An Appreciative Officer
by james rozo
13 May 2023 7340 readers Score 9.3 (252 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt
“Naval personnel must present a proud and professional appearance that will reflect positively on the individual, the Navy, and the United States. Uniforms and the indications of rank are a visibly important element in the morale, pride, discipline, and effectiveness of the organization.” ~ U.S. Navy Regulations, NAVPERS 15665 ~
The ship’s 1MC general announcing system comes alive.
Five bells: 0630.
Homeported at Naval Operating Base, Norfolk Virginia, USS Forrestal CV-59 is moored to the south side of pier 12, bow out facing towards Newport News. An arrangement of spring, breast, waist, and stern lines secure the aircraft carrier against wind and tide.
Below decks Repair Division’s forward berthing compartment and adjoining head, 3-54-0-L and 3-56-2-L respectively, are abuzz with activity. Hull Maintenance Technicians (HT) are preparing for the morning’s uniform inspection.
Only 30 minutes left to shit, shower, shave, and stand in formation.
Competing for limited resources, the men maneuver to gain access to the head’s fixtures. Saving precious time, they simultaneously share 30-inch square stainless steel shower stalls - squeezing together like sardines in a can. Nuts to butts.
Washing each other, soapy hands caress muscular torsos, tumid shafts, and swole asses. Watching the erotic show, voyeuristic sailors queue up waiting for a turn. Stroking awakened shafts, extending helping hands, they share morning ministrations.
And who doesn’t enjoy the camaraderie of shipmates?
* * *
“We ready, Senior Chief?” asks Ensign Rozo.
“Yes, sir. The men are mustered in Hanger Bay 1.”
Inspections are held twice a year when the official uniform changes. An endless cycle of Winter Blues and Summer Whites. Outward symbols of tradition and professionalism, sailors must comply with strict uniform regulations and grooming standards.
“Very well. Let’s go.”
Striking topside they reach the hanger bay, 1-59-0-Q. The men are standing in formation alongside No. 1 aircraft elevator door. The 28-foot high 2-ton horizontal rolling watertight door is adorned with the command crest and motto, ‘First in Defense’.
Integrating new technology, the lead ship always has problems.
Forrestal is no exception.
She’s suffered more than her fair share of devastating mishaps. Due to an unusual number of highly publicized fires, she’s known throughout the Fleet as the ‘Forest Fire’. The most devastating calamity being the 29 July 1967 conflagration.
While conducting combat flight operations in the Gulf of Tonkin off the coast of Vietnam, a Zuni rocket on an F-4B Phantom II self-activated on the flight deck. Striking A-4E Skyhawks and other planes’ fuel tanks and bombs, it triggered a chain-reaction of explosions.
Fire erupted. 1,000-pound M-65 bombs cooked off.
Seven holes were torn in the armored flight deck. Tens-of-thousands of gallons of burning jet fuel poured below into 03 level crew berthing compartments and hanger bay 2. Battling thick black smoke and toxic fumes in confined spaces, fires raged for 17 hours.
134 men die; another 161 are injured.
And painful lessons are learned.
* * *
Ensign Rozo is impeccably attired in Summer White Service.
The uniform consists of a white twill short-sleeved shirt with black and gold shoulder boards indicating rank, white twill trousers, white web belt with brass buckle, and white shoes and socks. The authorized headwear is the white combination cap adorned with gold insignia.
For obvious reasons it’s disparagingly known as the Good Humor Man uniform.
All that’s missing is the nickel-plated four-barrel coin dispenser on the belt.
Modeled after their successful Jolly Boy Sucker, Good Humor was the first company to put a stick in ice cream. Delivered directly to neighborhoods via refrigerated white trucks, a set of four jingling brass bells summoned kids out of homes like the Pied Piper of Hamelin.
Running with change in hand, kids pick their favorite: chocolate éclair, strawberry shortcake, toasted almond, creamsicles and fudgesicles, ice cream sandwiches, and vanilla king cones crowned with chocolate and royally roasted peanuts.
And like enticed kids, salivating sailors report to Rozo’s stateroom.
Who doesn’t enjoy sucking on a tasty treat?
* * *
Unequivocally, the allure of a sailor is his uniform.
The men are enrobed in nautical splendor - Service Dress Whites.
A uniform that demands attention, it consists of a white jumper, white bell-bottom trousers, black square knot tied neckerchief, white dixie cup, and black shoes. Ribbons are worn above the left breast pocket with the appropriate rate badge on the left sleeve.
Caressing lively butts and plentiful packages, providing no place for a sailor to stow his gear, the stylish uniform accentuates masculinity. With elegant head-turning couture alla pari con Armani and Versace, it’s no coincidence the Navy is the service of choice for discerning young men.
Who has a more iconic uniform?
No one!
Eroticizing the male form, the translucent fabric showcases everything.
Navy regulations require appropriate undergarments be worn to preserve the dignity and appearance of the uniform. Inherently, sailors look for opportunities to bend rules. Free balling, brazen exhibitionists push the limits of respectability and proudly parade protuberances.
Understanding their division officer’s predilections, they’re hoping to ingratiate themselves. Favorable inspection marks can result in special privileges: early liberty, approval of request chits, choice work assignments, and strong advancement recommendations.
For Rozo, uniform inspections are an intoxicating quasi-religious experience.
And the appreciative officer greatly enjoys inspecting his men.
The stunning visual image is reminiscent of sailors in Paul Cadmus’ The Fleet’s In! and Shore Leave. The provocative homoerotic paintings depict bawdy sailors in tight, form-fitting uniforms that cling to muscular bodies, generous genitalia, and bodacious buttocks.
And oh, those magnificent asses!
So sweet. So succulent. Just begging to be pried open and explored.
Living aboard Forrestal, immersed in the homosocial military world, Rozo has enjoyed unfettered access to the crew. Relishing the exclusive all-male milieu, sailors nonchalantly lounge around naked in berthing compartments, cavort with shipmates, play grab-ass, and leisurely stroke off.
He’s easily seen over six hundred packages.
Progressing down the ranks like a super hero with x-ray vision, he mentally takes inventory. He knows the nuances of each sailor’s anatomy. An endless variety of sizes and shapes, pedestrian to prodigious. Growers and showers. Tops and bottoms. Alpha males and sea-bitches.
Each sailor is quickly sized up - uniform fit and condition, pride of appearance, military bearing. Every deviation from standards is noted: rating patch location, correct order of precedence for ribbons, polished shoes, regulation haircuts and overall grooming.
Typically, 10% are exceptional, 80% shades of acceptability, and 10% dirt-bags.
Inundated with administrative requirements and collateral duties, Rozo doesn’t have time to babysit every sailor. Setting high standards and delineating expectations, he rewards top performers and summarily punishes the worst offenders.
The middle 80% are essentially ignored.
* * *
Rozo inspects one of his best sailors.
HT3 David French.
Admirably filling out the well-tailored and sharply pressed uniform, the sailor’s pronounced shaft and rounded cockhead bulge proudly under the translucent fabric. Two oversized testicles fight for reasonable accommodations down the port trouser leg.
“Petty Officer French your uniform is impeccable.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Growing up in a small Pennsylvania blue-collar town, the adventurous boy’s excess energy was dissipated in the Boy Scouts. Taught to suck cock as a tenderfoot by his patrol leader, he honed his skills on older scouts, school classmates, and neighborhood boys.
Attracted to men in uniform, he enlisted in the Navy right after high school graduation. Immersed in a sea of masculine magnificence, he now enjoys unencumbered access to an endless variety of shipmates. Horny young sailors, always at the ready, provide delicious and satisfying meals.
Who could desire anything more?
Officer and gentleman by an act of Congress, Rozo is authorized to inspect, take custody of, and utilize government property in the faithful discharge of assigned duties. By US Code enlisted men are legally the physical property of the United States Navy.
And officers are responsible for their care and welfare.
“We need to discuss the upcoming E5 advancement exam.”
Rozo has spent many hours working with the grateful sailor. Providing hands-on instruction, stripping and inspecting French, he explored the sensuous landscape, inviting lips, pert nipples, rippling abdominals, meaty shaft, pendulous balls, and enticing ass.
Standing at attention with a throbbing erection, French recalls previous instructional sessions. Excited, his body radiates the soothing scent of Old Spice cologne - its masculine greatness from a near-perfect blend of bright citrus, warm flowers, rich vanilla, and cedar wood.
He last sucked Rozo four weeks ago.
To earn a recommendation for advancement, a sailor must demonstrate the ability to house a cock down his throat. Officer cock and enlisted throat share an entwined destiny. The symbiotic relationship, a practical adaptation in the challenging nautical environment, benefits all seafarers.
Being in Section 3, Rozo knows French has duty tonight.
“Report to my stateroom at 2230.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Grinning widely with palpable pride, French understands he’s being rewarded for his meticulous uniform appearance. It’s a special privilege to suck the commissioned officer and drink delicious, high-quality, nutrient-rich jam. Far superior to pedestrian enlisted fare.
His shipmates, no doubt, will be envious of his good fortune.
* * *
Moving down the ranks Rozo inspects a dozen sailors.
All unremarkable.
Half-ass incarnate muddling along, dwelling in blissful mediocrity. Unmotivated to move beyond minimum military standards, they lack drive and ambition. Residing near the bottom of the hierarchy, they’re content to be swept along by life’s currents.
Coaching, consoling, cajoling - all a waste of time.
At least a few are reasonably good fucks. Tight holes.
That’s something.
* * *
Rozo is now facing a very special sailor.
HTFN Nikolas Angelopoulos.
The officer closely inspects the young sailor’s uniform. An exceptionally beautiful boy, every inch of his body is well known to Rozo. Teasing the Ensign, the shameless exhibitionist is fully boned. And the clinging uniform emphasizes every vein in the tumid shaft.
“Sailor, you look exceptional in whites.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Descendant from Greek ancestry, Angelopoulos has an exquisite olive complexion, thick black curly hair, and luxurious dark piercing eyes. Having fucked him on many occasions, Rozo knows the boy is completely smooth, regularly mowing the grass below the equator.
A common practice in Greek antiquity, male pubic hair was often removed to emulate the ideal physical beauty of prepubescent boys. Small hairless genitalia, the socially sanctioned object of veneration, were considered aesthetically beautiful.
The sailor’s enlistment circumstances are uniquely common.
The military takes all the progeny of misery and misfortune.
Growing up in a poor ethnic neighborhood in the northwestern corner of the New York City borough of Queens, his childhood was filled with violence and sexual abuse. Provided a classical Greek education by his stepfather, he was deflowered at a tender age.
Running away, he survived by peddling his wares on Manhattan’s street corners. Shedding all vestiges of adolescence, he rented his body to needy businessmen, United Nation diplomats, and other connoisseurs of young boy flesh for several years.
Looking to change his life’s narrative, he lied about his age and enlisted in the Navy.
“How are you doing with your E4 preparations?” asks Rozo.
“The math section is giving me problems.”
“It’s important to score well to make third class. I’ll help you with the hard stuff,” looking at the sailor’s irresistible ass, envisioning thrusting deep inside the succulent military grade passageway. “Come see me after we get underway.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Excited by the prospects, the officer’s shaft awakens and searches for quarters inside the constricting trousers. The whole division knows the stunning Greek boy is off-limits to them.
He’s the Ensign’s exclusive property.
His little sea-bitch.
* * *
Continuing the inspection, Rozo visually rapes several sailors.
Once underway he’ll fuck them all.
They’ll insist.
Looking for an advantage, sailors compete for his attention, good evaluation marks, and advancement recommendations. Demonstrating a willingness to do whatever it takes to accomplish mission objectives, they proudly possess hard earned rectal stigmata.
Accepting the burden of leadership, Rozo will devote significant time to the refinement of their skills. Exhilarating but exhausting, someone has to fuck them. Navy Regulations require it. Who better than a properly trained officer?
And a schedule will be posted on the division’s bulletin board.
* * *
Reaching the fifth rank, where the most senior sailors stand, Rozo now inspects the division’s top E6 alpha male, the Pipe Shop Supervisor - HT1Terrell Jackson.
Possessing a surplus of swagger, his enlisted superiority is self-evident. Revered and feared, he excels at taking control of younger sailors. While he has countless female conquests in port, he’s acquired an appetite for non-rates and midshipmen when at sea.
Some things defy explanation.
Like the allure of midshipman sea-pussy.
Rozo has observed the HT1 stuffing his beer-can thick ebony cock deep inside the tight chute of a hyperventilating midshipman on several occasions. It’s all very entertaining - contorted facial expressions, pain and humiliation evident as shipmates cheer Jackson on.
And who doesn’t enjoy watching a good fucking?
In a few days Forrestal will receive 30 midshipmen for their six-week summer cruise. A mix of Naval Academy and ROTC boys. Repair Division has been allocated an Annapolis kid.
“I’m assigning you as running mate to midshipman 4/c Davis.”
“Thank you sir.”
Classified as officers of the line with a titular rank between Warrant Officer (W-1) and the lowest grade of Chief Warrant Officer (W-2), midshipmen are not entrusted or authorized to exercise Title 10 or Title 50 authority as specified in United States Code.
Lacking Fleet experience, they have a pompous attitude and just enough knowledge to turn a bad situation into a catastrophe. It takes strong leadership to keep a kid from tragically stepping on his dick. And Jackson’s the right man for the job.
Inordinately pleased, the HT1 displays a wide grin and rapidly expanding cock. A skilled predator, he loves breaking-in midshipmen, teaching them about nautical life and sacrifice on the high seas. Nothing imparts a healthy dose of humility like getting shanked up the ass.
“You achieved commendable results with the last one.”
“That kid was something special, sir.”
Reflecting on the many hours spent pummeling the boy from VMI, Jackson becomes fully erect. He’s never had a kid embrace the certification process with so much enthusiasm. Exceedingly popular, improving the division’s morale, everyone enjoyed helping with his education.
VMI midshipmen are great fucks. Must be the school’s special curriculum… theory reinforced with extensive practical instruction provided by dedicated professors.
“Give Davis the full experience. Share him within the division. Have fun. But don’t damage him too much. And of course, I want pictures.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Mission focused, he’ll ensure Davis completes requisite watch standing and PQS qualifications. The kid will learn his place in the Fleet - on his knees sucking enlisted cock or bent over a fire pump or other piece of machinery, ass up and stuffed. Repeatedly.
In the Navy rank is everything.
And officers reside at the top of the military hierarchy.
As a division officer aboard an aircraft carrier with unlimited access to thousands of young enlisted men, empowered by Congress to inspect, manage, and utilize them, Ensign Rozo is truly appreciative for his many blessings.
Who has a sweeter life in the Navy?
No one.
Comments and readers’ experiences with sailors, afloat or ashore, are always of interest.