The Hammer & The Nail
by Bart McKinley
posted by Mike

I had daydreamed of Private Matthews's dong from the first week he arrived at Camp Pendleton. He had a big one; he had to. Any man built like that would not have anything but major artillery. Every time I looked at him, my cannon took aim. He was the most seductive man in the whole camp, a perfect build.

Standing at attention, he was pure U.S. beef in a USMC uniform: green fatigues, and muscles bulging out everywhere. In a unit composed of strong, outdoor men, Private Matthews stood out like a circus weight-lifter among boys. His physique made even Sergeant Powell, the gunnery sergeant, look small – and our gunny had been the biggest guy in the brigade. With a body like that, surely Matthews had something big in his pants.

Camp Pendleton, Calif., is a real oven in the summer. Nobody can stand the midday heat, and when we were on work details, Private Matthews always stripped off his shirt. God, what a torso. When I saw him lifting heavy loads or picking something from the ground, I felt a twinge in my groin. In action his musculature looked more savage than any wrestler's. His shoulders were, oh, God, as wide as I am tall, and all that sculptured meat tapered to a slim waist and an iron ass.

He was an outdoorsman. He didn't have one ounce of fat or sag – his belly was a boiler plate. His chest, when he was sweating, glistened like a wet marble statue.

Below his belt, no doubt, lay a real crowbar. I would never get a chance to see it, though. I wasn't in his squad, and though we were in the same company, we didn't shower together. Because of some bureaucratic snafu, his squad used facilities in the next barracks, and I couldn't come up with a good reason to be showering with the men of his squad. Damned shame.

When we were together in formations, in training, or on work details, eventually Private Matthews and his magnificent body made me look for a vacant, private spot where I could beat the meat. Every time I saw my jism splat in the dust at my feet, I resolved that somehow, someday, I would have that man, I would fuck that great body, feel my dick in his hot hole.

My enthusiasm faded whenever I got close to him, though. Private Matthews bragged of his women. "Yeah, I humped her till she couldn't stand up," was his favorite description of a previous night's conquest. He liked San Diego whores. Lucky girls. I wanted to fuck him, but I also daydreamed of that fierce male machine behind me, slamming away at my guts.

On a work detail in the hinterlands of the camp one day, that particular fantasy really got to me, and I found a good place behind a large clump of chapparal for some jack-off relief. That day I lucked out, because while I grunted behind the bushes, whipping Willy to rapture, Private Matthews also wandered off for some privacy – he had to piss. By coincidence we went to the same place, but he didn't see me.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him step behind a nearby bush and unbuckle his pants. If I stood in a certain place, I could see him – a frontal view. Finally, I would find out what he concealed beneath his belt buckle. My pecker throbbed.

I was so nervous, I was trembling. What would he have? What would he show me? What would a god's dick be? Ten inches? Twelve? Thick and gnarly? Blunt and smooth? Uncut or broad-headed? My mouth watered, thinking of that big cock.

Private Matthews reached in and tugged it out.

God damn. I was stupefied.

Anybody's was bigger than his.

He was holding a little peepee like a drinking straw, less than even a normal softy! His cock wasn't even as big as a run-of-the-jockstrap penis. That superhuman stud had a pecker like a grade-school boy. He was circumcised. Too bad, I thought, he needs every inch he can get. I imagined Private Matthews with an erection. Thinking of that little pencil with a hard-on almost made me laugh.

He shook loose the last few drops and stuffed the little thing back in his pants. Poor guy. What a disappointment. He noticed me as he stepped out, and he gave me a faint smile.

Oops, shit, had I been obvious? It wouldn't do to be marked as unnatural, a cock-watcher, in the Marine Corps. At the least I would find myself on court-martial charges, thrown out of the service. Most likely I would have the shit beat out of me.

I don't really know how I developed an appetite for male meat. I just did, that's all, and frankly, I can't understand why all men are not turned on by the erotic, charismatic bodies of their fellow males. The Marine Corps is a great place to be if you like cops — they're all around—but I had to be damned careful, like a cougar in a stable full of stallions.

Private Matthews walked away from the chapparal, adjusting his pants. He was really something to watch, his mighty frame striding away, but I felt like I had been doused with water. Damn, that guy had turned me on, but when I finally saw his little dink, my lust went out like a smothered fire.

I stood there for a few minutes, holding my cock, stroking it, maintaining its erection although my fantasy had died out. Fuck it, I thought, and I searched for another image to fuel my session. One jerk-off’s as good as another, but no sooner had I summoned up the picture of my favorite magazine centerfold stepping out of the pages and dangling his huge boner over my mouth, than I heard a crash nearby. Goddamn, I was about to be caught! I stuffed my complaining crotch rifle back into my pants in a flash.

It was Private Matthews again. "Did I leave my shovel back here?" he asked as he walked into view.

"No, I don't see it," I said, trying to keep from panting. He grinned again as he left. The bastard, did he know what I had been doing?

The next day, at another backwoods area of Camp Pendleton, I happened to see Matthews step behind a shed. He was going to piss again. I could watch him if I moved a bit, so what the hell, I wandered over to get another peek at Hercules' little peepee, to look at the finger between Atlas' legs.

It was a sort of comedy. Again I saw him pull out that "award-winning axle-shaft," but Matthews didn't piss. He stood motionless for a long moment. Then, to my delight, his hand stroked that little petey. He was jacking off!

His dick hardened into a spike that belonged on a Chihuahua. At full raging hardness, he could manage, I guess, about four, maybe five inches. He held it between thumb and index finger.

He lolled his head back in ecstasy and shut his eyes. He wore a grim, wild-animal aroused expression, and I couldn't take that. His dick might have been a ballpoint pen, but his musculature was still the most erotic male sculpture I had ever seen, and I recognized that look. All men know it: the look of rut, of lust. It moved me, and I pulled down my zipper.

My crotch tiger leaped out like a paratrooper coming out of an airplane, and compared to Matthews's, my cock was a monster. I looked at his groin, his powerful hips and thighs, his curly thatch of pubic hair, and his hot little pepperoni, and I grew hornier and hornier. The more aroused I became from my stimulations, the hotter Matthews's dick looked.

I looked down at my cock, and it looked like a great torch, heavy and ponderous, filled with blood, pulsing, fierce, my cock head flaring out into a shiny red fireman's helmet.

A clear drop of pre-come oozed out of my piss slit. I was getting major horny. Damn, it was strange to get this hot over a mere jack-off.

Matthews was so into his session, he moaned softly as his hand moved over that little pipe. It was cute, but I felt oddly dizzy, and I matched his rhythm stroke for stroke.

When I saw his hips twitch, his eyes clench in sweet agony, and his pecker spritz out the first jet of pearly man oil, my slugger exploded too, and we ejaculated together, gushing out foam in stream after stream of white slime, prick slop splatting around us, running down bushes, puddling on the ground. I stayed in orgasm for a long, long time, and I noticed that Matthews ejaculated a very healthy amount of semen indeed.

When we walked back to the work area, Private Matthews looked businesslike and undisturbed. I, on the other hand, was sweating, still panting lightly, and tousled. When I stepped into sight, he looked up and said, "God, what happened to you?"

"Uh, I had to run back for a shovel," I mumbled.

I didn't see him again for several hours when they told us to get cleaned up for a final formation. I saw him heading for that shed again, and I was curious. I took my position behind the shrubbery and watched. Sure enough, he pulled out that little prick again and massaged it. What a horny bastard! I moistened my shorts again. Jesus, it was strange how he got to me.

Must be from looking at his physique, I thought. Couldn't have been from looking at his dick. Then he blew my mind. He stuck his hand out where I could see it and beckoned to me! His face appeared around the corner of the shed, and he looked straight into my eyes. "Bart, c'mere," he said softly.

God, what did he want? I wasn't doing anything. I moved over to the shed. "I've seen you watching me, Bart," he said, and before I could muster an indignant protest, he added, "and I wanna get a look at you too."

I was speechless. Matthews had an appetite for men? I never would have believed it. "I think you and me oughta go out for a beer," he continued. "What do you say?"

What could I say? "Uh, yeah, sure, Matthews." Together we walked back to where the men were forming up. As we rode back to the camp in our separate squads, I was perplexed. Suddenly my dreams of seducing this guy were derailed. He no longer turned me on. I dreaded a personal confrontation with him.

After we were dismissed back at the parade ground, he gave me a ride in his car through the main gate, out into the little town of Oceanside. He drove to a tavern, ordered beers, and sat at a table in the back. He started. "Bart, when I got here, I never thought I would find anybody who thinks the same as I do."

I protested. "Now, just a minute, I'm no…"

As I said that, he put his hand –that giant, powerful hand – on my thigh and gave me a squeeze. Whatever else I was going to say died in my throat as my cock took over my brain. It loves to be manhandled by hunky dudes, and it doesn't care about the size of their cocks. "I've watched you since the day I was transferred here," he went on in a deep masculine voice like a bass viol. "You really turn me on, you know that?"

What? I turned him on? "And when I saw you watching me piss," he continued, "I knew you were a guy just like me…"  He said it. "… gay."

I took a deep breath. "Matthews, I guess you got me nailed," I said, then I almost leaped out of my seat! His kneading fingers stroked my hardened ham through my pants.

"Wait," I mumbled, wriggling under his hand. "I don't think you oughta…" But Jesus, it felt good. My cock became stone.

"Oh, good, you got nice stuff," he said in a soft voice, his hand massaging me to madness. "You know how often I've jacked off over you?" He pumped me faster. "Goddamn," he said softly, "I can feel your pulse all the way through your pants!"

My pecker pounded, but I was numb from the waist up. "What about the women?" I asked weakly.

"Could I brag about having men? Think about it."

"Well, uh, hey, Matthews," I said slowly, "I don't quite know how to say this, but, uh, you're not, uh, not my…"

I saw a pained expression in his eyes, and he withdrew his hand. "We can't talk here," he said softly. "Why don't we go somewhere more private? Let's go for a walk." His voice sounded very sad. With my brain I wondered how I could get out of this, but my loins wondered how I could get his hand back on my cock.

We left the bar and walked in the direction of Coyote Creek. "I don't… I don't understand," he said. "I saw you watching me. I thought…"

"Oh, yeah, man," I said hastily, "I love your body. You've got the greatest physique I've ever seen!" That much was true.

I saw a real stab of pain in his face. "Oh, God," he said softly, "my cock turns you off." By then we had walked into the shrubbery and bushes along a shady part of the creek – a place few strollers ever ventured.

Realizing that I had hurt him, I just couldn't do it again. "C'mere," I said, and I pulled him into my arms. Hurting, he tried to pull away, but I hugged him. We were both sweating from the weather, and I could feel his little dick sticking me in the leg. Then he hugged me back, and his grip on me was so strong I couldn't breathe, but I squeezed him back as hard as I could.

What the hell, I thought, what harm can it do to give the poor bastard a tumble? Our lips met in a slobbering, jawing, teeth-clicking kiss, and I heard him moan as my tongue stabbed into his mouth, sword-fighting with his in the wet cave like two hard dicks in combat. My libido rose, and he went crazy. In a second he was pulling at my buttons, and I opened his shirt. Bare chest to bare chest, I caught fire. He did have the greatest torso on the planet, and I had dreamed of it for so long. Our hands roamed all over each other, and soon we were at each other's belt buckle. I wanted his ass; he wanted my cock.

We pulled apart long enough to kick off our boots and shuck down our pants. Soon we stared at each other in the buff. His little peter stabbed out of his heroic loins like a soda straw stuck in Michelangelo's David. I didn't laugh. It looked hot. I reached out to grab it– it was a cock, after all – but before I could, he dropped to his knees and reached out for mine. I almost passed out as his sucking mouth pulled my axle into the dripping oven of his mouth. Seeing him kneel before me was hot.

With my cock in his mouth, a craving for meat overcame me. I pulled him over, and we both reclined sideways on the soft grass. I dived down to his crotch, and head to prick, we began.

He sucked me in till his nose nuzzled my cock hairs, deep-throating me, and I diddled and titillated his hot little spike with my tongue, nibbling on it, mouthing it up and down. We were both so horny that in no time I felt his buttocks knot up and his pelvis jerk and tremble. That spawned the beginning of an earthshaker of a climax way down in my balls.

Like a barn fire, the heat spread from my scrotum until the fever consumed my whole body. My breath came in gasps, and I couldn't control my hips, which jerked and hunched out of control. The universe was my glorious, orgasming cock!

Just when I thought I was going to die of extreme thrill, I reached the pinnacle and went off like a Roman candle. Ecstasy didn't put out the fire, though. I pumped a dozen spurts of boiling prick slop into his slurping mouth, and he gulped and swallowed, grunting like a pig. His body glistened with sweat.

I was crazy with lust as he got even. My cock-crazy frenzy imagined his boy's dick swelling into a real man's weapon in my mouth, and with his deep groan, that hot piston slammed his ball sauce into me like a fire wagon had just rammed its hose down my throat. On and on, more and more he jizzed until I suspected he was a horse in disguise. God, it was awesome.

He tasted salty and bitter, a real man's man. I didn't know whether it was real or a sex-mad dream, but he was cramming the biggest cock in the universe down my throat.

When the fires finally burned out and we regained consciousness, we pulled back from each other's groin, turned around, and lay panting and sweating on the grass. I leaned back, my back pressed against his heaving chest. That was surely the best and wildest blowjob ever. His dick moved my soul. He bit my ear, and I said, "You know, Private Matthews, I never dreamed you were such a good piece of meat. I thought…"

" Yeah," he interrupted, "when you got a look at my little pecker, I was afraid you wouldn't get it on with me."

"Oh, no, that's not true," I said quickly.

"Yeah, it is," he said sadly. "Guys get a good look at my prick, and I never get a chance, no matter how much they like my body." His voice was deeply sad, although he was still panting.

"I never dreamed you were this good," I murmured.

"Thanks, man, for giving me a chance." He stuck his tongue into my ear, and the reaction in my cock was immediate. It was wonderful to squirm against him, against his powerful, muscular naked body, to feel his sweat and the heat of his torso.

I rolled over to face him, and we kissed again. I tasted my own come in his mouth. "You don't know what its like," he whispered in my ear, "to be a big guy with a little dick."

"C'mon, man, that's the hottest branding iron I've ever felt," I murmured back to him, and it was true. That little white-hot iron strap was all it took to burn me to ashes.

More of my fantasies came true. Private Matthews, the perfect male form, the powerful, muscular animal, rolled over onto his belly and hefted himself onto his hands and knees. "C'mon, Private," he said in that husky voice, "you know you want this." Oh, my God, oh, Jesus, I saw his hot asshole!

My cock hardened instantly. I mounted him, crawling up onto his heroic butt, resting my chest on his pulsating, rippling back. I aimed my hog between his incredible ass cheeks, but he squirmed away. "In my pants pocket," he hissed.

I backed off and reached over to his pants. In the pocket he had a rubber, a lubricated one. I rolled it over my pounding dong and crawled aboard again, gripping his hips as I positioned myself. His skin was sweaty and slick, hot and erotic.

"Oh, God, you're huge," he grunted as I pushed my punch against his asshole. Damn, what a good fuck he was to encourage me that way. I'm no midget–I've got a good eight or nine inches–but I'm no supersnake, but damn, his commentary really made me proud, proud and hot! When he said that, I really felt like I had a cock as godlike as his body. I went insane.

I burrowed into him until I felt my angry cock head click past the door of his chute, then I knelt upright behind him, my hands gripping his mighty buns. "Oh…God…you're…in my guts," he moaned, and that made me thrust even harder.

Soon he ceased to struggle. He gripped tufts of grass and ripped them out of the ground as I slammed and rammed into him, and I reamed him with a dick turned into a scorching greasy shotgun. His talk made me feel like an Apache chief, like a Watusi warrior, a wild, untamed stud pleasuring him.

That was two years ago. Life goes on much the same at Camp Pendleton. We still play the hetero game–bragging about female conquests–but when the day's work is over, he and I spend a lot of time together. We share many of the same interests: jogging together, weight lifting together, going on sight-seeing trips, and getting drunk together. Often we find some excuse to drive into the town, and from there we ride into the hills, where soon neither of us wears anything but our gold fillings.

He knows his body, that magnificent torso in a U.S. Marine uniform, is a great turn-on for me, so he always strips for me very slowly and turns so I can see his sweating muscles. He flexes for me during sex to heighten my pleasure.

For my part, I've learned to tighten my asshole around his dick when he gets in the saddle, and I know that he loses all control if I manage to get his cock as well as both his balls into my mouth during a blowjob. He taught me to pleasure him.

But the greatest thing he ever taught me was about love – he is my friend, my companion, my lover, and he moves me more with that little peter of his than I ever got from prouder cocks-men. It ain't the nail; it's the hammer!