A Marine Called Jason
(Revised)
by: Peter

(© 2007-2015 by the Author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 59
Sniper School 

I was surprised and pleased with myself to realize that finding Jason was not my total motivation. With jump school behind me, I was equally motivated to become the best damned Marine sniper scout I could be.

I bid Fort Benning goodbye, with some fondness. On the plane back to Camp Pendleton I nervously reviewed the minimum requirements again for sniper school to be sure I wasn’t lacking in anything.  I was male last time I looked, I had volunteered for the school, I had an Infantry MOS, I had my rank back, and I was qualified as an expert rifleman.  I had 20/20 vision and I wasn’t colorblind.  I had not had, nor expected to have office hours. who the hell threw that in there anyway? Trick question, I reckoned. I had no non-judicial punishments within six months, or ever.  I gave the physical fitness qualifications a hard look and set a goal to trim five minutes off the three mile run--perfect was three miles in eighteen minutes--to do six more dead-hang pull-ups--twenty was perfect--and I knew a hundred crunches in two minutes would be no problem. I was an excellent swimmer so I was certain there would be no problem meeting the qualifications for a perfect score in swimming; namely 500 meters using side or breast stroke, 50 meters holding a weight out of water, and I could sure as hell tread water for more than thirty seconds holding a weight out of water, with no signs of panic.  In other words, I was going to ace the physical qualifications.

The only thing that bothered me was the security clearance. There was a twinge of concern about my sexual preference.  I didn’t believe, nor could I imagine how the Marines could know about that, but it was impossible to know who might have been lurking in Toby’s or perhaps observed my frequenting the Trent Hotel absent the company of women.  And there was that thing that Dr. Bernake said wouldn’t be in my file; I had to trust him on that.  But all that was in the past and I couldn’t worry about it; I would have to be more careful from now on. 

I reported in feeling confident overall.  I was assigned to a room that had my name on the door, as well as the name, Levi Brant. Since I was there first, I had first choice and I took the top bunk. I unpacked my stuff and got my wall locker and footlocker squared away without much thought of Levi Brant or what he would look like. He didn’t show up till the next evening after chow. I was already stretched out on my bunk in my shorts, after a workout at the gym and a shower.  I was feeling smugly proud that I had reached my goal of a perfect score of twenty dead-hang pull-ups. Tomorrow morning I would trim some time off the three-mile run. 

Suddenly the door opened and a duffle bag was tossed in, followed by a well built, cute, darkly tanned teenager—he turned out to be twenty--with a smile that must’ve cost his dad thousands.  He reared back and looked at the names on the door.

“If I’m Brant, you must be Courter,” he said with a slight Southern accent as he walked over to me.

“Or if I’m Courter, you must be Brant,” I said as I sat up and put out my hand.  I didn’t jump down off my bunk because I didn’t plan on staying up all night getting acquainted.

We talked while he made up his bunk, unpacked and got his locker squared away, and I watched, wondering what he would look like out of his clothes. He filled them out well, his massive arms bulging inside his shirtsleeves, and wide his shoulders were heaped with muscle. Thick thighs and a tight butt packed inside his jeans. And a quick smile that would’ve been boyish except for the dimple in his chin that somehow added a badge of maturity.

He earned his southern drawl; he was from Tennessee, but not from the south, he said; he was from Northern Tennessee, Clarksville, close to the Kentucky line.

“And Kentucky isn’t south of the Mason-Dixon Line?” I asked jokingly.

“Hell, no. That’s a fable that came out of the Civil War. The Mason-Dixon Line runs between Pennsylvania and Maryland, West Virginia and down to Delaware, and it was a line to settle a property dispute in the mid-1700s. It’s named after the two surveyors who mapped the line, Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling and no doubt looking pretty dumb.  “Thanks for the history lesson.  They didn’t teach that where I went to school.”

“I’ll bet you won’t find it in any history book, but that’s the facts,” he said. “Where’re the showers?” he asked as he began taking off his clothes.

“Turn right out the door, down to the end of the hall and down the stairs,” I said.

I tried not to show too much interest in him taking off his clothes but I kept the conversation going so I could continue to look at him without being noticed as he bared his muscular young body.  I say young….it wasn’t like I was old enough to be his dad but he looked so young, still with that look of innocence in his eyes, and he had a body that belied his age. He was built solid, but his muscles hadn’t taken on the hard look of maturity. They were smooth and supple. I looked at his face and wondered if he even shaved, or if the shaving line at his ears was put there by his barber. I waited to see if he would leave the room wearing his shorts or take them off.  He not only took them off, he got a towel out of his locker that he tossed over his shoulder instead of wrapping it around his waist. As he was walking out the door with his soap dish in one hand, I stopped him.

“Hey.”

He leaned back in.  “Yeah.”

“Couldn’t help noticing your ass.  Don’t drop the soap.”

“Aw, fuck,” he drawled, giving me the finger.

Okay, ten weeks, I thought.  Ten weeks of being in the same room with this hot little fucker. I started arranging my priorities in my head. I was here to become a sniper.  So was he.  I would concentrate on that and hope he did the same. It wasn’t going to be easy. He showed me just how not easy it was going to be when he came back from his shower with his cock all fluffed up.

“They’ve got soap dispensers down there, I don’t even need to take soap,” he said. “You knew that, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah, I heard there was too much dropping the soap, guys were walking funny all over the place,” I said.

“I think we’re gonna get along,” he said, laughing as he jerked the towel off his shoulder and snapped it at me.

“I hope so, we’re gonna be cooped up in this room together for three months,” I said.

He looked around the room. “I wouldn’t call this cooped up.  My room back home was smaller than this. Listen, there’s something I wanta bring up right here and now and get it out of the way,” he went on, as he started pulling on his cock. It wasn’t like he was jacking off, more like he was stretching it or just wanted to feel it. Or he was proud of it. He had a right to be proud, but I didn’t think he ought to go around pulling on his cock like that.  But I waited to hear him out.

“I’m not gay or anything, you understand, but I’m super horny all the time.  I know it’s not allowed, but I do it anyway, and fuck, so does everybody else.  I just wanta know if it’s okay to do it here in the room where it’s comfortable, or if I have to sneak around and find someplace else.”

I gave him a frowning scowl. “Okay to do what?” I asked with a tight smile. I knew what he meant but I wanted to hear him say it.

“You know….jack off.”

“Well, right here in the room is probably the safest place,” I said in a casual tone. I jumped to the floor and grabbed my bunk and tried to shake it, but it was solid. “I don’t think you’re gonna disturb me any,” I said.

“Then it’s okay,” he said. “I mean, you’re not gonna get homophobic or turn me in or anything.”

“I would be too embarrassed,” I said. “I mean, how do you report that your roommate is jacking off without sounding like a kid?  Besides, I wouldn’t report you for doing the same thing I’m doing.”

He smiled and laughed, obviously quite relieved. “I won’t disturb you, I jack off before I go to sleep.” Then he added. “And it’s okay by me if you do it too.”

“Thanks. That’s the first time I’ve ever been granted permission to jack off,” I joked.

He laughed again, with his hand flat on his stomach, like he wanted to feel his abs ripple when he laughed.  “Yeah, we’re gonna get along just fine,” he said.

Over the next couple of days our barracks filled up, maybe thirty guys from all over. I pretty much stuck with Brant. We were roommates and if we were training partners, which I assumed we were, that would make it better studying.  And there was the jack off thing that stuck in my mind. We had that solid between us and it probably wouldn’t be like that, so easy, with anybody else. I know I would've never had the guts to bring it up like he did. 

I would be glad to get orientation out of the way. It was always nothing but an overview--always too long--of everything that was going to happen and I thought the time could be better spent just making it happen.  But that’s not the way the military works. So Brant and I sat together at orientation, pretty much sealing our training partnership.

A distinguished looking major came out on stage. Everybody came to attention till he told us to be seated. I thought he should’ve held more rank for his age. There was no podium and he didn’t need a microphone.

“We’re not looking for good shots or natural born killers,” he began. “There are a lot of soldiers that are skilled with a rifle and have the training and ability to take an enemy's life; that doesn’t make them snipers.  Being a sniper comes with a tremendous amount of responsibility. What command is looking for is a soldier that possesses good decision-making abilities and a level head. Snipers need to be able to work on their own.  You have to be independent, so when you're not with your unit you need to be able to make sound decisions on your own without having to call up, 'What should I do here?' or  'Should I shoot this guy or what?'"

“Fabled in fiction and feared in fact, a sniper can take a toll on an enemy, literally and psychologically.  Consider it; if you can't find somebody, you don't know where they're at, and people are dying right beside you, and you can't figure out why and where or how far away the shooter is, it's like a ghost warrior. Firepower is a lot less important than precise, discriminate fire.”

“There's a lot of romanticism associated with snipers but really, the Marine sniper is nothing more than a highly trained infantryman. But he does something ordinary infantrymen don't do. With calm calculation, usually from hiding, he stalks an unsuspecting enemy through the scope of a long-range precision rifle. Then he kills him. As one Marine sniper puts it: ‘You're out here to hunt man, and the only more personal way is to stab somebody or slit his throat.’ It is indeed a very personal way to kill, and partly for that reason, not everyone is cut out for this work.”

“Although they do talk about it, how to deal psychologically with killing people is not technically part of the training.  Putting it in its simplest terms, sniper school students are taught to "dehumanize" those they shoot. When he is in combat, it's just a target, and that's all it is. The target comes up and presents itself, and the target goes down, and you move on to the next one. They're also taught to remember that those they kill posed a threat to fellow Marines. They look at it not as shooting a person, but eliminating a threat.”

“Beyond the right psychological makeup, a sniper needs the intelligence and the mental and physical stamina to master a large set of special skills. Those skills include using mathematical formulas to calculate the effects of distance and wind on bullet trajectory, and enduring sun, rain or jungle slime and insects for hours or even days while stalking a target, or getting away. Sniping takes its toll. For one thing, snipers often operate beyond front lines and are prime targets themselves, some even with bounties on their heads. Snipers also bear psychological burdens, for a target's face often fills the scope before they fire.”

“The very nature of Marine Scout Sniper training requires that the sniper candidates are physically and mentally prepared for the stress and rigors of training and sniping.  Self-discipline and positive mental attitude can contribute tremendously to such psychological and physical readiness. But morale, cohesion and integrity are also part of team readiness and potency. And if they realize and understand that self-discipline and positive mental attitude can help them to achieve these goals, then they could be considered truly a Marine Scout Sniper.”

He glanced to the side then continued.

“Now I’m going to turn this over to Corporal Luke Major.  His introduction is short and sweet. Corporal Major holds just about every record at this school.  Nothing more needs to be said.  So listen up.”

Corporal Major looked like he might’ve graduated with Levi Brant, like last week, from high school. Except unlike Brant’s boyish good looks, Major had a look of maturity about him except for his eyes.  He had eyes that would make women want to take him home and take his virginity.  Not that I believed he still had it. Fuck, if he looked anything like that when he was twelve or fourteen, he left his cherry back in grade school.  Even his voice, although powerful, had a tone of maturity that’d happened only recently.  But we listened when he spoke.

“Above the doors leading to the classroom is a sign that reads: ‘Through these doors pass the world's finest infantrymen. Out walks the world's deadliest weapons--Marine Scout-Snipers.’ Each Basic Scout-Sniper Course starts with twenty-four to thirty students and on average, six to nine of those will fail, and not because of poor marksmanship.  About three will flunk because of inadequate patience and skill at stalking. Two or three others won't grasp observation and surveillance techniques, or some aspect of the math. We lose most of our students during the land navigation portion. A lot of young Marines don't know land navigation well enough and fail to get the required seventy percent mark. But those who do make it to the graded stalks train long and hard in the mud and dirt to be silent and deadly even after they take the shot.”

“Comes opening day, the lives of these thirty or so sniper candidates will never be the same again, not only for themselves but for their unit as well. For each training phase, or module, they are required to get an average of at least seventy-five percent both in the written and practical exercises, in order to check out and move on to the next module. Those who fail to get the passing marks will be automatically dropped from the course. For the next twelve weeks, those who remain will wake up as early as 3:00 in the morning and turn in as late as midnight. They will be learning more marksmanship, scout sniper equipment care and maintenance procedures, and do a lot of shooting either downrange or at the training fields. They will also learn about the different types of ammo, sniper sighting devices, special sniper equipment, communications equipment, effects of weather, engagement of moving targets, call for fire among other things. Those lucky enough to go this far will be allowed to learn more about sniper field techniques, mission preparation, sniper operations and tracking/counter-tracking. It's not like you can read a book and go do it.  You have to do it over and over, and if you quit doing it for a while you can lose your skills.  It is a perishable skill." 

“The Marine Scout Sniper works and trains as a two-man team. At this stage he will learn that a sniper's primary and secondary duties are as a sniper and as an observer respectively.  Therefore, each team member must train both as a sniper and as an observer. As a sniper team leader, he will learn how to plan the day-to-day activities of the sniper team and the proper employment of his special weapon; the sniper weapon system.  The observer on the other hand will learn how to effectively observe everything within sight or hearing and likewise learn the proper employment of his weapon--the M16 rifle with M203 which gives the team greater suppressive fire and protection.”

“The last phase of the training is called the sniper sustainment training or the sniper Field Training Exercise. For one month, each team will be tested for what they have learned with one sniper instructor assigned to rate each team.  They will also undergo a one-week continuous activity covering all the triad of military skills with emphasis on stalking, long-range target engagement, night navigation and night firing, with minimal rest, sleep and food. This is the snipers "Hell Week.” The training then will culminate with a three-day-and-night Survival, Evasion and Escape exercise before each team member can finally earn the title of a Marine Scout Sniper.”

“The Marine Scout Sniper is not just a good shooter. He is the best shooter and the best ghost rider a unit can ever have. He brings death from afar and abandon's all hope for the enemy who only dies tired if he runs. To the sniper candidate, there is still a long and arduous way to go before he earns the title of Marine Scout Sniper and its golden eagle and cross-hair badge. Welcome Aboard, to Marine Scout Sniper School.”

Orientation took up the entire morning and then we went to chow.  I was surprised they gave us the rest of the day free, except technically it wasn’t, unless you wanted to goof off, which wasn’t a smart thing to do. I figured they might be watching to see who goofed off.  When we returned to the barracks after chow, we each found a book and a notebook on our bunks. I took it as a real strong hint to study.  I always hated studying and was never good at it.  I found it hard to concentrate on reading; I was better at hands-on. But I wanted this and I would do whatever it took. So I got comfortable, down to my briefs.  Then for some reason I thought of Sgt. Blackburn.  I’d told him I would get in touch with him when I reached my next duty station.  I slipped on a pair of pants and a T-shirt and went to the phone bank just outside the barracks to call him. He sounded happy and surprised to hear from me.  He said it was too bad I got assigned so far away.  It felt good to hear him say that. We talked for a few minutes then I went back inside and got comfortable again.

I read and re-read, made notes, and Brant and I exchanged notes. I think he wanted to be a sniper even more than I did.  He got irritated with the noise in the hallway from guys who weren’t studying, and downright pissed when someone poked his head in. He got up and locked the door.

I had my limits with studying, and a couple of hours was it. I tossed the book aside and jumped down off my bunk.

“I gotta give it a break,” I said as I looked out the window. “I hate book learning anyway.  I’m better at hands on.”

“Here’s your hands on,” Brant joked.

I looked around to see him grabbing his crotch.

“I thought you only did that at night,” I said, although he hadn’t performed the act yet, that I knew of.

“I do, but liking hands on, you can do it for me anytime,” he said.

I laughed, shaking my head. But Brant didn’t let go of his crotch. He kept squeezing and massaging himself. I retrieved my book and pulled a chair out from the desk and sat down, cocked back on two legs. 

“You know, maybe a good jack off break would clear the mind,” he said as he tossed his books aside.

“You’re gonna do it now?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah, my cock and balls aren’t on a time schedule,” he said, as he started undoing his pants.

“I know the door’s locked, but somebody might wanta come in….like the sergeant,” I said.

“We’re on free time.  What would be so unusual about a guy being naked in his room on free time?”

“Naked is one thing….two guys naked behind locked doors with hardons is a different story,” I said.

“You don’t have a hardon,” he said.

He had a point, but he had a body, and the more of it I saw, the more likely I knew I was going to get a hardon.  By the time he was totally naked I could feel my cock coming to life.  “If you keep doing that, I probably will have a hardon,” I said.

“Ah, so it turns you on, seeing me like this,” he chided me as he fisted his cock in a lewd manner, showing off for me.

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t going to admit that it turned me on, but I didn’t deny it either.  I had to admit, I liked the way his hand didn’t fit all the way around his thick cock.  I turned back to my book.

“I don’t care if you watch,” he said.  “I don’t care if you join me.”

I eyed him over the top of my book and felt a gentle pulsation in my cock. I focused on my book but I could see Brant watching me as he stroked his own cock.

“Looks like your cock wants to join in,” he said.

I reached around my book and shoved my hand down inside my shorts, taking hold of my own cock. Brant laughed.  I started stroking it, casual like, without looking up from my book.  I felt my cock grow and stiffen in my hand.

“Your cock obviously thanks you,” Brant said as my cock quickly outgrew my hand and protruded through my fist across to my hip.

“Yeah, if it could talk, it would,” I mumbled without looking up. I wasn’t following the words on the page now.  I was just barely skimming over them.

“Oh, now it’s talking….in sign language.  Look at the ball juice soaking up your shorts,” Brand said. “Fuck, man, you’re not reading anyway. You’re probably sitting there looking at the page cross-eyed.”

I lowered my book to have a look.  Sure enough, there was a big wet spot forming over at my hip.

“Fuck!” I swore as I laid the book down and stood up. “This pair of shorts wasn’t ready for the laundry bag yet.” I peeled the shorts down and tossed them in my locker.  A stream of precome left my cock and fell to the floor and more was coming out.  I swiped it up with my finger and wiped it on my thigh as I picked up my book again.

“I would’ve licked my finger off,” Brant said, laughing.

He was too much. Finally I laid my book aside. “Okay, you win,” I said as I began stroking my cock.

We stood there and jacked off for a few minutes, watching each other intently.

“Hey, do you wanta make any bets on who comes first, or farther?” he asked.

“Not who comes first.  I’ve trained myself to hold off,” I said.

“That’s good. I gotta work on that. Maybe you can give me some pointers.  So, are we betting on farther then?”

“Sure. What’re the stakes?”

“Loser has to give the other guy a blowjob instead of jacking off next time,” he said.

“Have you ever sucked cock before, Brant?” I asked.

“No. You?”

“No,” I lied.

“But you'll do it?....if you lose?” he asked.

“I won’t lose.  Question is, will you if you lose.”

“Yes, sir.  I never welch on a bet,” he said.

We started jacking off in earnest.  Brant cupped his balls in one hand, holding them up so his other fist pounded them with every stroke.  He winced and groaned as he did it.

“Why’re you torturing yourself like that?” I asked as I sat back down and cocked back in the chair.  I put my feet up on the desk, my legs spread wide, and started jacking my cock slowly.

“A little pain mixed in feels good….builds up the pressure. You oughta try it,” he said

“Ever try your finger?” I asked as I reached down and started rubbing my asshole.

He gave me a screwy look.  “You mean my finger in my ass?  No.”

“If you can find your prostate, it’ll make you blow the top of your head off,” I told him.

“Oh, really,” he said.  He went over and laid back across the bunk with his legs spread out and reached down and started rubbing his asshole too. “Mmnnnn, that does feel good.”  He rubbed harder, pushing his finger against his hole.

“Wet your finger, it’ll go in easier,” I said.

Without hesitation, and without thinking, he put his finger in his mouth. “Aww, fuck. I don’t believe I just stuck my finger in my mouth after rubbing my asshole!”

“It ain’t gonna kill you, you just showered,” I said, and I did it too.

Within minutes we both had our fingers in our asses, squirming around on our hands. I couldn’t believe what we were doing.

“Ohh, fuck, I’m glad you put me onto this,” Brant said. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”

I didn’t think Brant had found his prostate yet but I knew exactly where mine was.

“You found it yet?” I asked.

“It feels good, but I haven’t found anything that feels like it’s gonna blow the top of my head off,” he said.

Without thinking, I said, “I can help you find it if you want.”

“You can, no shit?  You’re gonna shove your finger in my ass?”

“Unless you want me to use my cock,” I said.

“No fuckin’ way,” he said, laughing.  “You are too fuckin’ funny, dude.”

I went over to his bunk and he spread his legs out and lifted them up so I could get to his ass.  I couldn’t believe we were doing this, but we were. I placed one of his feet in the frame of my top bunk to tilt his ass up higher.  He placed his other foot really wide.  He pulled one side of his butt apart and I replaced his finger with my own.  He was hot and tight and spongy inside.

“Fuck, Brant, you’re tight.”

“Ohhh….OOhh, fuck….is your finger supposed to feel better than mine?” he moaned.

I probed around, going in as deep as I could reach, searching for his prostate.  He let me know when I found it.

“UUUhhnnn! Mann, you just touched something!” he exclaimed.

“Something that felt pretty special?” I asked, rubbing my finger around his love nut.

“Aww, fuck, yeahhhh….real special,” he moaned. “Ohhh.…  Awww, fuck! I didn’t know that was in there.”

I pulled my finger out.  “See if you can find it now,” I said.

He curled his finger and shoved it in as deep as he could reach and I saw the corded muscles in his forearm ripple as he probed around.  Suddenly his eyes widened and he let out a little gasp.

“Ohh….Oohh, fuck, there it is! I can feel it!” he gasped excitedly.

“Have yourself a ball,” I said and started to walk away.

“Hey, wait, come here. How about we finger each other? You help get me off, I’ll help get you off.  I mean, we can reach each other's asses better than reaching our own.”

I didn’t believe he was saying it but I liked his logic.  I hesitated, then went back over to him. “All right.  I guess that’s not an unfair advantage,” I said.

As I went back to his bunk he turned to lie long ways and raised his legs and hooked his feet in the upper bunk again. I wet my finger and shoved it in his ass again and found his prostate.

“Aawhhh, Fuck! Man, you know right where it is,” he cried. “Did you go to medical school or something?”

“Yeah, but I flunked out.  I aced prostate, though,” I said, laughing.

He reached out and shoved his arm between my legs and started fingering my ass while we both jacked off.  I squirmed around so he would connect with my love nut.  It was hot and intense, him twisting his butt around on my finger and I was riding up and down on his. I hadn’t figured Brant for this, and now I was wondering how much more I could expect out of him. He seemed so totally void of inhibitions, open for anything.  I didn’t try to hold off.  I was still a little concerned about someone knocking on our door.  I let him work me up, confident that I could out shoot him.

“How’re we gonna measure, you’re standing, I’m lying down, we’re not facing the same direction,” Brant said.

“There won’t be any need to measure,” I said.  “Question is, where do you want it?”

“Wait. If you’re really a shooter, I don’t want the mess all over me and my bunk; let me stand up,” he said.

I would’ve preferred it like we were….I was hoping to shoot all over him….but I didn’t argue. He stood beside me, both of us facing away from his bunk toward the center of the room.  He reached back and shoved his finger in my ass again and I did the same to him.  It didn’t take long. My legs started trembling and Brant was literally fucking himself on my finger and moaning and gasping like he was in pain. He went off first.  I felt his asshole squeeze and spasm around my finger, then seconds later he was shooting long streaks of cum across the room.  Way across the room.  For the first time, I was a little worried. While he was coming down, I let loose with my load as I rode and squirmed around on his finger jabbing mercilessly at my ass.  I shot so hard, I swear I could hear the stuff gushing out of my cock. It sailed upward, forming a wide arch--like a pearl-white rainbow--and landed with a splatter on the floor damn near clear across the room.

“Holy Minoly!” Brant swore. “Shit!  That’s like a rocket firing!”

I trembled through my climax, sending another half dozen powerful spurts across the room before the trajectory lowered and I was spewing streams of semen closer to us.  I was a bit surprised myself at the distance, and the volume, both of which I attributed to Brant.

“Damn, you over shot me by a yard! And about a gallon!” Brant exclaimed. “You fuckin’ win.”

“And you owe me a blowjob,” I said.

“Fuck, I guess I do!” he said, sounding almost excited.

“And you never welch on a bet,” I reminded him.

To be continued...  

Posted: 03/06/15 rp