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This is a true story as told to me in an email from a reader.
I looked forward to joining the Army. The only choice I had, really. My parents had no money, and we lived in the poorest town in the poorest part of Alabama. Jobs were hard to get and paid only enough to make crime worthwhile. Aside from the part about you-might-get-killed, the Army was the original Great Escape.
The day I turned 18, I walked into the recruiter’s office, and I never looked back. In answer to my prayers, the Army took me far, far away from our little, shabby house of unpainted, cracked boards with the smell of garbage, the grit of sand and dirt, and the roar of trucks, machinery, and arguments. The Army marched me away to a new life in a barracks, moving me from a shanty into an apartment building.
The barracks was solid, red brick, and smelled of floor wax, bleach, and the odor of railroad-ties — creosote, the stuff the Army used to preserve equipment in storage. I loved the barracks. It was simple and Spartan — tile floors, tile walls, everything easy to clean. It didn’t have the old-fashioned “troop bays” in which a platoon of men slept in cots lined up along each wall. Our barracks had two-man rooms almost like a college dormitory.
I came in sandy and gritty every day, but the barracks was clean (we had to clean it), the Army laundry washed my clothes, and every week we got clean sheets. Sounds around me were men’s voices, motor vehicles, and bugles over loudspeakers. I never heard gunshots and screams at night.
Life was good. I was lucky on a couple of counts: I got into the Army, and I was saved from sin.
Back home, the church was a refuge from the drugs, gangs, whores, and gunfire. The pastor liked me. He called me “Little Saint Luke.” The church taught me to put on the armor of righteousness to protect me from the evil — until I joined the Army, where suddenly the armor was a shiny silver advantage over other men: they were sinners; I was saved. I tried to share my righteousness with the others, who knew only wickedness.
I was in the infantry for about three years, trying in my quiet way to improve the lives of the sinful, hedonistic men around me, trying to get them to show a little restraint in their personal lives — easing off on the drunkenness every weekend, not cussing so much, showing a little more respect for women.
I had not been very successful. Every time I straightened a guy out, got him trying to improve himself, reading and praying, a bunch of the others would take him downtown and get him drunk (again), ruining all my work.
My last bunkmate, nice guy from Philadelphia, had left the Army a few months earlier. I had worked with him patiently, gently trying to lead him into the path of righteousness. One day I got a postcard from him. At first I thought it would be a message of thanks for showing him the evils of his ways, but it started out “Dear Saint Luke” and went on to describe leaving the Army as “a dance out of the gates of prison.” I was astonished to read at the end, “So long, Holy Joe, hope I never see you again!”
Holy Joe? I thought we were friends. I thought I had improved his poor, low-life, self-indulgent character and helped him to have more self-respect. So he was just putting up with me, “gnashing his teeth,” as he put it, until he could get away from me, a kindly man trying only to save the sinful wretch. He called me “a self-righteous prick.”
Well, that was a downer. But what could I expect? The man was a low-life, profane, and sinful.
His replacement was a Corporal Ron XXXX, a California surfer-type used to life on the loose, a real hedonist, no self-control at all. Man, I’ve got my work cut out for me with this guy!
Ron was a giant, real big, muscular and strong. He stood 6’6″ and I guess a good 215 pounds, a real chunk of US Prime Beef in Army fatigues — but whenever we were in the barracks, he was usually “out of uniform.” Shirt off, boots off, pants off in that order the second we walked into the room.
The guy loved to lounge around in his boxers so much, I figured he was imagining himself back home in a surfing contest at Huntington Beach, lying back on the sand wearing nothing but a green pair of Army-issue baggies.
Somehow without his uniform, he was an even bigger dude — broad shoulders, big muscles, big chest — and unlike most blond guys, he was very hairy, covered with a coarse, wiry, golden thatch that made him look like some sort of Viking warrior.
Okay, most soldiers in the barracks lounge about in their underwear — something I always, in my quiet, humble way, tried to get them not to do — but Ron took it one notch further. He was even worse than my previous bunkmate (the ungrateful lout back in a life of drunken debauchery in Philadelphia). After a shower Ron toweled himself off but stayed naked. Never put on clothes. Didn’t get dressed until he had to put something on almanbahis yeni giriş to leave the barracks.
Ron would walk around bare-skinned all day if he could. I wondered if he was a nudist back in California.
At first it was not a problem — I saw dozens of naked guys in the showers every day, and I had all my life. I preached to him from time to time about decency and modesty, but Ron ignored my kind, reasonable encouragement. And gradually . . .
Gradually, gradually, gradually . . .
I began to notice that Ron had a big one.
At first it was a casual look at Ron’s lower abdomen — that his wedge-shaped torso narrowed down to his hips with a treasure-trail of that coarse golden hair leading down over his chest and belly to a curly mass at his crotch.
And a big penis.
At first I didn’t think about it — some guys have big ones; others don’t — but it crawled into my brain like a small ant at the edge of my plate. I should have flicked it away.
Ron would walk around, pulling on that big penis, feeling his testicles, and talking to me like nothing was wrong. I found myself reading the same page of my book over and over. Polishing the toe of my shoe for a half-hour. Cleaning my rifle for so long I was wearing out the ramrod. Couldn’t concentrate. Distracted.
Ron’s penis was nearly always partially erect — heavy, fat, ponderously swinging as he walked around. Never little. Never short. Never at full-retract like I always get after a hard run or when I’m cold.
Ron’s penis was always at Extend. Not quite a full-on erection, rubbery enough to hang down and swing between his legs.
I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t. But I began to pay attention to it. Look at it. Watch it. Wait for it.
He had a foreskin — He’s lucky he’s in the Army today. Back in WWII, the military circumcised everybody who wasn’t already. It made the whole organ look like a smooth, tapered missile. The head peeping out at the end looked like the radar-eye in the front of a laser-guided bomb.
And it was thick. Even when he was walking around, rummaging in his locker, or sitting on his bed shining his shoes, it was a fat cigar, a thing so big I wondered how it felt to walk around with such a mass between the legs. I bet it’s 2½ inches thick! My heavens, what would it be like if he gets any bigger with a full-on hard?
But what on earth am I thinking?? He’s one of God’s creations! Not an object of lust!
About then Ron looked my way, so I averted my eyes. Oh, right! All I need is to get caught staring at another man’s penis. All my careful years of good behavior would go up in smoke.
One day we had counterinsurgency training out in the desert. Ron and I moved with the squad among the buildings of the fake village, on guard and alert, watching for the enemy. When we got the signal warning about an enemy sniper, we scattered.
I climbed away from little trail between the shacks, and Ron rolled into a dry ditch. From the hillside, I looked down at him. His sliding down the bank had pulled his pants up tight against his buttocks.
A wedgie! I snickered, but it did accent the sensual lines of his hard, rounded buttocks. Man, look at that! Like hard loaves. Then I snapped my eyes away. Heavens, what’s coming over me??
I slid down the bank into the ditch with Ron. The sergeant on the cusp of the hill motioned to us to be still, so we crouched there, and as I lay behind Ron, my view was between his legs, at that gorgeous rear end — at the big penis I knew was packed inside those camouflage pants.
Then I rolled away. No, no, no! I’ve got to stop thinking like this!!
The rest of that patrol was hell. Inside the enemy buildings, I caught myself noticing that Ron was like a lithe cougar, moving smoothly and powerfully around the obstacles. Walking through the courtyards and streets, I watched how masterful he was, how in control, how sure of his decisions.
Okay, both of us were just corporals, hardly at the top of the food chain, but within the range of his authority, Ron took charge and called the shots. As we moved on, I stayed behind him — so I could watch.
And that made me ashamed. I’m watching the guy like looking at the pictures in a sexy magazine! And that’s evil! Even worse than reading a Playboy. He’s a man! I can’t be lusting after a man! Lust is sin!!
Sweat popped out on my face — and not from the heat of the day. I’ve got to get out of here. I have to take leave. Spend a week in the Catskills. Go to Disneyland. Wish I had a girlfriend.
I thought for a moment. It’s true: I need a woman, somebody to get me back into Proper Attitude. I wish I could pick one up somewhere. That’s easier for these other heathens. They don’t have any standards. I sighed. I couldn’t pick up a whore in a bar. Somehow I had to get Ron to stop going around naked.
When we got back to the company almanbahis giriş area that afternoon, I rehearsed a little speech I was going to give Ron, but he quickly stripped down, grabbed his towel, and took off toward the showers. Nuts.
I gave him a good 10 minutes before I left for the showers myself because I didn’t want to see his naked body slick and shiny with water running in rivulets over his big muscles and dripping in streams from that big cock. I wanted to be free of the sight of Ron and his big one. Somehow it had stuck in my mind, and, God help me, I wanted to look at it. And that was evil.
As I walked to the showers, sure enough, I passed him in the hallway on his way back to our room with a towel around his hips. I made it: while washing myself I would not have to watch that big thing swinging back and forth between his legs. I could look at something else. Think of something else.
Still I worried. I had an erection just thinking about him. I walked into the shower room, hung my towel on a hook, and looked down. I’m okay. A little bigger, a little extended, but nothing serious. I tried to remember the words to a hymn to take my mind off sex. It worked. I replaced Ron and his big one with Bringing in the Sheaves, and with a shrinking penis, I washed up and padded back to the room.
There I found Ron moving around the room hanging up his field gear.
Naked.
Penis swinging back and forth like a giant clock pendulum.
Naked.
Bare. Hot. Long. Thick. Oh, look at that thing! It was huge. Is that bigger than normal? Is he turned on? I could hardly breathe. Look at that thing!!
He turned from his locker and faced me, and I was powerless as his naked body — and that giant penis — came fully into view. I sat on my bunk, speechless. I could hardly breathe.
He moved slowly toward me and stopped a foot away, hands on his hips. It IS harder! It’s up! Aiming straight at my face. I should stop him–
–“You’re breathing hard, man.” Ron’s voice was soft.
Oh, no, it’s true, I am panting! With his body that close, every breath brought me the clean scent of Army-issue Ivory soap. And a fainter, background odor of male: his skin, his muscles, his scrotum, the smell of sperm. I should be nauseated! But it was overpowering, intoxicating.
He reached down, took my hand and put it on his cock. No! Evil! This is evil!! But as much as I tried, I could not resist. The big thing burned my hand! A penis from Hell! The devil squeezed my hand, making me grip it, and I felt my own penis jolt to erection under my towel.
Still holding my hand, he started stroking himself — making me jack him off, and the loose, velvety skin slid back and forth over his hard meat. My heart pounded. “I knew it!” His voice was a hiss. “You want it! You’re a fag!”
He let go of my hand, and I kept stroking. I can’t believe it! It’s thrilling! Like the control stick of a fighter plane! A dizzying feeling of power. His control stick. Ron’s gearshift. I was controlling his body! Holding his throbbing penis was a tremendous rush of power. Like holding the Eject-lever for an atomic bomb in a B-52.
I grasped his foreskin and pulled it all the way back. I wanted to see the head. And it appeared: the head of Lucifer: red, moist, flaring, evil! I was hypnotized.
“Wanna taste it?”
I could barely hear him for the roaring in my ears. When I didn’t answer, his voice grew hoarse and urgent: “Go ahead. Suck my cock! You know you want to!”
I was dumbfounded. Suck his cock! A man has actually told me to suck his cock! I never imagined I would hear such blasphemous words! Cock! Suck his COCK! Even the sound of the word was wicked. A single syllable. Nothing but two clicking sounds from the back of the throat — like the sounds a cock makes sliding down it.
I still held it in my hand, still stroked it, and all I could see was Satan’s red face, that giant eye staring into me, commanding me to open to it. Open my mouth to a cock! And the smell. The aroma of Ron’s crotch overpowered the clean soap, and it overpowered me. In every breath was the scent of sin!
I leaned over and licked it, but I was drunk on it before I ever touched it with my tongue. After two licks I spread my jaws wide, and Ron sank the slimy, hot bulb into my mouth! This is evil! The work of the Devil! Indeed, his cock seared my lips like brimstone as he worked it in, and Ron’s voice was like the grunts of a demon: “Ah, God, that feels good.”
He shouldn’t take the name of the Lord in vain!
I wanted to swallow the big cock, but it was so fat it wouldn’t fit down my throat! God, he’s big! Nobody on earth could suck this goddamned thing all the way down. All I could do was slurp his cockhead, licking around it while I stroked the shaft. With both hands. Son of a bitch, it takes two hands to stroke it!
As sat on my bunk sucking and almanbahis güvenilirmi stroking Ron’s cock, he reached down and pulled my towel away from my hips, revealing my throbbing erection. “Got a hardon for me, do ya?” He snickered.
I blushed. It’s true. I’ve got a hardon for him. My cock is hard for him. Those words burned through my mind like forced confession. My cock is hard for him. My cock. I have a cock, not a penis. And it’s hard! For him!!
Knowing my cock was hard for him turned him on. His hips lurched at me, bruising my mouth, and his hands clenched the sides of my head. Oh, my God, he’s going into an orgasm!
He let out a deep, throaty groan, and a huge gush of hot, thick slime shot down my throat. I almost choked. Sperm! Satan’s brew! I’m drinking the sinful liquor of a man’s balls! I was participating in the most degrading, humiliating act possible.
I expected it to taste like something from a sewer pipe, but it had a strange, haunting taste. Like what I couldn’t exactly say — something terribly evil — but it was . . . familiar. Like a memory I couldn’t quite place. The taste of power. The taste of strength and violence.
The taste of male!
I liked it. Made me drunk. I gulped for more, and Ron ejaculated a good six or seven times. Incredible!
I am ashamed to admit that in moments of weakness, I have occasionally succumbed to self-abuse, but I never shot as much sperm as Ron did. And I’m drinking it! Swallowing his sperm!
Again the voice of the Devil: “Yeah, swallow my jizz, man!”
Jizz! That’s what it is — jizz! I’m swallowing another man’s jizz! I’m sucking his cock! I’m a cocksucker!
Horrible words. The undoing of any righteous man. I was ashamed. Mortified.
Worse, somehow I knew, deep inside, I was discovered! Ron had opened a door I didn’t know existed. Laid bare a part of me I didn’t know was there. As bad as I felt, I was more horrified to realize I was okay with it: I LIKED sucking Ron’s cock.
I licked around his cockhead, slurping up more of his jizz. Remembering what I did in the last stages of “playing with myself,” I thumbed the big tube on the bottom of his cock and pushed more sperm up to the tip, and there I slurped it off.
And I came! Without touching myself — my cock bobbing alone and horny in my lap!
A red haze blinded me, and a hard, boiling orgasm started in my balls and spread through my body! I shot rounds of my own jizz onto Ron’s leg and the barracks floor. Much more than I ever shot before.
I was dazed. Sucking a man’s cock gave me the biggest orgasm of my life. My own body betrayed me! It cummed for this man, speeding my descent into hell.
Finally Ron finished, and his cock shrank back to only Super-Large. When he pulled it out, streams of his jizz leaked from the sides of my mouth. I licked my lips, but sperm drooled over my chin and onto my chest.
I had but one thought: God, that felt good! I looked at the big cock. It was handsome, a pleasure to look at. It was beautiful. I realized with a jolt that I was in love with it. I wanted to suck it again.
Ron looked down at me. “Well, Corporal, looks like we got a new bunk arrangement.”
Bunk arrangement? What’s he thinking?? “Now wait just a minute–“
–I started struggling as he shoved me back onto the bunk and fell forward onto me. I fought like a like a badger. I am a trained soldier, after all, and what he intended disgusted me. Impossible! The ultimate evil! Surely he can’t want to–
–But Ron was so much bigger, he overcame me simply by lying atop me. Again I fought not to inhale, to keep from breathing in his male musk. But I had to breathe, so I stayed drunk on the smell of his cock, his balls, his jizz. I can still taste it! My mouth is full of it!
Once he pinned me on my back with his naked body, he raised my legs, spreading and raising them. “You got a nice ass, man.” Satan’s voice.
He likes my ass. Cool air tickled between my buttocks, and I knew my rectum — my asshole — aimed at him, ready for him. I fought and struggled, but the feel of his hot, sweaty skin and his hard muscles made me weak. He knelt between my spread legs in spite of my writhing, and he wiped his cockhead up and down my ass-crack.
From the corner of my eye I saw him scoop some Vaseline from an open jar nearby — I’ll be damned! He had this all planned!! I fought, wrenching away my hips, but he slathered the Vaseline onto his cock then swiped it over my asshole!
Then it happened! Ron won. He pressed his cockhead against my clenched hole, and Oh, shit! Son of a bitch!! IT HURT!
Nothing but a doctor’s finger had ever jammed through my rectum, but Ron kept pressing, and gradually he forced it through. Almost with a pop, his cockhead slid inside me! I’m fucked! I’ve got a man’s cock in my ass! The ultimate perversion! Indecent! Evil!
And it hurts! God damn, it hurts!!
Once he conquered me, got his cock inside my tight opening, Ron held it there, not moving. Satan letting me adjust to life in hell! Damn, it hurt! Tears streamed from my eyes — and I sure as hell would have been screaming if we hadn’t been in an Army barracks.
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