PETTY OFFICER SKIP


(Part 1 from 3. Fiction.)

I recently completed 20 years of service in the United States Navy, and while I am happy that part of my life is behind me, I wouldn’t trade my experiences for anything.

As a young man who grew up in the Midwest, knowing he was attracted to men, the opportunity to experience the world as a sailor, particularly one stationed on the West Coast was a chance to be reborn. I’m not saying my twenty years in the Navy were some wild of unbridled sex as many view life at sea. In fact, most of my sexual encounters involved civilians, or at least other sailors who were off-duty, out of , and off government property, as I was. Please don’t get the idea that I was not turned on by other members of the Department of the Navy. I can still vividly recall some of the terrific cocks, asses, and bodies in general that I secretly lusted after, but dared not risk my career over. You don’t survive twenty years in the without learning to be discreet and denying your urges much of the time.

I recall one exception to the rule. It was 1980, and I was in the Philippines. The Navy flew me over there following boot camp and A School with orders to my first ship, deployed somewhere in the Indian Ocean. The receiving station barracks was fenced in compound and those of us awaiting transportation to our ships were assigned to the same open barracks as sailors on Legal Hold and those awaiting discharges.

Several times a day, we mustered so sailors and civilians could pick from among us for working parties. I felt a half-step above slave or member of a chain gang. Not all of the details were the same, but most of them pretty well sucked. I remember one day when a man in cammies chose me and another sailor to go with him to do some odd jobs back at his work center. I thought he was a Marine, but it turned out he was a member of the UDT SEAL Team stationed there at Subic. This Petty Officer explained to both of us that he could get one of us temporarily assigned to his work center, and this would be determined by how well we did our job. As luck would have it, I was the one selected.

Working for the SEALs was a great opportunity for me. It let me spend the day away from the dreadful receiving station, and avoid those formations I hated. The biggest opportunity of all turned out to be the scenery! At that time in my life, I didn’t know what a UDT SEAL was. With apologies to the Marines, whom I have always lusted over, they are the of the best among America’s elite fighting corps. I was amazed by the daily routine of the SEALs.

When I arrived in the morning, they were already doing their morning run. Upon arrival back at the work center, they would form up for calisthenics before beginning their days work servicing their equipment, scuba gear, mini subs, etc. They would break in the afternoon for a grueling swim to Grande Island and back. The best part of all this was their Uniform of the Day: khaki shorts, reversible T-shirts, white socks, boots and a starched cammie cap. That was all most of them ever wore: The shorts were extremely short and tight fitting, and most of the time, they didn’t bother wearing T-shirts. Even more incredible was the condition of these scantily clad bodies. Each and every member of the team was a remarkable specimen of tanned, toned, bulging muscle. I later discovered why every last one of them was like some god out of mythology. SEAL training is extremely tough, and their daily routine kept them at the peak of perfection.

Being in close proximity to so many incredible hunks for 8 hours a day, coupled with the fact that I had to return to that damned open bay barracks each night which afforded no privacy for jacking off was a strange mixture of agony and ecstasy.

One of the projects I remember completing for the SEALs, involved painting lines on the small parking lot in front of their shop. I remember this distinctly, because I was working outdoors in the Philippines where the heat and humidity was almost unbearable as the sun beat down on me while I painted my lines on the asphalt. What really keeps this assignment so fresh in my memory is that the SEALs were gathering for their morning calisthenics, and “one of them” casually mentioned that I might be more comfortable if I took my shirt off. He assured me that it would be okay as long as I was working inside the compound.


This particular SEAL wasn’t just one of them; he was The One! He had the face of an angel. Madison Avenue would have jumped at the opportunity to name him poster boy for their drink milk campaign. He had that wholesome look about him. I suspect he was one of those Southern California surfer boys before he joined the Navy. He had the golden blonde hair and crystal clear blue eyes so many of them were famous for.

Then there was the matter of what all that SEAL training had done to sculpt that perfect body that was no doubt a work of art to begin with. His shoulders and chest were massive, and his pecs had that chiseled look. His torso tapered to that sexy V shape that drew attention to his relatively tiny waist and perfect bubble butt that threatened to split the seam of those tight khaki shorts he always wore.

I hate to repeat my adjectives, but his legs were again best described as massive. His thighs were like tree trunks. All that running, swimming, and exercising shirtless had tanned his flawless body to a golden brown. Other than the short-cropped blonde locks on top of his head, the only hair visible was a narrow trail from his navel, which disappeared into the waistband of his shorts. I loved the way sweat glistened off his hard body as he stretched and flexed effortlessly through his daily workouts.

The other feature I’ll never forget, can’t be attributed to his SEAL training, but was surely a gift from God. The package that this man displayed in those sexy little shorts threatened to out me at this early stage of my career, as I struggled not to stare openly and drool at the magnificent sight. One might get a similar result my packing a couple small grapefruits inside the front of his shorts. Needless to say, after taking quick notice of this Norse God and the band of sexy studs that sweated alongside him, I humbly declined his offer to work shirtless in their presence.

I had been sufficiently humbled by the experience earlier in the day, to make my first trip ever to a gym for the purpose of pumping iron. To my surprise, shortly after I began wrestling with some free weights, my SEAL team showed up at the gym to do a little serious iron pumping. You would think after all the strenuous workouts endured throughout the day, they would have other ways to spend their free time, but no! I guess it explains why each and every one of them looked like a Michelangelo sculpture. They lived to perfect their stunningly beautiful and powerful physiques. There they were, all together, sweating as they grunted, and groaned and barked out words of encouragement to each other. As if seeing them exercising throughout the day wasn’t enough, the sight of them getting pumped to the max now confronted me. Their muscles swelled and veins bulged, as they showed no mercy to the weights. Their muscles weren’t the only things bulging and I had to be careful to keep myself somewhat concealed as my cock threatened to burst.

Their workout turned out to be intense but surprisingly brief. Chalk it up to efficiency I suppose. Anyway, I was still sitting on a bench with a dumbbell in my hand when they finished their workout and made their way toward the lockers. I figured they hadn’t even been aware of the sailor who labored for them at many odd jobs during the day, as he struggled to lift these small weights without seriously injuring himself in the process. These hunks were filing right past the bench where I was lifting as they headed for the shower.

I was beginning to wonder if these sexy studs did everything together when suddenly my breath was taken away. My sexy young Adonis was the next to last SEAL in the procession headed for the locker room, and he stopped to ask me how it was going. He asked how long I’d been lifting, and I told him that this was my first pathetic attempt at pumping iron. His smile almost melted me in place, and he asked if I’d like a few pointers. I laughed and told him that I sure could use some.

He told the last SEAL in his entourage that he would see him in the morning; he wanted to help Seaman Pike work on his technique. I honestly don’t remember any of the advice I was given that evening, but I do remember Skip suggesting that I try using the barbell to work my chest rather than the dumbbells now that I had a spotter. I’ll never forget lying on that bench, trying to lift that weight while Skip straddled my head as he positioned himself to spot me. He was wearing those khaki shorts, and despite being quite tight in places, the leg hole of his shorts was sufficiently stretched for me to be looking straight up at one of his balls.

Skip finished his instruction and headed for the locker room before I completed my session. I saw the rest of the team leaving the locker room, in civilian clothes for the first time, as I was entering. Skip was just finishing up his preparations to get underway when I entered the room. “I hope you don’t mind a cold shower,” he chuckled as he gathered up the last of his belongings. “What? Don’t they have hot water anywhere on this base?” I blurted out. “I haven’t had a warm shower since I got here, and I was hoping that I might get one here tonight as a reward for having made myself spend an evening at the gym.”

I explained that I’d never learned to enjoy cold showers, despite the appalling heat and humidity of the Philippines and that we never had hot water over at the receiving station barracks. Skip laughed and told me that he sympathized. “I understand that they do not have hot water at the receiving station, but normally you can get a hot shower here at the gym,” he assured me. “Unfortunately, they are preparing to do some repair work on the boilers that supply the gym with hot water in the morning, and they’ve already secured the steam.”

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