Right there, next to the post office - are Pizza Hut and Gloria Jean's Coffee, both are pretty good if you're tired of the DFAC food, but they're not free. There's also a TCBY that is usually stocked. They try over at the DFAC but it's all brought in from Dubai or Pakistan and it can do a number on your guts," he pointed to various doors on a single large building, signs taped to the windows but not much else distinguished one establishment from the other. It was the world's strangest strip mall.

After a few hundred feet, he continued, "Here are the DFAC and the gym, facing one another. If you're a runner, we don't currently allow people to run around the perimeter without prior authorization, there are snipers outside the gate. Over there in that field we have a weekly vendor market, they sell pirated DVDs, gifts, jewelry, rugs, all sorts of shit -- I mean gifts and shit -- that you might want to take home to your family."

In less than five minutes we were at the barracks, four identical cinder block buildings with a fifth placed perpendicular to the first four. "To your left are the latrines and showers, they are shared, you need to bring your own toiletries in and out each time. We do provide toilet paper, of course. To your right are the barracks. Soldiers share four to a room, officers two to a room. You and a few command-level officers have a room to yourself. Every room has its own heating and cooling unit on the wall and a small beverage fridge but no running water. There are water bottle packs for drinking at the entrance to each barracks building. You can buy an electric kettle in the PX but no other cooking implements are allowed. We set you up with a bunch of local carpets, a desk, some furniture and a twin bed, hopefully you brought bedding, if not the PX stocks some items. Please let me know if you need anything in terms of furnishings and we'll do what we can," he stood at the door as a Private, Private First Class Redding by his tags, delivered my luggage into my room, an unpainted cinderblock space about twenty by twenty feet with a corrugated steel roof, insulated and protected from above by nearly ten inches of sand and rocks, meant to help protect against the stray mortar. The rooms were all joined by a single hallway down the middle with a mirror setup on the other side of the hall. In all, each barracks building had about forty rooms.

"Thanks again, Lieutenant," I held out my hand. He shook it, nodded and walked away.

"Where can I put this?" the young Private asked, still holding both of my large bags in his hands and a heavy rucksack on his back.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry!" I said and went to help him. "There is fine, I will unpack into the wardrobe later."

"No problem, that's what I'm here for," the Private spoke cheerfully and smiled. "I'm Ryan, by the way."

He looked young, maybe 19 or 20, he was thin, handsome and his eyes were open and sincere in a classic midwestern way. "Nick, nice to meet you," I replied, shaking his hand and gently squeezing his arm. "Where you from? Minnesota?"

He grinned, his smile was broad, well cared for, and it lit up his face. "Close, I'm from South Dakota, most of us are from there, this unit was tagged to support the PRT and we came as a cluster."

"So, you're all National Guard?" I asked.

He nodded and looked around, "Shit, Nick, you're lucky. Only the Commander and the three civilian leads for the PRT have a room to themselves, they're over in Barracks A. It sucks having no privacy. You have to sneak around..."

He stopped himself and looked sheepishly at the floor. I smiled, "You don't have to edit on my account, you were going to say something about beating off, I imagine?"

He laughed heartily, he seemed both nervous and relieved to have been found out. "Yeah, the showers have stalls but all they have are curtains and if you take too long people just pull the curtain back and stare at you until you finish showering, and in my barracks, well, there's four of us sleeping a few feet apart. Between the smell of boot rot and sweat, it's not great."

"You're always welcome to come here for a little you time, I really don't mind," I said, winking at him.

Ryan smiled and sat down on top of the small desk near the single clerestory window, too high up to see in or out, but it was great to get a bit of natural light. He looked like a recruitment poster bathed in that mid-morning glow. He took off his head cover and set it next to him as he ran his hand through the most beautiful blond hair I had seen, other than Chris Hemsworth. I imagined he was due for a trim but hoped he would hold out for as long as possible as it suited him to keep it long. I turned around and laid my bags on the floor, opened them and began to organize where I would store my things.

"That's a nice offer, are you sure? You have to be careful what you say around here," he seemed to be warning me.

"Lots of conservative soldiers?" I asked as I moved my non-training clothes into the metal dresser and wardrobe lined up on the other side of the room. I figured the tactical apparel I could store in the suitcase or in a Pelican case near my bed.

Ryan laughed, "Sure, there's that, but the bigger problem is that once you make an offer, people take you up on it."

As he finished speaking, I heard a distinctive banging on metal, as if someone were knocking on my door which happened to be made of steel. I was about to walk over to open it when I heard it again, it was coming from behind me. I turned around and Ryan had pulled out a stunning pink cock that was already hard. His legs were spread open, and he was slapping it against the surface of the desk.

My eyes widened to the point I thought I was going to burst a cornea. His cock truly was gorgeous. It was uncut, the skin naturally pulled back behind the corona. His was a cock made for fucking with a head that was thick but only about as thick as the top half of his dick. It was perfect to lead the way into a tight hole. The trick with him, I soon discovered, was the thick, obscene girth right around the middle of his unit. The whole thing was longer than average, over seven inches if I had to guess. I suddenly imagined how wonderful it might feel to have that stretching my hole every night for the next eight months, until the end of his deployment.

"Is this ok?" he asked, suddenly hoping to find a sign of approval in my surprised gaze.

I smiled and fell to my knees on the carpeted floor in front of him, pulling his heavy cock into my mouth in one quick gesture. It took me just a few slurps to get his entire shaft wet with spit and soon after, I was deep throating the young soldier like a squirrel who'd finally found his nut. He moved his hips forward and leaned back until his head was to the wall. I slid my hands under his ACU jacket and grabbed the t-shirt underneath, untucking it so that I could touch his skin. There is a reason older men like to fuck younger men. His skin was silken, smooth, taut, warm, with muscles under each square inch of his torso. His abs, at least eight distinct hard ridges and mounds were easily distinguishable just by feel. His chest was not bulky, it was the athletic chest of a swimmer. Both of my hands explored his body under his t-shirt as I continued to deep throat his cock, taking all 7.5 inches and nearly as much in girth at the widest point, until I could comfortably massage his knob with my throat.

He was moaning happily, his hands gripping the edges of the small desk. I took one of his hands and placed it on the back of my head, giving him permission to do what I knew he wanted to do.

"Ah, thanks, Nick," he whispered, gripping my hair in tight fistfuls and beginning an aggressive face fuck that sadly only lasted about thirty seconds. He came as quietly as he could, though no one could see us, we could hear enough around us to know a scream or even a loud expletive would have given us away.

As he came, he did the sweetest thing. He let go of my hair and took my head into his arms, cradling me into his abdomen while he rode out the final convulsions of his orgasm, his dick still in my mouth as I sucked down the last of his delicious, creamy gravy.

He gave me a kiss on the top of my head before he finally collapsed back on the wall, his cock now soft and clean, at least as clean as my mouth could make it.

"Was that ok?" I asked, smiling and standing back up on my feet.

He smiled, but rather quickly, his look turned to worry. He glanced at my package, clearly hard and clearly in need of release.

"Shit, Nick, I don't really -- I'm sorry -- it's not really my thing," he was stammering nervously.

"Really? You're not bi or something?" I asked. "I mean, you don't have to reciprocate, what you gave me was awesome, it is just surprising how forward you were for a straight guy."

He smiled, "I am a big believer in the AHIAH theory of sex. Besides, no run of the mill straight guy is ever going to invite another guy to jack off in his room, you were basically advertising there, Nick."

"A hole is a hole? Is that AHIAH?" I asked, laughing.

He nodded and laughed as well. "You're fucking smart, Nick. You knew where I was from, you knew somehow I would stuff you with some corn-fed meat, and you knew about AHIAH! And, most important of all, you give the best blow job ever." He leaned in and whispered the last part so that it was almost inaudible even from just a few feet away.

"You liked it?" I asked, wanting to hear the words come out of the young man's mouth one more time.

"I fucking loved it!" he stepped forward and whispered directly into my ear, "I can't wait for the next one. I want to see what you do with a pair of tennis balls." He took my hand and shoved it into his pants. Indeed, his testicles were a marvel, a pair of bull-sized balls that would definitely challenge my jaw.

"I am going to have to exact a price, though Ryan," I replied. "I can't just be your new cocksucker civilian, I have needs."

He grimaced and stepped away from me, this time sitting as far away as he could, on my bed.

"Dude, I vomit just thinking about it. I thought you said reciprocation was not required," he was practically whining.

"I meant it, I just may ask to push your boundaries a little. Have you ever kissed a guy?" I asked.

He smiled again, "Ah, ok. You scared me, Nick. Yeah, sure, I kissed a guy a couple of times, threesomes and foursomes back home in Rapid City."

"See, easy start," I said, readjusting my still hard cock, I returned to the unpacking Ryan's cock had interrupted. Without looking back, I said, "Now, Private Redding, why don't you do something nice for me today and strip so I can beat off to the sight of a handsome, athletic young soldier? Would you be willing to do that for me?"

"Sure as fuck!" he replied cheerfully. I could hear rustling behind me and continued to unpack while he got himself ready to be my live spank reel.

"Oh SHIT!" I heard him say in a yelled whisper. Ryan was suddenly standing behind me, completely naked. His body every bit as beautiful as I had imagined, he was lean and athletic without a trace of fat on him. His hairless chest and small pink nipples were begging for a tongue wash and a few nibbles. His biceps were flexed and curled, tensed at the moment. They looked like a pair of trapped softballs, as he was staring and pointing at something that had made him leap ten feet from the bed.

"What is it?" I whispered, looking around at the pile of clothes and other items I had either brought or purchased in Kabul.

His eyes were wide and his hands started to move towards the top of my dresser where I had been staging the things that came out of my bag before I found the right drawer or shelf. Ryan looked at me and then gingerly picked up a small velvet bag, he pulled open the pull string top and gasped. "Whiskey," was all he said.

I laughed while he cradled the Woodford Reserve bottle in his hands, his eyes almost tearing up. "I'll suck you for this," he said, his eyes begging.

I laughed harder, "No you won't! I don't want my cock covered in vomit and I don't like the idea of you getting caught with a bottle of alcohol, and then you'd have to answer where you got it from."

He seemed despondent, "C'mon, Nick, I know we just met, but I was nice right? I fed you my dick? Did you like it? I can get hard in like two minutes, I'll fuck you, I'll breed your hole hard. You want some South Dakota youngsters in your tummy?"

I smiled. "That seems like a better offer. You fucked a guy before?"

He nodded and opened his eyes wide as he leaned in to whisper, "There are a couple of guys here that advertise how much they like cock, the trick is finding a place to do it, but AHIAH right?"

"What about at home?" I asked.

He nodded again. "Some threesomes get rowdy, foursomes too. One huge orgy where I could not tell you what the fuck I did. I know I fucked at least six holes, maybe seven, not counting mouths, mouths would have been like a dozen, it was wild. I think someone fingered me but by then I was out of it. Basically, I like it if it's clean. Plus, ass is always tight and guys only complain at the start, by the time they are all loosened up it's nothing but fuck me harder, pound my ass. I like that."

Ryan was an amazing day one find. It was a shame they could not put him on the slides at orientation, they would get far more volunteers. I took the bottle from his hands and opened it, taking a small drink into my mouth. I looked into his pale blue eyes and leaned in to kiss him. I was pleasantly surprised when he grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in the rest of the way. His technique could best be described as whiskey theft, but he was neither shy nor unskilled. I ran one hand down his back, gripping his meaty ass and massaging his cheek, pulling away from his crack while I imagined his hole being exposed to plain view. He did not hesitate, did not pull away and his kiss felt absolutely uninhibited.

My other hand snuck down into my pants and pulled out my dick as we continued to kiss. He took the whiskey and poured a capful into his mouth and then kissed me again. He set the bottle down and slid both hands under my shirt and tweaked my nipples hard as we continued to make out, our tongues now wrestling alternately in his mouth and mine, our lips pressed together, rubbing against one another, at times nibbling and sucking on the other, all the while I jerked my cock furiously.

I was already close from sucking off Ryan, plus the make out session, plus Ryan's phenomenal nipple work, it did not take long to finish me off. I grabbed a t-shirt from my pile and used it to catch my load. I did not want to start my two years in the barracks with cum soaked carpets. Ryan felt my orgasm as we made out and he slowed down his pace. His cock was semi-hard. He looked at me and again at the bottle and asked without saying a word. I nodded and he took another quick drink and kissed me one last time.

"You know this is a dry base?" he said, nodding towards my booze.

I grinned and pulled out three more bottles of whiskey, each in its individual velvet case. "Not for me," I said. "I'm not under military command. I bought these at the Embassy PX."

"You got power, Nick," Ryan said, his teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he tucked his cock into his boxers and finished getting dressed.

"So how can we make this work?" I asked.

"There is a group of guys that I trust," Ryan replied. "It includes one of the team leaders, let me feel him out and I will come back tonight to fuck you and fill you in..."

Ryan heard himself, stopped mid-sentence and started to laugh. "That was funny," he said. "I'll let you know tonight if maybe we can keep each other entertained during this war on who the fuck knows what anymore. Sound good?"