Shore Leave

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.

At 11:37, Alex was on his knees below the young man, eating his ass out, and Sean was huffing and puffing and writhing as much as he was able. The sounds being muffled by the ball gag seemed to be more insistent, but still ineffectual in influencing what Alex was doing.

At 11:45, Alex was fucking the shit out of Sean’s ass and slapping the young man’s ass cheeks red with the palm of his hand. To the extent he could Sean was thrusting back with his pelvis, showing that what he was getting was exactly what he wanted from Alex. The sounds through the ball gag were definitely those of engagement and passion.

At 11:52, Sean was writhing and making muffled pleading sounds through his gag. Alex wanted the sailor to have as good a time as he was having. He took the gag out of Sean’s mouth to check on whether he was expressing pain or anger or pleasure or passion. Sean was most of the way to passion and crying out, “Yes, yes, shit yes. Fuck, yes. Fuck me hard,” so he was having a good time. Alex slapped him on the butt cheek and continued pumping him.

At 12:12, Alex pulled out of Sean’s ass, ripped his condom off, and shot his load on the young man’s flat, heaving belly. Sean had come at 11:58 with Alex stroking his cock hard.

Sean was getting what he’d come to the gym to get, but maybe a bit rougher and more intense than he had imagined it would be. He professed to be happy with it when Alex was done, “But I think I’d like to go back to the ship now,” he said, even though his shore leave didn’t end until midnight. He clearly had been exhausted and lost his need for more carousing on shore.

He perked up when Alex said, “I’ll drive you back to the Alameda gate. I have a red Corvette convertible, parked just outside.”

“Gee, yes, that would be great,” Sean answered.

“It’s really too early for you to have to go back to the ship, though. And I’m sure you haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. How about we go to a bar I know over on University Avenue that serves the best burgers? My treat.”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

Alex scrounged around on a desk for paper and pen, wrote out a note, and gave it to Sean. “Get showered and wait for me at the entrance to the gym. Give this to the guy at reception, and he’ll zero out your entrance tab and give you an extra hundred—for the good time.”

“Gee thanks . . .”

It occurred to them both that, if Sean had heard Alex’s name, he’d forgotten it and that he hadn’t given a name to Alex.

“I’m Alex,” he said, feeling a little thrill of his earlier life when he’d anonymously spike a guy like he’d just done this young sailor and it would have been so casual that they hadn’t even exchanged names. “You know other guys as built and good lookin’ as you are on your ship who you think would give as good of a workout as you did me, feel free to tell them about my gym—and me—for their next shore leave. Here, you can take a handful of the gym’s cards.”

“I’m Sean. Thanks . . . Sir.” And, after taking the cards offered to him, Sean turned and was off to the shower.

Alex watched his tight little butt with mixed thoughts as the young sailor glided out of the room. It was great knowing that he’d split those delicious orbs with his cock, but it was also sad that the young man, hesitating, had called him sir rather than Alex after the master-slave session was over and Alex had offered a relationship on a different footing. The young man no doubt had retained the “sir” in recognition that Alex was old enough to be the sailor’s father.

1:30 p.m., Sean had just put away his third hamburger and his third beer. He was more relaxed and was chattering up a storm. Alex touched him on the forearm and then, when Sean didn’t back off, kissed him on the lips and felt up his crotch. They were in a gay bar, so no one seemed to take notice and Sean didn’t pull back from being felt up either.

“Have you ever been to a Turkish bathhouse?” Alex asked as a kiss chaser. He kept his hand on Sean’s basket. “We have a couple of good ones near here. All-guy places. A different experience. Something for you to remember when you’ve gone back on the ship.”

“What happened in the gym was something to remember,” Sean answered.

“Something to want again too?” Alex asked. “Maybe in the bathhouse? It’s a wall-to-wall fuck fest there.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sean answered.

“Back in the gym, it seemed like you’d had enough for today. Recovered from that and wanting to go again?”

“Yeah, maybe again,” Sean repeated. He widened his stance under the table to allow Alex to get a firmer grip on his engorging cock through the material of the black trousers he had on under the khaki shirt. When Alex started pulling down his zipper, though, Sean balked a bit. “Umm. Any sailor could look over here. Could be someone from the Curtis Williams. I wouldn’t want—”

“I’ve got a room booked in a hotel nearby,” Alex murmured. He was getting horny again. “We could go at it there, just me and you, in private. Maybe have a special time of it. And then maybe broaden out at the bathhouse.”

“That Turkish bathhouse idea sounds interesting,” Sean countered.

“And maybe the hotel after that?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

2:15 p.m. Alex was sitting on a tile bench below the waterline and running around the inner rim of a pool in the Turkish bathhouse. Sean was sitting in his lap, skewered on his cock, facing him. Alex was holding the young man steady with hands gripping his waist, while Sean pushed off of the tile pool wall on either side of Alex’s torso with his feet, pulling himself on and off Alex’s cock.

3:30 p.m. Sean was on his back on the bed in room 206 of the Friendship Hotel, his arms drawn above his head and restrained by straps around his wrists and the brass slats of the headboard. Alex’s knees were pushed under the young man’s buttocks, and he was holding Sean’s legs spread and raised with hand holds under the young man’s knees. He was fucking Sean in long slides of his cock, and Sean was moaning and groaning for him. The bed was bucking backward and forward, the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall behind it.

5:30 p.m. Alex had given Sean a tour of San Diego in the red Corvette convertible. Sean asked to see the Marion Bear and Swiss parks for future reference, and Alex drove him there, and they sat in the car, fondling each other, and watching guys hook up. The Corvette now was parked in Shoreline Park, across the harbor from the naval base on the northern tip of the Coronado Peninsula. Alex said that Sean would want to see where the visiting ships were ported, and Sean agreed that that was a good idea. Right at the moment, though, Sean had his head in Alex’s lap, as the older man sat behind the wheel of the Corvette, and was giving Alex a blow job.

At 6:15 p.m., they were on Coronado Island, stopping off at a small steak house, where Alex was treating Sean to dinner before driving up into the parking area at the naval base’s Alameda Boulevard gate at 7:20 p.m., where they got out of the Corvette and Alex leaned against the hood of the sports car and waved a hobbling, but happy, Sean into the gate, ending Sean’s first shore leave in the Navy—and giving him quite a bit to think about.

Alex didn’t do this that often. He was serious about his commitment to Terry. But when the fleet was in . . . and when their sex life had once again gone stale . . . and when Alex wanted to think about Terry being nineteen again . . . and him being with a nineteen-year-old, fresh young man . . . holding him bound and completely under his control . . . and plowing his ass . . .

Getting Sean back to the base gate on Coronado Island put Alex in position, along with several other guys and gals in flash cars, a bevy of taxis, and the Navy buses that transported the less brave to various parts of the city, to be there for the evening release of serious shore leavers. Some sailors were held back to work on the ships during the day on Friday, but those who did leave late were given extended hours of shore leave. And some sailors preferred late release because that meant they could be in the city all night. These were the sailors Alex and other hopeful hookups standing by their sports cars in the parking area outside the Alameda gate were interested in. These guys wanted to party all night.

Alex had learned some time ago that all he had to do was wear a little leather draped on his muscular frame—something to make him appear a few years younger—lean against the hood of the red Corvette convertible, and have a riding crop in his hand, flicking it against his calf. When he did this, the right guys—the guys who knew they wanted it rough—would come to him and he could make his choice.

The chosen one who came to him at 7:42 p.m., Friday night, was Seaman Apprentice Mike Pastrol from off the USS Fitzgerald. They made eye contact as soon as the sailor came out of the gate, and Alex made sure Mike saw the riding crop and saw that he looked the young man up and down and gave him a tight smile.

Mike walked like a dancer as he crossed the open space between the gate and the parking lot, keeping his eyes on Alex like he was signaling to those coming out of the gate with him to back off. There were several men standing by their cars and ogling the sailors coming out of the gate. They tended to be split between older corporate types and bruisers. Alex had come as a bruiser. There were women on the prowl too, but the two preferences split off from each other right at the gate into the naval base.

As well as being a panther-like glider, rather than a plodder, Mike was obviously young, lithe, blond, and quite evidently knew how this worked. Stopping close in front of Alex, he gave a pointed look at the riding crop again, licked his lips with his tongue, and then lowered his head to look submissively at his feet. The impression that he gave was that if Alex had growled for him to go on his knees right there and suck him off, the sailor would do it.

Alex’s role was to take command from the get go, so there wasn’t much in the way of preliminaries. The honeypot would give out or he wouldn’t.

“How old are you?” Alex growled.

“Nineteen . . . Sir.”

Bingo. The last box to check on a substitute for Terry when they’d first hooked up. He was nineteen. The submissive “Sir” was an added bonus.

“How much do you want for the night? I’ve got a hotel room.”

“$200,” Mike came back with immediately. That told Alex the kid was a pro at it. A naïve guy wouldn’t have been able to come back with a number that quickly.

“You’ll be bound.”

“$250 then,”

“$150. And you’ll be used hard.”

“$225,” Mike came back with.

“$150 and breakfast and transportation. I have lots of choices when the fleet’s in. Get in the car.”

Mike got in the car.

On the bed in room 206 of the Friendship Hotel, they began with Mike riding cowboy on Alex’s cock in reverse. Alex had a dog collar on Mike’s throat with a long strap that Alex used to motion whether he wanted Mike to ride back and forth, up and down, or from side to side. Mike’s hands were bound at the wrist behind his back. Alex was slapping at the young man’s back and buttocks with the riding crop. The bed’s headboard was bouncing against the wall in whatever rhythm and intensity Alex set in the fuck, and, over the night, he tuned into that sound to gauge how steady the beat had been reached in an individual fuck.

They had both been keyed up from the initial greeting, so they both came quickly the first time. There was a period of rest, in which they both lay, stretched out on the bed, side by side, their backs propped up on the headboard, each slowly masturbating the other, with Alex taking a smoking break.

Even at rest, their bed was swaying gently because the bed in the room next to them now was going, its headboard rhythmically beating against the wall. Muffled sounds of sex were coming through the wall as well. It was that kind of hotel. The knowledge that someone—probably a sailor or a local male whore under a sailor, or two, as it sounded like there were more than two voices—was getting royally fucked on the other side of the wall kept Alex aroused. He’d already had a serious sex day, and, at his age, and although oversexed, he could feel that he was slowing down a bit in recovery.

The beat on the wall ceased for now. It was their turn. Alex crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray on the nightstand, swept up another condom, crowned himself, and growled, “Get on all fours. I’m gonna ride you into the sunset.”

And that’s what he did. Mike went on all fours, but Alex wanted the young man’s wrists tied to straps attached to the brass rungs of the headboard, so Mike actually wound up on his knees, with his rump waving in the air and flat on his chest, cheek to stained chenille bedspread, with his arms pulled above his head. Alex had allowed enough give to Mike’s wrist straps so that once Alex was mounted, crouched over Mike’s hips, and had reached a steady stroke in pumping his ass and beating on his buttocks with the riding crop in his hand, Alex could also tug on the strap attached to the collar around Mike’s neck and pull the young man’s head up to his for all-tongue kissing.

In the forward and back sway of the bed, the headboard was rhythmically bouncing against the wall. It was almost like the men in the two rooms were in a coordinated dance of the fuck, sometimes abusing the wall between them together, sometimes trading off with each other.

The last fuck of the night was a missionary, with Mike on his back, his arms pulled above his head, the wrists secured to the brass rungs of the headboard, and Alex between his bent and parted thighs, mining his passage deep. When Alex wanted it, he pulled Mike’s face up to his by pulling on the collar chain, and they kissed. Mike’s eyes had glazed over and he was near exhaustion.

Alex was near exhaustion too. Age was getting to him. At one time he could go all day and all night. He wasn’t going to make it in fucking through the night tonight, though. And he couldn’t ruin himself for tomorrow. This had all been for tomorrow and for the next week and for as long as he could spin this revving up out until there was another day the fleet was in.

After he’d filled the bulb of his condom this time and Mike had shot his last, weak ejaculation up Alex’s belly, Alex lowered his body on Mike’s and both dozed off to the sound of the beating of the headboard against the wall in the other room and the feel of Alex going soft inside Mike’s passage.

They woke up as the room was lightening from the rising of the sun outside the hotel room window. They stirred and cooed at each other, kissed, and Alex fondled.

“You could release my wrists,” Mike murmured. “My arms have gone to sleep.”

“In a bit,” Alex said. He’d gone hard. He didn’t want to waste it. “One more and then I’ll take you to breakfast and anywhere else you want to go.”

Mike objected, but just a bit. Not enough to make Alex stop scooting underneath his body, facing up, putting Mike to the cock from underneath and behind, lacing his legs through Mike’s and raising and spreading them, planting his own feet on the tasseled sheets, wrapping his arms around Mike’s torso so that he could worry Mike’s nipples, and start thrusting deep into Mike’s passage.

Mike moaned as the headboard once again started to drum against the wall behind the bed.

After breakfast, Alex drove Mike over to the University Boulevard gay district, pointing out the various establishments and what Mike could expect to find in each.

“You’ll have to be careful,” Alex said. “You’re of a favorite type around here. You’ll get a lot of attention—by more than one man at a time. The fleet’s in so there will be a lot of randy sailors.”

“I know a good bit about randy sailors,” Mike said. “I like attention by more than one—of course you seemed like more than one last night,” he quickly added, showing he knew how to handle his men. “God you were big—and you could keep it up. Surprising for a man your age. You gotta be, what, thirty-five or thirty-six?”

“Yeah, something like that,” the forty-one-year-old lied. The young sailor had hit his sore point. He was getting on in age. He needed boosts like this, when the fleet came in, and a night or two with a nineteen-year-old to do justice with his relationship with Terry, who now was pushing thirty himself. He had convinced himself that this all was part of the commitment to Terry, not a betrayal of their relationship. He needed a boost every once in a while to be revved up for Terry long enough to keep their relationship going. Having the fleet come in periodically helped give him that boost.

He wanted nothing so much as to take this sweet little nineteen-year-old piece who took his fetishes in his stride back to room 206 at the Friendship Hotel and bang him again—he still had the room booked. But he couldn’t risk it. He had to go home to Terry later today, and he had to have something left in the tank or at least time for the tank to refill.

“What’s that over there?” Mike asked.

“That’s a Turkish bathhouse,” Alex answered. In fact, it was the same one he’d fucked the young sailor Sean in the day before. “There’s a lot of action going on in there. With the fleet in it will be crawling with randy men today.”

“I want to go there.”

Alex took him there. He wanted to save himself now, so he didn’t fuck Mike in the pool. But he sat below the water’s surface on the bench lining the inside wall of the pool and pulled on his cock while he watched Mike being gang banged by five men on the floor across the pool from him. He was sitting on two cocks, sideways, the two men under him stretched together, the thighs of one over the thighs of the other, cocks bundled together for Mike to take together. He was sucking another guy’s cock, and two other guys had their hands all over him, waiting for a turn that Mike seemed to be quite willing to give them. Alex was half hard, remembering when he was in the thick of such a group fuck in his younger days.

Try as he might, Alex couldn’t make himself go all hard. He’d given it quite a workout and he resigned himself to needing to give it a rest. He felt his age. He didn’t look his age, though, and his age was more of a come on for some young men than a deterrent. One such guy entered the pool beside Alex. He was young, cut, and obviously a sailor from the way he carried himself, the anchor tattoo he had on his arm, and the buzz cut of his head. No local in San Diego who wasn’t nearly bald already anyway would buzz cut his hair.

“I’m randy,” he said as he settled down on the bench below the water surface next to Alex.

“Hi, Randy, I’m Alex.”

“No, I mean I’m really randy,” the young sailor said. “Watching Mike get gang banged over there has me in pain. I’ve wanted some of that on the ship.”

“You’re from the USS Fitzgerald too then?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, how did you know that?” the sailor asked.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you are in need. Can I help you with that? Jack you off until there’s an opening over there and you can get a piece of Mike too?”

“Are you waiting to do him too?”

“I’ve done him. All night. And I’m a bit tired now. But if you’d like, lay back and I’ll take care of you with my hand.”

“I don’t know if a hand job—”

“I can make a hand job good enough,” Alex said.

The sailor laid back, but he turned his face to Alex and they kissed as Alex fisted the young man’s cock and masturbated him to a release. The sailor gasped as Alex pushed his foreskin off the bulb and began working on the bulb in earnest, rubbing and squeezing it and worrying the piss slit open with his pinky. Doing it underwater provided something of a lubricant on the young man’s sensitive spots. The sailor writhed under Alex, starting to move his hips, and Alex made a sheath with the fingers of his hand and let the sailor fuck the hand to a cloudy flow of cum into the water of the pool. Alex dearly would have liked to have more from the young sailor and to do more with him, but the guy was a top and so was Alex and Alex needed to rest himself now—for later, he kept telling himself.

After he’d ejaculated, Alex asked, “Was—?”

“Oh, shit, yes, that was good,” the young sailor answered with a mellow tone.

He sat there, beside Alex, and they chatted a bit about the gay life in San Diego and what you could get where. Seeing that there was an opening on Mike’s dance card on the tiles across the pool, though, Alex urged the young man to cut in.

“You sure you don’t want me to do you?” he asked. “You give great jack. I’d be happy to do the same for you. You’ve got a great bod too.” The “for your age” wasn’t said, but was understood.

“I should. I own a gym,” Alex said. “No, go on. You youngsters have your fun.” One last kiss, and the sailor was moving across the pool to the action on the other side.

Alex could see that Mike was having a good time—quite possibly a better time than he’d had with Alex the night before. So, a little melancholy about that, Alex left them to it, went back to the locker room and dressed, and drove over to his gym. The gym was full of possible tail again today, but Alex went to his office and stayed there, out of sight and out of reach of temptation.

At one point, Hank, one of the trainers, popped his head into the office and said, “You should be out here boss. There’s so much young guy poontang running around looking for it with the fleet being in today that you need to see this.”

What he meant but didn’t say was that Alex needed to get in on it. It was a running ill-kept secret that the boss went off the rails when the fleet was in. He was all so straitlaced about being in a committed relationship—and he usually was good about that—but when the fleet was in, he dipped his wick. All the guys working at the gym knew that, and most of them were glad he did. He made them feel guilty, being so adamant about it when the fleet wasn’t in. They were all tops. They all worked at this gay gym on the edge of San Diego’s gay district to pick off the bottoms who came to the gym to get exactly what they got. It was threatening to them to see Alex so adamant about commitment to one guy—except on the days the fleet was in. So, they goaded him whenever they could to go off the reservation. They all knew he’d worked over a young honey pot in one of the private-session gym rooms the day before. They wanted him to do it today too.

“Some great, willing tail out here, boss.”

“Thanks, but I’m saving myself,” Alex answered. “Whenever I go up to LA for the night, Terry expects something special when I get back. I want to be able to give it to him.”

“LA? You didn’t drive up to LA yesterday, did you?” Hank jolly well knew Alex hadn’t driven up to Los Angeles. He’d been here, fucking a nice little piece yesterday. They’d left together. Hank didn’t have any doubt that the party had continued. He’d been standing by the desk when the receptionist had made the room reservation at the Friendship Hotel. Everyone knew what happened at the Friendship hotel.

“Terry doesn’t know I didn’t go to LA—and none of you are going to tell him.”

The only part of that that made sense was the command that he and the other trainers mind their own business and not take any tales to the boss’s bed partner. Hank understood when he was being dismissed and was on the edge of being fired from a cushy job that allowed him to easily pick off cute fucks. So he withdrew and Alex went back to looking at his paperwork without really seeing it and resisting going out on the floor and joining in on the fun.

Chapter Four: Back in the Saddle

Craig, the head dresser, was humming when Terry entered the theater that afternoon. Terry had spent the day cleaning the Harbor Loft apartment from top to bottom and putting together a gourmet dinner that could be kept in the refrigerator and just popped in the oven twenty minutes before they wanted to eat. An expensive bottle of Pinot Grigio had gone into the refrigerator.

On hearing Craig humming, Terry realized he was humming as well. Craig had a little smile on his face. Terry realized that he was smiling too.

“Do you know if the lights got adjusted yesterday?” he stopped and asked Craig.

“Yes, but late into the night,” the head dresser answered. “I had to help Tony finish them off because I was the only one here when he needed an extra pair of hands.”

“So, has Tony come in yet today?” Terry asked.

“He won’t be coming in today. He left early for Chicago. Said something came up unexpectedly.” Craig looked a little sad in delivering that news.

Terry laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet something came up unexpectedly when the two of you were alone in here last night.”

“Excuse me?” Craig was blushing.

“Was it a good fuck? Did Tony fuck you well? Do it twice, did he? Put you in some positions you’d never been in before?”

Craig flared up. “Yes, he fucked me well. Tony has a cock to die for. I’m just sad he’s gone and won’t be doing me again.”

“Yeah, I agree with you. He did me yesterday too. I’m glad you got some before he left. No judgment from me.”

Leaving Craig with his mouth gaping, Terry went back to behind the stage. The reason why he’d come in was that it had bothered him to leave the costumes the way they were—the red velvet one with his semen stains on them. Maybe it could be cleaned before anything else was done with it—just so he’d know it didn’t have essence of him on it. If not, he’d just toss it. What he didn’t want was for others to see it and to wonder about—or, worse, not wonder about it; know how the stain got there. It would be worse for someone to figure it out. Tony was a braggart. It would be just like him to say he’d fucked Terry and Craig before he left for Chicago. But he was a braggart who delivered. He’d said he wanted to spike both Terry and Craig before he left. So, if he’d left for Chicago, then everyone would strongly suspect anyway if they didn’t know.

The red velvet costume wasn’t in the pile of costumes on the dressing room floor. It was, however, in the wastebasket—along with four used condoms.

So, yes, Terry thought, Craig had been spiked twice too. He lifted the costume out of the basket. There were more stains on it than he’d put there. The material was ruined, but it had some “good times” memories attached to it now, so maybe . . .

He stuffed it in a plastic bag, left the theater, tossed the costume in the backseat of the Rav4, and drove back to the Harbor Loft apartment.

* * * *

Alex came home to the Harbor Loft apartment at 5:00 p.m. Soft music was playing in the living area. He went to the refrigerator and opened it. He saw the meal sitting in there and knew that it was one that could be started at any time and be ready afterward. He saw the wine. The wine was a signal between them. For that matter the conveniently prepared meal was a signal to him.

That the fleet had come in was a signal to him. That he’d supposedly gone to Los Angeles overnight was a signal to him. This had been what had continually reignited their relationship in recent years—not just the signals, but the preparation that had gone into them.

It had been a struggle. It had been so easy to drift into what a lot of marriages and committed arrangements were—complacency and same sameness. Added to this that they weren’t as young as they had been when they’d first hooked up. They’d both assumed that they would continue to approach life in high gear as they did when Terry was nineteen and Alex, although he was thirty-three, was in top shape physically. Their assumptions had been wrong. Life slowed down. Life became humdrum. They both were oversexed, though. That hadn’t changed. The flash of excitement kept fizzling, however.

But thank God that here, in San Diego, the fleet occasionally came in and randy and submissive sailors poured out into the city on shore leave.

Alex took a beer from the refrigerator and drank it off in a couple of gulps. Then he turned and headed for the master bedroom, knowing what he’d find when he opened the door.

Terry was lying in the center of the bed on a red velvet spread that looked suspiciously like a billowy dress, on his back, naked, his legs bent and spread, his cock in his hand. Beside him were straps and restraints, a ball gag, and a riding crop. These were now and again staples of their lovemaking, although their use never seemed to be sustained. They were what Alex liked. They tended to come out when the fleet was in but then disappear within a week when sessions went back to Wednesday and Friday night and easily became hurried and perfunctory, with no time taken to gather props.

This was Saturday night and the fleet was in. On top of that Terry had brought out the toys. Alex’s cock was hard and throbbing.

“Do a striptease for me, Daddy,” Terry said, his voice thick with want.

Alex complied.

When he went to the bed, Terry was snapping closed the dog collar around his throat. The leather leash hung down his back. He held out the wrist restraints to Alex.

As Alex liked, they started with a reverse cowboy, with Alex flat on his back, his knees bent to give him leverage to work with and with his feet flat on the mattress. Terry was saddled on Alex’s pelvis, facing his feet, riding his cock, Terry’s wrists were tied behind him and Alex was signaling the variations in the ride with the differences of his guidance with the leash attached to the collar. He beat a tattoo on Terry’s back and buttocks with the riding crop in the other hand—nothing too painful or that would leave angry welts for more than an hour or two.

When the rhythm became steady, the bed started rocking forward and back, the headboard thumping against the wall. Visions of Terry became mixed in Alex’s mind with that of binding and fucking Seaman Apprentice Mike Pastrol in room 206 of the Friendship Hotel. That didn’t make Alex appreciate Terry less; it just made Alex harder, thicker, longer—and longer lasting—as he fucked up into Terry’s ass.

Then Terry was on his back, arms trapped above his head, tied off at the brass rungs of the headboard. His legs were spread and bent. Pillows were stuffed under the small of his back. He was biting on the ball gag. Alex was crouched between his spread thighs, eating his ass out and sucking his cock and balls. Then he was mining Terry’s ass with a dildo. When he moved his knees between Terry’s thighs and started working his cock in, above the buried dildo, Terry writhed under him and emitted muffled screams of pain, pleasure, and passion through the ball gag, taking the two forms of cock—the natural and rubberized versions—in his stride.

The rhythm of Alex’s thrusts—thrusting the natural cock with his pelvis and the dildo with his fist—caused the bed to thump against the wall behind the headboard. Terry’s vision of Alex became mixed with that of Petty Officer First Class Joe Jones and Petty Officer Julio Hernandez sharing Terry in a double fuck in room 204 of the Friendship Hotel, and Terry’s arousal soared up to the heavens. He exploded in three gushes of cum, arcing it up to splash against Alex’s chest.

Alex came while riding Terry’s ass in a doggie fuck, crouched high on Terry’s hips, Terry’s wrists tied once more to the headboard, Alex, dreaming of both Terry and Seaman Apprentice Sean Lowell, pounding Terry’s ass in a motion that sent the bed thumping against the wall, and flogging Terry’s ass with his riding crop.

They lay, panting, in each other’s arms, nearly spent, but now coming to the part that Terry preferred and Alex granted him on these days that the fleet came in—the high days for their lovemaking.

“Is there something you want?” Alex whispered into Terry’s ear.

“Yes, please,” Terry responded, “If you can do it. I was told you couldn’t, but I want to try.”

Given that challenge, Alex was determined to do it even before hearing what the position entailed.

Terry was on his belly, his body bowed back, his legs rising up Alex’s torso and his ankles hooked on Alex’s shoulders. Alex’s arms were laced under Terry’s armpits, his fists locked behind Terry’s neck, incapacitating the young man in a full nelson hold. With Alex providing the momentum, the two rocked back and forth, the motion moving Alex’s cock deep and then deeper inside Terry’s passage. It was a peaceful, loving, rolling fuck. The headboard gently thumped against the wall behind it. Terry’s vision of the cock fucking him included a mixture of Alex, Tony, and Chief Petty Officer DeAngelo Williams. They came, one last time for the evening, in peace and love, Terry coming from his cock having rubbed in the red velvet of the costume he’d brought home from the theater and would now ceremoniously burn.

Terry’s immediate thought after they’d successfully completed the rocking fuck was, Screw you, Tony. You said my man couldn’t do this one and Alex managed it like a champ. Don’t fucking talk to me about my man being too old.

It had been the best shore leave of the Pacific fleet in San Diego yet for Alex and Terry and there was every reason that, by using it and being sensible, the fleet visits would help their sex life survive the inevitable march into aging for some time to come.

They both were committed to this relationship. They were so committed that they refused to openly connect the shore leaves of the randy sailors of the U.S. Navy Pacific fleet with their renewed sex life. More pointedly, Alex refused to make any conscious connection between Terry’s renewed arousal for him with having, the previous morning, found Terry’s sexy little whore costume and packets of condoms in the gym bag he was taking to the theater. Alex and Terry barebacked, as a hallmark of their committed relationship. There was no need for condoms. Similarly, Terry refused to acknowledge that when he had left the Friendship Hotel that morning, Alex’s red Corvette convertible was parked out front. And each knew the cries of passion of the other. There was no way that the wall between rooms 204 and 206 in the hotel successfully muffled their distinctive sex yodeling from each other.

They each hoped that the U.S. Navy would continue to schedule fleet shore leaves in San Diego for many years to come. Neither of them wanted to erase a genuine—a real—lifetime commitment to each other just because they’d gotten to a point to needing a jolt now and again to keep their engines revved for each other, and neither of them wanted to threaten the arrangement by letting this need come out in the open.

- FINI -