I was late for quarters and I was not happy. The five months since my last love monkey had been transferred to dive school in Florida had been hell on fucking earth. The previous week, in fact, I'd grown so tired of blistering my palms that I even went back to the baths for the first time since I was about nineteen. In the three or four years I'd been away, many things had changed. Rubber was in, piss was out. Unfortunately, some things hadn't changed – the selection was still as grim as ever. If anything, the scene was more horrific, because the atmosphere of panicked glances and shy smiles was permeated by a tense desperation that had replaced the "fun and games" attitude of earlier days. After five hours of looking, I'd gone home alone, beat the blisters some more, and sighed myself to sleep.

The alarm woke me to a world so unfriendly that I considered giving up my apartment and moving back to the ship just so I wouldn't have to face the long commute from Waikiki each dawn; I sure as shit wasn't using the apartment for anything but sleeping, anyway. I needed to get to the ship by 07:30 so I could at least avoid being written up, but then I saw him briefly as I flashed past him. He was one of those images that can sear its way into your brain in an instant: a lone marine in fatigues astride his stalled Kawasaki, stranded, desperate, and hopeless on the freeway. In the tenth of a second I saw him, I sensed his thoughts from his expression the way one does when you least expect it: "Oh, God, what do I do now? I'm going to get chewed out big time for this, but what can I fucking do? The nearest exit is two miles down the fucking freeway, and even then what the hell do I do?"

I'll never know why I did it. I was late and in trouble myself. It took me nearly fifteen minutes to take the next exit and double back so I could help him out. On second thought, I'll be honest with you – I do know why I doubled back. The same insight that taught me about his despair at being stalled and late hinted at something else as well, something deeper and even more desperate. I somehow sensed he was as lonely as I was.

Loneliness has many fathers in the military, but being different is the most common reason we feel apart. No matter how close you get to the guys in your unit, you can never share all your feelings with them. It wasn't just that you can't fuck them up the ass — contrary to what a lot of homophobes think, gay folks actually do know some men without trying to rape them — but you can't be yourself. Every gesture, every expression, every thought must be censored. By the time you're out of boot camp, you're sick to death of having to make lewd remarks about tarts in pink hot pants on the street, or make up stories about the bitches you nailed the weekend before. I didn't know my jarhead was gay, of course, but I sensed despair and something else beyond and figured I had nothing to lose.

He looked as grateful as a homeless puppy when I pulled over in my little MGB and yelled back, "You going to Pearl?" He said he was and started like an ass to bring the bike – to stow it in the trunk, maybe. I had to laugh as I told him, "Leave the bike – you can get it later. We'd better get moving or we'll both end up in the brig."

He introduced himself as Matt and said he was a marine. I said I knew. He said he was happy I'd stopped. I said I knew. The feeling was weirder than shit. I'd never had anything like it happen before: He was an open book. I couldn't have told him details like his social security number or his mother's maiden name, but somehow I felt I knew everything that was really important about him. It was as if we'd known each other before in another life or he was some bizarre ESP transmitter or something.

Still spooked about this setup, I looked over at him and felt my guts churn big time. He was a hunk. Yeah, I know, marines are generally built fairly well. He was big, but I couldn't really see much of his body in the fatigues. But he had a face men would kill for: high forehead, classic nose, cleft chin set in a strong jaw, small sensitive mouth, and green eyes behind orange lashes. His hair was regulation USMC – all I could think about was how that hair would feel on my thighs as he lapped at my ass and ball-bag. The way his ears stood out made the hair look even more butch and, hence, disquieting, since I don't usually go for the dudes with a tough guy image and an empty head. To complement the eyes and hair, he had a massive mask of freckles across his face. Take Huck Finn, age him ten years, and cut his hair, and you'd have Matt, the all-American heartthrob.

As I took the Pearl Harbor exit, I realized I'd been ignoring the guy while I was off in one fantasy after another. I started to say, "Sorry, I'm a little quiet this morning," but I never got past "little."

"I know," he said with a smile. "You live in town."

"Yes. You, too."

So he had noticed. He felt the same thing I did. We weren't asking each other questions – we were just confirming what we already knew. Before I could begin to make sense of my emotions, we were at the marine barracks and it was time for him to pile out. I knew he was going to use a company truck later in the day to pick up his bike. I knew he'd be back in town that night. Time was running out. How sure was I, really? Sure enough, I reached into my glove box to grab a pad and pen, and wrote down my address.

He reached out and took it and just said, "Eight o'clock? I should be running by then."

"Right," was all I said. What more was there to say?

I was later than shit, but the gods had covered for me at quarters. I made it below and into my uniform before anyone noticed me. We were gearing up for one of those cluster-fuck inspections the navy is so famous for, and all God's creatures had more to worry about than me. An admiral was coming to visit!

It was just as well. I was supposed to fix the weapons radar that day. The 50's had been down for three days, and the old man was going bug-fuck. My division officer had been riding my ass for two days, so I was seeing what I could do without waiting for parts. We couldn't use the radar while we were tied up, and we weren't going to pull away from the pier until the next month, but God forbid the gear should be down, especially with an admiral aboard.

As I sat in front of the opened radar panel down in the fire control shack, you'd have thought I was thinking about the circuit cards I was looking at. I didn't even see them. All I could see were those green eyes and that crooked smile. I like marines, but they're an odd lot. They stroke around being butch and aggressive, yet when you're alone with them, nine times out of ten all the dude will crave is your cock up his butt. Myself, I don't usually get off on being fucked – I'm more of a top. Actually, if you're into labels, I guess I'd have to call myself a cocksucker, but since most marines crave that stiff throbbing meat up their twitching fuck holes, I'm usually willing to help out my brothers in arms with a good time.

As I pounded away in my fantasy, I looked down into those eyes squinted tight in pain, and felt his ass locked in a death-grip around my crank. The mouth was parted, the tongue drooping out one corner as whimpers and gasps traded time. I would reach down with a kiss – first a gentle suck on his upper lip, then a stronger, fiercer grip on his lower. Finally, I'd let my tongue find his, and as I picked up my thrusting speed, as our hips slammed our bodies together in an age-old but timeless passion, I'd push my tongue deeper and deeper into his mouth as my cock was burrowing into the depths of that tight marine asshole until, suddenly, I would lose control and my balls would deliver one massive… "Found the problem yet?"

My division officer had snuck in behind me and had his head halfway into the fucking gear before he said anything. I don't suppose I jumped more than five feet, but I managed to thwack my head just fine on the equipment rack and make the asshole ask, "Sorry, did I startle you?"

"Did fucking Hitler startle fucking Poland, butt wipe?" I mumbled to myself, trying to get my heart restarted so I could deal with calming the idiot lieutenant's hysteria about the gear. The old man was obviously on the rampage about the radar again, so I thanked the fates for the zillionth time that I wasn't an officer. I think you can see how the rest of my day went, though.

By the time I got home, it was about six. My cock had been stiff almost since I'd first seen the dude, and I didn't know anything more about him than his name – yet, somehow, I knew everything I needed to know. About seven I called out for a pizza. I took a long shower. I loaded some fuck-flicks into the VCR. I looked at a magazine for awhile, but quit after I'd read the same page five times without seeing it.

The bell rang and I was glad the pizza had come. I'd skipped lunch – maybe the weird feeling in my guts was just hunger. But it wasn't the pizza – it was Matt, wearing an olive-drab tee shirt and jogging shorts that told me all I wanted to know about his build. He smiled that crooked smile at me again and waited for me to get out of the way so he could come in. Eventually, I forced myself to move. This was the first time I didn't know where to start. I gave him a beer and sat down with him on the couch.

"How did you know?" were my first words.

"Same as you, I guess. I just know I need this." He reached his big hand across and laid it on my shoulder, high up by my neck. I could feel my heart racing. By moving for me rather than for my dick, he proved what I'd thought was true: He wasn't here just for a fuck. He was here for life, to belong somewhere, to feel finally at home.

He moved the hand around to the back of my neck, pulling my face toward his. I hoped I wouldn't pass out. I couldn't breathe. My lips touched his, and the electricity was even better than I'd dreamed. His scent was clean, with just a hint of this morning's aftershave and a faint layer of sweat from the ride into town. I could just feel the stubble on his upper lip as I moved up for a better angle. As my tongue slithered into his mouth, my hands slipped onto his thigh and, slowly, onto his jogging shorts. He was ready for me.

He kept one hand on my neck, holding my lips in place, but let the other slide down to explore my bare chest, and seemed pleased by what he discovered. I was just wearing a pair of sweat pants, so there wasn't much mystery about my build or my excitement. I could feel my cock echoing my heartbeat as it pushed the crotch of my pants north. Our kisses grew stronger and fiercer until Matt popped free, gasping for air. That crooked smile and those green eyes promised a good time and more.

I moved closer still, sliding my tongue across his thick neck and up to his ear. There was something about the way his crew-cut hair made the ears even sexier. I sucked for a moment on the lobes and then flicked the tip of my tongue into his ear canal. He shivered and moaned, but pressed his ear against my mouth even as his hands found my best friend rising from my crotch.

I reached down to lift his tee shirt away from his chest and stopped tongue-lashing him long enough to get it over his head. The chest that lay below was typical USMC construction: massive pecs, arms knotted with muscle, lats and delts and all the rest seemingly carved by Michelangelo on an especially good day. His pecs ended in twin tits that weren't government issue – they stood out as pulsing purple points of passion that drew my fingers. Those tits longed to be squeezed, and the satisfaction of his longings became my credo. Beneath his hairless chest, the theme continued across a flat belly down to his narrow hips. Except for his head and armpits, he was as hairless as a baby and had the soft skin to match. He'd left his top-siders at the door, so he just had to reach down to strip off the shorts to make himself perfect.

I lost my sweat pants and pulled him down atop me on the couch. By this time I was so wired that every sensation brought a new and more soul-shattering rush. As he lay atop me, his fingertips glided along my flanks, making my flesh shudder in anticipation and satisfaction. The feel of his stiff cock grinding into my belly, the firm feel of his arm under my back as he held himself up on one elbow, the return of his lips to mine, the way his legs wrapped themselves around mine, the feel of my hands on his muscular ass, the delight my fingers felt as I let them wander down into his asscrack – images and sensations and fantasy all merged into a torrent of confused ecstasy. My heart raced even faster, my breathing grew more and more irregular, and I heard bells that wouldn't stop.

They wouldn't stop because they were the fucking doorbell. I pushed Matt off me and wobbled on rubber knees to the door to take the pizza. Only after I'd given the dude a thrill and three quarters did I remember that I didn't have my wallet or anything else on me. I shut the door and dug up a twenty. When I handed the cash out to him, he was obvious about having checked Matt and me out and wanting to come in for a break between deliveries. He was about eighteen or nineteen and looked like a walking wet dream: small of stature, pug of nose, blue of eyes, and just generally cuter than a bug's ear. Matt gave him a quick once-over and our eyes met in agreement.

"Tell you what, kid," I said. "Come back tomorrow night about this time and we'll teach you a thing or two. Tonight's just for us, but tomorrow night we'll be ready, okay?"

"I'll bring a pizza, on the house," he said. "You two just save something for me."

When I shut the door, I nodded to the bedroom. We climbed under the sheet to lie in each other's arms and share the warmth of our bodies.

For the next hour or so, we lay together thus, letting our hands discover each other. We put off what we knew would be, to make it more special. Using few words in lovers' tones, we shared our souls as we would soon share our bodies and our lives. Eventually, the private thoughts we traded returned to the inevitable, and we both knew by unspoken agreement that it was time.

I began by slipping beneath the sheet to his cock. Since it had already been hard when he pulled his shorts off, I hadn't realized that it was uncut. It was flawless – a biological antique in a world of trimmed, sanitized dick. Hard again by the time I got to it, the cock had forced most of the skin back over its trigger ridge, but there was still a fringe crowning his head with exotic mystery.

My tongue slithered between the hard, bumpy meat that throbbed his pulse and the soft, baby-skinned cock-glove. As I forced it further and further back with my tongue, I delighted in the distinct scent and taste of natural meat. He'd kept his weapon cleaned, but any uncut cock tastes slightly different than trimmed meat. You always get a musky taste with, perhaps, a faint salty taste lurking in the far corners from some previous piss — one drop perhaps not shaken free. The most amazing thing to those of us who don't have them is how thin and delicate and soft the skin is, rather like an eyelid stretched loosely over a cock.

As my tongue traced the roots of the skin down the shaft, slathering its appreciation the entire way, Matt was finding my cock good enough to eat, too. I buried his cock deep enough that I could use my soft throat to stroke and squeeze his muscle. My chin forced itself into his bush, which was stiff as Brillo and orange as copper. He was my first true redhead, and I was impressed with how stiff his pubes were. I knew that before the night was out, I'd feel that wire-like forest grinding into my ass, and the prospect excited me big time.

But first things first. I shoved his cock even further down, my nose ramming against his ball-bag and then slipping between it and one thigh. The smell of soap and man melded together to teach me yet another glory. I rolled atop him and locked my face firmly in between his legs as he made earmuffs of my thighs.

Only when I felt his short red hair scratching at my legs did I remember the fantasy I'd felt when I first picked him up. He must have sensed something, because he reached up and patted my ass in a way no man had ever done before. I tried like hell to stop, but I shot off down his throat, long before I was ready. It was the pat that did it. A lot of guys have felt me up in similar situations, and a lot of guys at one time or another had horsed around with me in showers and other straight, male bonding settings, but Matt was the first to show he wanted to be both friend and lover. The fraternal pat on my ass while my cock was buried in the tender tissues of his throat meant more than all the blowjobs or butt fucks in history.

When he felt my ball-sac tighten, he let my cockhead slip out of his throat, where he had been kneading it like a baker with a loaf. His tongue flitted into every crease and pocket of my cock – into the V under my head, into my piss-slit, back under the trigger ridge. At the same time his tongue was flying about my cock like a swarm of angry wasps, he turned up the suction dial to "MAX" and literally sucked my load up out of my balls. I felt as though some thick worm were being pulled up through my cock. He took every drop and didn't miss a beat.

In trying to stop from coming, though, I'd fucked myself over. I was so concerned with the mechanics, the orgasm wasn't as good as it should have been. My one consolation was that cum breeds cum. As soon as my spunk hit his throat, Matt was ready to blow, too. His hip thrusts told me it was time even before I noticed his balls rise.

I'm pretty good, myself. I concentrated on tightening my lips around his cock and trying to match his suction. As my head flew up and down his cock, pushing the skin up around his head and then slamming my face into his pubes, I was essentially jerking him off with my lips, a technique you can use only with untrimmed dick. I could tell, though, that he liked the ploy, especially when his cock skin was stretched taut and his head was rammed far back into my throat. The secret of good untrimmed head is to apply strong downward tension to the shaft's skin so it's drawn tight on each downward stroke, and to bring the foreskin into action only on the upstroke while, at the same time, using plenty of tongue action on the super-sensitive cockhead which has been shielded by nature against the everyday irritations of jocks, 501's, and the rest of the world.

I heard him gurgle and then felt the flood just as I reached my fuck-finger around to his butthole and shoved it in. I had more than finger-fucking in mind, but a dude has to start somewhere. Most of the torrent blasted straight down my gullet. Enough stuck to the head or dripped back down into my mouth, though, that I could taste his cream after the first blast. He was sweet and tangy at the same time, a rare combination. My face kept pumping away, lips stripping the excess spunk off his shaft on each upstroke and my tongue doing what it could to be of use. I noticed in a distracted way that despite having his attention focused elsewhere, Matt was still sucking away at my cock like a greedy baby nursing a lost cause.

As both holes ran dry, we let our pumps slip into "STAND-BY" and stayed as we were for a few minutes. It really felt nice being between Matt's thighs, and he must have felt the same way because he let my cock – still stiff, by the way – escape from his mouth so he could clean off my ball-bag. The wet touch of his tongue made me greedy for more.

After a time, he lay in my arms, and we even dozed for a few minutes. I shifted in his arms and we woke, horny still and determined to have it all. I asked Matt, more out of a sense of fair play than anything else, if he wanted to fuck me. His answer was cute, though. He actually blushed when he said he could, if I wanted, but that what he'd really like would be for me to fuck him. I didn't bother telling him then that that's what most marines want.

I kicked away the sheet that had insulated us from the world, and moved down to kneel between those muscular thighs. I won't go into how awesome his body looked from that angle – you're probably more interested in my getting to the meat. As I write this, though, I've gotten hard from the memory of that perfect body lying below me, waiting, hopeful, unsure, and mine.

I played with his balls again for a few minutes and then flipped him over so I could get my tongue down the valley between those two muscular cheeks. His ass was the kind that pops right out and grabs you by the gizzard. It wasn't one of those flabby numbers that seem so popular today. This one was prime stuff. When the Marine Corps says they build men, they mean they build them right. Hairless, flawless, strong, tight, impressive, the ass that had been hidden when I whipped past him on the freeway now lay open before me, helpless, parted slightly for easy access.

I let my fingers glide down that trench, and felt not a single hair. My tongue twitched to follow, and I couldn't deny it anything that night. Like his crotch, the trench was clean, with the slightest scent of musk lurking in the corners. The butthole itself was a small pucker hidden deep in a valley between two great mountains. I had to pry them apart with both hands just to get my tongue near enough to flick it against the outside. There was no way I was going to do any damage without using some organ longer than my tongue.

I flipped him over onto his back again and told him to hang on. The navy was about to show him what a deep, undercover penetration felt like. As I laid my tingling, twitching, throbbing crank against his asshole, and he looked up at me with those green eyes and that crooked smile of his, I thought back on my fantasy and knew I was finally going to see how it came out, so to speak. I let him lock his legs around the small of my back, digging his heels into my own pert little butt, as I asked him how long it had been since he'd been nailed. He used his abandoned puppy-dog expression and answered, "Twenty-six months – not since before I joined the corps." I asked if he was sure he wanted it – he was probably super-tight and out of practice. "Then you'd better loosen me up and get me back in practice" was all he said.

As I slammed into his hole, I could feel the sphincter give way just as I saw his face clench tight in untold pain. His legs gripped me tighter and his hands clenched themselves into fists at my back. I lay still and silent inside him while his body came to know me. His eyes opened and the pain faded from their corners. His tongue licked his lips and his fists relaxed to begin holding my shoulders, palming my pecs and pressing hard on my tits and occasionally giving his own cock a quick stroke.

We had felt good with our heads between each other's legs, but my cock knew with absolute certainty that now it was where it really belonged – inside his ass. The cheeks clenched together, his asshole kept tight rein on my cock, and my cockhead throbbed deep within him and clipped his prostate as it passed, the cum-slit slamming again and again into the very depths of his love tunnel.

As I picked up my pace and we began to share a rhythm we both felt in our souls, his mouth fell open in joy and his eyes shone like sparkling emeralds. At last he felt complete. Together, we were more than the sum of our parts. Locked together, we could share our lives as well as our bodies.

As I let my hips find their own cadence, driving my cock harder and deeper and more fiercely with every crash of my pubes against his hole, I reached down to return my lips to his. His heels at my ass whipped me to ever-greater frenzy as our bodies relentlessly crashed together. His hand flew along his cock as his asshole stroked my ass with gentle severity. I began to lose track of what I was doing, and gave myself up to instinct, thrusting my tongue and my cock deeper and harder into his holes. My world crashed into nothingness, and I was lost in perfect, nerve-shattering, gut-wrenching, mindless oblivion.

Later, I found myself lying atop my marine hunk in a pool of USMC spunk, my USN load safely stowed below. He had come buckets, too, but I'd missed the show, but I knew there would be other performances. We were both sweating gallons, but almost at the same time we remembered something that made us stir from each other's arms one more time: the pizza. It was cold, but there's nothing quite like pizza after a workout. I sent Matt into the living room for the food, and he returned with some beers and the box. We lay together for hours, eating and drinking. We planned what we were going to do to the pizza boy if he showed up as promised, licked dropped olives and sausage from each other's chest, exchanged sloppy, greasy, beer-swilled kisses, and finally slept together in a tangled mass of satisfied flesh and stains.

We awoke very early the next morning so we would have plenty of time for each other, including a long, very messy shower. We even both made quarters with seconds to spare. And that night we taught the pizza kid a thing or two – he may not be walking normally yet.

The apartment we found in Aiea leaves us a lot more time together. Duty sections and deployments sometimes separate us, but we know that in a larger sense, we'll never be separated. I still don't understand how we can sense each other's thoughts as we do, but I guess maybe we don't really need to know. Some things just are, without explanation.