PCS Kaneohe Marine

"Ooooohhhhhhhhh fucking hell yessssss - just fucking TAKE my hole take ME and fucking RUIN my cunt for anyone else! Ohhhhffuuuckk!" he shouted as his body went from fucking me back hard to tensed and taut, and I knew from the clench of his fuckmuscle around my pistoning cock that he was about to blow his nut.

I drove harder with faster, shallower thrusts, assaulting his p-spot. His cries went louder and more plaintiff, and I felt his body shudder as his first explosion ripped through him from his nuts. "Aaaaaaa yyaaahhhh!" he shouted as his body went from stiff as a board to breaking into a torrent of spasms and bucks.

Greg's amazing hot, wet cunt was also spasming and clenching on my cock, and it pulled me over the edge, as it always did, like a perfect cock massage from a master ass man. "JJJEEESUUSS FFFFUUUUCCCKKKK YYYEEEEESSS!" I growled loud enough and low enough that I probably could have shook the windows if the sounds of his cries and the surf outside hadn't been in the way of hearing. My balls exploded HARD and as my nutload was propelled and jettisoned DEEP into Greg, my body rolled through the blissful agony of my release.

When I regained a little sense of my surroundings other than the hot, wet, tight clench of our joining, I felt us heaving together as our breathing struggled, and I looked over his shoulder to the beautiful sight of Waikiki below and the Pacific all out in front of us. We'd been in a hurried state of need when we'd come in from the beach, and we'd ended up standing, him plastered against the side where the sliders all slid back and formed four layers of glass, causing the view to be slightly distorted. I had the momentary awareness that it was much like us, here, on the last morning before he was to leave Hawaii, coupled as we'd been both literally joined right now and as we'd spent the too-few days up to now - illusory, changeable, imminently different.

I started to pull back, out of Greg, and he reached around quickly and clamped his hand on my ass, signaling me to stay. I relaxed my body back into and onto him, my chin on his shoulder and my nose against the glass. "We can't stay this way," I murmured.

Greg's words were unusually soft and quiet, not far away but in fact very present, just full of emotion. "I know," he acknowledged and stopped. I thought he had nothing more to say, but then, what seemed like a long time afterward, he continued the thought. "But if we could, and if you wanted to, I'd want to, Bill."

I moved my hands from his shoulder and hip where they'd been as I'd rounded the last turn and finished in him, pushing between him and the glass, wrapping him in my arms. I kissed his sweaty neck and inhaled his scent deeply. But I had no words . . . I was already going back to my real life, my solitary life of a marine who never got involved, who didn't fall for hot men, who just DID them and moved on. The me I was before I met Greg at the beginning of my leave.

Greg turned around in my arms, his sweaty body and mind sliding easily within that rotation, his slick shoulders sliding easily along the glass as his back settled against it. He had his arms tight around me. He pressed his lips into mine, and for the first time since early in our almost-week together I hesitated before I kissed him. I didn't kiss . . . usually. But then I switched that part of my brain off and went with it, easing into it, clutching him tighter against me, our tongues all over each other's mouths in a long - very long! - kiss that transferred much from each to the other.

We finally broke the kiss, and I was the one to let my forehead fall against Greg's. "Thanks for that," he said, still in that quiet way that was so new to my ears.

I started to pull back and cracked the joke, the kind I always did when I knew but needed to avoid. "For the kiss or for the fuck?" He let me go then, having held me against my pull at first, but surrendering to the moment now lost. Somewhere very close to the surface I felt like a shithead, but it didn't come through - I held position, knowing the next step.

Greg pulled himself up straighter and then walked toward the bedroom, away from the glass. I looked with a sense of longing at his cum splattered against the glass and his and my sweat smeared on it. "Let's shower up," he called, now inside the bedroom, still walking away.

When I knew he'd turned and was in the bathroom where he couldn't see me I slammed my fist into my forehead. STUPID marine - couldn't even enjoy the last of it - had to pull away.

As I walked through Greg's sumptuous suite I replayed in fast-forwarded snippets our five days together, from our meeting on the beach, when he'd hit on me and I'd eagerly accepted, to when I first felt something more than a great ball-draining with him, to the comfort and closeness when he held me as we fell asleep and that same feeling - often at first startling - when I awoke. He'd very easily fit against me and around me, both our sex and the way he held me tight at every opportunity. I'd been a little broken after my mission - which is why I had the leave time - and he'd been the last way I thought I'd have spent it. But it was the perfect way.

I stepped into the shower with him, and he pulled me close, turned me around and began lathering my furry chest with the soap. "I may miss this most of all," he said, now back to his deep, rich tones, definitively delivered behind my ear. The warm water and the feel of his hands on my body, his body against mine, pulled me back into this now, the overlay to MY now that would prevail after he left Hawaii.

The only other times we'd showered without fucking, sucking or jerking were times we were either fucked-out or in a rush. This morning we were neither. We didn't have infinite time, but we had plenty until Greg's plane back to the mainland. We washed each other, me following his lead. It was as if we were imprinting every bit of each other to every extent, knowing it would be a memory so soon. If the hotel's hot water supply wasn't challenged by the decadent multiple sprays and rainwater heads making the shower a virtual downpour, it was challenged by the long time we spent.

Greg was already packed. He'd done it very quickly while I had gone to the living room after we'd first awakened to check my messages. I was on leave, but I could be called, and I had an obligation to check at least twice a day. It had been a fairly bounteous message retrieval from my creaking machine by my phone in the kitchen of my bleak apartment in Kaneohe, across the hills northeast of Waikiki. And when I'd come back to the bedroom after listening to messages from my mom, a couple of friends, several fuckbuds and two from my insurance agent which perplexed me, I'd returned to the bedroom to see he had a garment bag hung on the door to the closet and a large leather duffel on the bed, folding the last of some of his clothes into it, a plastic laundry bag sitting to the side. That was when the penny had started to drop for me.

We'd had a great breakfast then had gone for a walk on the beach and had gotten into a volleyball game, which had been great, our third or fourth that week, but the most fun. The kids we were playing were from the university, down here enjoying the beach before class, and they gave us a run for our money. We ended up pumped and victorious - barely - and sweating and sandy. That's the way we'd crashed back into his suite afterward and had sucked and fucked and ended up leaving our DNA all over the glass.

Greg and I shaved and brushed our teeth - again - in silence, and when we were through I gathered my toothpaste and brush and went to my duffel and got my things into it. "I want to take you somewhere before you go," I declared suddenly, breaking the silence.

For the first time since we'd left the cummy, sweaty glass Greg's familiar devilish smile returned. "If you're going to take me back to your apartment and chain me to your bed and refuse to let me go," he grinned, coming across the room until he was right up against me, "I'm in!" he finished, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my neck.

I laughed, relieved, not uncomfortable because no, that wasn't what I had in mind. "If only," I replied, enjoying the feel of him against me again.

Greg laughed, too, and then we got dressed, got our wallets and change and claim tickets, zipping my duffel, Greg called the valet for my truck, now parked at the hotel for several nights instead of the zoo where I'd first parked when I'd come over to Waikiki. It was a gesture of couple-like familiarity which tugged at me. I busied myself with closing and sipping his bags, taking one last opp to push back into that familiar, together space we'd been in that was about to be over.

"Thanks," I told him when he hung up the phone.

He looked at his luggage all ready on the floor and then back at me and replied in kind. "And thank you, sir," he grinned, kissing me and then slinging his garment bag over his shoulder and picking up his duffel. I got mine and grabbed his expensive-looking briefcase.

The valets had my bicycle in the back of the truck for me - Greg had thought of that, too - and we slung the three bags into the back with it, but I handed him his briefcase like I was handing him something very valuable, which I could tell it was. He looked at me quizzically and then put it in the bed of the truck, too. "It might slide around and get scuffed-up," I told him, having walked to the driver's side and already given the valet a couple of bills.

"It'll just have to toughen-up to marine standards!" he joked and got in.

Greg had asked me in the elevator on the way down where it was I was going to take him. I'd told him it was better if I showed him. I wound my way northwest up through Honolulu, climbing the hill. We'd twisted and turned numerous times but were finally on the road up into our destination. He saw the sign, but he simply said, "Ah," when we went into the National Cemetary of the Pacific, high above Honolulu, looking down on Waikiki and looking east to Diamond Head.

I drove slower once we were inside, and we both remained silent. When I'd gotten to the top, behind the World War II murals, and had parked and shut the truck off, I told him, "Before I was a marine, I didn't have a special place. The first time I went to Arlington, when I had leave in the Academy, I felt its presence and its significance. But when I came here the first time, I felt like this was somewhere I could just BE." Greg just smiled at me and squeezed my hand in his. His smile warmed me more than the sun, and his touch made my breathing catch. "Come on," I urged, opening my door. "We don't have a lot of time before you have to be at the airport," I said, more for myself and to force my own awareness than to him.

We strolled through the arcade of murals and shared some commentary. He was as much interested in WW2 as I was - which really wasn't much in and of itself, except for the significance of lives lost - but we both shared the sense of history.

Then we left the mural arcade and reemerged back in the sun, with the rolling law below us and the city and Diamond Head beyond. I stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, composing myself as I always did when I looked upon the resting place of so many men and women who, like me, had given their lives for the country we loved. Greg stood silently beside me.

When I turned to him I was stunned to see tears in his eyes. "No, I told him," touching my thumb to catch a tear and caressing his face. "This place isn't for tears. This place is for appreciation and respect."

He smiled and indiscreetly kissed the palm of my hand quickly. "No, ya dumb jarhead. These tears are for the joy of you sharing this place with me. YOUR place . . . and every American's place."

We walked the distance to the bottom and looked back at where we'd walked from. We looked up to the top at Lady Columbia, presiding over the expanse and up the same rolling lawn between the lines of shade trees. There were a couple of groundskeepers randomly around that we had passed walking down, but nobody else that morning, and the groundskeepers had disappeared. I turned to Greg. "You gave me something I didn't realize I needed this week, and I'll always be grateful for it," I told him very solemnly.

Greg knew. He hadn't pushed me, but over the week I'd lowered every defense, including not just the physical intimacy I generally shunned but also having told him of my shame for being one who'd survived our mission when I couldn't save some of my brothers, my grief for their families. It was all very self-indulgent, and Greg held me and listened and held me as often and as close as I'd let him. By the end of our time together that was very close indeed. And here I was telling him in on something even my mother and my own two older brothers had no idea was my "special place," the place where I could go and respect my brothers in arms who have gone before me.

"I wish I could hold you . . . here . . . now," he told me, a regretful smile on his handsome face.

Without hesitation I pulled him into a tight hug and kissed him softly for a long time, ending just holding him.

"Thanks for that, Bill," he said quietly into my neck, and I felt his tears. "I'll never forget you, just like I'll never forget this place or this moment."

I patted Greg's back and told him we'd better get back to the truck to get him to the airport on time. We walked up the lawn most of the way each with an arm over the other's shoulder. We stopped twice. At the base of the staircase, reading again what I knew from memory was inscribed there:

IN THESE GARDENS ARE RECORDED
THE NAMES OF AMERICANS
WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES
IN THE SERVICE OF THEIR COUNTRY
AND WHOSE EARTHLY RESTING PLACE
IS KNOWN ONLY TO GOD

And then at the top, stopping at the base of Lady Columbia, from a letter written by Abraham Lincoln:

THE SOLEMN PRIDE
THAT MUST BE YOURS
TO HAVE LAID
SO COSTLY A SACRIFICE
UPON THE ALTAR
OF FREEDOM

And then we went on to my truck and headed down the hill. All in silence.

As we entered the airport, Greg took his hotel card-key out of his pocket and handed it to me. I looked down surprised and quickly to his face before turning back to the road through the airport, thinking he was offering me a souvenir. "You have two more days of leave, you said. I left the room open, added your name. I want you to enjoy your leave time there."

I didn't know what to say other than to mumble, "Thanks, Greg. That's far too generous." But I didn't insult his gesture by arguing and awkwardly put the key into my back pocket of my board shorts with my wallet. "I don't have any-" I started, but he put his fingers to my lips.

"You've offered yourself to me, and you've enjoyed me in return, Bill. That's all I could want."

Just like that we were in front of American Airlines departing passengers area, and we were having an awkward moment, not knowing if we should shake hands or embrace there at the curb while skycaps and other passengers milled about. So just like that, again, I pulled him to me and kissed him forcefully this time. It was sudden and lingered, but then it was suddenly over, and I said, "Safe home, Greg," and looked forward out the windshield.

Greg took a beat then got to getting himself out of my truck and gathering his bags from the bed. Leaning back in the passenger's window, he said, "Safe home, marine."

Marines DO cry - when the country they love is attacked, when the people they fight for or fight with are lost, when a loved one is lost or has a joyous event. All of those. But NOT for a man who was a great time for a few days when a marine needed a great time. NO FUCKING WAY!

I pounded the steering wheel and yanked it over, stopping before leaving the airport road. I breathed deep and forced myself to emerge again - the self I knew I was, not the sniveling, self-indulgent pussy I was acting like. Then it hit me.

Stopping at a gas station on Nimitz a few blocks from the airport I rummaged for coins in the console and headed to the pay phone. The phone was answered immediately as I knew it would be. "Take a break," was all I said, waited for an acknowledgement and then hung up.

I drove with purpose down Nimitz to the commercial docks and then went in the alley behind a strip center and parked behind it by a dumpster. At the next, free-standing, old building I used the pushbutton keypad to gain entrance through a small back door, keying the digits I knew in as quietly as I could, turning the handle as quietly as possible. Then I BURST through the door.

The impact on my left side and then the upper cut to my jaw had me reeling. I heard his sneering baritone over the crash of the door back and then felt it whooshing closed behind me, and we were again in the dark. "Fucking faggot come here to get some-OOMHHHH!" he gasped at the end as I accurately gauged the source and got my right knee squarely in his crotch. Doubled over, he presented an easy target for my own roundhouse to connect with his jaw and a right hunched uppercut into his solar plexus turned his moan of pain only a man knows into a long wheezing gasp for air.

He didn't miss a beat, though, and he was at me with his own pummeling to my gut and ribs, and then we were grappling and thrashing about this back workroom, shelves and things on them crashing, pains grunts and moans following thuds of impact. He got in several really good punches but missed my nuts, though I got another great square left into his that had him yelping and then snarling as he bearhugged me and tried to get more in.

I finally had had enough foreplay after who knows how many no-punch-pulled hits and went in hard and fast. He got free of me once after that, me ripping his sweat-stinking t-shirt clean off him as he twisted. But that only served to give me a better point of attack, and I had his head slammed into the wall over a table and with lightning speed used the t-shirt to bind his wrists behind his back.

Through a moan, he yelled, "Fucking faggot! Fucking pussy bitchboy you might have me down but no way you're man enough to mount a REAL man like me!" as he struggled with his legs, pinned to the edge of the table by my body behind his. When he made a backward lunge, I'd really had enough. I slammed his head down HARD into the table, not worrying that I could have easily broken his nose . . . or worse. "Unnnggghh!" he grunted and snuffled.

I used the moment to RIP his shorts down over his well-formed ass and felt them fall to his thighs, trapped and kept from falling to the floor by his thick, muscular thighs, well apart where I had kicked his feet. Then I ripped open my board shorts, probably ripping the zipper but already having undone the laces in preparation before I entered.

As I got my big, raging horsecock free it smacked up between his legs, and I felt my peach-like head slam up into his sac, eliciting another yelp from him. I moved back just enough to get my cock positioned at his hole.

"You're not fucking man enough!" he spat inanely, and then, "AAAAAA!" as I SHOVED into him balls deep. I felt his body buck but held him tight face-down against the table.

"Take it and shut the fuck up!" I told him, jamming into him hard and fast, mercilessly, as he continued yelping and struggling helplessly.

I slam-fucked him hard and fast, using his hole for my relief and only point of focus as I drove him furiously. When he shouted back, "Is that all you got, BITCH?" I slammed him in the kidney HARD with a hard uppercut and then gave him another jab in his ribs. "Ooooo!" he groaned, and I felt his tight cunt clench me harder and spasm a few times. I also heard from his breathing he was cumming.

That just made me angrier, and I slammed him harder, until his head was slamming into the wall and the table was coming off two legs with every thrust. I kept going hard and cleared my mind of everything but seeding this bitch and, finally, after I have no idea how long, managed to conjure up a nutblast.

I wasn't even completely through draining into his fuckchannel when I pulled out and struggled but yanked up my board shorts as I turned to go. He started to get up and I slammed him down once more and said, "NO!" to which he slackened against the table.

Limping a little, feeling the fight and some excess exertion of my contorted back muscles which were required to hold him against the table, I headed back to my truck. When I passed the dumpster, my shirt ripped, my board shorts open at the fly but tied at my waist, I pitched the card-key to the suite at the Moana Surfrider into it. When I was inside and had hit the ignition, I ventured a look in the rear-view mirror, struggling a little to the side so I could see my face in the mirror. I looked worse up top than I'd thought I would, and I was relatively certain I looked better below than I felt. DAMN, I let him get too many good ones in, based on the pain that was increasing as the endorphins wore off.

I drove home carefully and slowly, wanting to stop for a pizza but thinking better of my appearance and just going straight to my apartment. I hit the answering machine, heard two messages that didn't interest me, then heard the time-stamp from about twenty minutes before and a familiar deep voice. "Buddy, that was the best! Anytime you need to blow off some steam you know I'm your man. Ooooooh raaaah, brother." I mumbled Semper Fi out of reflex and stepped into the shower to wash the blood, the day, the week, the past six weeks off me.

When I got out of the shower I went to my phone and called the base and was put through to the base commander, my boss, after a hearty greeting from his secretary. "Request permission to return to duty early, SIR!"