Although the story is fiction, (with ideas for the storyline taken from tales of several of the author's acquaintances,)  the events describing the actions of the military reflect the policy and procedure of the time.  If you recognize any personal similarities of people described, or names given to them by the author, it is entirely coincidental.  The submarine, SEAHORSE, was a real vessel, though it was NEVER used as a training vessel in Groton or anywhere else.

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*****

He was excitedly happy. His eyes twinkled, darting here and there, greedily absorbing everything within his vision as he neared his destination. His fingers were tapping his thighs as he gaily whistled an old swabby's frolicking tune that someday would become well known through the Walt Disney classic,

¯¯¯

¯¯¯

Stepping off the old drab-green converted school bus, pulling his seabag behind him, Gerry (pronounced “Jerry”) saw hundreds of “Old Glory’s,” each with forty-eight stars, waving proudly as a gentle sou’easter blew in from the Atlantic.

He stopped at once, came to full Attention, and smartly saluted the National Ensign nearest him.

A few steps away from the bus, he hiked his right foot up onto a bench, pulled a twenty-three-cent pack of Lucky Strikes out of his sock, tapped out a smoke, and returned the pack. Then, using his trusty ol’ silver flip-top lighter with the U.S. Navy insignia on it, he lit up; the Zippo had been his maternal grandfather’s, and his mother had given it to Gerry for his eighteenth birthday.

Lowering his foot back to the sidewalk, he inhaled deeply and slowly. Enjoying the flavor held in his lungs, he stretched his arms straight out to the sides and arched his spine back as he raised his sight Heavenward.

Returning his posture to normal, he exhaled through tightened lips, blowing several smoke rings. He looked around. And around some more. With a smile growing on his face. Off in the distance, he heard military band music, patriotic music, strains of “My Country ’Tis Of Thee, Sweet Land Of Liberty.” Yes, he was happy, exuberantly happy.

Little did he realize that, within only six weeks, his “land of liberty” would not seem so sweet.

But at that moment, it was Monday, the Fourth of July, 1949 -- the 173rd birthday of this great nation of ours. It was also Gerry’s 20th birthday.

Twenty years to get here, he mused to himself; now my life begins, my real life and my career. I finally made it! He felt the urge to spin around and around in gleeful joy, like a little kid or even a Whirling Dervish, but forced himself not to engage in such a childish, even effeminate, demonstration, as he had several times been chastised by his Southern Baptist family.

“Hey, sailor,” called a friendly looking guy in his Navy Whites, stepping out of the Guard Shack some twenty feet away, “ya got some orders for me to look at?”

“Oh, uhhh, yes, Sir,” Gerry snapped sharply as he turned toward the voice, “right here in my seabag, Sir.” He dropped and ground out the cigarette, then grabbed a strap and pulled the Navy’s version of personal luggage over to the Shack.

“No need to call me ‘Sir,’ sailor, I’m just an enlisted man like you,” the guard added as Gerry dug into the bag’s pouch for the paperwork.

“Thank you, Sir, uhhh, I mean,” he stammered, “uhhh, thanks;” he chuckled with a little embarrassment.

“No problem,” he said as Gerry handed him his orders and he began to peruse them. A moment passed. “I see you’re just out of boot camp, San Diego, with a short stay at Great Lakes, but you’re an E3 already. Everybody else I know, came outta boot, E2. How’d that happen, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

“It’s alright,” Gerry answered. “I worked as a Surgical Orderly in ‘New Awe-lens’ for a year before joinin’ up. Then, after San Diego, at Corpsman School in Great Lakes, they gave me some tests to see how much I already knew about being a Corpsman. I guess that speeded things up. I only had to spend six weeks there, instead of the usual twelve to fourteen, and, well, here I am.”

At the mention of “New Awe-lens,” he had slipped back into his cute s’uthe’n accent.

“Yes, here you are, and, welcome, Corpsman Gerald Arthur Young, to the Naval Submarine Base New London, Groton, Connecticut. May your stay be a, happy, one,” the guard said, with an accentuated pause in his voice, as he gave Gerry a prolonged wink.

“Why, thank ya kindly, Sir!” Gerry emphasized the word with a twinkle in his eyes and that child-like, excited, innocent smile across his face, unaware of the guard’s subtle innuendo.

Off in the distance, a crowd roared, applauded, and whistled, and all sorts of noises thundered wildly.

“What’s going on over there?” Gerry inquired, indicating with his right thumb.

“Well, it being July 4th, there’ve been picnics, parades, inspections, Drill Team performances, speeches, speeches and more speeches, and a Navy Band concert over on the parade grounds. And there’ll be some fireworks in about an hour and a half, when it starts to get dark.”

“Gosh, that sounds like a lotta fun. Sure wish I’da got here sooner to enjoy some of the celebrations. Was wonderin’ why there weren’t many people scurryin’ aroun’.”

“Yeah, there’s been lots of hoopin’ and hollerin’ here all day,” the young brunette guard added, falling into Gerry’s lovable way of speaking. “Say, listen,” he quickly continued, “why don’t you hurry on over to BESSRECSTA, find a rack,” (some will say 'a bunk by any other name,' but in the Navy, it’s called a rack) “stow your gear away, go to the Enlisted Men's Club for some chow, then go down to the parade grounds and watch the finale. I might see you there; I get off duty in an hour.”

“I jus’ might do that li’l ol’ thang. Boy! What a way to end my birthday!”

“Birthday?” exclaimed the guard, who then went silent for a moment as he looked again at Gerry’s papers. “Yes, it sure as hell is. Well, Happy Birthday, Corpsman Gerald Young. Maybe I’ll see ya later, and oh! By the way, my name’s Zed; Zedekiah, really, but I hate the name.” He smiled as he extended his hand.

Gerry took it, and as they shook each other’s hand, he added, “Nice to meetcha, Zed. You can call me Gerry. Don’t really like Gerald much, either; seems too formal.”

Their hands were still locked together, but moving more slowly. The heat between them building. Both were grinning. Gerry’s green eyes, and Zed’s gray eyes latched onto each other, and didn’t even blink. Gerry’s innocence unwittingly recognized something he didn’t have words for, while Zed’s gaze stemmed from hopeful “ulterior” motives.

“Yeah, I, uhhh, I know whatcha mean,” Zed replied, softly, not even fully aware of what he was saying.

Silence.

Grins, fading.

Time, slowing.

Gazing, almost staring.

Hands, sweating, clasped, unmoving.

Too long, unmoving. Eternity, maybe fifteen seconds.

Slight, uncomfortable, awkwardness.

Pulses, palpitating.

Time, speeding.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gerry apologized, breaking the contact and stepping back, shaking his head from side to side trying to force the return of full awareness, and heavily blinking his eyes, recoating them with new, needed moisture, and wiping away the sweat from his palms onto his Navy White thirteen-button bell-bottom trousers.

“It’s alright,” Zed replied; “I was just wondering,” One eyebrow raised ever so slightly. “if there was something I could, uhhh, give you, for your, uhhh, birthday.”

Gerry giggled. “That’s not necessary, Zed;” he interrupted, returning to the joy of the moment; “you’ve already given me the best possible gift -- your friendship. I feel it. You’re my first friend at Groton, and I’m appreciative.”

“I’m sure I won’t be your last, Ger ("Jer"). Submariners are known to be friendly; very friendly, indeed.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” he happily responded, looking around again.

Zed handed the papers back to Gerry as the telephone rang in the Guard Shack. “Now get your cute …” he abruptly stopped mid-sentence, then started anew. “Now, get your li’l ol’ ass on over there to your new quarters, and maybe we’ll meet up later. Gotta get back to national security business,” he joked, turning to go back inside and stop the relentless ringing of the black, heavy, rotary-dial, telephone.

They waved to each other as Zed picked up the receiver and Gerry began tugging his seabag toward the BESSRECSTA General Quarters building, less than a city block away, and across an attractive green park-like area.

*****

Gerry checked into the Receiving Office inside, and handed over his papers once more. He was shown into the dormitory-style room where he would be staying for a couple of days with up to ninety-five other sailors until his permanent quarters could be assigned.

When Gerry entered the designated room, no one, not a living soul, was there. He walked down the center passageway, flanked on each side by twelve upper- and lower-racks, finding each and every one perfectly made, showing that each had already been taken by someone.

Approaching the end of the aisle, he turned right and walked along the right outside passageway and found just the opposite - none had been taken. All bed linens and blankets were neatly rolled up at the foot of each rack. He could choose whichever one he wanted, and he chose a top rack near the center of the row of empties.

Separating the center-facing racks from those facing out, was a row of upper- and lower-lockers, every other one opening toward either the center or outer aisle. He stowed his gear in his designated locker, unrolled the linens and dressed the rack perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that he actually bounced a quarter off the blanket -- thanks to good training in boot camp!

After using the “head” (the term that refers to the toilet, basin, and shower areas) to wash his face and take care of some personal crap, he left the building, grabbed some chow at the Enlisted Men's Club, ate on the terrace, and watched the fireworks display from there. Alone. Then back to the General Quarters where he found a few sailors had returned for the evening.

After meeting several guys, all friendly as Zed had said they would be, he decided to shower, then hit the sack.

Across the bulkhead (wall) of lockers, he could hear the guys talking and having a little fun, rough-housing. After someone farted, several guys snickered, and then it seemed like a marathon -- one fart quickly followed another. More laughter, several “eweee’s,” an odor like pork stuffed cabbage spread through the room and permeated the air, a couple of profanities, and guys running out of the dorm, gagging, in various states of undress. Gerry laughed quietly to himself.

After his shower, a few “look-see-and-compare's” both to and from other guys -- nothing to write home about ,even if he were of a mind to do so! -- and he returned to his rack, donned a fresh pair of baggy, white regulation skivvies, and climbed into his upper berth.

With sheet and blanket pushed to the foot, he lay on his back, fingers clasped behind his head on the pillow, and his ankles crossed. He breathed deeply, and as he slowly exhaled, he relaxed completely, sinking into the thin mattress, it being somewhat less than homey comfort. A smile of contentment grew upon his lips. He rather enjoyed not having any visible neighbors on his side of the lockers. It almost felt like he had private quarters. Heeheehee. Don’t I wish!

His years of dreaming had finally become reality. He closed his eyes and fondly recalled wonderful details of boot camp, of his short stay at Great Lakes, and then of his coming to Groton.

And Zed.

Those steely gray eyes.

“May your stay be a, happy, one,” he had said.

What did he mean by that? he thought.

Then the wink. That prolonged wink.

Yes, Gerry had noticed. No guy ever winked at me before.

And that too-long-held hand shake.

That was strange, but nice, he continued his thoughts, as his hand reached to scratch his balls, or so he thought, but quickly discovered his six-inch cut cock standing at perfect attention through the gaping skivvies. His eyes flew open.

Shocked that the excitement might be caused by his thoughts of Zed, a guy, he looked to the right and to the left, and even leaned over the side and looked to the rack below; no one around, that he could see. Thank God! But the lights were out; only the red Exit signs over the doors to the outside and to the main corridor were lit. It was quiet in the dorm. No one could see him, anyway. Good!

Not to let a good thing get out of hand, he began to fondle his cock with short, slow strokes; but even though it felt good, he soon lost the erection, thinking of his reactions around Zed. His gut was burning from conflicting feelings and emotions. He really enjoyed his brief meeting with Zed, but something about it was unusual; he just couldn’t put his mental “finger” on it.

He yawned. It was too deep to think about. He tucked his little friend back inside his skivvies, pulled the sheet up, lay back, and drifted off to slumberland.

*****

“Hey, Ger, you awake?” The warm breath of a whisper near his ear startled him from his light sleep.

“Huh? Wha…” he quickly rolled his head to the right to face the quiet voice, and his nose bumped against another nose. “Who …” he jerked his head back and away from the intruder.

“Just wondered if you were still awake,” the voice continued to whisper, and Gerry felt a hand lightly resting on his knee at the edge of the rack. Only the thin sheet separated skin from skin. He started to pull his leg back, but for some unknown reason, he didn’t move; maybe he was too sleepy.

“Well, I’m awake now, that’s for sure,” Gerry replied, also whispering. “Is that you, Zed? I can’t see. It’s too dark.”

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. Just wanted to talk a bit. Missed you at the fireworks.”

“Oh, that’s O.K. I mean about you waking me; I’d just sorta drifted off. Anyway, I ate on the terrace at the Enlisted Men's Club, and just stayed there, drank a couple of beers and watched.”

“After I got off duty, I went over to the reviewing bleachers, looked for you, good buddy, but didn’t see ya.”

As he was whisper-talking, his right hand slid off Gerry’s sheet-covered knee, crept under the thin material, then back up and rested on the same bare skin. He again felt a slight jerk as if Gerry were drawing away, but wasn’t disappointed when the movement stopped.

“Do you mind?” Zed asked as his left hand cupped the top of Gerry’s blond head, and the warmth of his whispering breath teased Gerry’s cheek and ear.

Gerry gasped a breath as he silently questioned what was happening. And he suddenly realized that the masculine scent of this man was beginning to excite him as he felt movement in his own skivvies.

“What?” he inquired. “Do I mind what?”

“My hand on your leg,” Zed whispered, giving a couple tender pats to the knee.

“Uhhh, no, uhhh, it’s okay, I guess.”

In the top rack, Gerry’s entire body was within easy reach of Zed’s hands, and they began to take advantage of the position. With full right-hand, not just finger-tips, Zed began rubbing in small circular strokes on Gerry’s knee. Each soft stroke inched its way higher up the inside and top of the thigh and closer to Gerry’s tented shorts.

Gerry was becoming tense, not only more uptight in his manhood, but in his emotions as well. He didn’t want to anger Zed by asking him to stop -- no telling what he would do if rejected; no telling to whom he might say something. Gerry was scared; but excited, too. He wanted it to end, but whatever was happening, he also wanted it to continue. In the very depths of his soul, he longed for it to continue, but he couldn't understand his own dichotomy.

“Mmmmmm, your skin is so soft , so smooth,” Zed whispered right into Gerry’s face.

Gerry’s breath became more and more shallow.

As the fingers of his left hand slid through Gerry’s hair and lightly massaged his scalp, Zed inhaled the clean fragrance and whispered again, “Mmmmmm, you smell so good, too.” Without asking, Zed slid the sheet off Gerry’s body and onto the left side of the upper-rack, totally exposing him to the near-darkness except for what was covered by his now fully-tented skivvies.

The stroking had continued upward, until Zed’s finger-tips just touched the edge of the shorts. “You sure you’re O.K. with this, Ger?” he whispered again, his face nuzzling Gerry’s ear.

“Un huh,” Gerry replied, barely audible but no longer whispering. He was also beginning to breathe heavier, and he shivered with frightened delight as Zed’s tongue slid from his earlobe to his open lips, moistening them as it circled.

“Lift your hips up, Ger,” he whispered again.

Gerry obeyed.

With both hands, Zed pulled Gerry’s shorts off and pushed them under the slid-back sheet. Then he slipped his right hand up Gerry’s right inner thigh until he touched the tight, hot, pulsing scrotum. Gerry was too scared to stop Zed’s scintillating ministrations, but at the same time experiencing thrills he had never known. His scrotum was boiling, and pulling up, tighter.

“Ohhhhh,” Gerry moaned aloud.

Immediately, Zed was in his face whispering “Shhhhhh, baby, shhhhhhh,” and covered Gerry’s open mouth with his own hot lips. His hand wrapped around the stiff member, then squeezed and released, squeezed and released.

“Ummmmmmm,” came from Gerry’s throat as Zed’s tongue toyed with his own.

“Shhhhhhh,” Zed whispered again. “Turn over on your side and move over to the edge of the rack.”

Once again, though with hesitation and longing, Gerry obeyed the command, the gentle order. Or -- was it merely a request?

Zed began tonguing his way southward.

Gerry trembled in fear and anticipation of what he knew was going to happen, but surrendered to the intense, never-before-experienced pleasure.

Oh, God, forgive me, he quickly prayed; I know this is wrong, but it feels so good! So very good, dear God. If this really is a sin, as I’ve always been taught, then go ahead and strike me dead right now, while I’m so close to Heaven!

He would have continued with his prayer, but as Zed’s moist lips began sinking down onto his painfully throbbing pole, God just sorta flew out the window. Gerry started to scream, and his (’till now) idle hands suddenly grabbed Zed’s head and pushed down as his own hips shoved his dick further up into what must have been the most wonderful mouth in the world.

Zed jerked his left hand over Gerry’s mouth, stifling the scream that surely would have erupted. As his lips sank onto the twenty-year-old virgin penis, he pushed an index finger into Gerry’s own mouth; in seconds, Gerry was sucking the finger with as much passion as Zed was sucking his affection-starved cock.

When Zed withdrew from one, he also withdrew from the other. In and out of one; in and out of the other; again and again; faster and faster. Gerry wouldn’t last long; they both knew that!

Does he want me to do it in his mouth? Gerry questioned in silence. It’s nasty. It’s poison. It’ll kill ya. He was remembering things he had been told when, at thirteen, he had been caught beatin’ his meat in the bathroom.

Yes, Gerry had just turned twenty, but his innocence, and truth be known, his ignorance, came from his restrictive, protective, church-going family. He had had few friends, and was frequently called a "goody-two-shoes." And by the time he went to work as a surgical orderly, he had learned to turn a "deaf ear" to anything "off-color" or what would otherwise be considered harmful to a "good ol', Baptist, Southern boy" to hear. "Ignorance," so they say, "is bliss."

But Damn! What Zed was doing, felt better'n anything he had ever experienced. Good God, Almighty! He relented. He didn’t care what would happen. It just felt too wonderful!

If he wants it, if he wants to die, then he’s gonna git it, Gerry thought.

One final, desperate, thrust deep into Zed’s mouth, as his hands forced Zed’s lips onto his pubed groin, he released spurt after spurt of his “deadly” seed into the accommodating throat.

Once the spasms of guilt-ridden ecstasy subsided, Zed eased off Gerry’s delicious love-tool and licked it clean. Then he moved back to Gerry’s face and whispered, “Happy Birthday, baby.”

“Huh?”

“Happy Birthday, baby.”

“Oh, my God, Zed. Thank you. That’s the first time anyone has ever done that to me. Ohhhh, wow! Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

All stops were removed then, even if only for a moment, and he put his left hand behind Zed’s neck and pulled his lips onto his own, once more. Gerry’s tongue entered Zed’s mouth first. Then he hesitated, tasting something strange. Damn! Now I’ve got that stuff on my tongue, he thought with disgust as he released and pushed away from Zed.

Before Gerry could say anything, Zed whispered, “I’ve got another birthday present for ya, Ger.”

“Huh?”

“Why don’tcha get down outta the rack and come to the shower room with me, and I’ll give it to you there?”

Instant visions of what Gerry had heard being referred to as “corn-holing” in the locker room and showers of the high school gym, flared in his brain.

“No, uhhh, maybe tomorrow, Zed, but, uhhh, thanks anyway. I gotta … I gotta get some sleep; I’m really dead tired.” At the mention of his own word, “dead,” he imagined that by the same time the next day, Zed would be dead anyway from taking that “poison” in his mouth and swallowing it.

“Awww, come on, Ger; it won’t take long, and I know you’ll like it,” Zed encouraged.

“No!” Gerry stated with emphasis. He sat up, dug in the sheet for his skivvies, pulled them on, and pulled the sheet up around his chest as he lay back down. “Good night, Zed. I really do have to get some sleep.”

“O.K., then. Good night, Ger. See ya around. Sometime.”

“Yeah,” Gerry replied as Zed turned and walked through the quiet darkness toward the red sign over the doorway to the corridor.

Quickly pushing himself up and resting his weight on his right elbow, Gerry whispered rather loudly, “Zed!”

He stopped, turned quickly, and Gerry continued, “Thanks again.”

He just nodded his head, then turned back and disappeared.

Once more, Gerry lay back down. Then he turned on his left side and curled into a fetal position, fearing that he would die that night, or at least get deathly sick, from getting some of that “stuff” in his mouth while he deep-kissed Zed, a guy!

Silently, he was crying while he thought, pondered, worried, and prayed, tears dampening his pillow. He had never wept like that before. Strangely, he hoped and wanted to see Zed again; soon. Even if it meant, God forbid, being “corn-holed.” Just to keep his friendship.

He was experiencing feelings and emotions and stirrings he’d never had before.

Sleep eventually overtook him and blocked out the sorrow, and the guilt, and the unrequited desires.

(End of Chapter One)

*****

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