Submariner’s Rebound

Brad just turned and walked away from me when we got off the USS Wyoming Ohio-class ballistic nuclear sub when it returned to its Kings Bay base in Georgia, just north of Jacksonville, Florida. First Class Petty Officer Brad, who had fucked me whenever we could get away with it during a month’s cruise, just turned and walked away. I was released on a long-weekend pass. I thought Brad was going with me, but he just told me he was transferring to the USS Alaska and walked away. I shouldn’t have been surprised or shouldn’t resent him. He’d told me from the top that it was just for the boredom-relieving ride. But I’d grown to think that maybe . . .

So, what? I, a mere submarine sailor ten years his junior, was just a convenient lay for him for a month? I had gotten to thinking we had something going. I thought we were off for a wild long weekend on the Florida beaches. I’d rented a car—a red Camaro. I thought he was arranging a beach hotel. Ten minutes after we got off the Wyoming he was telling me of his transfer. And he just turned and walked away.

He’d popped my male cherry. He’d taught me how to take it from a man. He’d given me favors, watched out for me on my maiden cruise. He’d made me trust him and he’d sweet talked me. He got my sailor’s pants off me, taught me how to suck him off, and he’d put it in me. We did it enough to be a well-oiled fucking machine. We learned to come off at the same time. He’d let other guys mess with me—I was short, slim, and boyish looking, almost effeminate—but he didn’t let them give it to me up the ass. Only he did that.

And there he was, just walking away from me, down the line, to a new assignment on the Alaska.

In shock and not knowing what else to do, I took a taxi to the car rental place, and, without much of any notion where I’d be staying, I pointed the Camaro’s nose south on I-95. I’d heard of a couple of bars in Jacksonville and had talked to Brad about them. I said I wanted to go on the beach, further south into Florida, though. It had never been this warm during the Christmas season, even in Florida. I thought he’d gotten us a place.

There was a gay bar in Jacksonville, the Park Place Lounge, where I heard Navy guys went. I found it.

It was afternoon, so there wasn’t much going on in there yet. The bartender was nice, though, and good to look at. Late thirties, tall, but well-muscled and good-looking without being an overdone hunk, like some of the sailors on the sub were. There wasn’t much to do on a sub when you weren’t on duty, at the mess, or sleeping, and they liked us to be in shape. So, the sub had good gym equipment and all the guys used it. It was where they could get a good look at each other nearly bare and where hookups were arranged.

His name—the name of the bartender—was Beau. Another guy was sitting at the bar when I bellied up to it and was talking to Beau. His name was Andy, and he looked much the same as Beau—good-looking, trim, but well-muscled. A good smile. They both had good smiles. They both showed interest in me, which was what I was looking for in my vulnerable, suddenly let loose, condition. There wasn’t much of any anyone else in the bar who wanted to talk to someone new. These guys did, so we talked.

“I’m Paul,” I said, since they’d both given me their names. “I just came off a month on a submarine. The USS Wyoming,” I said, as if that would mean anything to them. It was a matter of pride to me. I was still wet behind the ears but had been off cruising the world already. “I didn’t think it would be warm enough down here in Florida in December to still be using the beaches, but I guess it was.”

“Yes, it isn’t,” they both agreed, almost in unison. They were so much in unison that I wondered if they were a pair. They included me in their discussion and when they found out I’d just come off a cruise on a ballistic nuclear SSBN submarine up in Georgia, they were all kinds of friendly. They surprised me by knowing what kind of boat the USS Wyoming was.

“That’s how Andy here and me met,” Beau said. “We’re both retired Navy. We sailed the USS Leyte Gulf cruiser together out of Norfolk. We left the Navy together and settled down near St. Augustine, where we run tourist boat cruises together. We do photography too—specialty stuff.”

The together part was coming across. It was increasingly certain the two of them were a pair.

“So, you’re not a full-time bartender?” I asked.

“He’s just filling in for a friend for a couple of shifts,” Andy said. “And I decided to come up and give him company. The lounge can be pretty dead on Friday afternoons before Happy Hour hits and some of the dancers start coming in. When you came in I thought maybe you were a new dancer here. You’ve got the body and the face for it.”

I probably blushed. I was wounded enough by Brad to really appreciate the compliment.

As we talked, Beau spent more time behind the bar leaning on it and making eyes with me from the other side of the counter. For his part, Andy leaned into me from the neighboring stool and touched me here and there, and when I didn’t shrink away from him, the touches became more intimate and prolonged. I couldn’t be surprised; it was a gay bar.

I wondered which one I’d go with. I was here on the rebound from Brad. I wanted to show him—to show him that he wasn’t the only one who could have me—to show him that he couldn’t tell anyone else they couldn’t give it to me in the ass anymore.

I was new to this, but I was hurt. My ego had been wounded—shattered. Was there something about me—something lacking—that made Brad discard me so readily? Gauging the interest of Beau and Andy in me, the compliment Andy gave me, and Andy being touchy feely, I didn’t think so. Which one would I want to go with? They were so similar I didn’t have a preference. They were both hunks for their ages. Neither of them was intimidating.

Was there somewhere here to get this on? I looked around the room. Was there somewhere guys went right here? The was a doorway in the back covered by a beaded curtain. What was beyond that?

Which one would step up to the plate? Would I carry through and be a player if they did? All I’d known—anally—was Brad. I didn’t know if I had the courage to carry through with anyone else. I gave both the once-over look again. Which would I prefer given the choice? The part of them being a pair had already floated through my brain and gone away.

“So, where are you headed this weekend, Paul?” Beau asked. “Jacksonville isn’t that far from Kings Bay. I would have thought you’d head for the Florida beaches since they’re still open. Looking for action out on the beach, maybe.”

“That’s what I planned, yes,” I answered. “I don’t have any place set up, though. Are there good beaches down where you guys have your boat operation? Was that in St. Augustine, did you say?”

“Yeah, we got pretty good beaches,” Andy said. “You looking for one with action on it?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said. Was that signaling availability, I wondered.

“Beau and I live on the beach. A small place in Crescent Beach, just south of St. Augustine. We’re right on the ocean. It’s a real cubbyhole, but we fixed it up nautical style. Navy guys are real comfortable there. We get some good action on that beach.”

“Nautical style?”

“Yeah, not all basic steel and canvas stuff, but compact—cozy like. You say you’re just off a submarine. You’re used to tight then? You a tight little guy, Paul?”

Was that a come-on line, I wondered. Before I could answer, Beau picked up the conversation.

“You said you weren’t headed anyplace particular,” he said. “I get off in an hour. You want to come down to St. Augustine and see our tour boat?”

“Sure, but I have a car.”

“Andy can ride with you—you two could take off now. And I’d follow later in the car we drove up here.”

So, was it to be Andy then? I looked at him. He had a hand on my knee and squeezed. He’d maybe started into propositioning with the “tight” question. And, yeah, since there’d only been Brad in the channel, I guessed I still was a tight fit. He’d do just fine, I decided.

* * * *

In the Camaro—I’d parked at the back of the bar lot because I didn’t want to get a rental car dinged up—Andy put a hand on mine as I started working the gearshift.

“Hold up a minute, Paul. Let’s talk a minute first. I’d like to know more about you.”

“I’m not sure there’s more to know,” I said. “I come from Baltimore. My family didn’t have the money for college, so it was the Navy or the Army. Navy won the football game that year—we went to it—so that decided that.”

“That’s not the ‘more’ I’m interested in. I’m interested in what you’ve done with a guy and what you’ll do. So, you’re how old?”

“Twenty-one. Well, twenty-one the month after next.” I was younger than that by a year, but I think he knew that.

“Sweet. I’m thirty-seven.”

“You don’t look it,” I said.

“I look a lot older?”

“No, younger. And you’re in good shape. Age means shit to me; it’s fitness that counts.” There, that should take care of that.

“You’re in great shape too, Paul. I really click with little guys like you—slim but not skinny. And handsome as the devil. A great smile. I bet you had the sailors really going on that sub for a month.”

“Well, I—”

“You’re a sailor, Paul. And you’ve come into the Park Place Lounge. You had boyfriends on the sub, didn’t you?”

“Just one—and he’s walked out on me,” I said, bitterly. I don’t know why I revealed that. I was just busting out to talk to someone about it, though. That’s probably why I came into this gay bar. So, I unloaded about Brad.

“He is older than you?” Andy asked after I’d gone on a while about Brad using me for a month and then just walking away. I didn’t say we’d done more than sucking each other off. He had a hand on my knee, put there, I was sure, as a sympathetic gesture. He didn’t take it away when sympathy was no longer needed, though.

“Yeah. More than ten years older.”

“You like older men?” His hand moved higher on my thigh.

“I liked Brad well enough. He’s the only one I did it with.”

“So, you have done it? You and this guy screwed. You’re not a virgin to the dick?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I answered, reluctantly. “But just with Brad. Well, all the way.” That hung there, leaving open I’d done more with guys. And I had.

“It’s not something you sort of do, Paul.” He snorted. “You did it to him or he did it to you? Did he screw you or did you put it in him?”

I gave him a shocked look. “Let’s not be coy, Paul,” he said. “We’re here because I want to fuck you and you want to fuck. I screw; I don’t let guys screw me. Do you take cock or do you give cock? Am I wasting my time here?”

“He laid me.” I blurted out. “Whenever he could. He was the petty officer; I’m just a sailor. He had opportunities and authority.” And I felt Andy was close to laying me right here. He had his hand on my crotch now, tracing my dick through the material with his fingers. I was hard and getting harder. I wasn’t pushing him away. I’d come here to do this. No need to fool myself any further.

“And he was the only one?” Andy asked. “I’m big. Am I going to have trouble getting in? You got a tight little male pussy?”

“Yeah. He’s the only one who got inside me.”

“After he did you—that first time—you would have let others do you too?”

God, he wanted to pull it all out of me. “I guess so. If he’d let them. He didn’t. If you’re looking for a more experienced—”

“Sweet. I like a tight fit—but one that’s been opened before—and I like fresh male pussy. A little-used small guy like you sends me to heaven.”

“I don’t know much about how to—”

“I’ll show you all you need to know,” he answered. He took my hand and put it on his crotch. He was hard too, and I could tell he was thick. But I wasn’t prepared to be doing this this quickly. Instinctively, I tried to pull my hand away, but he held it there. Returning his hand to my crotch, he traced my dick through the material, and I hardened more for him.

“Sweet,” he said again. “Don’t fight it, Paul. You came into the bar to get laid. Go with it. You’ll get what you want.”

“I don’t think—” It almost came out in a whimper, but he laughed. I’d pulled my hand off his crotch. He moved it back there, and I didn’t take it away then, tracing his dick with my fingers.

“You act like a virgin, Paul. Screwing is one thing. Making love is another. I’m a lover. You’ve never kissed another man besides this Brad?” he asked.

“No. Not that. Brad said that was for queers. We were just releasing tension because not being able to touch the women on board, and not being in port often enough.”

“You’ve never wondered what it would be like with other men than Brad? Kissing them? Making slow love, knowing it will end in a fuck?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ve wondered.”

“You think it might be like this?” His hand came off my crotch, wrapped itself around my neck, and pulled our faces together for a long, lingering kiss. The hand went back to my crotch, unzipped me, pulled me out, and stroked me.

“Nice,” he whispered. Small guy, big cock.

I made some effort to pull away from the kiss and to push his hand away, but it was halfhearted, and he knew it was.

“Is your Brad a big man, Paul?”

“Not that tall. To be a submariner—” Short guys, like Brad and me—it would be an effort for me to push up to five foot six—always got directed to submarines.

“Wake up, Paul. Is your man hung?”

“I don’t know. He’s the only—”

“Fuckin’ A, Paul. Is he this big?” He unzipped himself, pulled his cock out, and wrapped my hand around it.

“No,” I said, with a gasp.

“You ever dreamed of having a dick this big inside you?”

I didn’t answer right away, so he continued. I was mesmerized. I knew I should break this off, but this was so hot. “I know you have. Have you ever tasted a man, Paul? Did you suck off this Brad of yours?”

“Yes, sure,” I said, helplessly, but wanting to stop sounding so naïve and inexperienced. He could hear the surrender in my voice. He was unzipped and hanging out, in erection. The mouth kiss had been new ground for me. Sucking a guy off wasn’t.

“So, you’ll suck me off then?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Now? Here?”

“Yes.”

“That’s some of what I want, Paul.” He cupped my head again and brought my face down into his lap. My mouth opened over his cock, my tongue and teeth slid down the sides of the shaft, and he got a blow job. That I knew how to do. That I did for more sailors on the sub than just Brad. Most of us did that for each other—or hand jobs at least.

I took his cum on my face. As I was wiping that off with a handkerchief and we were both sitting up in our seats, he said, “You want me to get out of the car or do you want to drive down to St. Augustine and see my place on the ocean?”

I started up the Camaro. “I’ll drive you down to St. Augustine,” I said.

“When we get there, are we going to party? Are you going to take it up the ass, Paul? I don’t want to waste my day.”

“Yes.”

* * * *

We didn’t stop in St. Augustine. We drove on to Crescent Beach. Andy had me park in a remote spot, by the pool, between the lines of squarish buildings. The pool wasn’t being used in the dark and, although it was warm enough to use the beach in December, the temperatures were going down too low at night to do so. We were parked at the end of a line, under trees, and below a hill we’d have to climb to get to his condo. He fucked me for the first time there in the car, saying he couldn’t wait, that it would be more arousing and memorable here in the car.

We had arrived after dusk, and I was so fraught with driving to Andy’s directions while he was fondling, kissing, stroking, and sucking me, that I had no idea where we were. I wouldn’t be able to find the place again if I had to to save my life. I remember a drawbridge right before he reached the condo complex, and that’s about it.

“Just lay back and enjoy,” Andy said, as he stripped off my sailor pants and briefs and grasped my cock firmly in his hand. I, of course, was hard, throbbing, and craving his touch. I did as he directed, laying back in my seat and closing my eyes and letting him stroke me off to an ejaculation.

When he’d done that, he manhandled me over to the passenger seat, and upended me, my knees dug into the base of the seat on either side of his hips, my butt in the air front of his face, and my head, torso, and arms pushed down into the well in front of his seat.

“This is why I like the little guys,” he said, with a laugh. If I’d been any taller or heavier, we couldn’t have been doing this. As it was, this was so hot. He proceeded to work my hole with his tongue and to nip at my butt cheeks. I made moaning noises for him, as he put both thumbs inside me, pulled me open, and stuck his tongue in. I moaned because I couldn’t help it. This was all new for me. This was something different and so much more than what Brad did with me on the Wyoming. Brad was wham, bang, let’s get back to work.

When he turned me around on top of him, he showed me a condom disk and said, “It’s now or never to say no, kid.”

I didn’t say no.

He was a monster in size compared to Brad. I sat on his lap, facing him, my knees pressed into the back edge of the seat on either side of his hips, my cheek resting on the top of the head rest next to his cheek—and this was when it was really good to be a small guy; a bigger guy couldn’t have managed this in a Camaro. I gripped the sides of his seat back and whimpered and panted as I took a goodawful time descending on the stretching cock inside me. He was separating and squeezing my butt cheeks to give him maximum penetration, and when he was satisfied he was fully saddled, he began manipulating my cheeks and pulling me up and down on the shaft, as I huffed and puffed and babbled, and got the fuck of my life up to that point.

Afterward—after we’d had a chance to cool down and do some after-fuck kissing and fondling, he guided me up the hill, toward the ocean—I could hear the sound of the surf on the other side of a line of sand dunes. It was a winding, steep passage by a swimming pool and up a heavily foliaged hill on a wooden staircase to the building their condo was in. He was fondling me the whole way and I was in high heat, doing something I’d never done before, didn’t think I would participate in, and was totally lost to. He led me up some stairs at the side of a chunky, yellow, two-story wood building and to the small, second-floor condo they had told me about built on top of a second row of sand dunes facing the ocean beach.

They were right about it being compact and reminiscent of a ship’s cabin. Everything was snug and in a nautical theme. Having just come off a submarine, I felt comfortable. It was, of course, a lot cushier than conditions on a submarine. Coming from the small entry foyer into the living area, with a high ceiling rising back toward the foyer, powder room, and kitchen, I was momentarily aware of a ladder against the powder room wall, but I wasn’t permitted to linger. Andy hustled me into the bedroom beyond, where Beau was sitting, naked, on the bed, waiting for us—waiting for his turn with me. I didn’t have any trouble understanding that was what was going on here.

Beau, his body as trim and well-muscled as Andy’s, and his dick even thicker than Andy’s in erection, obviously was in heat—and so, again, was I. There was only one bedroom in the condo, and one bed. It was king sized, though. Beau took his turn fucking me on the bed.

He took his time, preparing me thoroughly before entering me, which was a good thing, because he was both thicker and longer than Brad—or Andy—had been. Ashamedly, I was begging for the cock before he put it in me. He undressed me, standing beside the bed, while we were fondling and kissing each other. Andy was undressing again and standing off to the side, watching us. He’d just fucked me, but I could see he was in erection again.

I went down on my knees and took Beau’s engorged cock with my mouth, as he obviously wanted me to do. Andy came around in back of me and put his hands on my shoulders. Turning my face to the side periodically, I serviced his cock too. They stopped me and brushed my mouth and hands away before either of them came.

Andy withdrew a few paces, taking his cock in his own hand, and Beau pushed me back on the bed, on my stomach, and went down on his knees behind me. I moaned and groaned as he worked me open again with his tongue and fingers. I’d thought I already was as open as I could be, but he proved me wrong.

It had been nothing like this before with Brad. The cramped conditions on the submarine and the short opportunities we had been given made sex with Brad more of a quick poke and squirt. Andy had fucked me well, better than Brad did. Beau fucked me totally.

He turned me over onto my back on the bed, my butt on the edge and my legs hanging down the end of the bed, spread, with his knees between them. He stood over me, rolling a condom on his cock, and explaining explicitly what he was going to do with me—to me—as I lay there on my back, looking up at his gigantic erection, trembling and whimpering in anticipation. He took his time at this stage, maximizing my arousal and fearful anticipation. The possessive pressure of his knees on my inner thighs, slowly spreading and raising my legs, told me all I needed to know of what was to come from him.

When he’d crowned his cock, he grasped my ankles, raised and split my legs more, nestled in between my thighs, and entered me strongly and deeply. I was physically ready for him and mentally overwrought with the wait he had forced on me. He set my feet down to grip the edge of the mattress, my legs bent. His hands went to my butt cheeks, which he squeezed and pulled apart. With the leverage of my feet, I raised my pelvis to him. We held as I opened and adjusted to him, panting hard and whimpering. He began to move inside me, and we were off and fucking.

He was crouched over me, hovering over me, and looking intensely down into my eyes to capture the effect of this total taking on me, moving in and out, in and out in shallow thrusts. And then ever faster, ever deeper, long, deep thrusts, bringing heavy panting and groaning from me. I bucked with him, rocking my hips. His shaft possessed me totally. All of my sensations went to him inside me, moving deeply inside me, setting the muscles of my channel walls rippling over the cock, making love to it as he made love to me—no, as he made possessing fuck to me. I raised my torso to his chest and I clung to him closely, whispering “Yes, yes. Take it all,” to him, setting my hips in motion to go with him in a totally synchronized fuck.

This wasn’t anything like the quick opportunity poke of Brad on the submarine, where we could be discovered and caused to part at any moment. Beau took his time. He fucked me and fucked me and fucked me, taking me to the edge and backing off and then taking me there again, each time higher into the pain-pleasure stratosphere.

When Beau had ejaculated inside me, he pulled out, turned me on the bed, and maneuvered me fully on top of it.

“Nice, very nice,” he murmured, and my spirits soared. Take that, Brad, I thought. Nothing wrong with me in that department, Brad.

As he withdrew, Andy, fully erect again, climbed up on the bed, ran an arm under my belly to flip me over and bring me up on all fours, and, keeping it there, mounted me on top, thrust inside me, and fucked me doggy style. He ran his free hand into my hair, gripped it, and cruelly pulled my head back, arching my back up toward his chest. His thrust was stronger and more cruel than Beau’s had been—maybe compensation for years of knowing Beau was slightly thicker and longer than he was. It was all new to me—the freedom from having to be surreptitious, hurried, and silent with the act and having the freedom to be vocal in the taking and room to use refined positions.

They fucked me without asking permission or explaining anything, and they spent as much time kissing and fondling each other as they did me as they used me as they liked. I was just a casual lay for the night, or so I thought. I was learning so much new about sex with a man and experiencing such new heights of lust and sexual satisfaction, though, that I was docile for them and let them do with me what they wanted.

I said little to them, but did ask, “Is this your thing? You bring guys here and share them?”

“Nearly every weekend, yes,” Andy said. “We really like the little, fresh guys, like you. You’re doing great.”

“You don’t have any trouble getting guys to do this for you?”

“They aren’t usually as easy as you have been,” Andy said, with a laugh. “You wanted it bad. You were a pushover.”

“But they aren’t usually as good a lay as you are,” Beau added. The compliment made up for Andy’s indictment.

Later I thought perhaps I was being too docile and willing.

After Andy fucked me the second time, the two of them went out to the kitchen area, which was just outside the bedroom door and in clear sight of the bed, while I stretched out on my back, moaning from having been power fucked multiple times in quick succession, trying to recover. I watched them, naked and hard bodied, perch on kitchen stools at the counter, sip beer, and talk about anything and everything in their lives other than having a small, young sailor in their bed who they’d both just fucked.

I thought the evening—and the experience—were over. I was wrong.

I heard them switch gears, both of them looking into the bedroom at me, on the bed.

“You think he’ll do it?” Beau said.

“Hell, yes, he’s begging for it,” Andy answered.

They came back into the bedroom, and Andy pulled me up off the bed and put me on his cock in a standing fuck. He asked no permissions, taking it all for granted, and, moaning, I made no demands of him beyond whispering, “Be good to me, Andy.” He laughed.

“We’ll both be good to you,” he murmured, causing me to moan.

Now, a standing fuck I was quite familiar with, as it’s how Brad and I often had to do it on the sub, Brad standing in a crouch, and me plastered to the front of him, his dick up my ass, my arms around his neck, and my knees hooked on his thighs. That’s how Andy was doing it in the cramped space between the bed and the bathroom area too. But this was different from what Brad did. Andy held steady, cock solidly, throbbingly up my ass, while Beau came in behind me, worked his cock into my ass too on top of Andy’s. As I huffed and hyperventilated and did a bit of cursing, they double fucked me. As I was able to sheath them both, though, I settled down to moaning softly and my cursing changed to something more like, “Fuck, yes. Do me. Both of you screw me!”

They kissed over my shoulder, making love to each other as much as to me.

I was exhausted when they were finished, and thus I had no strength to resist Beau carrying me, all of us still naked, out to the living area and over to the ladder I’d only been partially aware of before. Now I saw that there was an enclosed loft area over the powder room-foyer-kitchen area with two louvered windows overlooking the living-dining room.

“Go up the ladder,” Beau growled.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said, realizing that, if I went up there, once they’d taken the ladder away, I’d be their prisoner. “I’m letting you have whatever you want from me. You don’t have to—”

“It’s part of heightening the arousal—for all of us,” Beau said. “You being at our mercy and us having you at our mercy makes it all the more arousing. Get up there. Everything you’ll need is up there.”

He was right. Being a prisoner and having them take it from me whenever they wanted to over the entire weekend added something extra to the experience. I’d made the mistake of telling me how long my furlough was, and it was into the new year—long enough for them to ravish me again and again.

I never told them to stop.

Completely at their mercy, mesmerized by the evening of sex, and exhausted, I climbed the ladder, opened the shutter of the window it was under, and rolled into the loft. Beau took the ladder away. I effectively was a prisoner now in Beau and Andy’s loft. This wasn’t over. I was overwhelmed, but I didn’t scream my frustration because I was having the fucking of my life. Even the frustration was arousing in ways I’d never experienced before.

The loft area surprised me. I was able to stand up. It was well furnished, with a twin bed taking up most of the end I had rolled into and with a chair and small table beyond that, even with a TV, a few books, and a pile of men’s fuck magazines. At the far end of the loft area there was a compact bathroom, such as they had for private train compartments and in submarines like I lived in. The john and sink were cramped and the compartment was also a shower. The walls of the loft were lined with framed photographs that made me believe what the men said their weekend activities featured. They were all photos of young men like me, sandwiched between Beau and Andy on the bed in this loft—they were all of double penetrations at the moment of total ecstasy. I looked around the loft at where the walls met the ceiling and found the two cameras, focused on the bed from two different angles.

Would I be joining these other young men on this wall? The expression on their faces in the photos indicated that they were in Nirvana. I wouldn’t deny Andy and Beau. I wouldn’t deny them anything now.

It wasn’t a one-night stand. The ocean was just beyond the balcony off the living-dining area, on the other side of a sand dune held down with tropical foliage. But I never got to the ocean.

Beau and Andy brought me food in my loft prison, making me move to the far side of the loft as they put the ladder back in place and used it. And they came up into the loft individually and together and fucked me throughout the three days of my release time. They each fucked me in various positions individually on the bed, and they also doubled me twice more, with one of them lying under me and the other kneeling between my thighs. They gave me blow jobs and I gave them blow jobs. I rode their cocks and they rode my ass. The flash of the cameras told me it was all be recorded in detail.

The first time they DPd me up there, at the moment of ecstasy for me, when I shot my load with two cocks moving inside me, the cameras went off. It didn’t surprise me one bit. They continued clicking as, first Andy, and then Beau, achieved their own moment of ecstasy inside me. I was going to be on their wall. For all I knew I was going to be for sale on the Internet. I was desired; my sexual release was photogenic, attracting to men. Somehow that lifted my spirit—validated me. After that I gave them even more of whatever they wanted. They brought out the toys and I learned acts and positions and sexual satisfactions I never had imagined existed. They photographed me taking an enormous dildo and strings of anal beads, bound and fucked. That told me I was a star. I left the loft fully indoctrinated in the role of an experienced submissive.

I took it all without objection or trying to escape. For me it was an escape and a “serves him right” for having been rejected by Brad. I’d loved Brad, or at least had thought of it as love and had given him what he wanted because I wanted him in so many other ways than just sex. I was still just a kid, on my first adventure away from home—nineteen even though I’d told them I was almost twenty-one. They weren’t dummies, though. They had my wallet and ID. They knew how young and fresh I was. I had wanted a relationship—to be loved and protected and cherished.

Well, I wasn’t fresh anymore.

I didn’t love either Beau or Andy, but I had a ball being balled by them each and together, and it was an education I was grateful for. I’d been shy with the possibility of going with a guy before—anyone but Brad. There was no shyness in taking cock when Beau and Andy were through with me. I wasn’t even shy in front of the camera now. I was growing up. I was learning the difference between love and just good-looking guys getting their rocks off. I found I liked getting my rocks off. The clicking camera told me I was desirable. I didn’t really need a relationship to have sex and get my rocks off—and to enjoy knowing I was getting someone else’s rocks off too.

Andy and Beau were gentlemen and honored service in the Navy. I did believe they’d been in the Navy. There was a photo on a shelf in the condo of them, younger, arms around each other, in sailors’ whites and standing in front of a Navy cruiser. And there was another of them, older but still arm in arm, standing in front of a tourist boat. So, I believed much of what little of themselves they’d told me. They kept track of when I had to be back at the USS Wyoming in Kings Bay, Georgia, and they saw that I got there. Andy drove the Camaro—and that was my one regret; that I got to drive the Camaro so little—to within a few blocks of the rental car office, with Beau driving me in his car. After I’d turned the Camaro back in, they drove me to the gates of the naval base.

Unlike Brad, they didn’t just walk away from me. Well, they drove away, but they complimented me before they went; wished me well; handed me a pile of cash and a waiver to sign for the photography, which, what the hell, I signed, and I took the money; and they told me they’d like to do it again someday with me.

I’m ashamed to say I would have liked them to do that with me again any day. But I know they were just being polite. They didn’t give me contact information, and Andy put me in the trunk of his car from wherever they lived to the Flying K truck stop at a ramp onto I-95. I’d never be able to find their condo on my own. I didn’t have the time to locate all of the drawbridges on the northern Florida coast and then look for old-style yellow-wood condo buildings on the beach. The time I’d spent there hadn’t gotten further than the bed and the loft with a cock or two up my ass. I intended some day to go to St. Augustine and see if they really were in the tourist cruise boat trade there, but I never did.

The real surprise of the weekend, though, came as I was being piped back on board the Wyoming. There to meet me at the sub side of the gangway was First Class Petty Officer Brad.

“Brad. I thought you were on the Alaska now.”

“The Navy thought I was going to be too,” Brad said. “They had just up and transferred me and I had to get my tail over there pronto to get the orders rescinded. I wouldn’t leave you willingly, although that’s not the reason I gave them for staying on the Wyoming. I was so shittin’ mad I didn’t even have time to say a proper good-bye to you. It’s good having you back, Paul.”

“It’s good being back, sir,” I said. He was my superior officer, so I’d follow his commands. I wasn’t his anymore now, though. I’d have good times with him—and he’d have better times with me now that I’d gotten a usable sex education. But I was looking beyond him at the big black bull of a sailor, Demaine, who I remembered from the communal showers during the last cruise. He was even better hung than either Beau or Andy was, and he’d given me the eye in the showers. I’d been scared of the size of him then. I wasn’t now. With what I’d learned this weekend, I’d let Brad fuck me, but there was no reason why I couldn’t give it to others too. I’d rebounded nicely, I thought.