Note to all Navy personnel: I have nothing but the utmost respect for you. All people and acts portrayed herein are purely fictitious and never happened as far as I know.
Note to Everyone Else: This is my first attempt at such writing, so any constructive criticism is appreciated. I may write a follow-up based on reader replies, so please feel free to write in.
Vocabulary
ASMO - Essentially, getting kicked out of the Navy.
Head - Bathroom
PT - Physical Training
RDC - Recruit Division Commander
Watch - A shift (in this case, two hours), during which a recruit "guards" a place against intruders.
*
Aaron snapped awake, his dream scattering like dust in the wind, leaving him alone with a raging hardon that demanded his attention. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. Then he saw the racks, felt the uncomfortable desk, and it came to him.
He reached down and unselfconsciously massaged himself through his utility pants. Still waking, he surveyed the drab cinderblock walls, somehow made even more depressing by the uniform white paint. Undoubtedly it had been a punishment for some poor recruit.
Speaking of punishment...he discreetly looked around. No one here - that was good. He shouldn't have been sleeping, of course - he had the head watch. ..The punishment head watch. For three days in a row, he had been caught talking at the worst possible times. Every time he had earned head watch.
For those of you unfamiliar with Navy boot camp and its lovable quirks, recruits must stand guard throughout the night. Some divisions require it around the clock, but this division was too new for that. Thus, it was Aaron's job to guard the head against intruders...
Aaron checked the clock. It was 0102 - he had 43 minutes left. By the sound of it, no one was awake except the roving and aft watches. Given the fact that he hadn't awoken to shouts and a heavy workout, petty officer Kline was probably asleep.
He studied the watch bill, torn. On one hand, he had an RDC that could show up any time. On the other, (or rather, inside - he was cupping and pressing, cupping and pressing...) was his cock, so hard that it hurt, reminding him that it had been two weeks since he had cum.
That had been in his own hand, pants puddled around his ankles, hot jizz dripping through his fingers to the hardwood floor below the computer. He had been chatting with Amy over the internet. She was hotter than hell, and even lived in his town. Though they had done almost everything in cyberspace, she refused to meet him in person, or even over the phone. Of course, that had still been incredible - Amy was wonderfully gifted with writing and photography...
Anyway, she was far behind him. He had signed up for the Navy and wouldn't be back for at least six years. He had joined as a nuke, and thus had to serve two more years due to extensive training.
He pressed his hard cock once more, stifling the urge to moan - the noise would be deafening in the silence. He checked the clock once more and slowly eased out of his desk (almost identical to the ones from his high school). He slowly pushed open the door to the head, holding it as it closed to prevent more noise.
The smell of many men and not enough disinfectant assaulted him, and he grimaced as he worked back to the second-to-last stall. He brushed aside the yellow-beige shower curtain (no doors for recruits...) with his left hand, his right fumbling with his belt.
He entered and managed to undo the plain black belt, closing the curtains as he did so. He had just enough time to see that the shower area was wet - the head crew must have been slacking off today.
Those shower areas were really something - once per day, each side of the compartment would funnel roughly 35 men through in 10 minutes. He had to laugh at the poor saps who came in at the end, who had to share showerheads or endure petty officer Kline's humiliating comments. His rack was at the very front, so he almost always got in first.
As he thought this, he unbuttoned his pants, pushed them down along with his PT shorts and briefs in one frantic motion. His cock, engorged bounced back up and slapped the front of his utility shirt, leaving a large drop of precum on the light blue fabric.
He sat heavily, all caution gone. He cupped the head of his cock in his right hand, letting the rough skin stimulate the circumcised tip. His hand glided down, gripping the shaft and thumbing the ridge just below his piss-hole. It seemed ridiculous, but he would have sworn his dick, a little over 7 inches when he left home, was larger now - extended quite a ways past his fist.
He started pumping his hand furiously, the noise loud and obvious in the echoey, fragrant room. Suddenly, he paused, his head cocked to the right. He had almost 40 minutes - why not make this good?
He leaned back against the ugly cinderblock wall and worked his saliva up. After a few seconds, he leaned forward and spat directly on the head of his cock. Slowly, ever so slowly, he started massaging it in small clock-wise motions with his thumb.
Oh, it was heavenly!
His mind conjured Amy, with her exploratory nature. At first it had been normal, though highly stimulating cybersex. She had just the right words, and always seemed to know how he was feeling and what he wanted.
Then it had started to turn kinky. Not that either of them was bored, but it doubled, trebled the pleasure. It also banished any thought that she might not be from his town - one of the first diversions was sex on the riverbank of a local park. At one point in the session, an old man, certainly no younger than 50, had noticed them. In short order, he was working his thick, veiny, uncircumcised cock. About midway through the proceedings, he had cum large, ropey strands on the rocks, knees almost buckling.
At first, Aaron had regarded these with some dismay - Amy had to calm him down a bit to get him to finish that session involving the elderly man. Eventually though, he came to see it as a way to show off - the man might only be imaginary, but if his presence could evoke such strong feelings of discomfort, it could also summon feelings of pride, both of his partner and of his performance. It brought his writing and visualizing skills to whole new planes as he tried to impress people who didn't even exist.
By this time, he was getting close. He had switched some time ago to more conventional jerking off, breath coming in short, shallow gasps. That was when he saw it.
A tiny bit of black sticking out from behind the divider of this stall and the last. No recruit would have the energy to fight with the boots to go the head in the night - he would just wear his PT shoes. That left one person. Immediately his hand stopped, and all arousal left him.
He had no more than registered this thought when the shower curtain was ripped aside and a deceptively calm voice asked, "What are you doing, recruit?"
At first, Aaron didn't even understand - he'd never heard the petty officer speak in a normal tone of voice, and it was like watching a foreign film without subtitles. He just stared, dumbfounded.
Petty officer Kline stepped forward, halfway in the stall now. In a much sharper, slightly louder tone, he said, "I asked you what you're doing, recruit!"
