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 osmaniye escort 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 osmaniye escort bayan 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?”


“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 escort osmaniye 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.”


* * * *

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.

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