Shore Leave

At 11:37, Alex was on his knees below the young man, eating his ass out, and Sean was huffing and puffing and writhing as much as he was able. The sounds being muffled by the ball gag seemed to be more insistent, but still ineffectual in influencing what Alex was doing.

At 11:45, Alex was fucking the shit out of Sean's ass and slapping the young man's ass cheeks red with the palm of his hand. To the extent he could Sean was thrusting back with his pelvis, showing that what he was getting was exactly what he wanted from Alex. The sounds through the ball gag were definitely those of engagement and passion.

At 11:52, Sean was writhing and making muffled pleading sounds through his gag. Alex wanted the sailor to have as good a time as he was having. He took the gag out of Sean's mouth to check on whether he was expressing pain or anger or pleasure or passion. Sean was most of the way to passion and crying out, "Yes, yes, shit yes. Fuck, yes. Fuck me hard," so he was having a good time. Alex slapped him on the butt cheek and continued pumping him.

At 12:12, Alex pulled out of Sean's ass, ripped his condom off, and shot his load on the young man's flat, heaving belly. Sean had come at 11:58 with Alex stroking his cock hard.

Sean was getting what he'd come to the gym to get, but maybe a bit rougher and more intense than he had imagined it would be. He professed to be happy with it when Alex was done, "But I think I'd like to go back to the ship now," he said, even though his shore leave didn't end until midnight. He clearly had been exhausted and lost his need for more carousing on shore.

He perked up when Alex said, "I'll drive you back to the Alameda gate. I have a red Corvette convertible, parked just outside."

"Gee, yes, that would be great," Sean answered.

"It's really too early for you to have to go back to the ship, though. And I'm sure you haven't had anything to eat since breakfast. How about we go to a bar I know over on University Avenue that serves the best burgers? My treat."

"Yeah, that would be great."

Alex scrounged around on a desk for paper and pen, wrote out a note, and gave it to Sean. "Get showered and wait for me at the entrance to the gym. Give this to the guy at reception, and he'll zero out your entrance tab and give you an extra hundred—for the good time."

"Gee thanks . . ."

It occurred to them both that, if Sean had heard Alex's name, he'd forgotten it and that he hadn't given a name to Alex.

"I'm Alex," he said, feeling a little thrill of his earlier life when he'd anonymously spike a guy like he'd just done this young sailor and it would have been so casual that they hadn't even exchanged names. "You know other guys as built and good lookin' as you are on your ship who you think would give as good of a workout as you did me, feel free to tell them about my gym—and me—for their next shore leave. Here, you can take a handful of the gym's cards."

"I'm Sean. Thanks . . . Sir." And, after taking the cards offered to him, Sean turned and was off to the shower.

Alex watched his tight little butt with mixed thoughts as the young sailor glided out of the room. It was great knowing that he'd split those delicious orbs with his cock, but it was also sad that the young man, hesitating, had called him sir rather than Alex after the master-slave session was over and Alex had offered a relationship on a different footing. The young man no doubt had retained the "sir" in recognition that Alex was old enough to be the sailor's father.

1:30 p.m., Sean had just put away his third hamburger and his third beer. He was more relaxed and was chattering up a storm. Alex touched him on the forearm and then, when Sean didn't back off, kissed him on the lips and felt up his crotch. They were in a gay bar, so no one seemed to take notice and Sean didn't pull back from being felt up either.

"Have you ever been to a Turkish bathhouse?" Alex asked as a kiss chaser. He kept his hand on Sean's basket. "We have a couple of good ones near here. All-guy places. A different experience. Something for you to remember when you've gone back on the ship."

"What happened in the gym was something to remember," Sean answered.

"Something to want again too?" Alex asked. "Maybe in the bathhouse? It's a wall-to-wall fuck fest there."

"Yeah, maybe," Sean answered.

"Back in the gym, it seemed like you'd had enough for today. Recovered from that and wanting to go again?"

"Yeah, maybe again," Sean repeated. He widened his stance under the table to allow Alex to get a firmer grip on his engorging cock through the material of the black trousers he had on under the khaki shirt. When Alex started pulling down his zipper, though, Sean balked a bit. "Umm. Any sailor could look over here. Could be someone from the Curtis Williams. I wouldn't want—"

"I've got a room booked in a hotel nearby," Alex murmured. He was getting horny again. "We could go at it there, just me and you, in private. Maybe have a special time of it. And then maybe broaden out at the bathhouse."

"That Turkish bathhouse idea sounds interesting," Sean countered.

"And maybe the hotel after that?"

"Yeah, maybe."

2:15 p.m. Alex was sitting on a tile bench below the waterline and running around the inner rim of a pool in the Turkish bathhouse. Sean was sitting in his lap, skewered on his cock, facing him. Alex was holding the young man steady with hands gripping his waist, while Sean pushed off of the tile pool wall on either side of Alex's torso with his feet, pulling himself on and off Alex's cock.

3:30 p.m. Sean was on his back on the bed in room 206 of the Friendship Hotel, his arms drawn above his head and restrained by straps around his wrists and the brass slats of the headboard. Alex's knees were pushed under the young man's buttocks, and he was holding Sean's legs spread and raised with hand holds under the young man's knees. He was fucking Sean in long slides of his cock, and Sean was moaning and groaning for him. The bed was bucking backward and forward, the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall behind it.

5:30 p.m. Alex had given Sean a tour of San Diego in the red Corvette convertible. Sean asked to see the Marion Bear and Swiss parks for future reference, and Alex drove him there, and they sat in the car, fondling each other, and watching guys hook up. The Corvette now was parked in Shoreline Park, across the harbor from the naval base on the northern tip of the Coronado Peninsula. Alex said that Sean would want to see where the visiting ships were ported, and Sean agreed that that was a good idea. Right at the moment, though, Sean had his head in Alex's lap, as the older man sat behind the wheel of the Corvette, and was giving Alex a blow job.

At 6:15 p.m., they were on Coronado Island, stopping off at a small steak house, where Alex was treating Sean to dinner before driving up into the parking area at the naval base's Alameda Boulevard gate at 7:20 p.m., where they got out of the Corvette and Alex leaned against the hood of the sports car and waved a hobbling, but happy, Sean into the gate, ending Sean's first shore leave in the Navy—and giving him quite a bit to think about.

Alex didn't do this that often. He was serious about his commitment to Terry. But when the fleet was in . . . and when their sex life had once again gone stale . . . and when Alex wanted to think about Terry being nineteen again . . . and him being with a nineteen-year-old, fresh young man . . . holding him bound and completely under his control . . . and plowing his ass . . .

Getting Sean back to the base gate on Coronado Island put Alex in position, along with several other guys and gals in flash cars, a bevy of taxis, and the Navy buses that transported the less brave to various parts of the city, to be there for the evening release of serious shore leavers. Some sailors were held back to work on the ships during the day on Friday, but those who did leave late were given extended hours of shore leave. And some sailors preferred late release because that meant they could be in the city all night. These were the sailors Alex and other hopeful hookups standing by their sports cars in the parking area outside the Alameda gate were interested in. These guys wanted to party all night.

Alex had learned some time ago that all he had to do was wear a little leather draped on his muscular frame—something to make him appear a few years younger—lean against the hood of the red Corvette convertible, and have a riding crop in his hand, flicking it against his calf. When he did this, the right guys—the guys who knew they wanted it rough—would come to him and he could make his choice.

The chosen one who came to him at 7:42 p.m., Friday night, was Seaman Apprentice Mike Pastrol from off the USS Fitzgerald. They made eye contact as soon as the sailor came out of the gate, and Alex made sure Mike saw the riding crop and saw that he looked the young man up and down and gave him a tight smile.

Mike walked like a dancer as he crossed the open space between the gate and the parking lot, keeping his eyes on Alex like he was signaling to those coming out of the gate with him to back off. There were several men standing by their cars and ogling the sailors coming out of the gate. They tended to be split between older corporate types and bruisers. Alex had come as a bruiser. There were women on the prowl too, but the two preferences split off from each other right at the gate into the naval base.

As well as being a panther-like glider, rather than a plodder, Mike was obviously young, lithe, blond, and quite evidently knew how this worked. Stopping close in front of Alex, he gave a pointed look at the riding crop again, licked his lips with his tongue, and then lowered his head to look submissively at his feet. The impression that he gave was that if Alex had growled for him to go on his knees right there and suck him off, the sailor would do it.

Alex's role was to take command from the get go, so there wasn't much in the way of preliminaries. The honeypot would give out or he wouldn't.

"How old are you?" Alex growled.

"Nineteen . . . Sir."

Bingo. The last box to check on a substitute for Terry when they'd first hooked up. He was nineteen. The submissive "Sir" was an added bonus.

"How much do you want for the night? I've got a hotel room."

"$200," Mike came back with immediately. That told Alex the kid was a pro at it. A naïve guy wouldn't have been able to come back with a number that quickly.

"You'll be bound."

"$250 then,"

"$150. And you'll be used hard."

"$225," Mike came back with.

"$150 and breakfast and transportation. I have lots of choices when the fleet's in. Get in the car."

Mike got in the car.

On the bed in room 206 of the Friendship Hotel, they began with Mike riding cowboy on Alex's cock in reverse. Alex had a dog collar on Mike's throat with a long strap that Alex used to motion whether he wanted Mike to ride back and forth, up and down, or from side to side. Mike's hands were bound at the wrist behind his back. Alex was slapping at the young man's back and buttocks with the riding crop. The bed's headboard was bouncing against the wall in whatever rhythm and intensity Alex set in the fuck, and, over the night, he tuned into that sound to gauge how steady the beat had been reached in an individual fuck.

They had both been keyed up from the initial greeting, so they both came quickly the first time. There was a period of rest, in which they both lay, stretched out on the bed, side by side, their backs propped up on the headboard, each slowly masturbating the other, with Alex taking a smoking break.

Even at rest, their bed was swaying gently because the bed in the room next to them now was going, its headboard rhythmically beating against the wall. Muffled sounds of sex were coming through the wall as well. It was that kind of hotel. The knowledge that someone—probably a sailor or a local male whore under a sailor, or two, as it sounded like there were more than two voices—was getting royally fucked on the other side of the wall kept Alex aroused. He'd already had a serious sex day, and, at his age, and although oversexed, he could feel that he was slowing down a bit in recovery.

The beat on the wall ceased for now. It was their turn. Alex crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray on the nightstand, swept up another condom, crowned himself, and growled, "Get on all fours. I'm gonna ride you into the sunset."

And that's what he did. Mike went on all fours, but Alex wanted the young man's wrists tied to straps attached to the brass rungs of the headboard, so Mike actually wound up on his knees, with his rump waving in the air and flat on his chest, cheek to stained chenille bedspread, with his arms pulled above his head. Alex had allowed enough give to Mike's wrist straps so that once Alex was mounted, crouched over Mike's hips, and had reached a steady stroke in pumping his ass and beating on his buttocks with the riding crop in his hand, Alex could also tug on the strap attached to the collar around Mike's neck and pull the young man's head up to his for all-tongue kissing.

In the forward and back sway of the bed, the headboard was rhythmically bouncing against the wall. It was almost like the men in the two rooms were in a coordinated dance of the fuck, sometimes abusing the wall between them together, sometimes trading off with each other.

The last fuck of the night was a missionary, with Mike on his back, his arms pulled above his head, the wrists secured to the brass rungs of the headboard, and Alex between his bent and parted thighs, mining his passage deep. When Alex wanted it, he pulled Mike's face up to his by pulling on the collar chain, and they kissed. Mike's eyes had glazed over and he was near exhaustion.

Alex was near exhaustion too. Age was getting to him. At one time he could go all day and all night. He wasn't going to make it in fucking through the night tonight, though. And he couldn't ruin himself for tomorrow. This had all been for tomorrow and for the next week and for as long as he could spin this revving up out until there was another day the fleet was in.

After he'd filled the bulb of his condom this time and Mike had shot his last, weak ejaculation up Alex's belly, Alex lowered his body on Mike's and both dozed off to the sound of the beating of the headboard against the wall in the other room and the feel of Alex going soft inside Mike's passage.

They woke up as the room was lightening from the rising of the sun outside the hotel room window. They stirred and cooed at each other, kissed, and Alex fondled.

"You could release my wrists," Mike murmured. "My arms have gone to sleep."

"In a bit," Alex said. He'd gone hard. He didn't want to waste it. "One more and then I'll take you to breakfast and anywhere else you want to go."

Mike objected, but just a bit. Not enough to make Alex stop scooting underneath his body, facing up, putting Mike to the cock from underneath and behind, lacing his legs through Mike's and raising and spreading them, planting his own feet on the tasseled sheets, wrapping his arms around Mike's torso so that he could worry Mike's nipples, and start thrusting deep into Mike's passage.

Mike moaned as the headboard once again started to drum against the wall behind the bed.

After breakfast, Alex drove Mike over to the University Boulevard gay district, pointing out the various establishments and what Mike could expect to find in each.

"You'll have to be careful," Alex said. "You're of a favorite type around here. You'll get a lot of attention—by more than one man at a time. The fleet's in so there will be a lot of randy sailors."

"I know a good bit about randy sailors," Mike said. "I like attention by more than one—of course you seemed like more than one last night," he quickly added, showing he knew how to handle his men. "God you were big—and you could keep it up. Surprising for a man your age. You gotta be, what, thirty-five or thirty-six?"

"Yeah, something like that," the forty-one-year-old lied. The young sailor had hit his sore point. He was getting on in age. He needed boosts like this, when the fleet came in, and a night or two with a nineteen-year-old to do justice with his relationship with Terry, who now was pushing thirty himself. He had convinced himself that this all was part of the commitment to Terry, not a betrayal of their relationship. He needed a boost every once in a while to be revved up for Terry long enough to keep their relationship going. Having the fleet come in periodically helped give him that boost.

He wanted nothing so much as to take this sweet little nineteen-year-old piece who took his fetishes in his stride back to room 206 at the Friendship Hotel and bang him again—he still had the room booked. But he couldn't risk it. He had to go home to Terry later today, and he had to have something left in the tank or at least time for the tank to refill.

"What's that over there?" Mike asked.

"That's a Turkish bathhouse," Alex answered. In fact, it was the same one he'd fucked the young sailor Sean in the day before. "There's a lot of action going on in there. With the fleet in it will be crawling with randy men today."

"I want to go there."

Alex took him there. He wanted to save himself now, so he didn't fuck Mike in the pool. But he sat below the water's surface on the bench lining the inside wall of the pool and pulled on his cock while he watched Mike being gang banged by five men on the floor across the pool from him. He was sitting on two cocks, sideways, the two men under him stretched together, the thighs of one over the thighs of the other, cocks bundled together for Mike to take together. He was sucking another guy's cock, and two other guys had their hands all over him, waiting for a turn that Mike seemed to be quite willing to give them. Alex was half hard, remembering when he was in the thick of such a group fuck in his younger days.

Try as he might, Alex couldn't make himself go all hard. He'd given it quite a workout and he resigned himself to needing to give it a rest. He felt his age. He didn't look his age, though, and his age was more of a come on for some young men than a deterrent. One such guy entered the pool beside Alex. He was young, cut, and obviously a sailor from the way he carried himself, the anchor tattoo he had on his arm, and the buzz cut of his head. No local in San Diego who wasn't nearly bald already anyway would buzz cut his hair.

"I'm randy," he said as he settled down on the bench below the water surface next to Alex.

"Hi, Randy, I'm Alex."

"No, I mean I'm really randy," the young sailor said. "Watching Mike get gang banged over there has me in pain. I've wanted some of that on the ship."

"You're from the USS Fitzgerald too then?" Alex asked.

"Yeah, how did you know that?" the sailor asked.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that you are in need. Can I help you with that? Jack you off until there's an opening over there and you can get a piece of Mike too?"

"Are you waiting to do him too?"

"I've done him. All night. And I'm a bit tired now. But if you'd like, lay back and I'll take care of you with my hand."

"I don't know if a hand job—"

"I can make a hand job good enough," Alex said.

The sailor laid back, but he turned his face to Alex and they kissed as Alex fisted the young man's cock and masturbated him to a release. The sailor gasped as Alex pushed his foreskin off the bulb and began working on the bulb in earnest, rubbing and squeezing it and worrying the piss slit open with his pinky. Doing it underwater provided something of a lubricant on the young man's sensitive spots. The sailor writhed under Alex, starting to move his hips, and Alex made a sheath with the fingers of his hand and let the sailor fuck the hand to a cloudy flow of cum into the water of the pool. Alex dearly would have liked to have more from the young sailor and to do more with him, but the guy was a top and so was Alex and Alex needed to rest himself now—for later, he kept telling himself.