Never Mentioned Again

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Two sailors on shore leave get surprised.
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sr71plt
sr71plt
3,017 Followers

"Shit, the way this snow is falling, I'm not getting my rocks off tonight."

"Steady as she goes, Chuck. Lucky for us there are bars close to the ship. Let's try this one."

Naval Petty Officer Three Ryan Stevens pushed open the door of the bar and ushered Naval Petty Officer Two Chuck Adams into a dimly lit bar, filled with smoke and with muted and fuzzy Country Western music coming through the sound system. The light was brightest at the long bar. Two men were sitting at this end of the bar and a gaggle of three bar girls held down the other. The tables to the left, in more darkness, were occupied by a mixed bag of mixed-colored and mixed-gender blue-class patrons. The whites took up the center, with the Hispanics in the front corner of the room and the blacks, in the deeper corners, in the back corner. B-girls were working the floor. One was taking a sailor through a beaded-curtain door at the back of the room, and two more here draped on guys—a mechanic, by the look of him, and a sailor—on the small dance floor.

This was probably as busy as this bar got. It was a Saturday night near the Philadelphia docks where a naval repair facility was located. More sailors than was usual with most naval ports were on leave, as they were in resting mode when their ships were in for repair or refitting.

Ryan and Chuck were bosom buddies—but not in the sense, they insisted to each other, as were some sailors who were young, virile, and randy but stuck out at sea for long periods of time with no one to hook up with but each other. They were from the same area of Florida—Ryan from Tampa and Chuck from St. Petersburg—and were much the same age, their mid twenties now. They were from different spectrums of the social divide, but they'd been together from training to ship assignment, and went everywhere as a pair, each watching the back of the other.

They were so close that there had been speculation about them from the other sailors, but, if they'd heard it, Ryan and Chuck had pretended they didn't. And it didn't prevent them from sharing a woman when it came down to stripping and getting it down, although, in these rare instances, they stuck to using separate entrances at the same time.

Ryan, a redhead descended from the Irish, was from a wealthy family. He'd gone to private schools but hadn't done more than scrape by academically, and his family saw the Navy as a chance for him to grow up. It was working; he was ahead of the curve in moving up the enlisted ranks. That probably was because just getting by in a private school still imparted more accumulated smarts and sense of leadership than graduating from a public high school in Florida. Chuck, a Nordic blond, whose male family members worked the oil rigs in the gulf and female members dressed hair, had made it through public high school, but barely. Both had been on their respective football teams in high school, but hadn't been stars. It was a bond between them, though—talking football like they were a part of it. Both were fine looking, trimmed out, and muscular. Working on a ship helped ensure the trimmed out and muscular aspects.

Both had come in on a ship that had been in the Persian Gulf for four months and had docked in Philadelphia the previous day for refitting. And both were randy as hell when they showed up for shore leave, despite the start of the snow, and made it only as far as Cleo's Bar, nearly within sight of their ship.

They bellied up to the bar and ordered Buds from the hefty bartender, who had a friendly look for them but who obviously was capable of a mean look and doubled as the bar's bouncer. He had an anchor tattooed on his bicep and the three fell into a comfortable chat comparing service records.

"Speaking of service," Ryan said. "Any action around here tonight?"

The barkeep inclined his head toward the other end of the bar without looking there. "Take your pick. $20 on the bar top gets you beyond the beaded curtains there with one of them with me looking the other way and whistling and then it's up to you and them. If you pay more than $20 for a BJ or $50 for a ride, you've been taken. And you should know—"

He didn't finish that sentence as the guys at the front end of the bar had suddenly discovered a thirst that had to be service right now, and that, after all, was what the bartender was here for.

While he was gone, Ryan and Chuck took a look around, but the only free dollies were those three at the back end of the bar. Two of them were talking to each other across the one in the middle. She caught Chuck's eye, though, and rose off her stool and sauntered on up the bar to the two sailors.

"Two hunks like you shouldn't be in here all by your lonesomes," she said as she got to them. "Buy a girl a drink for some company? You two in the Navy?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. They were in winter service uniforms—black sailor jumpers over black trousers, with the thirteen-button, squared-off fly—and their naval insignia on their sleeves. And they could almost see the naval vessels in dry-dock from where they were sitting. Of course they were in the Navy. But then his eyes were rolling for another reason. The woman had her hand on his crotch.

"Sure, I'm Popeye One and he's Popeye Two," Chuck answered for them, moving over a stool so that she could perch between them.

"A drink for the lady. Another one of whatever she was drinking," Ryan croaked to the bartender, who appeared with a frozen daiquiri within a few minutes, as both men leaned into their elbows on the bar top and gave their full attention to the B-Girl. Each of them had a hand low on her hip on either side. She didn't bat an eyelash.

She had eyelashes to bat too. She was a mix of white and black, which on her had arrived at high cheek bones, a smooth light-chocolate skin tone, a lovely oval face, and long, silky black hair. She kept her hands moving above the bar top and touching each of the guys here and there to make them want to hyperventilate. The long, scarlet fingernails matched the color on her lips. Her eye shadow was a luminous deep violet, with sparkles in it, which brought out the same color and quality of her pupils.

"You two stick together like glue?" she asked. It was evident to all three of them that she was fishing on whether this was leading up to something in sequence or a threesome.

"Usually," Chuck answered. "Do you mind?"

"Not really," she answered, "but maybe one's enough for starters."

When he delivered the drink, the bartender said, "This here's Tracy. I think you should—"

But whatever he might have said was cut off by Tracy cupping Chuck's chin, lightly brushing the tips of her fingernails at the soft tissue of his throat, while she came in for a kiss. A rumbling sound came up from the depths of his belly, and his hand went down to her plump butt cheek and squeezed. Ryan's did the same when Tracy turned her head and gave him a kiss, giving them equal time.

"Guess this is my lucky day," she said when she came up for air. "Two sailor hunks out on a snowy night like this."

"Speaking of snow . . ." Ryan said.

"The night's for partying," Chuck continued. "We're new in Philly. You know where we can get some? To share, of course."

"Of course," Tracy said, drawing their attention to three black thugs sitting at a table in the back corner of the bar. "A couple of Franklins should get enough to give you two courage to handle little ole me. I can do the deal."

"Don't need no courage to take you on girl," Chuck said.

"But it would make it more fun," Ryan added.

They watched as Tracy went to the back corner of the bar and came back with five packets of white powder.

Ryan and Chuck each had already taken out an extra twenty over what would be needed for the drinks and a generous tip and laid the bills on the bar top.

"Who's first, or were you still thinkin'—?"

"Ryan can be first," Chuck said, with a smile. "Rank takes privilege and smaller to larger."

"Fuck you," Ryan said. But he was smiling—they bantered like this often, and truth was truth anyway—and didn't turn down the offer. He eagerly followed Tracy through the beaded curtain, a hand cupping one of her butt cheeks.

* * * *

Ryan was sitting, Jumper off, on a vinyl loveseat in a small room behind the bar. There was a single bed against the other wall, in case they needed that. His legs were spread and Tracy had turned up his heat by dragging her scarlet fingernails over his nipples and complimenting him on his hard-bodied torso. She knelt then between his legs, facing a coffee table. She lowered her head and sniffed up a line of the coke set out in rows on a sheet of white paper. One row already was gone, up Ryan's nose.

He leaned over and put his arms around her, finding that her halter top unhooked between her breasts. She sighed as he pulled her top aside, cupped her pert breasts, and thumbed her nipples. Taking one hand away briefly to brush the hair off the side of her face and bury his mouth in the hollow of her neck before returning it to squeeze and work her breast, he eagerly took her mouth in his for a deep kiss as she turned her face to him.

Coming out of the kiss, Tracy briefly put her hands over his on her breasts and moaned deeply before leaning over the coffee table and taking in another line of the coke. After sniffing it up and brushing her nose with long, scarlet-tipped fingers, she swiveled around, facing him, still kneeling between his thighs. Her face turned up and his down into another kiss as, slowly, methodically, she unbuttoned the thirteen anchor-on-black-back buttons of his square cut codpiece and pulled his cock out of the fly of his regulation briefs.

He was big, erect, hard. She groaned, to denote she respected the size of him, and his cock did a little lurch in appreciation for how she rubbed it between her soft hands, ran her fingernails down the sides of it, and brushed it against her cheek before opening her red lips over it and taking it deep into her throat. It was Ryan's turn to groan. She hummed with it in her throat, pulling a gasp out of him at the vibrations thus caused.

If his banter with his buddy was suggesting that Ryan was the smaller of the two, she knew she was in for quite a ride later. The big blond did have this hunk of a guy in bulk.

She supplied and applied the condom and said that she wanted it in the ass. Standing and leaning over the coffee table to snort another line, she lifted the back of her miniskirt and wiggled her buttocks, encouraging Ryan to pull the thread of her G-string out of her crack and to the side, which he did before burying his face between her butt cheeks.

She was riding his cock, facing away from him and crouched over his lap, and taking him deep in long strokes when Ryan moved his hands down from her breasts to her crotch and inside the waistband of her G-string.

He froze, let out a explicative, and then jerked, making to rise, when Tracy gripped his forearms with her hands, and said, with a gasp. "No, might as well keep it up. We're almost done here, and you paid to get it off."

* * * *

Ryan came stumbling out from behind the beaded curtain and might have said something, but Chuck was right there, ready for his turn. Tracy's arm came through the curtain, her hand lassoing Chuck's arm and pulling him into the darkness beyond.

Ryan shrugged and walked, none too straight, back to the bar.

"Here, you probably need this," the bartender said, plunking down a fresh Bud, giving Ryan a sharp, "Are you going to make trouble?" look and then going to the window end of the bar to jaw with the guys there when Ryan, still shell shocked and in a haze from the two lines he'd snorted, showed he was subdued.

Twenty minutes later, Chuck came out of the back and saddled up to the bar. The two men looked at each other in the mirror behind the bar, not facing off directly. The bartender came over and plopped a Bud down in front of Chuck.

"Well, hell," Ryan said, at length.

"Yep," Chuck answered. Both took several swigs from the beer before either spoke again.

"It was a he, not a she," Ryan said in a small voice and in such a way that maybe Chuck didn't know and was just now getting the word.

"Yep, a real good fuck, though," Chuck said.

This time Ryan turned to look at Chuck, face to face. "You knew and fucked him anyway—whatever they're called?"

"Yep. The high-falutin' term is transvestite. Tranny, shemale, ladyboy. Whatever. They've all got holes and can be fun. This one—Tracy—was great. Don't tell me you didn't know before you went back there with her."

Ryan gave him a confused look.

Chuck laughed. "Well, fuck."

"You fuck men?" Ryan asked, his voice as ghastly as the expression on his face.

"Any port in the storm, good buddy," Chuck said before taking a deep swig of his beer. "A hole is a hole and, as you knew when we came in here, I had a raging hard on."

"But . . ."

"Which wasn't being satisfied by anyone else." Chuck hit Ryan with a meaningful look.

"I didn't know," Ryan said in a quiet voice. "If I had . . ."

"Hey, look, Ryan. Did you think I was hanging around you so close because you didn't drop the football each and every time it was slung to you? We didn't go to the same schools, but guys in football programs talk to each other—especially guys you are spiking. Did you think your past would forever be kept a secret?"

Ryan didn't answer. He looked down at his lap rather than directly at Chuck or even at Chuck in the mirror. Chuck put a hand on Ryan's thigh and Ryan didn't shrug it off.

"Been waitin' for you, bro," Chuck whispered. "You gonna keep me waitin'? I'm still, you know, way horny enough."

"I . . . I . . . didn't know. I wonder if there are any cheap hotels around here," Ryan said, in almost a whisper.

"There'd better be, good buddy. There fuckin' well better be."

"But, one thing, Chuck," Ryan said. "This Tracy thing. I really don't want this ever mentioned again."

"Lips are sealed, good buddy," Chuck said, with a smile. "Let it never be mentioned again. Now come on out into the snow and let's find us that small hotel."

sr71plt
sr71plt
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3 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousalmost 7 years ago
Fun story

"Any port in the storm, good buddy," Many guys live by that motto.

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 7 years ago
Oh delicious!

Get Chuck and Ryan together for a good time. Get those hard cocks ready to suck and fuck, and strip these Navy Boys down. Get them loving each other!

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 7 years ago
Whoa

That took an interesting turn. Can't wait for more!

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