“Man, it's been hours of palm trees and still not there! How much longer is this going to take?” Owen complained, rolling his eyes in exasperation. ‘Don't whine, it's only another 50 miles. We'll be there in an hour!’ Luke, the driver, replied after glancing briefly at the smartphone used as a navigation device. ”Exactly, don't whine, Cradock! On Parris, you always cried like a girl, and the DI always had our platoon in his sights because of it! I don't even want to count how many extra laps we had to run because of you!”, Kyle agreed, giving Owen, who was sitting next to him, a head-butt. “As if you could count properly!” he spat back. Tyler watched the ensuing scuffle in the row of seats in front of him with a bored expression and shook his head slightly. Brandon, who was sitting next to him and towered over them all, soon joined in and growled at the two squabblers in his unusually deep voice to stop their games. Silence fell immediately. They continued their journey south on Interstate 95 in silence.
The six young Marines had rented a van for their few days off and were on their way to a vacation home on Jupiter Island on the east coast of Florida. The place was not far north of Miami. The men were between 18 and 22 years old and had just successfully completed their 13-week basic training at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot on Parris Island. It was the toughest of the entire U.S. armed forces and had toughened their bodies for the demanding service as U.S. Marines. After seemingly endless hours of drilling, rigid daily routines and physical exhaustion, the boys had earned their short break. They had chipped in money to finance a weekend in Florida. Since flying was too expensive, they had taken the seven-hour drive from South Carolina down to Florida. They would have to report back to the troops as early as Thursday next week.
Luke, who had taken the wheel on the last leg, was a wiry Asian American with jet-black hair, tanned skin and came from New York City. At 5'11“ he was the smallest in the group but had distinguished himself through his particular toughness in basic training. Sitting next to him in the passenger seat was Jason from Kentucky, a 6'2” farmer's son with a strong build and dark brown hair. Like his comrades, they had grown their hair back a little after shaving their heads radically at the beginning of their training. Jason had been fast asleep for several hours and hadn't heard the argument. The two squabblers, Owen and Kyle, were each about 6 feet tall and, like Tyler, rather slight compared to their comrades. Perhaps that's why they kept trying to impress the other guys with their big mouths.
But where these not serious banter between the two had otherwise tended to provide amusement and welcome entertainment for the rest of the young marines during basic, it now was more of a nuisance after the several-hour car ride. Nobody felt like another over-the-top performance from the duo at the moment. Brandon from Virginia, who usually seemed rather deliberate, was not only the oldest in the group at 22 years old, but with his height of 6‘3“ and the bulky body, he was also the most imposing figure. Although the soldiers were now in the best shape of their lives, most of them were more athletic than really bulky and muscular. Therefore, the African American had naturally earned a certain respect among his young comrades, most of whom were away from home and family for an extended period of time for the first time in their lives.
Tyler, on the other hand, at 18 years the youngest in their travel group, measured 6 feet and had an attractive face with a strong chin. With his dark blond hair and steel-gray eyes, he looked a lot like his brother Eric, who was ten years older and a great role model for him. The boy still remembered the moment when the tall guy had proudly come home in his Marine uniform for the first time. As an eight-year-old, he had admired him so much and looked up to him! Since then, he had been determined to follow in his footsteps and join the Corps. After completing basic training, his respect for him had grown even more, as he could now report from his own experience on the hardships and high demands placed on every recruit. It had been the hardest time of his young life so far, but he had made some new friends who shared the ordeal with him. Bradley's idea to go to Florida to celebrate their admission to the Corps had been met with great enthusiasm by their comrades.
Tyler absently gazed out the window, where palm trees swayed past the interstate's concrete barriers and the sun beat down from the deep blue, cloudless sky. Would his big brother be able to make it out to see them this weekend? The young Marine knew that Eric had been at Camp Lejeune for a training exercise that was scheduled to end today. He had told him about their weekend plans at the beach and invited him to stop by. His brother had promised to make it work, but the young marine knew from experience that something unforeseen could always come up. An extra exercise or a marching order could easily make all plans obsolete. Many times, such short-term changes had torpedoed family get-togethers. Tyler sighed and hoped that this time it would work out. He missed Eric, his great role model, and was eager to finally be able to proudly tell him about the successfully completed basic training.
About an hour later, they arrived at the destination of their journey: a small two-story house built into the dunes with a well-kept front yard. At the back it offered direct access to the wide sandy beach on the gently lapping Atlantic. A large grill invited them to have a BBQ on the terrace. There were two bedrooms with four beds in the house, but two of them would have to sleep on the couch on the ground floor. But that didn't bother the young Marines; after all, they had already experienced far worse places to sleep during their basic training. A little tired from the long journey, they heaved their heavy backpacks out of the car and into the house and assigned rooms. After that, they drove to a supermarket to stock up on supplies. In addition to beer in huge quantities, several bottles of whiskey ended up in the shopping cart as well. Given the three-month alcohol withdrawal during training, the selection of drinks would have an all-too-predictable result.
Two hours later, the Marines were sitting on the terrace of the vacation house, had fired up the grill and were clowning around under the influence of the first beers. The mood was relaxed, almost euphoric, while the reddish-orange evening twilight slowly set in. Right now, their largest supply of clothing was from their field uniforms, so they sat around the large table with bare chests and in MARPAT camouflage trousers and combat boots, enjoying the barbecued meat, corn on the cob and various other delicacies, which they devoured like a hungry horde of locusts. Three months of hard training had catapulted their energy needs to unprecedented heights. Soon, however, beer and whiskey took the place of their plates, and the level rose due to various drinking games. Owen and Kyle entertained the troops with suggestive jokes, which repeatedly caused loud bawling. Tyler casually noticed that some of his comrades repeatedly rubbed their crotches as inconspicuously as possible.
Understandable, as it wasn't just the three months without alcohol, but also without any sexual contact. Therefore, they all had a lot of pressure that they had to get rid of somehow. The longer they had lived together in a confined space, the less they minded presenting themselves naked to each other when changing or showering or letting their comrades participate in their nightly relaxation exercises by moaning quietly in their dormitory bed. Comrades shared everything and although homophobia was certainly an issue among some of the rough-and-tumble recruits, things became commonplace among them that had a certain aura of homoeroticism.
Tyler registered this better than anyone else, because he already knew he was into boys. But three months of hard training without the opportunity to really let off steam was pure torture for all whether gay or not. Added to that was the permanent seductive view of the well-trained bodies, the boyish, sweet and innocent faces of the comrades, who gave everything with great zeal and determination to please their DI. The young marine sighed softly and looked forward to finally being able to jerk off in peace in bed.
“Where's the whiskey?” Kyle asked an hour later, staggering with a proper list from the terrace into the spacious living room, where the other comrades had spread out on the couch set. The marine was now only wearing his olive-green nylon shorts, the legendary silkies of the Corps. Tyler looked at his comrade's chiseled body, seductively presented in the light of the ceiling spotlights. At the crotch, the bulge formed a tent out of the thin, silky shimmering fabric. “Woohoo, tent alert!” Owen suddenly shouted, jumped up from the sofa, stormed towards Kyle and pulled down his trousers with a mighty tug, so that his stiff dick popped out. “What the hell!? Get lost!” the exposed young lad slurred and pushed him away. But Owen grabbed his comrade and, to the surprised cries of the spectators, the two went to the ground, where they wrestled energetically with each other. To the loud jeering of the other Marines, both tried to gain the upper hand, but it was impossible to determine a clear winner. Soon, cheers for Kyle rang out and there was jubilation when he actually managed to sit on his opponent's stomach a little later. He held on there skillfully and countered every attempt by Owen to free himself, so that the latter finally threw in the towel and accepted his defeat.
Normally, it would have been Kyle's turn now to get up, help the loser back on his feet and celebrate victory, but he didn't think about it and instead grinned at the defeated man while sitting naked on his sweaty, bare torso. The spectators sensed that their comrade would take revenge now and whispered excitedly among themselves, while they watched with bated breath to see what would happen next. Somewhat embarrassed, Tyler only now realized that he had been absent-mindedly kneading his bulge through the soft fabric of the silkies the whole time; his boxing shorts were at his feet. He looked over sheepishly at Brendon, sitting to his right, who was grinning broadly when their eyes met. He, too, was pampering his impressive equipment, which could not be hidden under the thin fabric of the shorts. With a quick glance to the left at Luke and the rest of the group, he was amazed to see that all his comrades were also only wearing their nylon shorts and were eagerly playing with their bulging cocks.
“Wooow!” tall Jason suddenly exclaimed loudly, and a murmur went through the room, drawing Tyler's attention back to the two brawlers on the floor: Kyle had actually just brushed the wet glans of his fully extended cock over Owen's lips before the mouth opened slightly and the marine penetrated it demandingly. The marine below him seemed to want to change his mind after all and choked, kicked out with his legs and tried to remove the cock from his mouth again, but Kyle fixed the back of his head with iron grip and used his body weight to stop the attempts to escape. With a triumphant grin, he shoved his cock into his mouth and then turned to the astonished-looking troop on the couch. “Guys, what's going on? I've honestly defeated Owen and now I'm going to get my reward! Come on, you're totally horny too! Time to whip out your cocks!” After a brief moment of silence, the Marines nodded, grinning lasciviously, pulling down their nylon shorts or simply letting their extended cocks peek out of the side of their trousers. They eagerly scrubbed their cocks now and watched with excitement as Kyle continued to mouth-fuck him, thrusting mercilessly.
Tyler could hardly believe his luck: a bunch of hot marines, all of them straight as an arrow, now unabashedly and devotedly jerking each other off and, in their exuberant horniness, apparently not even offended by Kyle’s forced blowjob. On the contrary, the sight of them at each other's feet seemed to break down all inhibitions, and individual comrades were already grabbing each other's cocks and jerking off in turns. They proudly presented their cocks, most of them uncircumcised, moaning with relish as the copious pre-cum supported their handjobs. Hope blossomed in Tyler: Maybe he would have more fun here with his comrades than he had originally thought. But he had no illusions that the alcohol and built-up pressure for over three months had massively favored the circumstances. It was more than doubtful whether this form of camaraderie would also work among sober and rested Marines. Tyler pushed his worries aside and instead enjoyed his hand on the pleasure stick, which he worked powerfully.
The young marine looked to the left and hesitantly returned Luke's smile. The somewhat shy-looking guy with the Asian facial features might be smaller than the rest of the troop and at first glance rather slender. But one should not underestimate the dogged determination and stamina with which he overcame every obstacle in training. Luke had also done extremely well in close-combat training and, with his unpredictable agility, had put even the strongest opponents in serious danger. Since then, the jokes about “Shorty” in their training platoon had become increasingly rare and had given way to comradely respect. No one would mess with the “Shorty” anymore. Aside from his fighting skills, the New Yorker was a real ray of sunshine and usually created a good mood among his comrades. When even he started to show nerves, you could be sure that something was really wrong.
Tyler had only just realized how cute the young guy sitting to his left was and how sexy his military haircut looked, with the sides trimmed to 3 mm and the deep black topknot already a little longer. It was an interesting mix of strict practicality and fashionable chic. In any case, there was a striking contrast between the handsome, friendly face and the cool, soldierly look of the haircut. Added to that, he was now a real U.S. Marine too, ready to fight with his weapon at his side and risk his life. While Tyler was smilingly pondering this, he suddenly felt another hand on his pleasure rod: Luke had grasped the shaft and was pleasuring him in time with his comrade's hand. They moaned softly to each other and the New Yorker smiled mischievously. The rough palm of the handsome young marine with the Asian facial features and caramel-brown tanned skin felt very good on his cock, Tyler thought. He returned the favor and put his free left hand on the shaft of the long cock of his neighbor, which pulsated warmly in the palm of his hand.
“Oh, fuck yeah!” Jason suddenly shouted, jumping up with his bulging dick and standing over Owen and Kyle, who were still on the floor. With a real rutting scream, the muscular farmer's son unloaded his seed on the two soldiers below him, fat globs of cum raining down on them. Tyler watched, turned on, as the ass muscles tensed when Jason came. “Ohhaaah, shit, I'm cumming!” He shouted from the couch and Brandon held his mighty cock away from his body, pointing it forward, causing white slime splashing far in front of him on the floor. “Nice, bro, what a fat load of bull sperm!” shouted Jason, who had watched his buddy and now came back to the couch to give Brendon a high five. Tyler didn't even notice how Kyle finally spluttered and plastered Owen's face, who also came. No, he only had eyes for the pretty Asian next to him. Smiling, biting their lower lips and panting quietly, they jerked each other off at a rapid pace to climax. At about the same time, their sperm shot vertically into the air and covered their thighs, the leatherette of the couch and the floor in front of them.
Exhausted, they grinned at each other and stroked their sweat-soaked, firm bodies, the compact but hard chest muscles, the washboard abs and the strong thighs, covered with the rivulets and drops of their semen. Again, they looked each other directly in the eyes and Tyler was very tempted to taste the sweet guy's full lips. In the slyly sparkling eyes, he thought he saw something like deeper desire. But what if he was wrong? Right now, they were just a couple of buddies who had drunk too much, didn't jerk off enough and had spent a day without supervision. Nothing had happened yet that all those involved could not dismiss with #no homo, in order to be able to strictly reject any suspicion of being gay. And especially in the military, you had to be very careful not to come out too quickly and then be exposed to the hostility and harassment of your comrades for the rest of your service. Don't ask, don't tell might have been abandoned, but the interpersonal rules in the military remained.
On top of that, Tyler had only known his comrades for three months. So, despite the boozy start to their weekend off and Kyle's demonstration, it remained unclear how the troop would react to real man-on-man action. Owen's forced blowjob could still be seen as just punishment for exposing his comrade, but how would kisses and other displays of affection between men be received by the rest of the group? Tyler hated questions like that and the eternal back and forth that followed. He didn't understand what was so wrong with loving men. He was a tough, strong young man, good enough to be a United States Marine and fight for others. Just like his new buddies. But maybe he hadn't just joined the Corps for his brother, but also to prove to himself and everyone else that a homo could be a good soldier, too, a real man? Wistfully, he watched the cute Luke's sexy ass, who had headed for the kitchen like the other guys to get more beer.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
