A Marine Called Jason by Peter

A Marine Called Jason
(Revised)
by: Peter

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

The Epilogue Chapters

Epilogue Chapter 28

(Return to Vietnam)

The flight to Vietnam was pleasant enough but I didn’t get a warm feeling at the terminal when we landed. I presented my passport and handed over my backpack for a security search, praying that they wouldn’t find the canister of Jason’s ashes. They didn’t. They didn’t seem all that concerned about what I was carrying. They asked about my other luggage and I told him the backpack was all I had. They asked me the reason for my visit.

“Just a short visit. I was here,” I said.

He waved me on without a word of welcome.

I sought out a private helicopter service at the airport to take me up. I was glad it was operated by two Vietnam veterans.

“You got somebody’s ashes?”

“Yes,” I said, surprised.

“You’re not the first,” he said. “We’re not supposed to do this but how do we know what people might toss out over the jungle when we take ‘em up.”

“Why aren’t you supposed to do it?” I asked.

“They don’t like Americans being buried over here.” He laughed. “Took up one guy and he stood out on the landing skids and took a piss over the jungle. He said it was a tribute to Ho Chi Minh.”

I paid for an hour in the air. When we were airborne I told him I wanted to fly over Saigon one more time.

“You know it’s not Saigon anymore,” he said.

“It is to me. Fuck Ho Chi Minh. It’ll always be Saigon for me.”

“You’re not the first one to say that, either. Can I ask, is this your brother’s ashes?”

“No, my best buddy. No, actually, he was my life time partner.”

“Not the first time for that either,” he said. “There were a lot of life partnerships formed over here. Two guys met, it was easy to fall in love because they were the only ones who understood.”

“Thank you for not judging,” I said.

“I’m nobody to judge anybody,” he said. “Hell, my business partner is married to his old combat buddy.”

“We never got married; never saw the need,” I said.

“That’s the reason they’re living over here. Their families have no idea.”

I didn’t recognize anything of Saigon from the air but I hadn’t really seen the city from this perspective. He headed out over the jungle. Even much of that didn’t look familiar. I remembered so many places where the foliage had been destroyed. The jungle had done a good job of reclamation.

“Tell me when we’re heading back,” I told him.

“Yes, sir. I’ll leave you alone now.”

The whomp-whomp-whomp of the rotor blades was like music to my ears. Not necessarily joyful, but a sad and familiar symphony of old memories. Still, it was good. I always loved that sound and it dredged up a lot of memories, good and bad. I didn’t dwell on any of them.

“Turning back in five,” the pilot said.

I waited till he was making the turn and then stepped out on the skids with the urn. He didn’t say anything about me stepping out; he knew I knew my way around a helicopter. I uncapped the urn and let the ashes go. They formed a trail of dust that was caught up in a whirlwind and thrown to oblivion. For some reason I brought the urn up to smell it.

“Can you take me lower?”

He dropped altitude till we were barely skimming the treetops. I tossed the urn and watched it disappear in the tree tops. We were quiet the rest of the way back until he set the bird down and cut the engine.

“Nice soft landing,” I said.

“Mine usually are,” he bragged.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Happy to be of service,” he said.

I happened to glace at my watch. We’d been in the air for nearly two hours.

“Hey, I owe you some more money.”

“No you don’t,” he said, waving me off.

It was done. Jason was home, where he wanted to be. I felt a sense of mission accomplished. I hired a cab to take me into the city. I wanted one more look, close up. The cab driver was an older man.

“You were here?” he asked in near perfect English.

“Yes.”

“Any place you want to see? Old haunts?” he asked.

“Is the Dragonfly still here?”

“Yes and no. Still in business but not as Dragonfly.”

“Is it still a brothel?” I asked.

“No, no!” he said emphatically. “No brothel, but still girls to entertain.”

“They used to wear red dresses.”

“No red dresses either. All white. The girls pretend to be virgins.”

I asked about the orphanage, explaining that it was further into the city.

“I know it, but it closed several years ago when the nuns left the city.”

He didn’t offer to take me there and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see it. Without asking, he told me I should see the old Independence Palace. I thought it might be required that he take tourists there.

“When the French departed, the palace became home to the South Vietnamese president Ngo Dinh Diem. It was bombed by his own air force in an attempt to kill him. They failed and the president ordered a new residence to be built on the same site, this time with a bomb shelter in the basement. The new building was called Independence Palace, but Diem never lived there. He was killed by his own troops in 1963. The new president, Nguyen Van Thieu, lived there until he left the country in 1975.”

That Diem was killed by his own troops didn’t resonate. I remembered Jason being sent on a special mission to take out a special, high value target. He was always convinced that it wasn’t just a high ranking general he’d shot.

“It was renamed Reunification Palace after the fall of Saigon,” the driver went on. “It’s where General Minh waited with his staff to surrender. He was head of South Vietnam for only forty three hours. It is famous, what he said to the North Vietnam officer. He said, ‘I have been waiting since early this morning to transfer power to you’, and the officer said, ‘There is no question of your transferring power You cannot give up what you do not have.’ That is the tank that crashed through the gates when the Communist North rolled into the city.”

He drove along a road with cemeteries on each side and explained that the cemetery that was well kept was where the heroes of the revolution were buried. The other side was overgrown with grass and weeds and there were two cows grazing among the headstones.

“This is where the traitors of the revolution are buried. Many people want it to be bulldozed but it has not been done yet.”

I couldn’t really tell if the man was pro or anti American; if he was throwing in a mix of propaganda. He drove down Dong Kohi Street for to quite a ways then turned on a side street.

“Here is Dragonfly,” he said as he slowed the cab.

I had to look close to recognize it, then wasn’t sure I really did. It had a new front, with massive red doors. There was even a uniformed doorman.

I paid the driver and had him let me out. I would go the rest of the way on foot. It felt good to be in familiar territory, although it still wasn’t the best part of town. I was gripped by emotions when I saw the chapel up ahead. I remembered the times I’d gone there to pray to the guardian saint to protect Jason and bring him back to me. I never knew the saint’s name. I seemed to recall another Marine I met there. Blackburn? Was that his name? Or was that a figment of my dream? It didn’t matter now and I shrugged it off. Closer, I was saddened to see the chapel in disarray. A chicken came squawking out the door, followed by a mangy looking dog chasing it. I stepped just inside the door. The statues were gone. I hoped they had been taken to a place for safe keeping. Only a few of the benches remained and they were in splintered pieces. The altar had been destroyed. Of course; they probably didn’t allow religion under the new regime.

I passed by the jewelry shop where I’d had the rings made. It was closed and I could barely see through the dirty windows. I was surprised to find the military surplus store was still in business but it looked more like a flea market. I supposed the supply of military surplus had dried up.

I walked on, feeling downhearted over what I might find up ahead. I was surprised to see the guard shack in front of my old barracks, still in use. It had been rebuilt and still protruded out into the street. A new four story building stood in place of the old barracks. I crossed the street to have a closer look. There was a guard but he looked more like police than military. He gave me a steely eyed look as I walked past, along the walled fence that surrounded the place. It was the same wall but now with iron fencing along the top. I thought it must be an important building. I slowed my pace as I walked past the tree. Its branches overhung the guard shack and the fence now. I glanced up as if I might find the condom that I left there still draped over one of the branches. I smiled and went on.

In the distance I could see the little park with the fish pond. I crossed back over to that side of the street. The tree whose branches had always shaded the pond now covered it. I couldn’t see the bench. When I got closer I saw that the bench was broken in two. Surprisingly, there were still a few very large fish in the pond. What I saw beyond broke my heart. Toby’s was boarded up! I choked. My Godd! Where was Toby? And his young companion; I’d forgotten his name. I wondered if they’d gone back to the States. Surely he would’ve looked me up if he had. I wondered if he’d died and was buried here. Or maybe his ashes……

I approached the building with a heavy heart.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” I swore under my breath as I stood and gazed at the rough boards nailed across the door. Then I walked around to the side of the building. My heart thudded in my chest as I peered in the window. The sun shining in offered enough light for me to see that everything was still intact! The bar, the tables and chairs....the only thing missing was Toby behind the bar. And Jason. I made a swipe at my eyes and went back around front. For some stupid reason I reached through the boards and tried the door.

“Toby no here.”

I almost jumped out of my skin. I looked around to see where the voice had come from. It took a moment to focus on a wizened old man sitting on a bench under a tree that had sprouted out of a crack between the building and the sidewalk. He stood, stooped and unsteady on his feet and I went over to him.

“You knew Toby?” I asked with a tremor in my voice.

“Not close but I knew him on sight. He gone to Thailand, long time ago. You know him?”

“Yes, very well. Close. Very close.”

“Many people come here, look for Toby,” he said. “You want inside?” he asked.

“Yes! Can you……?”

He bowed his head then cocked it with a sad look at me, and it suddenly dawned on me…..he was offering clandestine tours of Toby’s! I quickly dug in my pocket and handed him ten dollars.

“Very generous,” he said as he pocketed the money. “Come.

I followed him back under the tree and down a dark, narrow passageway between the two buildings. I hadn’t even known it was there. We came to a door and he pulled it open. He motioned for me to go in then he came in behind me and pulled the door shut. He led me down a dark hallway that opened up at the end of the bar. I was inside Toby’s!!

“My Godd!” I breathed as I took in the all too familiar surroundings. Memories washed over me like a tsunami, so powerful that I had to sit down. I sat at the nearest table and looked all around. The only light was that coming through the grimy windows along the street. It looked surreal, like a scene out of an old movie.

I remembered the countless hours of numberless nights that I sat at the bar waiting for Jason to show up; and those nights when I walked back to my barracks broken hearted.

This was where I’d met Sgt. Randall, too, a massively built Ranger twice my age. He was so intimidating I almost didn’t go with him to his room at the Trent. But…..was that real, or out of my dream? I no longer stopped to sort those things out.

My most vivid memory was coming here, the first stop when I got back in country after the coma, hopeful that Jason would be here. I stared at the table in front of the window….Godd, I remembered him there, laughing and talking to some other soldiers and him patting the prostitute on the ass. And him looking around to see me standing there…. My Godd, the look on his face!! I stared at the bar and with the force of imagination and tried to conjure him up; his awesome ass on the barstool, his elbows on the bar, his massive arms…..

I got up and walked to the front door. I paused then turned around and walked back and took a seat at the bar. It wasn’t the same, yet it was. I was surprised that the back-bar was stlll there, even the mirror was still intact and spotless. There were polished glasses lined up on the bar. The bottles of liquor were gone of course but there were, oddly, several empty bottles lined up. I counted them; twenty-eight. I wondered if the old man had gathered the bottles from the street and brought them here to help restore the authenticity. I gazed in the mirror but saw only my own reflection. It was not an unfamiliar feeling. How many times had I sat on this same stool, waiting, hoping for him to come through the door. Too many times he didn’t, and now he never would again. Then I noticed something else. I ran my hand over the stool beside me and across the bar. There was no dust! This man had created his own private tourist attraction!

There was a noise; a creaking timber perhaps, and I jerked my head around, fully expecting to see Jason coming through the door. My heart sank, and I felt foolish. I glanced to the back.

“Can I go upstairs?” I asked.

He nodded, smiling. He didn’t come with me. He didn’t have to, I knew the way. I went up the stairs to Toby’s quarters. I couldn’t see anything out of place. But I couldn’t feel a presence either. I didn’t feel welcome and I went back downstairs and walked over to the table by the window.

“You want drink?” I turned and stared at the man. “Johnny Walker,” he said.

“You have Johnny Walker?”

“Yes, yes.” Smiling, he rushed behind the bar and grabbed one of the polished glasses and a bottle from under the bar. I sat down at the table. He came over and set the glass on the table. I watched, incredulous, as he poured the drink. The guy was amazing and I greatly admired his ingenuity in finding a way to make a living. He slipped away into the dimness, leaving me with my thoughts. The whiskey was seriously diluted but I didn’t care. It warmed me and helped fuel the memories that came rushing back. I didn’t dwell on them—didn’t try to grab hold of any of them, but simply let them tumble haphazardly through my consciousness like clips from an old movie. I sipped the weak whiskey and enjoyed the show.

I sat for a long time, reliving parts of my past here, gazing at the front door, waiting, hoping, fighting down emotions that I was allowing to hurt again. The whiskey didn’t dull the pain, and he never came. So many times he didn’t, and he never would again.

The movie ended but the lights didn’t come on and I was left sitting in the thick darkness that filled the room like a heavy shroud. Suddenly I stood and walked over to set the empty glass on the bar. I walked slowly through the bar again, taking one long, last look around. At the end of the bar I gave him another ten for the drink. That’s what I told him but it was for more than the watered down whiskey. It was for preserving this part of my past. Then I nodded toward the door and he led me out.

Back outside he took something out of his pocket….a stack of cards….and spread them out in his hands. They were small postcard photos of the place when it was Toby’s.

“Yes,” I said as I took three of the pictures. I gave him another ten dollars. “Is that enough?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, plenty. Very generous,” he said.

I wanted to hug the old man for preserving my memories for me. I couldn’t, of course, but I pulled another ten out of my pocket.

“Thank you. Thank you very much,” I said.

“Yes, yes, very welcome.”

I had no idea how much the American dollar might be worth to him but he was very happy.

I walked on in another direction, past the huge overhanging trees to the once grand courtyard, towards the Trent. I stopped in my tracks. The paint was peeling, revealing several colors different from when we’d been there. The second floor shutters hung by a hinge or a nail; the first floor shutters were gone. The guttering was hanging from one corner of the roof. The ornate door was gone, along with the massive, ornate hinges, replaced with two sheets of plywood on cheap hinges. The plywood doors were padlocked but the lock and hasp had been pried off and was hanging. After Toby’s I shouldn’t have been surprised but the sight of the grand old building struck me like a dagger to the heart. I didn’t try the front doors. Instead I took the still familiar route around behind the building. Several of the windows were boarded up and I wondered why they hadn’t done them all, back and front. The rear door was intact and on its hinges but the door frame was all but pried off. Again, I wondered why since the door opened easily. I looked all around then slipped inside and pulled the door closed behind me.

It was dark except for the faint light coming through the window at the end of the upstairs hallway. I started up the stairs, and feeling the wood on the first few steps give, I chose my steps carefully. It was a little lighter at the top of the stairs and I went down the hallway. I knew the way better than I expected. At the door I stood back and stared at the numbers 238 still on the door. I leaned back against the wall and stared some more. Maybe I was stalling. Finally I tried the door and it opened part way before it got stuck on the floor. I forced it open enough for me to go inside. There was more light inside from the side window and the one in front, overlooking the street if one could see past the trees. I was sickened by what I saw.

The room had been trashed. The chair was splintered where it had been thrown in a corner. The bed was destroyed, not one piece intact, the mattress and pillows thrown on the floor under the front window. Windows were broken. The plumbing had been ripped out; leaving gaping holes in the wall. Even the tub was gone. The ceiling fan was still there but the bulb was gone. The fan had probably seen its last days before this damage was done. It was hard to look at, especially the mattress and bed where there had been so much love shared. Then I saw the bedpost with its many hash marks. There were more on the headboard, I remembered from the pictures Devon and Kyle had brought back to us. I counted those on the headboard as I shed my backpack, and recorded them in my head. Then I kicked the large knob off the bedpost and put it in my backpack. Those hash marks were ours. It was the first I’d noticed that it was carved to resemble a pineapple.

I stood and surveyed the shambles. I hated the vandals who had done this. Taking the plumbing I could understand, but why the rest of the senseless destruction? I wanted to cry. This was such an integral part of my past that I shared with the man I loved. In the bathroom there was a dingy towel hanging on one of the protruding pipes. It was very old and I wondered if Jason or I had used it. I let myself believe that we had. I dug a T-shirt out of my backpack and wrapped the towel in it to take with me.

As I was shouldering my backpack I saw a small crate against the wall near the dark corner with a book laying open. I went over to check it out. It wasn’t a book; it was the hotel register from downstairs. We had never signed it—no one ever signed in or out--but I recognized it. I picked it up to hold it to the light and flipped the pages. There had not been anyone sign the register for decades. But there were several messages, dated more recently, written on the blank pages. I took the book over to the front window where there was more light and stood on the mattress to read the pages.

My buddy, now my partner, and I used this room many times to make hard, passionate love when we were twenty years old. We came back and did it again for old times sake. Long live the Trent!

Corporal Christopher Murphey

Corporal James Bateman

I got fucked by my captain here more times than I can remember. Fuck, he was HOT! Still miss him.

PFC Raymond Jones

Royally fucked by Captain Brian Woods

Came here one night after too much to drink at Toby’s, four of us, all straight but really sexed up from the drink. Don’t remember how many times but we all fucked each other’s brains out. Never did it again.

Sgt. Benjamin Hart along with

Corporal Eric Mathews

Corporal Floyd Harper

PFC Jason Adams.

I hope this place stands forever. Brought two hot Viet chicks here and fucked them both all night. Didn’t think I had it in me. But I was nineteen years old. Never knew the chicks names. Did those chicks have names??

PFC Carl Miller

Sucked my first cock here when I was just eighteen. He was a Marine sniper, not much older than me. Name was Jason Sebring or Seimer or something like that. Hung like a mule and so full of cum he damn near drowned me. Thanks stud. Been sucking cock ever since.

PFC Howard Linne

My blood froze and an involuntary gasp escaped my lips. Sebring.

Seimer. The names were too close not to be him. I felt flushed, but not angry, nor jealous. I felt a sudden strange closeness to PFC Linne as I tried to imagine them together. On an impulse I took the pen from the side pocket of my backpack.

I believe the above might have been, must have been, Jason Seaborne. Navy SEAL sniper and Marine sniper. He and I made love here in this room more times than I can remember. Incredible in bed. We became life partners. I came here one more time with his ashes. May he rest in peace.

Brad Courter, Marine sniper

There, for all the world to know, I thought. I put the book back on the crate along with the pen and took one more long look around and left. As I squeezed through the door I was taken by another whim. The three on the door was hanging loose. I pulled it off and pried off the two and the eight and put them in my backpack.

I thought about revisiting Jason’s old base camp, and the tree where our dog tags were buried but thought better of it. There was just no good reason to. I would let those sleeping dogs lie. I ate supper at a noodle café. They served American food as well but I opted for the local cuisine. It was as good as I remembered and I left a sizeable tip.

I had no hotel reservations but I needed a place for the night. I thought a cab driver would be my best source for advice on a place to stay. I hailed a cab, driven by a young local who I learned was a university student.

“I need a place for the night” I told him. “Something clean and cheap, like a bed and breakfast, or a hostel. Do they have bed and breakfasts here?”

“Yes, of course. Bed and breakfasts and hostels. I know of one that is clean and very reasonable; something like twenty dollars a night, American dollars. Only problem is you might have to share a room and bath. If it is a problem, that is.”

“I’m not sure I…..”

“It’s often not so bad,” the youth cut in. “I’ve had many reports that you can have a very good time with other guests. If you are so inclined, of course. male or female.”

“Are you pimping for this place?” I asked, laughing.

“No, just providing information. I don’t know the people who run it. I only know what I hear from passengers I pick up. Shall I take you there? You can always pay for a two-bed room for just yourself. That’s still a fraction of what the big hotels charge.”

“Alright, you’ve piqued my curiosity. Take me there,” I said.

He talked the whole time he was driving, telling about the new city and asking about my tine there. Several blocks down the street he turned into an alley--a very clean, well-lit alley—and stopped at a heavy door that looked like it belonged on a castle.

“Listen, I’ll need a ride to the airport at eleven in the morning. Could you come back and pick me up?”

“Absolutely. Thanks for asking me.”

I paid him. He smiled and wished me luck. “Not that you need luck,” he added with a mischievous grin.

“You should know, I’m asking you to come back in the morning so I can rip your face off if this place doesn’t pan out,” I joked.

He laughed and drove off. I wondered if I would see him in the morning. I went inside with a twinge of excitement. It felt good. I inquired about the rooms available and was told there were only two vacancies. Two vacancies, not two rooms.

One was a four-bed mixed, which he explained meant both male and female guests might share the room. Interesting as it sounded I ruled that out without a second thought. I wondered about staying at all, but the cab was gone and I’d told him to come back and pick me up there in the morning. The other vacancy was a two-bed room that was already reserved for a male guest but the other bed was available. The clerk told me the other guest was a rugby player from Australia. If he meant do induce me, he did. I quickly reconsidered my doubts and took the room. The youth also pointed out that I would have the top bunk. Okay, now it was a bunk, not a bed. I didn’t care. It was a clean place to sleep….he was a rugby player. I wondered how small the room was. But what the hell, I was used to bunks and cramped quarters shared with other men. And this was a rugby player.

First thing I did was use the syringe in my bag to flush out, just in case. Then I decided to shower to save time in the morning. It was a walk-in shower with glass doors. It kept the water in but offered no privacy except for the steam on the glass. I didn’t mind, that meant I could see the rugby player showering. I felt the anticipation building up and it felt good. And I was hopeful enough that I lubed my ass. He came in while I was still in the shower.

“Ah, I see I’ve got a mate,” he said, tossing something on the top bunk. He sounded English, or Australian.

“You do,” I said. I was about ready to get out but I decided to linger for a brief moment.

“Leave the shower running when you’re finished,” he said as he peeled off his polo shirt.

“Alright.” I slid the door back and grabbed the towel from the hook just outside the shower. I stepped out just as he tossed his jeans on the bunk and was pulling off his socks, standing on one leg then the other. His back was to me and my eyes fixed on his awesome butt wrapped in a narrow strip of white material. The shorts were next and I almost whimpered with joy as he peeled then down.

Oh my Godd, reverberated in my head and I brought the towel up to bury my face in it to muffle the sound in case it came out. I felt his body heat as he moved past me to the shower.

“You like it hot, I see,” he said as the shower door slid shut. “Bet you like your coffee and your sex hot as well,” he added, laughing.

I was jolted at his mention of sex but then thought I shouldn’t read anything into it. I was nervous as a teenager on his first fuck date, while hoping it would be just that. I finished drying off and dug clean briefs out of my backpack. Only after I pulled them on did I dare look towards the shower. The glass doors were steamed up too much for detail but the outline of his body was enough to spark the embers.

“You’re American; where’re you from?”

“Ohio.”

“You’re a Buckeye.”

“We’re called Ohioans but it’s the Buckeye State,” I said. “What about yourself?”

“Cooktown, right on the Coral Sea, in Queensland. Population 2489 at last count.”

“Queensland is a province, something like our states?”

“There’s Queensland, Northern Territory, Western Australia, South Australia, New South Wales and Victoria. Around Cooktown is Bama Aboriginal territory where the Aborigines lived for centuries till they were discovered by Captain James Cook. If the bugger hadn’t run his ship into a reef and had to stop to get it repaired we might still not know about the Aborigines. We didn’t kill them off, though, like you did your American Indians.”

“Well, I’m not an apologist for the US government,” I said. It was all I could think to say. “That’s a very small town. What keeps you there?”

“It’s a small town,” he said. “I like the excitement of the big cities but my roots are in Cooktown. I attend the University of Melbourne, that’s in Victoria. Four million people in Melbourne, that’s way enough big city for me.”

“The boy at the desk said you’re a rugby player, which explains the butt and the legs. Where do you play? Wait! Not the All Blacks!”

“Nooooo,” he said, laughing. “It’s just a club where guys get together and play for love of the game. I’m in the twenty and under league. Have to move to the under-thirty-five league my next birthday.”

He saved his front and manhood till last and he faced the glass doors to do it. I watched him in silhouette giving his manhood special attention. Then he rinsed off and slid the door back. I quickly grabbed the towel and handed it to him.

“Thanks. By the way, Oscar Mitchell,” he said, putting out a ham-like hand.

It was another Oh, Godd moment, seeing him from the front, his muscles dripping and glistening from the shower. Without letting my eyes drop I took in his massive manhood, dangling and swinging heavy over a pair of man-sized balls.

“Brad Courter. What’re you doing in Vietnam?” I managed.

“Curiosity. I’ve always been fascinated by the war and the people. And you? Wait, you’re here….you were here!”

“Yes. It’s not exactly a pleasure visit. I brought my buddy’s ashes back.”

“Bummer. Big sorry to hear that.”

It was Oh, Fuck as he drew the towel back and forth across his broad shoulders, the weight of his swinging cock seemingly pulling it longer.

“Actually, he was more than just my best buddy; he was my life partner. I’m ashamed that I was ashamed to say that.”

“No reason to be ashamed to say it; happens to the best of us,” he said.

I didn’t know what he meant; was he including himself?

“Okay, I’m bottom, you’re top. The bunks, I mean. They told you that, right?”

“Yes, I’m fine with it,” I said.

“The bunks,” he said again as he got a pair of shorts out of small travel bag.

“Yes, I’m fine with the bunks,” I said. I watched him pull the shorts up over his massive thighs and then heft his manhood in one hand and stuff it all in the shorts. The bulge was enviable.

“You played sports, I’m guessing, from the looks of you. You’re in incredible shape for a man old enough to be my dad.”

“Baseball, football, swimming, but that was back in high school. Truth is, I don’t know a whole lot about the game of rugby. I watch it for the asses and thighs.”

“Shouldn’t be ashamed to admit that, either. Probably most people do.”

“I wasn’t too keen on sharing a room with a stranger till they told me it was a rugby player. I am keen on rugby players. They all seem so tough and rugged. Out there in nothing but shorts, no protective gear.”

“Rugby players are a tough lot, on and off the field.”

“Before I make a total fool of myself, have we, uh, laid our cards on the table, do you think?” I asked. “I mean, there is an obvious age difference here, but…..”

“I consider age a state of mind and physical wellbeing. The latter appears to measure up and I think I’m getting a pretty good idea of your state of mind.”

“Then we can stop dancing around the issue and I can admit to a life-long dream of being in the locker room after a game with a team of sweaty rugby players.”

“You would be surprised how welcome you’d be,” he said.

“Would I? Tell me,” I said.

“Our reputation is not without merit. Put in plain terms, rugby players are known, at least in the underbelly of rugby society, for their affinity for the company of other real men. In that sense they feed off each other’s masculinity. Testosterone runs high after a match; you can almost smell it in the locker room. Lots of times it’s like an aphrodisiac; most times, in fact, in my limited experience. Been playing since I was fifteen. All I ever wanted to do. I’d heard those stories growing up and I was scared. But, if the stories were true, I was ready to face whatever came my way. There is no such thing as youth rugby. You start at fifteen and you play with guys up to age twenty. I think the age limit is set because they figured by fifteen you’re old enough to be initiated into a man’s world. First game, I got carried off the field. Not on a stretcher, mind you; no, it was on the shoulders of my teammates. They carried me in the locker room and took me in the shower clothes and all. There was some grab ass and rough housing and they stripped my clothes off of me. Next thing I knew I was spread out on a bench, face down, with a brute of a man straddling the bench. He was shoving his shorts down. I thought for sure I was gonna get my ass fucked by the whole damned locker room.”

“Geezuss. Did they rape you, or was it just an initiation? Did you report it?”

“No!” he said emphatically. “It was all in fun. But you don’t report stuff like that, not if you want to play the game. Like I said, I’d heard the stories, I was half expecting it, and I had myself psyched up for it. These were my teammates; they were making me their mate. But it was all just to scare me. The big guy standing over me smacked me on the ass and walked away, said I was too young and tender to fuck. Anyway, it was still awesome. Hell, they took me to a pub afterwards and bought me drinks. I asked him if I was old enough to drink why wasn’t I old enough to fuck. He just shoved me away, like I was a pest and told me to come back when I was a man.”

“Do you have any fifteen year olds on your team?” I asked.

“Fifteen, sixteen and seventeen,” he said. “Hell, I heard the fifteen year old is actually only fourteen but he’s big enough and good enough, nobody cares.”

I wondered if he was telling me his story to get me boned up. If he was, it worked, and he noticed.

“Looks like you’re boned, mate,” he said as he boldly cupped the front of my shorts in his hand. “Feels like it, too.” My cock throbbed in his hand. “Yeah, cocked and loaded,” he said. “You ready for some action, or has all this talk and jockeying been for nothing?”

“I sure as hell hope not,” I said.

“What’re you ready for?” he asked as he kept squeezing my cock.

“Anything,” I said.

“You better mean that,” he said.

“You’re talking to a Marine.”

“I heard stories about Marines.”

“What kind of stories?”

“That Marines won’t be caught dead sucking cock but they’ll turn their asses for one.”

“Whoever told you that was lying,” I said.

“How about you telling me the true story.”

“I’d rather show you,” I said. I shoved my fingers in the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down off his hips. I went to my knees and pulled them the rest of the way down and while I took hold of his cock he stepped out of them.

“My Godd!” I said as I stroked his cock. I could just barely, by squeezing, touch my thumb and middle finger around it. He was uncut and when I drew the sheath back taut the head flared out the size of a small orange. There was already orange juice seeping out of the wide slit. “Geezuss, how big is this thing?”

“Twenty-four centimeters. That’s an official, certified locker room measurement.”

“Shit, that’s over nine inches.”

“Give or take,” he said. “You’re not chickening out, are you? You said anything.”

In reply I licked the juice off of his cock. It tasted good and I squeezed it for more. The veins were engorged with life giving blood and I could even feel his heart beat in his cock.”

“Think you can deep throat me?” he asked, in a challenging tone.

“I will but it’ll have to go down a little,” I said.

“Don’t think that’s gonna happen any time soon,” he said. “Maybe a back door delivery. Most guys can take me that way when they can’t deep throat.”

He didn’t wait for me to agree or protest. He pulled me to my feet and turned me around against the bunk beds. I knew beyond any doubt that I was going to get fucked and I cocked one foot up on the mattress. He used spit to lube his cock then moved in for the kill. When the bulbous head pried my butt apart he felt the slickness.

“Ah, yess, you were ready for this.”

“A good Marine is always ready for any contingency.”

“Well, you dispelled one myth and now we’re gonna confirm the other one.”

He shoved and my asshole burst open. It felt like a ball bat; the big end. Determined not to cry out, I bit into the mattress. He wasn’t easy. He was rugby tough, plowing in all the way till his hard loins were pressed against my backside. He held there while his cock throbbed hard deep inside me.”

“You took that like a man. Most guys let out a yelp when I skewer ‘em.”

“You’re fucking a man,” I said.

He reached around and took hold of my cock. “Yeah, sure am,” he said. “Fuck, can’t wait to feel this thing plowing my ass.”

I was pleased to hear that. He started fucking me. He bordered on brutal but for him it was how men fucked and I didn’t complain. He fucked me standing up for a while then bent me over the lower bunk. Later he turned me onto my back and fucked me with my feet locked against the upper bunk railing.

“I like all positons, how about you?” he said.

“Any position you want me in,” I said.

“How about this positon?” he said as he bent over and took my cock in his mouth.

I bit down on my forearm to stifle my outcry.

“Not a lot of guys hung big enough I can do this to,” he said.

He pulled me off the bunk and positioned me with my head and shoulders on the floor and fucked me upside down. It was amazing how each position offered whole new feelings, like he found new nerve endings with each one. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me up with my legs around his waist and he fucked me walking around the room.

“We’re gonna do this all night, you know, so don’t plan on getting any sleep,” he said.

“I can sleep on the plane.”

He fucked me for at least an hour before he slowed to a break. He still hadn’t gone off, for which I was glad. We lay side by side on my bunk to rest. He didn’t admit to needing a rest; he said he stopped to give me a rest.

“Yeah, right,” I said.

“Hey, rugby players can run all day,” he said. “You wanta keep going, roll over on your stomach, I’ll fuck you till the sun comes up.”

“No, I wanta give your cock a rest; maybe it’ll go down a little so I can deep throat you.”

He did and I scooted down in the bunk. I had to work fast before he got hard again. I sucked him gently, using long strokes, pushing his cockhead harder against my throat each time.

“We’re gonna have to do this, I’m getting hard again,” he said, and with that he clamped his hand around my head and shoved his cock down my throat. His pubes smashed against my nose and his balls against my chin. I held him deep, fighting down my gag reflex. When he withdrew and started fucking my throat it seemed to numb it and I didn’t choke.

“You are awesome!” he said as he gently impaled me time after time.

I was amazed myself at the sight of my mouth so distended around the incredibly thick cock; that as much as having it shoving into my throat.

“Turn around on the bunk, I’ll sixty-nine you,” he said in a hoarse tone.

I quickly complied and he wasted no time in pulling me on top of him and gobbling up my cock. He sucked like he was hungry for it and even clamped his hands around my butt to urge me to fuck his mouth. He soon moved to my balls and then on up to my ass. I moaned around his cock as he dragged his tongue along my asscrack, pausing coming and going to flick my hole with his tongue. Each time he pulled my hole open wider till he was able to shove his tongue through my hole. I cried out with joy but it was muffled with his cock. He ate my ass like a hungry wolf till he had me so hot and excited I was seeing stars.

“I want you to fuck me some more,” I croaked.

“Why don’t you fuck yourself,” he said. “Scoot down and climb on and ride me.”

I rose up and turned around so I was facing him and moved down to hover up over his towering cock. He held it tall and firm till I lowered my asshole over the head then he let me have full control. I rode down all the way.

“Oh, Godd!” I moaned. “You’re so big! Not many men have ever gone so far in.”

“Then technically, I’m taking your virginity again,” he said.

I gripped the rails of the upper bunk for support and rode up and down on him. Soon he was thrusting upward to meet my ass and it felt like he was going deeper.

“This is no good, I’m gonna cum too soon,” I moaned.

“So that don’t mean your cum mechanism is going to shut down, does it? Go ahead and cum, dude. Shoot it on my face if you can reach that far.”

“Oh I can reach way over your head,” I said.

“Great! I’ll even give you a target, and I’ll swallow all you can get in my mouth.”

I didn’t bother to tell him I was a heavy cummer; he would find that out on his own. I rode him till I was barely able to stand it. My thighs ached, as did my butt, from the propulsion movements. He fucked me back.

“Awww, yeah, fuck me, Oscar. Fuck it out of me.”

Seconds later I was cumming. The first three shot way past his head and streaked his hair and his face. As promised he opened his mouth wide and I grabbed my cock to aim it. The next several salvos shot directly into his mouth. He groaned with delight and maybe surprise but he never closed my target. The last few were pushed out and fell on his stomach and Oscar closed his mouth.

Oscar moaned around the mouthful of cum.

“I know there’s a lot; you don’t have to swallow,” I told him.

He shook his head and began gulping it down. I watched his throat muscles and his Adams apple like a pump. When he’d swallowed it all he let out a loud gasp and sucked in a deep breath.

“Holy fuck, mate, you cum like a Clydesdale. I’ve swallowed some big loads in my lifetime but nothing ever like that.”

“Can I have yours now?” I asked.

“Fuck, yeah, you want it in your ass or do you want to feast on it.”

“I want you to fuck me till you’re close then give it to me in my mouth.”

“The deed will be done,” he declared. He rolled us over and lifted my legs onto his shoulders and entered me again. He fucked me hard, like he had a job to do.

I almost told him to slow down and make it last; It was feeling good even though I’d already shot my load.

“Ready for the countdown,” he said as he fucked me furiously. Suddenly he shoved my legs wide apart and crawled up on my chest with his cock aimed at my face. “Open up, ready for your injection.”

I couldn’t believe the power behind the jettisons that shot into my mouth. He quickly covered my tongue and the taste of him exploded on my tongue. I savored it and tilted my chin up a little so it wouldn’t run out of my mouth. When the spurts were receding he eased closer and put his cock in my mouth for me to drain him. I did, gladly, sucking even more of his manly nectar. I swirled it around the head of his cock till he was too tender and he withdrew.

“That’s a certifiable 175 gram load,” he bragged.

I quickly did the conversion in my head as I was swallowing. That was over six ounces….eight ounces was a half cup….Fuck, he was loaded! I wondered how much I’d shot off for him. I made a mental note to measure my cum; something I’d never done.

He climbed off and lay beside me.

“I said we weren’t going to get any sleep but that don’t mean we don’t take a rest,” he said. “I’m gonna take your top bunk. Whoever wakes up first wakes the other and we’ll take up where we left off.”

“Please, stay here,” I said. “I want to go to sleep between your legs and wake up with my head locked between those massive rugby thighs.”

We woke up three times during the night and picked up where we left off. One time I awoke with my head locked in the vise of his thighs and he fucked my throat unmercifully. Each time we exchanged fucks and I almost swooned at the feel of his thighs locked around my waist. And each time when we were finished I moved down in the bunk and wrapped my arms around his leg.

By morning I was sucked and fucked out. I came awake in a groggy fog, barely to climb out of the bunk. Oscar was in the shower. I sat on the edge of the bunk and waited for him to finish.

“How you feelin’ this morning, mate?” he asked cheerfully.

“Like I’ve been totally and royally fucked.”

“And that you have. But you didn’t do such a shabby job yourself. Been a long time since I’m able to feel the after effects in my ass.”

“Sore?” I asked, thinking if anybody should be sore, it was me, but I wasn’t. Not my ass, but my throat was a little sore.

“Not so much sore, just a feeling like you said of being totally fucked. It’s a good feeling. Makes you feel like a man.”

As we were getting dressed he noticed my necklace.

“That’s a nice necklace. Fitting for a Marine. Is it live? Does it still have gunpowder in it?”

“No, his ashes.”

“Wow! That’s almost holy. Like the relics of a saint.”

“Well, he wasn’t a saint but yeah, it’s sort of holy to me,” I said.

When we were dressed we went to the lobby where there was a light breakfast laid out.

“Quite a night,” Oscar said.

“That’s an understatement,” I said.

“I really am sorry about your mate. I’d like to think I eased the pain a little, rather than took advantage of you,” he said.

“You did both, for which I’m grateful, and I won’t soon forget you. You are exactly what I needed at this particular time in my life.”

I wrote down my address and gave it to him. “In case you want to keep in touch,” I said.

“Maybe I will.”

We were just finishing breakfast when the young cabbie came in. “You said eleven, right?”

I picked up my bag. “Yes.”

Oscar stood and pulled me into an incredibly tight hug.

“Thanks for everything.”

The cabbie invited me to sit in front with him. “To the airport?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re not ripping my face off so can I assume the hostel was to your satisfaction?” he asked.

“Very satisfactory,” I said.

“Did that stud you were having breakfast with have anything to do with it?”

“He had everything to do with it. He’s a rugby player.”

“I noticed his legs.”

“You should’ve seen his butt.”

He laughed. “You’re very happy this morning. I think he took the edge off of your pain.”

“He made it more tolerable,” I conceded.

He looked at his watch. “Do we have time to go back so I can see his butt?”

“No but I can close my eyes and describe it to you in every detail.”

“Close up and personal, huh?”

“You could say that; I had my face in it.”

“I almost regret taking you there,” he said.

“No, it’s the best thing that’s happened to me on this visit,” I told him.

“No, I meant I wish I’d taken you home with me.”

As he was driving into the terminal he took a card out of his pocket and gave it to me. “In case you ever come back.”

“Not in the near future,” I said.

I paid him, along with a big tip. “Listen, if you hurry you might be able to get back to the hostel before he leaves. Here’s some extra money to pay for the room.”

“Thanks. I might try that.”

“If not, get yourself a rent boy,” I said.

My plane’s departure was announced on time and I had to rush to catch it. It was a relief to get settled in my seat.

I toyed with the fantasies in my head. I had not thought of even the vague likelihood of anyone taking Jason’s place but the possibility of Oscar being in my life if he lived in the States……...

I wondered about one of the boys we’d trained for basic. Seb, the one the recruiter had hinted was a likely candidate to take to bed. Maybe I would call him when I got home. Or Heath Hendricks. He wasn’t likely of course; he was a sure thing.

To be continued...

Posted: 08/28/15