Splash In The Pool - 6. Chapter 6 Bars and Stripes

DAVE

The trip to the Special Services building was a double success; Jim introduced me to a few more guys with whom I’d be working, and the P.O. on duty issued me two ‘large’ lifeguard trunks. I would have a little more on-the-job room for ‘Davey’.

Most importantly, by the time we arrived at the mess hall for dinner, we felt at ease with one another. It was like being pals and we could often already finish each other’s sentences. Of course, grabbing and jerking each other does promote trust…and we had shared many details of our past. Jim was 20 years of age with two more years to go in his enlistment. Religion was pretty much a non-issue; his dad was a non-practicing Jew and his mom was a DAR wasp of English descent. He had two older sisters who were married with families, making him an uncle to three offspring. However, unlike me, he’d never had the ‘balls’ to come out to his family.

After what happened in the shower, it was easy to be honest about our feelings concerning men: we were both full-blown homos who were serving their country. We decided that if the politicians and officers didn’t embrace gay men being in the military, then ‘Fuck ‘em’. I said, with a laugh, “Straight boys – have no fear…only the willing can be converted.” We were living, breathing examples of two young males who preferred the company of another guy and were perfectly fine in the military.

As we compared notes, Jim admitted to having some sexual experiences as a teen. He had been ‘with’ a few buddies from his high school gymnastic team, on the ‘Q.T.’, and in the privacy of a teammate’s bedroom. They had ‘tried out things’ – jerking each other off, blow jobs and fingering each other’s hole – but not the ‘nasty’. He claimed to still be a virgin in the screwing department.

Jim had messed around a few times at the base gym but the quick encounters were nothing more than ‘getting off’ while taking care not to get caught. I told him about Russ and the limitations of our relationship. He laughed when I repeated that Russ was a gymnast. “Busted. Now I know your type,” he said with a snicker. Nothing was mentioned about our shower together, but it was probably going to be a one-time thing - like ships passing in the night. ‘Not that I’d turn down a mercy fuck, sometime,’ I thought.

We got back to the barracks around 2100, and squeezed each other’s hand in a shake as he went into #9 and I walked down to #11. We were determined that our new friendship would grow and made a date to work out at the gym later in the week.

I opened my door to an empty room and turned on the light. On the desk was a metal beer bucket, full of ice, with six Coronas sticking out. On the desk was a card addressed to me.

I opened it and read:

“Hi, David. You’re probably wondering if your roommate actually exists. I do, and I’m alive and well. I’ve had a hectic time with a lot of social stuff. Here’s a little libation for you. If I don’t get back near when you arrive, have a brew on me. I should be back by 10:00 p.m. (whoops, 2200). See you then. Regards, Brent.”

‘Wow, how nice,’ I thought, popping open a beer as I stripped from my uniform in favor of khaki shorts and a tee. I took a pull from the bottle as I settled in to conduct my nightly duty of polishing my black shoes and brass belt buckle. Never accuse Airman Swenson of not being squared away.

While pondering my first day on the job tomorrow, I heard a key slide into the door slot. I subtly braced myself for Brent’s entrance. Sure enough, larger than life, entered one of most striking blond men I had ever seen in the flesh. ‘A & F model material,’ was my first thought, as the young Adonis-stud entered our room.

I stood and said, “Hey, Brent, thanks for the beer. I knew you’d surface at some point. I’m Dave Swenson.” I looked squarely into his blue eyes and smiled broadly. ‘Yeah,’ I surveyed, ‘we are the same height.’ And, from what I could tell, fairly similar in other dimensions.

He grabbed my hand and shook it. “Sorry I wasn’t on hand when you arrived. This has been a crazy weekend.” With that said, he popped a Corona and we toasted by clinking our beer bottles. “How’s it going?” he continued, “You getting settled in?”

“I’ve actually been on the base for the past 10 weeks going through tech training…so I’m not a total stranger.” I then gave him the same abbreviated version of my situation that I had now developed into a five-minute sound bite. Brent did the same with his history. Like me, just the basics.

“Dave, I’m kind of plugged in around here because I work in the Admiral’s office. Don’t be shy about asking me for advice. This base is a warren of political fiefdoms,” he said in a rather matter-of-fact manner, “and you can get trapped in the ‘sucking up’ routine.”

‘This man has a social bearing about him and a vocabulary that doesn’t match the typical enlisted sailor,’ I observed. “Well, I would appreciate a rundown on the officers that I may run into at the ‘O’ club. I definitely want to avoid any minefields.”

“Good idea. The first thing is to subtly suck up to the new Club Manager, Ensign Mike Cole. He’s in a position to be a “mover and shaker” on the base. He’s only been here for less than two months, but the Admiral’s wife likes him…a lot. And, that’s like the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval,” he said nodding his head. “He seems like a pretty decent guy, but I’ve only spoken to him on the phone.”

“I suppose I’ll meet him tomorrow?”

“Probably. Seriously, Dave, I’m in a position to help out a friend. If I can ever pull some strings for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks.” I filed that information away for future reference.

We rambled on for about an hour when we decided it was time to crash. I went down to the head to take care of business. When I returned, Brent was sawing zzzz’s with his lanky, well-muscled frame covered under a sheet. Finishing my evening routine, I got in my bunk and concluded that this had been a very good day. ‘We are going to have some further conversations about ‘other things’ when the time is right…’ I thought, as I drifted to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~
ENSIGN MIKE COLE

A year ago June, I heard my civilian name called as I received a BS from Cornell University’s School of Hotel Management at the large graduation ceremonies. Then, I took advantage of a U.S. Navy program that was offered to hotel school college graduates. After completing Officer Candidate School as another ‘14 week wonder’, I was commissioned a Naval Officer with the rank of Ensign – Ensign Mike Cole, USNR…by an act of Congress, I was now ‘an officer and a gentleman’.

After additional training to learn the details of running an ‘officer’s mess’, I arrived in Memphis in April to manage the Naval Air Station Officer's Club. While my hotel school pals were going through the sub-level, lackey corporate training programs for Hilton or Fleming’s Steak House, I was already running the show. I had wanted a fast track…and I got it.

How long I would be in Memphis was a crapshoot. The Naval Air Station was scheduled to be de-commissioned or to have its mission changed. My future at NAS Memphis was certain only until the end of the year as nothing official had been decided yet. In the meantime, I was ready to make things happen in my young life – professionally and privately.

I checked in at the BOQ and was assigned a room – or billet, to use Navy jargon. I had lucked out by getting an end corner room just off the parking lot. My wing of the BOQ was a short walk across the parking lot from the Officers Club. ‘What a helluva commute to work,’ I thought, ‘one minute, tops.’

Like much of the base, the BOQ was a wood-framed, sprawling, one-story relic from WWII. With typical government efficiency and imagination, the building and interiors had been updated several times. Each room was furnished in Spartan fashion with an adjoining shared head between two rooms. I was in the process of unpacking and organizing when I heard a light knock coming from the door that led to the head. Since I was only wearing briefs, I hastily grabbed my recently discarded khaki shorts and slipped them back on. When I opened the door, a smiling man about my age, in uniform, looked me straight in the eye and said, “Welcome to your new home, Ensign Cole. I’m your neighbor, Doug DiMarco.”

I was puzzled that the officer knew my name. Upon quickly studying this man who was somewhere in his early to mid-20’s, I noticed his LTJG rank on the collars. “Hi, Doug, or should I say ‘Lieutenant’?” I asked with some uncertainly in my voice but a smile on my face.

“Actually I answer to ‘hey you’ or ‘shithead’ most of the time.” When he grinned, the room lit up and the smile lines in his face became more pronounced. “But since we are going to be sharing this crapper, I think Doug will do just fine.” He extended his hand while projecting a trustworthy aura.

“Doug, come into my room, please.” He strolled in and sat down on the desk chair. “How do you know my name? I go by Mike, by the way.”

“The front desk informed me of your name, rank and when you would be arriving last week. And since you’re the new boss of the ‘O’ club, we will be working together indirectly. I’m the Special Services Officer, so I supply you the lifeguards for the pool. And when the Admiral wants a big blowout party, my entertainment funds and manpower always get tapped.”

I sat down on the bed. “It looks like we need each other to survive.” I immediately warmed up to this guy. “But I must warn you, I play a pretty mean game of golf. You are in charge of the golf course…right?”

“Put it this way: you’ll never have to worry about tee times.” His smile could melt glaciers.

He showed me the organization of our shared head. LTJG DiMarco – Doug – had thoughtfully left empty half the medicine cabinet for my gear. We agreed upon the housekeeping standards and settled on a routine. He said that he was up and out early to make sure all the recreational facilities, golf course, and tennis courts were operating efficiently. Doug would be long gone by the time I rolled out of the sack at 7:00 a.m.

“The last thing I need to do is piss off the Admiral’s wife because muffins and croissants aren’t available at the golf clubhouse before an early tee time with her socialite buddies from Memphis,” Doug added.

We agreed to get together the next evening for a beer or two at the BOQ bar – the bar was also part of my new operation. Over the next month, Doug and I became really good friends and shared the daily base scuttlebutt with each other. It was a plus that we shared the same intellectual plane – smart, without any need to show off our mental prowess. Since we both had politically sensitive jobs, interfacing with all the senior officers and their wives, Doug gave me a short course on how to maneuver around the officer ranks, and the ranks that their wives unofficially wore. In other words, he filled me in on the ‘pecking order’.

Doug had been stationed at NAS Memphis for over two years and was friends with most of the other junior officers who lived in the BOQ. I was rapidly brought into the fold. In a short time, I was bouncing amongst handball matches, scratch golf, and penny ante poker card games in the BOQ lounge, next to the bar. My social life was blossoming.

Being 23 years of age, a new face on the base and very much single, I became the ‘go-to’ guy to get fixed up for a blind date. Since I was considered ‘Grade A’ marriage material – tall, presentable and able to use complete sentences in a conversation – the girlfriends of my new fellow officers always wanted to connect me with their single friends. And I became good friends with several of these blind dates, with the emphasis on ‘friends’. Except for doing the expected heavy petting, I had never gone beyond first base simply because I didn’t have the slightest interest in exploring things with a woman. Gads…23, single and a virgin with women, to boot. Oh yeah, I should add “perpetually horny.” But nothing my left hand couldn’t handle…after all, it was my best friend.

My daily routine since arriving in April, after taking care of the morning necessities – S.S.S. (shit, shower, and shave) – was to get dressed in a clean uniform, then have breakfast and a quick read of the NY Times in the officer’s mess in the BOQ. At 0800, I’d cross over the shared parking lot to the ‘O’ club and enter through the back service entrance. I always went out of my way to say ‘hi’ to all of the morning crew of civilian workers, while I grabbed a cup of coffee. Most of the kitchen staff were African-Americans and had been part of the ‘O’ club family for years. I couldn’t help but think their secure jobs would be in jeopardy if the base changed its mission.

Today was Monday, the 1^st of June. After getting my morning coffee, I entered the lobby and walked toward my office. Marge, the front desk supervisor, was already on the telephone taking reservations and handling inquiries for the week ahead. Added to the chaos were the paperwork and receipts from the weekend’s business. The Naval Air Station was also the home base for several reserve squadrons in the South. The weekend warrior pilots, after getting their flight hours in, were always ready to hoist a few at the ‘O’ club. Big revenue.

In addition to the dining room and bar, we booked the three private function rooms and a ballroom frequently. Between the Naval Air Station, the Naval Air Training Center, and the Naval Air Reserves, there was a running list of parties, receptions, teas, bridge clubs, sit-down lunches, formal dinners, and monthly theme parties; in addition to serving lunch and dinner daily. Outside, the pool has a snack bar that is open daily from the late spring to early fall. Separately, the bars in the club and BOQ – especially during happy hour at a buck a drink – did brisk business as the pilots and navigators loved rolling dice for drinks.

Marge gave me a warm nod as I passed through to my private office, and grabbed my messages on the way in. I had lucked out with an office that had a window looking out onto the back patio and pool. Most of the time the pool was populated with wives and their ‘rug rat’ dependents, however, during lunch hour, several of the junior officers came to swim laps and eat at our snack bar. I always had reason to check out the business activity at the snack bar during this period. I was making friends real fast. Several of the guys I had gotten to know from the BOQ gathered at the pool regularly.

The pool was “L” shaped so there was room for serious lap swimming, with the short part of the “L” ideal for the older kids. The little tots had a small wading pool, which was drained and sanitized daily due to some of the kids not being potty trained. With chaise lounges and umbrella tables with chairs, scattered around the perimeter of the pool, the area could easily handle 200 guests.

There was always an enlisted sailor, assigned by Special Services, to be a lifeguard at the Club swimming pool. Today I looked out my office window at about 1000 and was shaken by the image of the new lifeguard and the sheer masculine beauty of his young body. ‘What a stunning face,’ I thought as he skimmed the water with the net for leaves, ‘he must be the Jim Weiss replacement that Doug told me about.’

I noticed his taut muscles stretch and the glutes tighten as the lifeguard walked around the pool deck. His back muscles expanded as he skimmed the pool. As much as I tried to suppress it, I was really turned on by men. Thinking about my high school and college experiences, I had to accept it. Something just suddenly flipped in me…‘Christ, what a lie I’m living. Mikey, my boy, you’re a cock-loving homosexual. Have been for years. You’re just kidding yourself and everyone else, and it’s time you stopped.’ I sat in my desk chair for a long time; long enough for my erection to subside…and a decision made. A big decision. Personal.

After achieving relaxation, I decided to go outside so I could introduce myself to this stud muffin in the red lifeguard trunks, I grabbed my ‘cover’ in the name of caution and appearances. “Marge, I’ll be outside in the pool area for a few minutes,” I remarked as I passed her desk. “It appears Jim’s replacement has arrived. I’ll give him a little rundown about our operation. Page me if I get a priority phone call.”

“OK, Mike,” Marge, replied. We both knew that any priority call would probably be the Admiral’s steward calling about provisioning the boss’s wine cellar, as I bought all of the alcoholic beverages for the club.

I walked out to the patio and into the pool area, dressed in my summer khakis with the one brass bar on each collar still pretty shiny. I waved as I approached the lifeguard. “Hi, my name’s Ensign Mike Cole; in charge of the officer's club. I was told a new man had been assigned to our pool and just wanted to say 'hello'.” I extended my hand. The young lifeguard grabbed it and bolts of energy shot through my body. ‘What the hell?’ I wondered.

“Good morning, Sir.” He radiated a super-charged smile. I thought I heard the 1812 Overture in the background. ‘Real cannons in St. Petersburg, for sure,’ remembering one of my favorite CD’s.

“First day on the job, I understand?”

“Yes, Sir. Although I was here yesterday so Weiss could show me around.”

I inventoried the lifeguard. Standing at about six feet, the new guy was about three inches shorter than I, and appeared to be in great shape. His sunglasses, whistle, red trunks and flip-flops were the only distractions. He had well-defined arms, solid pecs with small nipples, and a natural-appearing six-pack. There was a subtle treasure trail that disappeared into the waistband of his swimsuit. His cute Nordic nose was coated with white zinc oxide cream. The regulation lifeguard trunks, while cut in a boxy fashion, were very snug in the crotch area. ‘Yum,’ I concluded, ‘score one for the home team.’ The young man was perfection. “Did Jim tell you about the lunch arrangements at the Snack Bar?”

“He did. Thank you, Sir.”

After removing his sunglasses, he introduced himself as Airman Swenson and said that he had been assigned to the pool for the summer. His classic all-American chiseled face, jaw line and military buzz-cut were recruit poster worthy. If it weren’t regulation, I doubt if he had to shave every day.

When I asked him for his first name, he revealed that it was David, or Dave to his friends. At that point, I turned on my best 2,000-kilowatt smile, and said pointedly, “Well, Dave, we’re going to be indirectly working together. Let me officially welcome you to the club staff.” I extended my hand again. He took it and returned my firm grip. Second helpings of that excitement shot through me.

Dave beamed with a warm smile that made his azure blue eyes sparkle and replied, “If there is anything special that you'd like to have done, just let me know. I’ll be here at 0800 Sunday through Thursday and secure the pool at 1700. Jim Weiss gave me the rundown yesterday about my duties and I have all the keys."

I released our handshake just before it got to the point of being a little too obvious. ‘God, what a wonderful grip.’ I continued to feel the electric currents flowing even after we no longer touched.‘Yes,’ I thought, ‘there is something special you cando.’ However, I replied, “Dave, just to let you know, I usually come out here just before closing and after the kids are gone, to do some lap swimming for my daily exercise.” My cock stirred in my khaki pants at the thought of being unclothed in front of this stud. I smiled and immediately turned to walk back to the clubhouse before my body signaled my interest in this hunky lifeguard. ‘Thank God for baggy regulation Navy officer’s pants.’

‘Slow down, Mike,’ I thought to myself as I left the pool and walked through the patio that would soon be serving lunch to a hundred or more guests. ‘Thinking that way about an enlisted man, no matter how hot, could get me into serious shit!’ The last thing I needed was for NCIS to get on my case.

DAVE

‘Holy fuck, what just happened?’ I asked myself, dumbfounded. Meeting Ensign Cole had been a major physical shock. When he walked up and shook hands, I was almost paralyzed from the electric surge passing from his body to mine.

Out of the corner of my eye I had seen the tall, young officer approach me while I was prepping the pool for opening. As he came closer I turned and watched him come directly towards me. Handsome in a casual, unstudied way, he had to be a couple of inches or so taller than me, with a well-developed chest and trim waist. He was wearing a hat but the medium sideburns and arm hair suggested a light to medium brown color. I remembered Brent’s suggestion to “suck up to him.” This was not going to be difficult for me to do.

All through our brief conversation, I fantasized that he and I were in the pool, swimming butt naked. When he offered the second handshake, I thought I would melt right on the spot from emotional overload. I babbled something about offering to do anything he wanted done.

“Dave, just to let you know, I usually come out here just before closing and after the kids are gone, to do some lap swimming for my daily exercise,” he told me before going back into the Club. I couldn’t help but notice his crotch starting to expand, even in those loose, baggy pants.

‘Wow, I’ll see him again in seven hours,’ I calculated. It was 1012. I could hardly wait. I would use the rest of the day to consider what had just transpired between the two of us.