When I finished my last tour of duty I also had decided that would be my last tour of anything. Straight from Grad school I'd been heavily recruited by every service and finally chose the Coast Guard to the surprize of many. I'd done my research and noted that of all the services they were the most frequently involved in doing something as opposed to sitting around the barracks, marching, spending a few weeks somewhere in Kentucky playing at war and then going back to the barracks and sitting around some more. Additionally, I felt the Coast Guard did more meaningful work on a daily basis, everything from hurricane hunting to patrolling swamps doing ecological surveys. With my degrees and Doctorate in Biology, I was welcomed and, after a brief six weeks of basic found myself on the ladder to accepting a high commission which, after a year or two I got. Twelve years later I was a Commander, had found the work fascinating but needed to find out what a civilian did-for those who have never been in Grad school, it's like one off the military in that there are goals, committees, demands made so, counting that, I'd spent twenty years doing what others thought I would enjoy. The passing out ceremony was enjoyable and, ten hours later, I owned a corvette, had burned all but those uniforms save those I thought had some virtue as work clothes and had moved back to my parents.
This was not for lack of places to go. Frugal by nature and having piled up all sorts of programs for which I was eligible, moving home was a decision made to spend their very last few years with them. My last tour I'd felt guilty knowing that I was really needed at home but....just one more tour and I'd have what I wanted.
Dad was already spending his days at a sheltered activity center and Mom was trying to maintain her home as she always had, just not successfully. I had a sister who lived a thousand miles away but, thoughtlessly, frequently told me how guilty she felt about "not doing more". That was backwards, to "do more" she'd have had to do something, anything beside send cards and flowers at appropriate occasions, calling on similar occasions and hoping and praying I'd come home and "take over" her responsibilities. It might be wondered what precisely her"responsibilities" were but that led down the road to recrimination and frankly, bluntly telling her to fuck off and quit trying to feed me a line of shit about what she and her husband, we mustn't forget him, did.
Some people marry for love, some for money, some due to pregnancy, some as they've nothing else to do but why my sister picked this weed has always confused me.She was quick to point out he was a "good provider" although of what wasn't said. Bland-or blank-describes his looks and that's being generous. He was the prototype of every lodge member who joins because someone he knew did and, over time, the string of lodges to which he belonged came to be his profession; He didn't have enough fingers to wear all the rings proving affiliation. During the day, and after an arduous seven years, he became manager of a gas station and, on the side, tried to hawk some sort of cleaning products which, I later learned, had been questioned by the Food and Drug Administration. Lets put it this way, I would have had more admiration for him had he been a drug dealer who was now doing time;At least that would have shown some initiative, some balls.
My concern was Mom and my first days at home showed me that, as she shyly said, she was a"little behind in a few things". That was apparent when I pulled up in the Vette and had to double check to find an address. Why the city hadn't demanded that some of the "growth" be taken down is beyond me so much so that I regretted I'd returned my side arm as I fought my way to the front door. Tears, more tears, her heart felt happiness that I was home, so grateful that I could help her "a little bit"....She'd made up my room just like I left it, she'd made my favourite dinner which, after I'd had a nap and cleaned up-I was unaware of being dirty-she'd serve. Say four thirty? I supposed I could get my stomach juices flowing before cocktail hour, or I could try. And, as to cocktail hour, Mom was a "temperance" there was even a sign on the front of our home proclaiming our teetotal-ling life style. Knowing of this, one of my sea bags contained three bottle of Kentucky's finest in bubble wrap to conceal their presence.
The up side was that she was mentally holding it together but was just overwhelmed with keeping up the house, trying to deal with insurance, all the things that Dad had done and of which she'd been unaware. The car, which she drove so infrequently, cried out for a tune up, oil change, the basics. I called someone-I'd been gone so long I had no "old buddies" on whom to rely-and had it hauled it off with the instructions to see how much was wrong, give me an estimate and then I'd made a decision as to what to do. Mom was sentimental about the car for no good reason; The last time she and Dad had been in it together he'd made a wrong turn and drove off a bridge into a lake.Why he'd had it fished out and repaired eluded me but...he was well on the yellow brick road to senility even then.
Then there was the out of doors. Surprizingly, the back yard was trimmed, lawn mowed, some basic gardening done, a garden hose curled, signs that someone had done something and Mom wasn't a candidate. While I stood there wondering, a fine looking young man came out of the house next door, reached down and turned on a sprinkler system. As will happen, I was standing right atop one of the sprinklers and made myself known by a string of curses that would have made any service man proud. He called an apology and came toward me.
Too many years had gone by but I knew him, Mark, the kid next door now all grown up and, one had to say it, grown up in all the best ways. I walked to him and gave him a hug which was rewarded with a slug in the jaw.
"Mark what the fuck?"And then I realized, he was blind. No one had told me, ever, and I was deeply sorry they hadn't. I'd dealt with the blind and knew perfectly well to identify myself in similar situation.
"My God, Rocky, you're home. And wet. Jesus I'm sorry." If the circumstances were different, we would have stood there getting visually acquainted just before I took him in my arms and hugged him. Little Mark, the cute kid next door. Handsome, now, even with his heavily tinted sun glasses, you could tell he was one stud. He stood there in his ratty shorts, no shoes, not shirt...and no sight. I tried to think...how old was he and, my God, he was 25? I'd been gone fifteen years and he was ten so... 25. Blindness hadn't stopped him from taking care of himself, good body, trim, nicely muscled, if circumstances had been different I would have taken him myself to any of the recruiters to sign him up. (Okay, I'm a big fan of military service.)
I thought about all those years when he'd follow me. If I was pushing the mower, I was the engine and he was the caboose. If I was digging weeds, we were miners digging for gold, he had a spectacular imagination, one that made him easy to be around, something not all young people are. Never complained, always asking questions....but the question I had was why hadn't I been told? Mom was a compulsive letter writer and considering the gossip and other information of no interest, I was a bit taken aback that Mark being blind hadn't been mentioned. Just then I didn't think I could ask him, he had too many questions about what I'd done, where I'd been, he even told me my mother had kept him informed as to my movements, my promotions; He looked so proud when he said he knew I'd made Commander. I remembered how I'd looked for him whenever I went out to do anything. He had the innate ability to play tag-a-long without being a bother. He loved to be picked up and thrown in the air, or ride my shoulders as if I was his horse. The thing that made this acceptable not annoying was his genuine thanks for whatever we'd done.
His fingers ran over my face. "Rocky, aw shit, man, I am so fucking sorry...there's just never anyone out here....."
I put my arm over his shoulder. "I'm glad to know someone's keeping guard, you couldn't know I'd be here and....there's something no one told me. About your eyes."
"No. I asked no one to tell you....I knew what you wanted for me, the service, got in shape for it, for my Commander but...that was after the fact, at least it was good exercise." He reached out and picked up a tool I hadn't even noticed, the blind can stun you with their sense of space and location in it. He was buying time or something like that."No.....Rocky, you had your hands full, away, nothing you could do...I knew it would disturb you...."
"Just like it's disturbing me now. Mark, you're my buddy, my l'il bro; time and events don't change that, one of the reasons I came home was to have you help me mow the yard..." and in saying that I realized what I meant was, ' I want you to be a little boy, 10, and I want to be young myself.....' "You sure do a swell job, bet Mom really appreciates it."
He hung his head a little....."There's just so much I can do for her...one time, when your Dad was still here, he fell and it was easy enough to lift him but she wanted to go to the ER right then and kept telling me I'd have to drive, just couldn't remember I couldn't drive...." he tapered off signifying a string of things that he would have like to have done, would have done but...."
"Doesn't matter. No, not at all. But....think you could turn off the water...you're dressed for it and I'm not."
"Shit, I forgot, I do come out here, turn it on and wander around, do some gardening....Rocky, so sorry..."
What worried me was not his blindness, he seemed to be doing pretty well with that but that he was adopting the humility that too often comes with a disability, the feeling that they're an inconvenience, in your way, a bother. I watched him start to cross the yard and then yelled....
"Don't, I'll strip,'member how we used to? I'm already wet and Jeans dry so, leave it on, warm day, just like back then, Rocky and his Flying Squirrel."
He laughed and rather too quickly shed his shorts. I'd say this, he was ready for all sorts of service whether in the military or not.
"Never need to give you short arm inspection, you got one fine piece of meat hanging there."
He blushed-why did I think someone blind couldn't blush?-but I could see a little bit of pride, that's what he needed a little bit of pride.
"Commander's privilege, after too much food, he gets to open the top of his fly...Well, I've done that, all buttons gone, shirt's off, nekkid as a jaybird. Lead me to the place we used to sit...I don't remember...."
He laughed, 'We were younger and shorter. To sit there now you'd have to yell 'Geronimo'before going down. How about the swing? I'm guessing neither of us worries about getting a tan..."
"Yeah but I have a tan line and you don't...." He blushed again. "I asked your Mom if she minded if I worked with no clothes and she just said she'd leave her bifocals on top of the piano." He grinned. "I think she may have found them one or two times, said I needed to patch up the tear on my butt." I laughed. I'd forgotten her sense of humour, maybe now that a lot of pressure was off maybe she could relax, get some of it back.
"You are one fine looking man, Mark, no shit, I knew you'd turn out good but not this good. Good thing you're blind, can't see the ladies as they chase you."
"Rocky, I'm gay. Have been for a long time. I guess there's something else your Mom didn't tell you...well, assuming she knew. Thought my mother would tell her, she wasn't exactly pleased, for some weird reason kept going back, having no grandchildren. I was tempted to tell her that I was blind, I could still fuck, just maybe not her choice as to whom I should be fucking."
The light spray of water, the warm sun, the pleasure of being with an old and very beloved friend even one who'd had a bad turn..."Want to tell me how it happened?"
He laughed, "Funny thing, everyone wants there to be some terrible story associated with it, shattering glass, dumping my bike, having acid thrown at me but the truth is kinda dull, some disease, doesn't matter now, took about a year, you'd have been gone....maybe two years...and then I was blind. That's it. But, if you'd like, I can tell you the one about the chase on my bike and how I went through the plate glass window at a gas station. That one's real popular."
I chuckled, I knew what he meant. Guys under my command often had "things" to explain to the folks back home that were similarly simple in origin but...looked as if there must be more to it. Bar fights that dislocated teeth and noses, baldness that happened too quickly, over the period of a long overseas assignment and, my favourite, the "unfortunate" tattoo that was now going to be displayed back home to not only confusion and consternation but annoyance of the "Who the fuck is Rosie?"variety.
I got pleas from guys all the time wanting my help but...there wasn't anything I could do. I had my own ink that had not gone over well although it tended to the patriotic rather than something with heavily implied innuendo. Best I could tell them was to write a letter home, before they got home, lay it out, tell them what was were and then be prepared for whatever happened. The only thing I could suggest was that if they knew, the surprize element was somewhat off the table. Of course, if it was"Rosie".....
"May I read you, I mean, the way you look, you know, with my fingers.....?"
"You can start at the apex of my crew cut and end when you find a toe nail. No holding back, feel anything you want and, yes, I mean, my cock and balls. We know each other too well to be shy or silly. I'd offer to do the same but my fingers lack your touch., You'd think you were being appraised to be sold over the meat counter."
"I'm told that my balls would make a prairie oyster feed for six..."and he laughed. Looking down, and I did, he over estimated, four was the max....
"How about laying out on the grass? Seems like it would be easier there, when you want to turn me over, just ask." We headed for the lawn, I thought about offering to help, almost offered him my hand but realized he didn't need it.
On the grass it was pleasant, the light shower, the warm sun, my whole body exposed to all the elements; I tried to remember how much Vitamin A I was getting from the sun.
"Sure you don't mind, the full accession can take a while and.....can get a little personal..."
To dispel that problem I took his hand, beautiful, long expressive fingers, I wondered if they grew like that after his blindness, and plunked in on my crotch."Okay, there's where all the embarrassment would have been if there had been but there isn't."
He did a quick movement or two. "I'd say between the two of us, if they want sausage with their oysters, easy feed a family of six." Surprizingly he took my cock, held it and only slightly jacked it, not enough to get me to full staff but certainly to make me aware that one more up (or down)and I'd be on the road to seaman semen.
It was like being played by a virtuoso. I wasn't aware of his fingers, his hands, him, just the feeling of the worlds champion spider spinning a very fine web, his fingers were like tracery, fast, very detailed. My face took maybe half an hour. To my surprize, he opened my mouth, felt my teeth, my tongue, my lips which he criss-crossed like a laser plotting a course for future reference.
My sea toughened hands and fingers against his exquisitely soft flesh seemed unworldly, even the pads on each digit was different as if it had as separate purpose. At some point he lay down as his fingers kept rapidly transecting me but with him on his side, his rather long hair wet and weaving itself into the grass, I thought of Greek Myths of youths too beautiful to exist. The bad thing was, in Greek Myths they usually got turned into a particularly ugly animal or a bent tree; That would never happen to Mark.
When he asked me to roll over I was surprized that he sat on my thighs, his arms and fingers stretched far forward. Now in addition to being felt, he was giving me a massage. Pausing over this muscle group or that, working it, my head felt like it had been removed, thoroughly rubbed and then replaced in far better condition; As if whatever had been done guaranteed I'd never go bald.
I'd covered the front side, I thought, with candor and directness but now we had my ass and given what he'd done with my mouth, I wondered. No need to. He leaned over so that his body blocked the sun and said, not asked, "I'm going in, every guy likes to have his prostate worked over." And so he did. There was a moment of concern when I wasn't sure just what he was going in with-he was clearly erect-but he confined himself to his fingers and he did a helluva job. Somewhere someone had given him almost medical knowledge of the prostate gland and all that could be done with it and all that could be done with it is what he did.
He turned so that he was using my ass as a sort of back up for him to lean against and went down my legs. What I did not know-why would I?-was that whoever gave him such detailed instructions about my prostate apparently had an encyclopedic knowledge of reflexology and the foot. Up to that point I had only thought he was doing a great job, but the best wasn't even on the horizon.
I'm not sure how it helped his discover of what the new, older Rocky looked like but the first round of foot exploration was done with his tongue; I'd never had"This little piggy went to market" done lingually but....for those contemplating it, absolutely. It's around then that any sense of time wandered off to play with itself. I didn't care if we were still there and they had to find us by the lumps in the snow drifts.Telling myself that I was an Officer and I needed composure worked about half way down my metatarsal but after that, I'm sorry to report, I was reduced to screaming in delight, erotic senses, hoping for more and that was when my cock fertilized the lawn with protein.The first time.
He never wavered, just kept on doing what he knew so well how to do. Jesus, I hoped he'd never "felt" my Mom, or maybe I hoped he had. What I could tell was the joy and pleasure he was getting. Yes, he had an erection and I knew his balls had drawn up as I could no longer feel them. But what I could feel, mixed in with the warm drenching of water was the warmer shower of cum as it pooled in the depression and was licked up by him. And that was it. I rolled over, revolved a hundred and eighty degrees and took his cock in my mouth just as he took mine in his. If Mom had her glasses on and knew what a 69 was, she was getting the master class in how to do it.
After his second shot, he moved back around, put his head near mine, his hand on the back of my neck-which he massaged- and quietly, directly said, "I'm going to fuck you."
I was gently rolled onto my belly, while he sat on my thighs and, wasting no time, started down and in. The water, the sweat, the cum made lube unnecessary and his ability to know the body was never better illustrated. It was so much a fucking as a continuation of his exploration with the exception that I was moaning like a cat in heat, bucking, drooling, demanding to get it hard, push it in all the while he slid in until I could feel the hair on his crotch on my ass. That was the opening salvo. Next thing was for him to fire what felt like bazooka shells only they were muscles in his cock, followed by his going a bit deeper which I would have thought was impossible.
He was supremely happy, I knew it, this was something he'd thought about, probably hoped would happen, a long time. We'd joined as we once were, just all grown up and finally able to enjoy what we'd once denied ourselves. He rode me like his old horse that he'd ridden for many miles and who knew him as he knew it. Did he know how desperately I'd only wanted him? All those years, all those men passing in front of them, all of them were little ten year old boys but now he was 25, well and truly fucking me and I did not want it to stop. He paused, lay full out on me, kissed me behind my ears but said nothing. He began the slow rhythm again, insinuating himself, looking for a place to join and become one.
I'd stopped all emotions save ones dealing with the enormous pleasure of one man and his cock deep inside me. I wanted him to be able to see as well as feel my satisfaction, my enjoyment of him but of course my whole body, so recently examined, knew all that and probably much more. His blindness, so much a fixture of his life, would now become a fixture of our lives.
I managed to croak out,"I've loved you since you were a little boy...every day at sea, on the pier, at base....I wanted to turn a corner and there'd you'd....oh God, push it again, let me have all of you, I'm yours.....Oh sweet Jesus, where did you learn......?"
"I thought about you a lot and then learned my own body. I'm still a virgin, it was the only thing I could give you as a coming home present. In a bit, when it's dark, I want us to take a shower. Get all clean and naked and then come back here....that's when I'll be fucked for the first time, by the only man I ever wanted....."
We lay there in the light and the water showering us and I almost could not contain myself, I'd thought of him, how he'd feel, what sliding into him would be like, what giving him my first blast of cum...how would that effect him? In my mind, I never let myself think that I'd come home to a raging man who only wanted me; At best, and worst, I thought I'd get a really meaningful welcome, good brotherly hug, maybe meet his wife, a child or two and I'd stand there, smiling, feeling my cock die forever.
Dinner was a trial. After several hours on the lawn with Mark I wasn't really up to a full dinner but that's what she'd prepared. Every fucking thing I'd ever liked was apparent and, I was told, seconds, even thirds, were easily available and that before desert. Five kinds. When you are planning an evening of fucking, sucking and whatever else came to mind and hand, praying for an enema as a starter isn't helpful. Given that we'd eaten so early, I threw on some track pants, my shoes and headed off to try and stir my innards to the point that I would at least deflate. When you don't need this to happen, it will, when you do, it won't. Another example of Murphy's Law just not as well know.An hour later I came through the back door, sweat running from me only to find Mom just on the brink of making a snack that bordered on being a "Happy Meal" on steroids. She meant well but putting mashed potatoes, gravy and chocolate sheet cake on the same plate was not an inspiration; Fortunately the garbage disposal was working as I just made it. She watched her child with concern and saying that all that running a healthy meal was the cause, she knew it. The second upchuck was occasioned when she said she'd wrap it up and put it in the fridge. Next to the broccoli with cheese sauce.
Upstairs I could do little more than towel down the sweat then fall down on my bed, careful to set my alarm for fifteen minutes prior to meeting Mark in the back yard.
The alarm went off just as my woodie shot. One thing, when I'd set the clock, possibly years earlier, we'd been on standard time which was not the case now. I hadn't even noticed the time on the clock when I set it, just the time for it to alarm. And not I was alarmed, panicked. I was already an hour late, probably Mark would have given up and I would be devastated. Any man who has served on board a ship has learned how to get in and out of the bathroom, including a shower in under three minutes. I'd thought that it might be better to wear a few more clothes-just to give him something more to strip from me and, having done that tried to nonchalantly walk past Mom but there was no need, she was sound asleep, her ball of yarn having bounced out of her knitting basket and rolled across the room. She was on auto pilot.When she woke, she'd make her rounds, verifying the range was turned off, all the lights were off save the one down the hall to the bedrooms, slip into her own bed awaiting a new day in which she'd remember her son was home and, unfortunately, hit the kitchen to prepare a "proper breakfast for a sailor".
Within seconds I was on the lawn and, as I'd feared no Mark; My first act of love had been to let him down. It was a beautiful night, clear, warm, full moon, as romantic as all get out but you needed someone to be romantic with.All I could think to do, and did, was to sit down on the grass, put my head in my hands and cry for what I loved and had now probably lost.
"You're a light sleeper"said Mark as he sat down slightly behind me and pulled me back against him. I sagged in relief. "I would have waited a lot longer than that for something I love, think of it, I'd already waited fifteen years so an hour wasn't much and, besides, it gave me time to think...about things like extra clothes, more fun to unwrap the gift.....I know you love me so don't cry, just lean against me and tell me about the sky, that's something I always wonder about."
So for an hour I described the sky, not just the planets or how the moon looked but the clouds, the distances from earth to various objects, why this night was particularly beautiful as the moon was reflecting a particularly large amount of the suns rays...how I could see him clearly. Just as clearly as he could see me when I took his hand, his fingers when they were put on my body; It was as real in his mind as the stars were in my eyes. And then I wanted him. Badly. It hadn't been the kind of foreplay most men expect but it had worked powerfully for us.We were now naked and going through various combinations of hands on wherever. Good as it felt, it was time to begin accepting the present he'd saved for me, his virginity.
I was on top of him, stiff, ready but still savouring the moment of power, I was going to take something from him, something that can be given only one. He was already squirming with desire, making guttural sounds, almost words, trying to induce me to take him. One of my hands went under him, found his cock, began to stroke it. All he could say was, "Please, please, now.......now, Rocky I love you but now, fuck me..."
Slowly and only using ourselves and the juices we had produced I lowered myself toward him, let him feel the head of my cock, let him know it was wandering just above him, waiting, finding the way in, knowing it would be welcomed.An inch, another inch and then a pause to subtly move myself in him, not quite preparing him but letting him know that we were almost there, he could feel the gouts of precum dripping into him, sense my heightened breathing, my flesh growing warm.
I did not have to tell him what to do, all I had to do was gently go through him, past the tight opening, he made only a little noise of pain, until I found his prostate. I had his cherry and now it was time to show him why it had been worth those fifteen years. How long was I in? It doesn't matter but long enough for each of us to come twice, hold him close, play with his nipples, his balls, kiss and kiss again his neck, his ears, enjoy his throbbing body discovering it was nothing as he'd expected, I was not as he'd expected, no jump and fuck, but, now, a sexual partner from whom he could learn and, steadily, enjoy more each time.
Leaving him was almost, to him, as fascinating and arousing as entering had been. He was swiftly rolled on his back and I attached my mouth to his still hard cock, using my fingers to try and entice his balls to drop just a little.Through his perineum I pressed on his prostate, milking it externally. Even if he couldn't see, his eyes and face displayed what he felt. He was happy, content; He had what he'd wanted from the man he wanted to give it to him. Even while my lips were wound around his flesh he was already playing with my body, those wonderfully light, dextrous fingers that better than any sighted person knew the body and where to strike for maximum effect.
I wanted him to know what he tasted like and so suddenly put my mouth on his and let his sperm flow back into him. It was the first surprize he'd had, just at that moment I'm not sure he knew exactly what he was tasting and there was a pause....
"That's how you taste, swallow yourself and feel your own body giving back what it was forced to give up." He did so. "Jesus, Mark, I've wanted you even longer than you wanted me, here, now, we've finished a promise to ourselves, you, me, us, together under the dark, starry sky. Naked, fulfilled, only waiting for the next time....."
"Rocky, may I fuck you?Again? Only like one man fucks another, not like tis afternoon."
There was only one possible answer. In asking he proved that it had been a success, his thought of desire turned out to be correct, wanting me was really what he wanted to do and, he now knew, fucking him was what I wanted.
I rolled over on my stomach. He needed no guidance; Who knew my body better than he? It was still on the grass, waiting for the next event and then his beautiful organ pressed in, a bit anxious but full of love and exultation at getting something he'd wanted. Maybe even wondered if he'd get it but doubt does not quench desire.
I enjoyed him as I'd never enjoyed a man in my life. Love does that. He lay on top of me just feeling the moment, feeling a part of me his fingers could never reach, understand my reaction. And so we lay there, joined, happy, almost too anxious for the days that were to come but knowing both our worlds were content, the future had a course.
"Rocky...I will remember this forever."
"That makes me unbelievably happy."
"Can we sleep out here?I can get some blankets?"
"Ya know, that would be a great idea if morning never came. If no one looked out their window and saw their son sleeping, naked, with another son on the lawn. No one would like that more than I would but....you see the problem."
And he did. Someday we'd find a way to sleep together every night but, for now, what we'd had was enough.
"What're we going to do tomorrow?"
"I'll tell you what, we're going to find the best inkslinger in town and each of us have a shoulder full of stars cover it, so we'll always be like we are now, naked under the sky."
He rolled towards me and I held him......His eyes were closed as their reason to keep looking no longer existed.