There was no question that the guy was Navy. He was bulked up like he could lift a battleship and he was wearing the blue camouflage loose trousers that Navy enlisted men wore these days for work details. Black combat boots, and a navy-blue T-shirt that was pulled so tightly across his broad chest that every curve and both nipples stood out. He promised to be rough. A butt-ugly face, with rugged, square-jaw features and close-cropped blond hair. If it weren't for the Navy work clothes I could have taken him for a Marine.
And I had no trouble with being taken by a Marine—or several in quick succession. That had happened in Norfolk, which was a combat-level base. Those Marines took everything hard. There were no Marines here, though—that I knew of. Pity.
He was sitting at a table in the center of the room at Merry's when I entered and was glowering at all the men moving around the small room. Most of the rent boys there, like me, were trying to put the make on him. I moved to my regular table in the shadows and sat, facing him, the side of the chair toward the table, so that I could spread my legs and cup my crotch with a hand as I seemingly let my gaze travel around the room but, really, always keeping him in my peripheral vision.
I wanted him to come to me. He had to come to me.
And then he did. Pulling up a café chair and straddling it in reverse right in front of me, sneering at me, reaching over with a beefy hand and brushing the hand I had laid on my crotch away and palming and squeezing my package.
He got right to it. "How much for a fuck?"
"Thirty bucks," I answered.
"A rough fuck," he clarified.
"Forty bucks, and you pay for the room." I almost always asked for fifty, but I was aching to have this hunk fuck me—roughly. I was trying to get Jerry out of my mind. And Austin too, if truth be told. The offer Jerry had been working up to making would have been too good to turn down. A cushy life. And all I'd have to do was play wifey. The veritable lap of luxury. Whenever I came close to this, though, I retreated to the groove.
This sailor, exuding rough fuck and danger, with the bulky chest, and the big hands, and the big bulge at his crotch, promised to pull me back into the groove. It was where I belonged. It was pretentious for me to expect better.
"Then let's get to it," he said, standing and pulling me up from my chair as well. He practically goose-stepped me out of Merry's.
At the top of the stairs in the alley, leaning up against the wall and smoking a cigarette, was the duplicate—other than that he was black as coal—of the Navy hulk manhandling me up the stairs. Right down to the work gear and the bulging chest and crotch, and the sour, determined expression.
"This here's my bud," the first sailor said. "We do everything together. We're gonna do you together too. You're gonna earn it hard—and double." It wasn't a request.
"That wasn't the . . ." I started to say, but what was the use? Sailor one had me in such a tight hold that I wasn't going anywhere, and sailor two was already standing close in front of me, running one hand up under my T and groping my crotch with the other.
"It'll be forty bucks each then," I bravely said. "Plus you pay for the hotel room."
"Yeah, yeah, sure." They started dragging me deeper into the alley.
"The hotel's around the corner," I plaintively said.
"Yeah, yeah, just shut up."
When I opened my mouth to speak, the black guy popped me in the mouth, grabbed me as I was going down, and threw me over his shoulder.
When they said they did everything together, they meant it. They DPed me deep in the alley, in the dark, behind a trash bin. It wasn't any worse, though, than Marines had done to me in Norfolk. And the Marines had been packing more than these two guys were.
They took me standing up, me stripped, with my T-shirt stuffed in my mouth, and them stripped of their T's but just with their flies open. I was sandwiched between them, with sailor one fucking me from behind and sailor two from in front, both of their dicks inside me at the same time and counterpunching me.
When they were done, they just let me sink to the ground in a heap and left me there—no forty dollars apiece or anything.
It didn't matter—much. Well, it hadn't mattered much a few weeks ago, but I was getting tired of it. Something was stirring inside me, rebelling against the groove. It brought me back into the reality of what my life was. It pulled me right back into the groove, which had been OK, but now wasn't really OK anymore.
Still, the experience wasn't all bad. I'd needed a nasty fuck. I didn't collect my fee from time to time. It was an occupational hazard. But I didn't often get totally fucked like those two sailors did me.
