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“You did what?” I blurted, almost choking on the protein bar I’d been chewing.
Ray didn’t even flinch. “She fucked me with a strap-on,” he said with a shrug, like he was telling me he’d gone out for Thai food.
I stared at him, my jaw halfway to the floor. Ray. My straight, jacked, six-foot-something, 22 year-old barrack roommate, who did push-ups for fun and once growled at a protein shake for being “too watery.” That Ray. Casually announcing he’d been pegged on leave like it was some minor chore, like taking out the trash or doing her taxes. A lot of us guys would share our sexual exploits whenever we got back from leave, but I hadn’t been expecting this.
“When I asked how your trip home was, I was expecting a ‘not bad, saw my mom, banged my girl’—not a ‘she rearranged my insides with Amazon Prime’s finest,’” I said, wide-eyed.
He just shrugged again and calmly peeled off his T-shirt. “She said it was on her bucket list. Said it was the least I could do for her while she’s stuck back home and I’m off playing soldier.”
“Okay, hold up. I need details, man,” I said, scooting forward on my bunk like this was a TED Talk.
Ray kicked off his boots with the efficiency of a man who’d done it a thousand times. “Ain’t much to tell. She brought it up. I laughed. She didn’t. Took a little convincing, but she really wanted to. Decided to just bite the bullet and get it over with.”
I stared at him, half-impressed, half-aroused, and 100% confused. “So… was it good?”
Ray hesitated for the first time, now down to just his boxers, and looked at me like he was debating whether to keep going. Then he shrugged again. “It was… alright. Weird at first. Kind of felt like—like getting your oil changed with a Q-tip.”
“What kind of analogy is that?” I laughed.
“I don’t know, Luke.” Ray shrugged once more.
“Anyway,” he said over his shoulder, “I’m not saying I hated it, but… I dunno. Not sure I’d do it again.” He started towards the bathroom
“Did she make you cum from it?” I called—but Ray didn’t seem to hear; he was already unwrapping the towel around his waist and closing the bathroom door behind him.
***
The room was quiet except for the distant hiss of the shower kicking on. I lay back on my bunk, letting the shock of Ray’s little revelation settle over me like a weighted blanket made of confusion and… okay, maybe a dash of arousal.
Ray. Mr. “No cream in my coffee, that’s for weaklings.” Mr. “I once benched two dudes for fun.” That Ray. Letting his girlfriend go full Amazon Warrior on his ass with a strap-on.
Most surprising though, was that he didn’t even hate it. Said it was “alright,” even. That was like hearing your drill sergeant secretly knits to relax. Like, okay, I’m not judging, but I need a second to recalibrate my entire mental file on you.
Not that I was any stranger to things going up where the sun doesn’t shine. Being gay had its perks, and one of them was definitely learning the magical feeling a dick in your ass. Ray might’ve had one toe in the water, but I was doing cannonballs.
Of course, no one on base knew that. At least, not officially. I wasn’t out out, but I wasn’t exactly living like a monk, either. Off-base? On leave? I practically lived on Grindr. I had a whole private operation going—logistics, discretion, plausible deniability.
My unit didn’t know, of course. I kept things vague when the topic of sex came up. Just enough detail to keep their curiosity fed, never enough to paint the full picture. “Got laid last weekend” could mean anything. “Tight body, real flexible” didn’t reveal a damn thing. Sometimes I’d tell them about how I pounded “her” real good. And if I was the one who got fucked? I kept things ambiguous, saying shit like, “We practically fucked for hours!” I’d always manage to give them just enough details to satisfy their curiosity, without revealing the actual gender of who I’d fucked, or who got fucked.
I grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV, trying to distract myself, but my brain was still spinning. I stretched out on my bunk, the mattress squeaking slightly under me. I was down to just my underwear, the same black boxer briefs I’d had on since PT, clinging to me with the clingy vengeance of synthetic fabric and army sweat. The heat was on full blast, as usual—like the army thought blasting the barracks to the temperature of Satan’s armpit somehow made up for sticking us in Alaska.
Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, and I ran a hand through my hair, still half-watching whatever rerun was on, half-listening to the sound of water running in the bathroom. I shifted on the mattress, tugging at the waistband of my briefs. They were clinging to me in all the wrong places.
I couldn’t help picturing Ray in there—water cascading down all that muscle, those broad shoulders, that casual, infuriating confidence. And now, with that new mental image added to the pile: Ray, letting someone—asking someone?—to bend him over and—
I turned the volume up, trying to shake those thoughts out of my head. I was going to need a cold shower after his hot one.
Before my imagination could spiral fully into X-rated territory, the shower shut off with a mechanical thunk, followed by the sound of the curtain sliding back. A few minutes later, the door cracked open and Ray stepped out, wrapped in a towel that barely made it halfway down his thighs.
Ray casually started toweling himself off, and despite my best efforts to stare at literally anything else—the TV, the ceiling, the inside of my soul—I couldn't help but sneak a glance. And then another. And then maybe one more. I didn’t mean to look. Honestly. I was trying to be cool—pretend I was totally absorbed in whatever mindless rerun was on TV. But peripheral vision is a blessing and a curse.
His chest glistened—those mountainous pecs standing at attention like they were still in uniform. His abs formed a perfect, symmetrical valley down the center of his torso.
I mean, I wasn’t exactly chopped liver. I was more on the lean, skinny side, but a muscular type of skinny. My chest was skinny but decent, sure, but my abs? They were my second most defining feature, practically a damn washboard. My abs were arguably deeper than Ray’s, actually—which I might have checked in the mirror once or twice for scientific comparison—but overall, I couldn’t really compare to Ray.
I flicked my gaze away before it lingered too long, then flicked it back because I have absolutely no self-control. And then—God help me—I caught a glimpse as he lifted one leg to dry behind his knee. The towel shifted, and there it was. His dick. Just hanging out. Soft, but big. I never got tired of seeing it, though I always wondered what it looked like hard. Ray reached down and grabbed a fresh pair of white briefs off his bed, tossing the towel aside with zero ceremony.
I blinked hard and turned my attention back to the TV, trying to reassert my self-control. Ray shook his head and let out a breath. “Jeez,” he muttered, using the towel to fan himself. “It’s like a fucking oven in here.”
He wasn’t wrong. I could practically hear my pores crying for mercy.
He slipped on the briefs, tugging them up over those ridiculous thighs like it was just another Tuesday. Then he collapsed onto his bunk with a groan, lying flat, one arm behind his head.
“Swear they’re trying to cook us alive,” he grumbled, folding his hands behind his head. “At this point, I’m just gonna start sleeping naked.”
My heart did an actual somersault.
“Yeah, uh,” I managed, “no complaints here.”
Ray turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing! I said no complaints if they turn the heat down,” I lied, trying to pass off the world’s worst save as casual conversation. He closed his eyes, settling in.
I risked a quick glance. Big mistake. He looked like a Greek statue that had somehow enlisted in the Army and was now annoyed about it.
“Hey,” he said, eyes still closed. “Remind me to punch whoever’s in charge of the thermostat.”
“Only if I get to watch,” I said before I could stop myself.
He cracked one eye open, smirking faintly. “You’re on, Ashford.”
Ray closed his eyes again, arms folded behind his head, the picture of chill. He settled into that half-conscious, post-shower sprawl as I kept my eyes mostly on the TV—mostly—as the rerun droned on in the background.
A few minutes passed in mostly companionable silence. The room was still way too hot. I was melting into my sheets, and Ray looked like he was about to start purring.
Then he stirred, groaning low in his throat. “Fuck…” Ray shifted on his bunk. I glanced over—and oh. Oh. A massive bulge straining against the front of his white briefs. And not subtle, either.
My eyes widened before I remembered to reel them back in. “Had a nice dream there, champ?” I teased, trying to sound casual and not at all like I was mentally taking a screenshot.
Ray blinked slowly, rubbing at his face. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice gravelly from sleep. “Was fucking my girl.”
Of course he was.
He sighed and adjusted himself slightly, trying to reposition the beast without being obvious, but it wasn’t helping. That thing looked angry.
“Must’ve been a really good dream,” I said, eyebrows raised. The bulge wasn’t going anywhere. If anything, it looked…bigger. I tried not to stare. I failed.
A few more minutes ticked by. Ray stayed flat on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the ceiling like he was trying to mentally will his boner into submission.
“Bro,” I said, smirking, “it’s still going strong.”
“I know,” he groaned, shifting again as it throbbed painfully in his underwear. “It’s like… aggressively hard.” Ray sighed and adjusted his waistband slightly, trying to make room without drawing attention—but failing miserably. “Fuckin’ thing won’t go down.”
“You’ve been laying there like that for five minutes, man,” I said. “You gonna just ride it out? Literally?”
“I was hoping it’d chill on its own,” he grumbled, lifting his hips just enough to readjust himself. It did nothing. If anything, it just emphasized how much…situation he was dealing with.
“Dude,” I said, watching Ray shift and squirm on the bed again, clearly in a losing battle with his own dick. “Why don’t you just… let it out and take care of it?”
Ray raised an eyebrow, like I’d just offered him a slice of pie instead of casual permission to jerk off across the room. “You’d be cool with that?”
I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and not like I was internally screaming. “Sure. Go ahead. Not like I haven’t seen your dick before.”
Which was true. I had seen it. Many times. Barracks life wasn’t exactly full of privacy, and Ray was one of those guys who treated nudity like it was just another uniform option. His towel drops were practically a personality trait.
But this time was different. This time he was hard. This time I’d just been picturing it, and now—
Ray didn’t hesitate. Like, not even a second of “are you sure?” or “you don’t mind?” No, the man just hooked his fingers into the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down.
And there it was.
His big, black, thick, very not shy dick sprang free like it had been personally offended by the confines of cotton. It stood tall, proud, veiny, and already leaking precum all over itself, like it was showing off. Like, ta-da! Here’s the show.
I blinked. Hard. Then looked away. Then immediately looked back.
Jesus.
“Cool,” Ray muttered, casual as ever, adjusting his hips slightly as if we were just two dudes hanging out, one of whom happened to be fully boned and leaking on his own abs.
The air in the room suddenly felt ten degrees hotter.
Ray grabbed his cock like it owed him money and started stroking—slow, deliberate, like he was easing into a rhythm he knew all too well.
“Oh yeaaaah…” he moaned, dragging it out in a deep, chesty growl that could’ve easily been mistaken for a gym grunt—if it hadn’t sounded so obscenely satisfied.
I flinched. I’d never heard Ray in the midst of a sexual act before, and apparently, the man was not subtle. There were moans, sighs, little breathy “fucks” slipping out under his breath like he was starring in his own private porno—and winning awards for it.
I wonder what he’d sounded like when his girlfriend pegged him. Was he always this loud? Did his girlfriend have to put a pillow over his face while she fucked him to shut him up?
He kept going, completely unbothered by my presence. It was like I’d ceased to exist. Which, on one hand, was good—less pressure. On the other hand, it also meant I got an unobstructed view of his hand gliding up and down that thick black shaft, long and slick and glistening at the tip.
He was... really into it. Like, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open, hips barely shifting against the mattress. It was hypnotic. I couldn’t look away—not that I was trying very hard.
Every now and then, his thumb swept over the head in this casual, practiced move that made my own cock twitch in my briefs. I adjusted myself under the blanket, praying to whatever barracks gods existed that Ray didn’t glance over and catch me.
He let out another moan, louder this time. “Mmmf... fuck yeah…”
I coughed. Loudly. Maybe unnecessarily.
Ray didn’t even blink.
Just kept stroking. Just kept leaking.
This was fine. Everything was fine. Totally normal evening activity. Just two bros. One jerking off. The other slowly disintegrating inside.
At some point—God knows when—I’d started rubbing myself through my underwear too. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t even conscious. One second I was trying to breathe normally, and the next my hand was cupping my own throbbing bulge like it was a stress ball.
And then I moaned.
Loudly.
Not like a polite exhale, either. No, this was full-body, chest-deep, “Jesus take the wheel” kind of moan. The kind that echoed in the room. I turned my head away, pretending like I was just watching TV like a normal, totally not aroused soldier.
I froze, heart pounding.
Ray turned his head toward me, eyebrows raised—his hand still working his cock with the same slow rhythm, like this interruption was a casual plot twist.
His gaze dropped to my hand, still very much gripping the outline of my dick. He shrugged.
“It’s cool if you wanna do it too, man,” he said, casual as hell. “Might as well.”
My throat went dry. “Uh… yeah. Sure. Thanks.”
Thanks? Who thanks someone for mutual masturbation clearance?
Still, I wasn’t about to let the invitation expire. Slowly, cautiously, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my boxer briefs and tugged them down, freeing my own cock.
And remember earlier when I said my abs were my second-best feature?
This was number one.
Ray’s eyes widened the second it flopped out, thick and hard and pushing past the ten-inch mark like it had something to prove.
He actually paused mid-stroke. “Damn,” he muttered, staring openly. “You’ve been keeping that thing under wraps?”
I shrugged, feigning modesty while my ego did somersaults. “Doesn’t exactly come up in conversation.”
Ray let out a low whistle, still watching like he was sizing up a weapon. “Shit, bro. I thought I was packin’. Yours is like… anaconda-level.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, wrapping my hand around it, “it’s good for morale.”
He laughed—actually laughed—then turned his attention back to his own dick, stroking in sync with me now. Two bunkmates, side by side, dicks in hand, jerking off like it was a team-building exercise.
The air between us was thick with heat and sweat. This was happening.
We kept stroking ourselves a while, both of us in our own zones. My eyes were glued to Ray’s cock about as much as his were. Every so often, I’d glance over and catch him looking, and he wouldn’t even bother pretending otherwise. Just a lazy smirk and back to business.
The heat in the room wasn’t just from the thermostat anymore.
Ray let out a deep exhale, his tempo slowing into a long, lazy rhythm as he took a breather. His hips barely moved, but his whole body was humming—tense in all the right places. I watched his hand glide over that thick shaft, muscles shifting with each stroke, and something in my brain short-circuited.
Before I could second-guess it—before I could even think—I sat up, still stroking myself with one hand. And with the other, I reached across the space between us and wrapped my fingers around his dick.
Warm. Heavy. Slick with precum. And thick. Jesus.
Ray jerked, his head snapping toward me in surprise—eyes wide, mouth already open—but he didn’t pull away.
“Wha—fuuuuuuuuck,” he groaned, his head dropping back against the pillow as I started stroking him, slow and deliberate. His abs flexed with every breath. “Shit. Fuuuuck yeah…”
I smirked, gripping him with just the right pressure, twisting slightly at the top like I’d practiced on plenty of other guys—just never a guy like him. Not Ray. Not my ridiculously hot, straight barrack bunkmate with a casual attitude toward being watched, but apparently very reactive to being touched.
His hips gave a subtle twitch as I worked his shaft, my own cock still pulsing in my other hand. He let out another long moan, louder this time, like he didn’t give a single shit who heard.
This was happening. And Ray wasn’t stopping it. In fact, if the way his dick twitched in my hand was anything to go by, he wanted more.
