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THE BATTLE OF THE CROTCH BULGE

By anonymous.a

On December 15, 1944 I found myself huddled in a frozen foxhole outside the Ardennes in Belgium, praying for anything but a white Christmas.

And one more minute with Carson.

I was a private in the U.S. Army. I had volunteered for service when I turned 18 because the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor and all the guys in my town were joining up. Instead of shipping me out to a jungle somewhere in the South Pacific, the Army, in its wisdom, decided to send me east, to England, where I boarded a liberty ship and waded ashore at Normandy. The date was June 7, 1944, and I had missed the big show. But not to worry. Once we went inland there were plenty of opportunities to fire my weapon, and be fired upon.

It didn’t take me long to figure out war isn’t the glamorous adventure the recruiting posters and newsreels make it out to be. War is pain, and blood, and bone-rattling terror. By December, after following General Patton’s high-speed push through hedgerow country across France and a near annihilation of German forces near Falaise, I was ready for a shower, a hot meal, and a night’s sleep without worrying about some crazed Hitler Youth teenager slitting my throat.

Our unit was sent to Belgium, where there wasn’t supposed to be much action. This wasn’t my idea of R&R but it was better than anything I had experienced in the past five months. We dug our foxholes – blasted them out of the frozen earth with hand grenades is what we really did – and thanked our heavenly father nobody was lobbing mortars into our perimeter.

The Germans were said to be on the other side of the forest, and as if to confirm that fact every now and again an artillery shell would land somewhere within a mile or two, reminding us that in fact, we were at war. I think they did that just to keep us awake at night. Sleep was as much a luxury as a hot shower or a home-cooked meal, neither of which we had enjoyed in recent memory.

Carson and I shared a foxhole, and we made ours special. Once we were able to get under the frozen surface layer of dirt – Carson called it “permafrost” but that’s not really what it was – the digging became easier, but not by much. In war movies you see guys digging foxholes with tiny folding shovels. The truth is fucking tree roots invade every square inch of dirt the first 6 feet down, which makes digging a foxhole a “challenge.” Hand grenades worked better than tiny shovels. We blasted ourselves a roomy foxhole and positioned a tarp over the top, fixing it in place with rocks. At one point we had to erect a pole in the middle to create a slope; otherwise snow would have piled on top and collapsed the tarp. Even then we had to go out every now and then and brush away the snow. That’s why I wasn’t looking forward to a white Christmas.

I had met Carson somewhere between western France and Belgium. He was a replacement for one of our guys who was wounded by a German sniper. He was from my home state of Kentucky so we had that in common, and despite the admonition that you not get close to anybody in combat, we soon became fast friends. When they sent us into the forest in Belgium we both assumed we’d share a foxhole.

Turns out, that’s not all we shared.

It was bitter cold when we got there. Winters in Kentucky could be chilly but this was a nasty, knife-edged cold, and it got really extreme at night. We spent that first night trying to figure out how to stay warm. It would have been nice to build a fire inside our foxhole but we couldn’t make that work without some way to vent the smoke, and neither of us could figure out how to do that. Nobody else figured out how to do that either. So in the end we did what most of the guys ended up doing – wrapped ourselves around each other and piled on our blankets to share body heat.

That night, Dec. 15, was so goddamned cold I thought my ass might freeze to the ground. I felt sorry for the poor bastards who were forward – they had to remain awake on watch and the cold really got to them. At least we could stay reasonably warm inside our tarp-covered hole in the ground, with our bodies pressed against one another and sealed together by dirty Army blankets.

Carson was a blonde-haired guy, about 20, who looked about 5-foot 10 and weighed maybe 140 pounds. His hair was Army short, just like mine, and he had some seriously blue eyes. I figured he had a girl back home but when I asked, the answer was no, which surprised me. He was a good-looking man and it seemed unlikely a girl hadn’t snatched him up by now. I wondered if he was one of those queers and in the back of my mind I kind of hoped he was, because I was one of those queers. I’d figured that out about two years ago after I realized no girl was ever going to change my attraction to guys. Like a lot of guys my age I had fooled around with my friends when I was a teenager and I enjoyed it – a lot. There was something about a hairy ass and the feel of muscle beneath the flesh that did it for me – no soft skin and mushy breasts could ever hold a candle to a hard cock and an ass crack carpeted with pubic hair.

I began to wonder about Carson when I heard he wasn’t taken, but as we huddled together in our tarp-covered foxhole I really began to wonder. I expected it to be like the few other times I had come into close contact with other Army buddies. There’s a stiffness that exists between men – and I’m not talking about their dicks – that creates a protective shell. Their muscles tense up and forms an impenetrable barrier that keeps them from getting too close. But Carson wasn’t like that. He wanted to be close. He practically melted into me when I put my arm around him. He kept shifting his position to allow us to move even closer, and the more he did that the more excited I became, because he felt good, the way a warm bed feels good. You poke a toe out from under the covers and you feel how chilly it is out there opposed to your nice warm bed, and you never want to leave. And that’s what Carson was to me – a warm bed I never wanted to leave. I wrapped myself around him and he let me, and gradually the cold was forgotten as our combined body heat warmed us and the interior of foxhole.

That’s how it came to be between us, and that’s what led us to take the next step. I am so very thankful we did.

At one point he nestled his head on my shoulder and I couldn’t help it, I moved my lips and kissed him gently on his blonde head. He murmured a contented sigh and I moved my right hand down his back to his flank. I held it there just a moment, just to make sure he wouldn’t object, and I rubbed him along the contour of his hip. His legs parted slightly and it seemed the right thing to do to move my hand to the inside of his hip, where it was even warmer, and slowly nudge my way up his thigh until I was at the juncture of his leg and his crotch. I could feel his hardness there, and my hand quested about, trying to discern the shape and angle of his dick. I could feel it under the heavy fabric of his fatigues, a solid tube of flesh pointed to his right. And below that was the swelling of his scrotum and the jewels contained within. My heart was pounding as I continued to explore his straddle, and my hands traced a path to the button holding his britches tight. I found it and fumbled, and fumbled, and couldn’t get the damn thing undone until he reached down and unfastened it himself, our hands brushing against one another, then clasping when he was done, my finger rubbing the top of his hand. I could hear his breath accelerating and becoming deeper, and smell the K rations in his exhalations we had eaten only an hour before, and sudden, shocked Oh! as my hand went inside his pants and touched his belly just above his pubic thatch. There, he was warmer still, maybe even a little wet, and I rubbed my fingers together just to confirm that. Prostate fluid. He was getting ready to dump his load.

I pulled my hand out and lifted him and moved him to my right so that his ass rested in my crotch, and then I wrapped my arms around him and my hand resumed its journey of exploration. He made quiet, fussing sounds but did not resist, and soon my fingers had found their way to his goodies. His cock was iron hard and slick with joy juice. I slipped my other hand down his pants and cupped his balls. I couldn’t get a good grip on them because of his pants, so I slipped his britches down, over his hips, so that his ass and crotch were exposed. Then I cupped his balls again and took his cock in my right hand and began squeezing and rubbing it.

Christ, he was moaning in such a way that was driving me crazy. And the smell emanating from his crotch – better than any warm bread fresh from the oven. He was grinding his ass against my crotch and I was going to give him what he wanted because I wanted it too.

I got my fatigue britches undone and managed to lift the both of us so I could slide them down under my ass. We had a blanket under us that didn’t provide much protection from the cold, but it was better than Carson’s “permafrost.” Then I had to yank my britches down from the front, and when I did, my dick sprang up and settled nicely into the crack of his ass. I sat there a moment, breathing heavily from both the exertion and the stimulation of Carson’s moist heat pressing against me. I felt his hands move and I heard him spitting into his hand, and then it gripped my iron poker and slicked it up. Then he was pulling his ass cheeks apart and positioning himself against the knob of my dick. I felt it settle into the right place, a dimple of muscle in his anal cleft, and then he began pushing down, turning himself slight to the left and right as my cockhead probed more deeply into his ass. The heat there was amazing, and it spread out across my body, warming my joints and my bones. I could feel it flowing from my hands and through his sticky cock and balls and into his body. We were like two batteries that had been wired together, feeding each other our warmth and our sex.

The head of my cock popped into his rectum and he let out a surprised Oh! and then a satisfied Ahhhh as he slowly descended onto my sex wand. The sensation of being inside him was heavenly, a cauterizing heat that ratcheted up my horniness, and for the first time since reporting to the recruiting station all that time ago I felt a wave of undiluted pleasure wash over me. He buried himself on my dick and sat there for a long minute, letting himself get used to me I suppose, moaning quietly and pushing and prodding with gentle ministrations. I, in return, continued to jack his cock and fondle his hairy balls and breathe deeply of his scent, the warm, manish smell of a dick in full bloom.

After a fashion we began to fuck.

At first he was raising and lowering himself on my dick, but his thigh muscles didn’t last long and he had to stop, so I began stabbing at his ass with short, sharp thrusts, which satisfied neither one of us. Eventually I laid him on his side, careful to keep him on the blanket, and wrapped my right leg over his thigh and began sliding my cock deeply into his anus. I smelled a whiff of dirty ass crack but I kept going – none of us were very clean out here and that wouldn’t change until we got to one of the rest and relief stations way behind the lines. But I was able to work my cock up his ass all the way to the hilt, until my pubes were crushed against his butt cheeks, and from that angle we were able to establish a rhythm.

It was a wild, unbridled, sweaty-despite-the-cold fuck. I wrapped myself around him so tightly for a moment I thought I had become him. We were like one organism, undulating and pistoning against one another, my cock sliding into him and then out, his ass muscles gripping me and then releasing so that I could pound him, my urgency climbing the scale until I rolled him over and jackhammered his sweaty, yielding asshole. Throughout this I never let go of his cock and it had gone from stick and warm to steel-hard and white hot, and the pre-cum was dripping like a faucet badly in need of tightening. I could not get enough of him and as I thrust into him a final time, my lust went over the edge of a cliff and I held him in place and began blasting my sperm into his body. I pumped him over and over again, and I don’t know how many doses of cum I gave him but it seemed like more I had ever shot, and it felt so good I don’t know how to describe it. The feel of his moist ass against me, the smell of his ass and his crotch, his oozing cock in my hand, and the taste of his neck – all of it combined into a kind of aphrodisiac that gave me no choice but to lock my body against his and fill him with my joy.

That little button at the back of my brain, the one that was glowing a strident red, began to dim and I loosened my grip on Carson and merely lay there, feeling my cock in his ass, his cock in my hand, my breath on his throat, his heart beating. It was so warm and inviting and just so right that I never wanted the moment to end. If somebody came along now it would be the end of us, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was to be inside Carson. To feel this euphoria, over and over. I never wanted it to end.

But it did. And the cold began creeping back in. And Carson hadn’t shot his load yet. So I eased my deflating cock from his ass, flipped him over and descended on his dick, finding it by touch more than sight. I crammed it into my mouth and sucked hard, nursing like a baby would nurse a nipple, left hand fondling those balls snugged up against his crotch and my right hand going between his legs to find his gaping asshole, which was now dripping with my spew. I slid a finger or two up inside him as I slid his cock inside me, and I sucked and sucked, letting my tongue rub against his glans and mushroom cap and up and down the shaft toward those hairy balls, and eventually he began to whine and his hands found the back of my head and then he stiffened and held me in place as he unleashed a flood of warm jizz into my mouth and throat. I gulped to keep any of his precious seed from escaping me. I wanted all of it. I wanted it to become part of me so that Carson and I would be together in both spirit and body.

Finally the bone went out of his cock. I sucked the remaining dregs of his jizz and savored the taste of it, rolling it around on my tongue, a kind of nutty flavor, pardon the pun, reminiscent of almonds. I pulled my fingers from his asshole and yes, they smelled like asshole, but instead of using some of my precious stash of toilet paper I simply rubbed them against the dirty walls of our foxhole until the stink was either gone or masked by the smell of soil. By that time I had begun to notice the cold, and so had Carson, and we both scrambled back into our fatigues and buttoned up as much as we could and resumed our embrace to share body heat … except now we were sharing something else.

As I held him, I heard the faraway crump of artillery. It picked up in frequency and I knew these were not simple ranging shots. Maybe the Nazis couldn’t sleep and wanted us to be miserable along with them. I didn’t matter. I had Carson and somehow I knew it would be all right.

And it was, at least for us. Looking back on that night, I can tell you the artillery picked up and came closer, and then the rattle and clank of German tanks invaded our perimeter, and we came out of our foxholes and fired back at the dim shapes of foot soldiers advancing into our ranks until we were overwhelmed. Carson and I both were taken prisoner by the Germans and after days of freezing our asses off, we were shipped off to a Stalag, where we managed to survive until three months later when advancing British troops liberated us. We came back to the States, but it didn’t end there.

Carson went to school and got a job as a pharmacist. I moved with him, to a small town in Illinois where I worked at a variety of jobs until the drug store where Carson worked came up for sale. Guess who bought it? I managed the retail part of the store and he handled the prescriptions. We bought a house together and lived there, and nobody asked many questions. I became known as the go-to tenor in the church choir and Carson had a knack for coaching champion girls lacrosse teams for the local prep school. We “adopted” families in the area and filled their prescriptions and pantries gratis at Christmas.

And here we are, today. Still together since that night in a foxhole in Belgium. We have had a good life.

We are happy.

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