by Guy Willard
He looked down at his feet, then away. He was obviously uneasy at the implications of what we’d done together. Even those good times were tainted for him now.
“I understand,” I said softly. “See you around.”
I was alone as I walked down the brow for the last time. Over my shoulder was the seabag containing all my possessions; under one arm was the fat manila envelope which contained my orders and the complete records of my military life.
As I stepped off the gangplank I felt as light as a feather. I knew that life on board the ship would go on as usual without me. I was completely unnecessary for the smooth functioning of the ship. Despite the fact that I was proud of the job I did, another corpsman—someone just as good as me, no doubt—would be sent in to replace me, and he’d pick up right where I’d left off. It wasn’t a difficult job, no matter how you looked at it. I wouldn’t be missed at all. In a few months, I’d be completely forgotten.
All around me on the pier, sailors were busy at their various tasks. For them it was just another working day. I spotted a cab at the head of the pier and thought to myself: why should I wait for the shuttle bus to take me to transit? The quicker I got away, the better.
I went over to the taxi, opened the door and got in. “Transit,” I said, slamming the door behind me. The cab took off. I didn’t look back.
Transit
Life in the transit barracks was like being in limbo. I felt as if I were in a state of suspended animation. Here I knew no one…and most of the others were strangers to each other as well.
Everyone was waiting for something: those who’d just come out of boot camp were waiting for their first ship to come in. Others who’d taken leave or been hospitalized were awaiting their ships’ return from short operational cruises. Still others had finished their four-year hitch and swaggered haughtily around without a care in the world.
Discipline was very lax. We were assigned make-work such as cleaning, lawn mowing, or painting, mainly to keep us out of trouble. Five sailors would be assigned to a job which two could easily do in half a day. Most of the time guys didn’t bother to show up even for these easy tasks. They managed to slip away sometime between morning muster and the assignment, and didn’t reappear until evening muster. Others didn’t even bother to attend muster. As punishment, they were assigned extra work—which they shirked. No one seemed to give a damn about anything. Even the CPO in charge had given up. He did what he could to put some semblance of order to the place, but it was a losing battle.
The Navy’s shipboard discipline was completely absent here. Sailors smoked in their bunks, drank beer in the halls. Theft was rife. Those who were getting out of the Navy felt they had nothing to lose anyway. Among them were some real thugs, booted out with dishonorables. Others were medical discharges, found unfit for life out in the Fleet, guys with serious emotional problems, suicide attempters and the like. Some of them had such a loose grip on reality that I wondered how they’d managed to get through boot camp. Of course there were homosexuals, too, who now brazenly flaunted their inclinations.
In this timeless, meaningless world I managed to become anonymous, easily able to blend right in and turn invisible.
My bunkmate was a young boy just out of boot camp. I couldn’t believe how green and eager he looked. He was so full of questions, grilling me on what life was like out in the Fleet. Despite myself, I began playing the role of the grizzled veteran. Had I been as eager and enthusiastic as this boy just two years ago? Somehow it was hard to believe.
When I thought of the many disappointments in store for him, I couldn’t help feeling sad. And he probably had such a romantic image of a sailor’s life, too. But since he hadn’t been to A-school, he would end up in first division as a boatswain’s mate, chipping paint, swabbing decks, and learning how to swear and smoke like the others. And soon his bright boyish face would turn sour and mean.
I made up my mind to tell him only about the good times I’d had in the various ports, sometimes changing the genders of my sexual partners. Looking at his face beaming with longing, I sighed and said, “Yeah, I did my four years and I’m glad to get out.”
“But it sure sounds like you had a lot of fun. The Navy couldn’t be that bad, could it?”
“It could have been a lot worse, I suppose. Let’s put it this way, then: I’m glad I went through it, but if I had my choice, I wouldn’t do it again for any amount of money.”
Since my ship was in port and my shipmates would be around, I thought it would be better if I didn’t go out with him too much. If we were spotted together, people would get the wrong impression. The kid would have a hard enough time as it was, without the added stigma of being branded a homosexual. I gave him an excuse and headed out on my own that night.
There was a huge telephone exchange on base, filled with rows and rows of semi-private booths, and I wanted to call home to let my mother and father know I would be coming home soon. And maybe I could give them a hint about the reason for my early discharge.
When my mother came on the phone, and I told her the news, she was speechless with joy.
“But how?” she exclaimed. “I thought you still had two years left?”
“Not anymore, mom. I put in for an early discharge under a new program and got it!”
“That’s wonderful!”
She shouted for my father to come on the line, and when I repeated the news to him, I realized that it would be harder than I thought to tell them the real reason for my discharge. By the time I hung up, I was feeling almost depressed at my helplessness.
After knock-off the next day, I headed off-base to find someplace to wash my clothes. I didn’t want to use the laundromat on base where I might be seen and recognized by my shipmates, so I was happy to discover a small place just outside the gate which seemed to be little used by anyone. When I stepped inside, I found that I was the only one there.
I had finished loading my clothes into a washing machine, and was sitting on the bench reading a magazine when the most gorgeous redhead I’d ever seen in my life walked in with a sack of laundry under his arm. His hair was cut very short, military-style, and I guessed he was Navy.
Seeing that I was the only other one there, he gave me a curt nod before dumping his clothes into the nearest washing machine. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, gazing at his back as he poured detergent into the machine and selected his wash cycle. He caught me staring at him when he turned around, but he didn’t seem at all surprised. Probably he was used to it.
“Are you in the Navy?” he said, sitting down on the opposite bench.
I nodded. “At least for a little while longer, anyway. I’m waiting for my discharge.”
“Getting out, huh? Lucky you. I still have two and a half years left. I signed up for six. How long were you in?”
I thought for a moment, then decided on the spur of the moment to take a big gamble. “About two years or so, give or take a month.”
“You mean you’re getting out early? How’d you pull that off?”
“I told them I’m queer.”
“Really?” He looked at me more closely. “And are you? Or did you just say that to get out?”
“I am.”
“Oh.” He didn’t seem startled at all by my reply, and calmly commented, “It must have taken a lot of guts to confess.”
“Actually, there were two other guys who also fessed up at the same time. Or rather, we were busted by a closeted chief. But, unlike me, they’re both gonna fight it out in court because they don’t want their parents finding out about them.”
“Oh yeah? Well, you wanna know something? It’s a lie.”
“What is?”
“That the Navy informs your parents when you get discharged for being queer. I know, because I had some friends who were booted out for the same reason, and they said their parents never found out why. It’s just the Navy trying to scare you with their bullshit.”
“Well, that’s good to know. But I’m think
ing about telling my parents anyway. I mean, they’re probably gonna find out about me someday, so it may as well be now.”
“Hmm. And that way you get your own back at the Navy in the process.”
“I guess so, yeah.”
“My name’s Julian, by the way.” He leaned across to shake my hand. His palm felt warm in mine.
“I’m Bill.”
“I’m gay, too.”
I almost fell off the bench. “My God. Then you must have noticed me drooling all over myself as I stared at you. I feel so embarrassed.”
He laughed. “It wasn’t as bad as all that.”
I sat back unable to say a word. In all the foreign countries I’d been to, I’d felt sexually brave, even reckless. But now that I was back in the U.S., I felt as if I were back to square one, and had to relearn all the rules. Here we were, two guys who had just met, telling each other we were gay. This was something completely new to me. Until now, all my homosexual encounters had been secretive, and burdened with shame. But Julian seemed to have no inhibitions at all about his sexuality.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t we celebrate your discharge from the Navy?”
“Great! What do you have in mind?”
“Well, I’ve been invited to a party tonight. Would you like to come along?”
“I don’t know….” I had visions of meeting Julian’s friends, with whom I would feel like a total stranger. “Actually, I’m not much of a partying type.”
“This is the type of party where you won’t feel out of place. Trust me. You’ll enjoy yourself.”
“Where is it?”
“Up in La Jolla. A rich musician I know throws these parties every weekend. Once you’ve been to one, you’ll never forget it.”
“All right….” My heart wasn’t in it, but since this was a chance to get to know Julian better, I could hardly refuse. “What time?”
“I’ll come by transit barracks in my car tonight at seven. Be waiting for me out front.”
“All right.”
Julian had specified casual dress, but since jeans and a T-shirt probably would have been a bit too informal, I decided to wear slacks and a polo shirt. When Julian came to pick me up, I was relieved to see that he too was dressed in the same style.
As he drove me there, he told me that this musician’s home was a well-known landmark in La Jolla, and when we got there, I could see why. It could only be described as palatial, a three-story mansion set on an imposing estate, with trees and shrubbery dotting the vast yard. Cars were parked every which way on the lawn just inside the imposing gate. Julian found a place to park and we got out. Faint music could be heard coming from the direction of the house, but no lights seemed to be on. A gloom seemed to pervade the whole place.
When we got to the front door, it was open, but we hesitated before entering. And then a soft voice said, “Go right in.” I peered into the shrubbery surrounding the house and noticed some people standing here and there among the bushes.
Even inside the house, all the lights were dimmed. There was a large foyer as we entered, and beyond it, a spacious living room. A pair of staircases swept up from either end of the room to a landing on the second floor. People seemed to be lurking everywhere in the shadows. A strong smell of marijuana hung in the air.
Groups of men were standing around or sitting on sofas, and everyone welcomed us with smiles of greeting, seeming quite at home. As we walked through the living room, a couple of well-dressed older men standing by the fireplace looked us over and began making comments about us, speaking loud enough for us to overhear:
“Ooh, look what just walked in.”
“Love the tall one. Nice ass.”
“Give me the chest and shoulders—you can have the ass.”
“Wonder how well he’s hung.”
“Care to take bets?”
“Eight inches? Eight-and-a-half?”
“Oops, he’s looking this way.”
Julian pretended not to hear them.
“Come on, Bill. Let’s get something to drink.” In the dining room, there was a record playing softly on the stereo, but the only person present was a young boy—he didn’t look sixteen—dressed all in silver: a tight T-shirt covered with spangles, and a pair of shorts which fit him so snugly that his butt looked encased in tin foil. He was dancing in a fay way, truly androgynous, not sexual at all.
He smiled blankly at us without seeming to see us.
“Do you know where Peter is?” Julian asked him.
Without breaking his rhythm the boy pointed at the doorway opposite.
As we stepped out into the hall, we had to inch past a couple of young men entwined in each other’s arms, oblivious of our presence.
I turned to Julian. “This is some party. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“What did I tell you?”
“I think I’d like to use the bathroom.”
“It’s the second door on the left.”
As I nervously opened the door and stepped inside, I reflexively backed away when I saw someone already there. In fact there were two men, one standing with his back against the wall, his pants bunched down around his ankles, and the other one down on his knees, sucking him off. They both turned to face me, but before I could apologize, the standing one said: “Care to join us?”
“No thanks.” I backed out and rejoined Julian out in the hall.
As we made our way through the house, I could see couples everywhere, all male, kissing or fondling each other openly, and many of them seemed to stare hungrily at us as we passed.
“This whole place seems like one big orgy,” I said in amazement.
At the end of the hallway was an oddly-shaped room reached by a connecting passageway. Apparently it was part of a tower attached to the main building of the house. As we stepped into its dark interior, the pungent aroma of some kind of tropical incense greeted us. A couple of men were lying together naked on the thickly carpeted floor. One of them said:
“Oh, hi, Julian. I’m glad you could come.”
He was a middle-aged man with thinning white hair, and his partner was a muscular young black man. When I looked more carefully, I saw that the two of them were gently fucking.
“How’s it going, Peter?” said Julian.
“Great. Why don’t you two get naked too? It feels so much better.”
“Umm. In a little while, maybe. We just got here.”
“Sure. Take your time. Oh, that feels so good.” He turned his attention back to his partner.
I couldn’t believe that Peter could calmly have a conversation in mid-fuck, but as my eyes got more accustomed to the dark, I realized with mild surprise that we weren’t the only ones in the room. There were perhaps five or six other men sitting silently on cushions arranged against the wall, and they’d all been watching Peter and his lover have sex.
Julian cleared his throat. “Uh, see you around, Peter.”
“Sure. Let’s talk some more later.”
We went back out to the passageway leading to the main building.
“Come on,” said Julian, “Let’s see what else is happening.”
On the second floor, there was a huge master bedroom whose door was wide open. When we stepped inside, we saw a beautifully muscled male stripper standing atop the bed dancing seductively to some music playing on the stereo. Several men were sitting around on the floor watching him. The dancer had just pulled off his G-string, revealing an enormous erect penis, easily ten inches long, and as the spectators closed in to get a better view, he danced over to one of them. The man leaned up and took the dancer’s dick into his mouth and began sucking it as the others looked on. But the dancer didn’t give him much time to enjoy it before moving on to the next man, who in turn took the proffered dick into his mouth. The dancer kept going from man to man, only allowing each of them a quick suck. Apparently this was his act, and he seemed able to go on indefinitely. Julian had seen this before and explained to me that one
of the spectators would eventually be the lucky recipient of the stripper’s ejaculate.
“This is wild,” I said. “You can say what you like, but there’s no place like the U.S. for sexual freedom. I love it!”
“I’m glad you’re having such a good time. Shall we take a look outside?”
“Sure.”
When we went down to the first floor and stepped outside, I wasn’t surprised at all to see numerous men among the bushes openly fucking and sucking. No one made any attempt to hide anything. Couples, threesomes, foursomes were entwined and writhing in the dark.
Finding myself thoroughly aroused by all this, I pulled Julian with me into an uninhabited nook, and he immediately melted against me in a tight embrace. As we kissed I could feel his excitement pressing against my groin.
Reaching down, I gently kneaded his hard-on over his slacks, and he in turn massaged my straining dick. Then I slid my hand up under his shirt to caress his nipples, gently tweaking them. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the sensation.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Reaching down, I unzipped his fly, then my own. As he unbuttoned his slacks and pulled them down together with his briefs, I reached into my pocket for my Vaseline. And when I yanked down my own pants, my erection flipped up and hit my stomach with an audible slap. I uncapped the Vaseline and dipped my finger into the cool gel, then spread it carefully onto my dick, coating it thoroughly.
With a quick glance around to make sure we weren’t being observed, I turned to Julian. He was facing away from me, holding his butt cheeks apart. I guided my dick in between them, nuzzling my glans up and down the cleft for a while, toying with him before closing in on his anus. Then, gyrating my hips to get a corkscrew motion, I wriggled my way slowly in, and heard him bite back a grunt.
“That feels so good, Bill,” he murmured.
“For me, too.”
I slid all the way in until I couldn’t go any farther, and stayed like that for a long time, savoring it. I could feel his heart beating fast beneath my fingertips. I kissed his cheek from behind and gently blew on his ear. Then I began pumping my hips slowly, moving in and out of his tight hole, my hands placed for support on either side of his hips. As I started to pick up speed, I reached down and felt for his dick. It was still soft, but at my touch, it stiffened quickly into erection. I toyed with it a little, gripping it by the shaft and pumping it in rhythm with my thrusting.