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Jack Kennedy, who usually slept like a log, was awoken one night by a rhythmic creaking.
It sounded like it was coming from scarcely a metre below him, and sure enough, when he poked his head over the edge of the bed, it was his fellow seaman Dick Nixon making the noise. The room was lit only by moonlight through the bare windows, yet it was enough to see that Nixon was not having some strange nightmare. He was masturbating.
Kennedy watched for a moment, fascinated by his movements. Nixon was grinding his crotch against the thin mattress in a slow, writhing motion. His hands were up by his head, which was buried in his pillow to mask the sound of his panting. The whole thing looked uncomfortable, really – like he was trying to torture his dick, not pleasure it.
Kennedy would’ve ignored it and let Nixon get on with it, but there were bunks across the room that were going to be woken up if Nixon didn’t quiet down. The creaking of the old metal bed frames was only growing louder.
He nimbly climbed down to crouch by Nixon’s bed. “Dick,” Kennedy whispered. Nixon didn’t seem to hear him. “Dick!” he whispered louder this time, grabbing Nixon’s bare shoulder.
Nixon jumped out of his skin, instantly backing away from Kennedy. He could hardly see Nixon’s face, but he didn’t need to. He was obviously humiliated. Kennedy supposed that most people would be in that situation, even if he personally never understood being ashamed of his needs. But Nixon was a particularly uptight man – a virgin, from what he’d heard – and in that moment Kennedy pitied him immensely.
“I’m sorry,” Nixon rasped, on the verge of tears. Kennedy sat on the bed and leaned in close so they wouldn’t be heard.
“Ah, don’t be, Dick. I was just concerned you were gonna wake the whole platoon!”
“I was just-”
“I know, but it’s not the best way to go about it. Hell I probably jack off three times a day in that bed right above you, and have you ever noticed?”
Nixon went wide-eyed and seemed to hesitate before shaking his head.
“It’s the first time I’ve uh… done that, um, here…”
“What? You haven’t gotten off in five months?!”
“Yes. And I just got desperate. I’m sorry Jack.”
Kennedy was in shock. He was sure his balls would just explode if he went so long without any release. He could barely handle a day of chastity!
Then it occurred to him that he had interrupted Nixon.
“Wait, did you even get off?”
“No…”
“Well, damn, don’t let me stop you! I think the tension can make you ill, you know.”
“But you’ll be listening…” Nixon squirmed.
“Not if you don’t make a sound. Just touch yourself normally.”
“I can’t… I don’t like to, it’s… I feel dirty…” he mumbled.
“What a load of horseshit! Is that a religious thing? Your dad tell you that? My dad’s Catholic and he gave me porn mags for my fourteenth. It’s not dirty.”
“It’s not just that… it feels wrong… I only did it just now by accident.”
“So using your hand is too deliberate?” Kennedy asked incredulously.
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could any man live this way? It was emasculating, he thought, to be so petrified of your own penis. He had to help Nixon out of this mindset. It was a medical necessity, even – Kennedy was certain his doctor told him that total abstinence makes you impotent.
His mind was made up, and so he got under the covers and laid down with Nixon.
“We’ve gotta fix this, Dick. I’ll help you out. No I don’t mean – look, I’ll touch myself to put you at ease, and also because I’m a little hard anyways, and you can copy me.”
Kennedy pulled the thin sheets up over their heads and instructed Nixon to watch. He trailed his hand down his own body and slowly got his cock out. He lied – he was fully hard – but Nixon might not have been able to see that in the near darkness. It didn’t matter anyway – he trusted he wouldn’t judge. Though currently Nixon was frozen, not making a peep.
They were both lying flat on their backs, pressed against each other on the single bed, so that when Kennedy started stroking himself his elbow repeatedly dug into Nixon’s stomach. His movements were slow but firm. Usually Kennedy wanted to climax as quickly as possible, but this time – perhaps because it was a demonstration for Nixon – he wanted to drag it out as long as possible. But Nixon hadn’t joined in yet.
“Come on, Dick. I know you must be dying to. It’s all right,” he murmured in his ear.
Kennedy paused to spit in his hand, and the wet, slick sound that followed seemed to send Nixon into a frenzy. He grabbed himself through his underwear, squeezing in a way that Kennedy thought looked painful, as if doing so would will away his arousal altogether. His eyes were shut and jaw clenched, but it wasn’t an orgasm.
“It’s just me, Dick. I won’t tell,” he said softly. “Come on, I’ll get you started.”
At that, Kennedy used his free hand to prise Nixon’s harsh grip off his poor, neglected cock. He covered Nixon’s left hand with his own and guided it so that Nixon was gently stroking himself through the linen.
“Like that. Now it’ll be much better if you get it out.”
Nixon wasted no time in yanking his underwear down. Kennedy grazed his fingertips along his freed cock, just to check – it was slightly wet with precum, but not enough. He paused to pull their entwined hands up to Nixon’s face.
“Spit in your hand, it’ll help.”
“My mouth is too dry,” Nixon whined.
“Fine,” Kennedy huffed, spitting onto Nixon’s hand and revelling in the guttural noise it elicited from him.
As much as Kennedy enjoyed guiding Nixon’s hand, he let go and left him to it.
Until Nixon grabbed his hand back.
“Please,” he said shyly, “You do it well.”
Kennedy didn’t argue.
He had always maintained that he wasn’t a homosexual – he’d let Lem Billings suck him off a few times, but that was really an act of kindness for a lonely friend. But he was surprised at how much he enjoyed guiding Nixon’s hand; he admittedly didn’t tend to care that much about other people’s pleasure, but Nixon’s self-denial, and consequently his desperation, made him sensitive to every little move that Kennedy made.
They lived opposite lives in many respects, but especially in this – Kennedy had fucked nearly a hundred women, he wagered, whereas Nixon was a virgin who abstained even from masturbation (or tried to). Sex wasn’t mind-blowing to Kennedy anymore; it was more like eating. But feeling Nixon tremble and hearing his gasps and moans and whimpers was like experiencing sex again for the first time.
Nixon was growing progressively louder – so much for this being the quieter way to do things – and Kennedy started to worry. Getting caught jacking off alone was one thing. But with another man? Even in wartime, Kennedy knew it threatened dishonourable discharge.
“Dick, you need to quiet down,” Kennedy whispered, desperately trying to shush him. Nothing was getting through. Clearly, Nixon was close.
Kennedy had no free hands left, or else he would’ve slapped one over Nixon’s loud mouth. Instead, in a moment of panic – that’s what he attributed this to, because really it wasn’t in character for him – he leaned over Nixon and kissed him hard, shutting him up.
In the movement he had let go of his own cock, and it now bumped into where their joined hands covered Nixon’s. Kennedy unthinkingly – unintentionally, really – changed their positioning so that their cocks were aligned and rubbing against each other.
The kiss became sloppy and biting as Kennedy wrapped his hand around the both of them and thrusted hard. Neither of them would last long – Nixon, because of his abstinence, and Kennedy, because he never lasted more than five minutes.
With Kennedy’s aggressive rutting, the bunk was creaking and Nixon was moaning again.
“Shut up, Dick!” he hissed.
But that only seemed to excite him more. Kennedy broke the kiss and slapped his free hand over Nixon’s mouth, tightly gripping his soft face. He made a pathetic muffled sound in response.
“Don’t you know when to shut the hell up?” he spat in Nixon’s ear.
Kennedy did occasionally insult women during sex, only because, to his mind, they deserved insulting for their lack of skill or their desperation or some other such thing. Often for being too loud, like Nixon (though Nixon clearly wasn’t putting it on). And since Nixon was acting like a girl it made sense that he’d be treated like one.
But to his shock, Nixon responded by biting down on Kennedy’s palm and not letting go.
No woman had ever dared. If they had, he would’ve pushed them away in disgust. Yet when Nixon – this timid, poor, chubby-faced, latent homosexual – bit him, it pushed him over the edge.
He shoved his hand further into Nixon's mouth and ground his hips down once more before coming all over Nixon’s bare stomach. Exhausted, he collapsed on top of him. Kennedy was already beginning to doze when he felt Nixon finish shortly after, writhing and clawing at his back.
They laid in each other's arms sweating and panting for an interminable amount of time.
"Jack?" Nixon said uncertainly, still out of breath, "Shouldn't we clear up?"
"Shut up, Dick."
-
Dear unattractive,
Well Lemmers I have had a gay old time in the Navy that will make your cock explode from envy! My bunkie is a chubby-faced virgin (I checked –not by genital examination, as I’m sure you’d like) whose only real skill is ripping us all off in poker. He likes me a lot and follows me around the mess like a lost puppy – I have found your twin, except this guy has no pimples or sif and does not daily enquire about the health of my vital organs.
Anyway last night I woke at maybe 2am to a clanking sound and swung my head over to see this Dick fellow bonking his mattress! Of course me being mature & responsible I had to put a stop to this racket so I marched down the ladder and told him to beat himself off like a normal person. He said he couldn’t, he was some Protestant type too scared to touch himself. Which I can’t understand because you’re a Prot and you jacked off more than anybody in Choate.
It turned out Dick had not touched his dick this entire deployment so you can imagine how crazed he was. And I couldn’t leave him with a stiff so I sat next to him and decided to tutor him because, as you well know, self-abuse was always my best subject in school.
Due to the severe lack of girl action in the Navy (it seems handsome slender rakes like myself are supposed to stand in) I had a semi just from talking about it. So I got out and brandished my JJ and told him to copy me – charitably passing on my boarding school lessons to the less fortunate. He only needed a little help with the motion of it. A bit of hand-holding. And when he burst all over himself I added to the big white puddle shortly after, then left my new Navy wife to tidy up and went back to bed. No court-martial summons yet so I think we got away with it even though he was moaning like a girl.
So am I part of your homo club now? You did say the Navy would make a fairy out of me. I think it only counts if you put a prick in any of your holes (mouth definitely counts, Kirk).
I will say I regret not getting a close look at his cock because I wonder if never touching it makes it stronger, or makes it shrivel up? I’m sure he’ll show me if I ask and then I can compare it to your sif prick. I’ll send notes and perhaps a drawing for your viewing pleasure.
Write immediately,
Ken
P.S.
Fat homo, I don’t mind if you use this letter as your dick-rag, as long as you burn it afterwards so nobody else catches your sif.