Colonel Of Truth

How fortunate I was to have parents who loved me so much they refused to pay for my college education. Seriously. They believed I would take college more seriously if I had to pay my own tuition, and that by working for my education I would learn “character.”

Well, I don’t know what kind of character I acquired through that experience but I did learn the value and necessity of hard work.

To save money I decided to continue living with my folks and get an associate’s degree from a nearby community college before heading off to university. I had stashed away some cash from a job last summer working on an assembly line at the town’s industrial park, so I had a running start. But I still needed money for gas, car insurance, and rent. Yup. Mom and Dad decided now that I was an adult, I should pay them rent. It wasn’t much but sheesh, anything and everything hurt when you were having to float your own boat on a 19-year-old’s salary.

I got a part-time job working at the service desk of a JC Penney’s at the town’s mall. It wasn’t labor-intensive and we got discounts on everything in the store. But man, it sure taught me a lot about people. I never wanted to be a customer-facing employee ever again. People can be total pains in the ass.

One of those pains in the ass, and I mean that literally, was an Air Force colonel who would drop by the store. We have a base nearby so it wasn’t unusual to see members of the service in the store. This guy was in his 40s and looked good for that age, I suppose, with short, dark hair flecked with the occasional gray strand here and there, and a huge nose that stood out from the rest of his face. He was about 5-9 and weighed probably 150 pounds – not a big guy by any means but I wouldn’t have wanted to tangle with him, because he looked strong and quick. I guess the military requires that you stay in shape.

He would come by the desk and always zero in on me. At first I thought nothing of it. I helped him and assumed that because I had, he always came back to me when he needed something else, usually some silly request for an order, or cash from his credit card. But I became suspicious when I began finding notes on my car.

The store closed around 9 p.m. and I was one of the first out of there, as I had to get home and study. I had gotten into my car before I noticed the piece of paper under the windshield wiper. I thought: Shit, not a ticket! That’s all I need.

But it wasn’t a ticket. Written in pencil were these words, “Damn you are hot! Are you into older guys? This older guy would love to plow that sweet little asshole of yours.”

My blood ran cold. I wadded up the note and threw it down in the parking lot, as if it were contagious. Then I looked around, to see if anybody was watching me. The thought of some old perv plundering my ass – it made me slightly ill. I started the car and drove away.

From that day forward I began watching our customers, looking for a sign that one of them might be the note-leaver. My only suspect was the colonel, who came by a few more times. And it was a few more times that I found notes on my car – always something lewd and disgusting.

I didn’t see him for months, and the notes stopped arriving. I slowly let down my guard and life resumed the mundane march of school, work, and the occasional party – and that’s how I came to be in the colonel’s world again.

I was returning home from a party one night when I passed a club. There, in the parking lot, stood the colonel talking to a group of other people. I guess the two or three beers I’d drunk at the party emboldened me, because I turned into the parking lot and drove up to him. Rolling down my window I said, “Write any good notes lately?”

When he looked at me his face brightened. He said goodbye to the others and stood by my car, his fingers on the sill. He said, “Come by my place and I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

God, I must have been out of my mind. I decided to follow him.

He lived in a condo in an upscale neighborhood close to the water. I found an empty visitor’s parking space and left the car there as I followed him to his ground-floor unit.

Inside, the place was pretty sparse. Not much in the way of furniture, or electronics, and the walls were bare. But what he did have was pricey – Bang & Olufsen, Kartell. Real expensive stuff.

He made me a drink, rum and Coke, about three parts rum for every part Coke. Just raising it to my lips made my eyes water, but truth be told I wanted a bit more of a buzz. I was very nervous, wondering why I had come here after reading his foul notes. Did I secretly want to take him up on his offers?

We sat on the couch and he started talking. He began by apologizing for the notes, explaining them as crude attempts to break the ice between us. He said he was wildly attracted to me and he guessed his heart got the better of his head. Then he went on for awhile about how the military takes a dim view of gays, and how much he trusted me to keep his secret. (This was way before Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.)

Meanwhile, he kept edging closer to me. Soon he was close enough to touch my knee with his hand. I took a stiff slug off my rum and Coke when he left his hand in place.

All the while he was staring into my eyes. I don’t know if he was trying to hypnotize me or what, but when he leaned in and gently kissed me on the lips, I didn’t pull away. He kissed me harder, running his hand to the back of my head, mussing my hair, his tongue now finding its way into my mouth. I was not resisting him at all – for some reason, maybe the booze, I was very turned on by this. I kissed him back and when he broke the kiss to nibble at my ear, or kiss my throat, I let him.

Meanwhile, his hands had taken on a life of their own. He was running them up and down my back and my sides. When he got to my pants he lifted my shirt and began to rub my bare skin. All I could think was to press against him. I needed more contact. The feel of his hands and his lips was like a narcotic to me.

He had my pants off. Somehow I kicked off my loafers. I was wearing tighty whities, which he pulled down and then off as I raised my ass off the couch. At that moment his head plunged into my crotch and I felt an amazing, cauterizing heat envelope my cock. I could not help but release a moan of pure ecstasy. Twice in the past, girls had gone down on me, but this sensation was on an entirely different level of passion. I think they call that “lust,” and I was feeling it. I spread my legs for him and he swallowed my cock while his right hand rubbed and massaged my thigh and the left cupped my balls.

Occasionally his sucking grasp would descend to my ball suck and he’d draw them separately into his mouth, gently rolling them around on his tongue. But always he returned to my cock, which was harder now than I had ever seen it. A veritable gorilla boner, pumped up to maximum capacity by the amazing things he was doing to it with his mouth and his tongue.

I felt a tingling sensation gather at the base of my spine, and I swear it was as primal and hot as the very first time I had an orgasm, a lad of 14 humping pillows in my bed late at night. I warned him I was cumming and he latched onto my cock with his mouth and would not let go. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I wailed and spewed jizz into his mouth, spasm after spasm of hot jizz, my eyes closed so I could focus completely on the ecstasy pouring out of me and into him.

Finally, I relaxed into a contented slump as he lifted off my cock and kissed my stomach. I thought we were done and I wanted to savor the moment.

But we were not done.

I felt his cock touch my asshole. I opened my eyes. He was staring down at me. His cock, slick with some kind of lube, was poised to enter me. He smiled at me and whispered, “You’re so fucking beautiful. I’ve got to do this. I can’t resist.” And with that he pressed against my tight ass.

Surprisingly, the knob of his cock slid right into me with no problem. It wasn’t until he had about half his cock inside that I began to feel pain and hissed. He paused, gave me a chance to get used to it, and kissed me. Then he resumed pushing. At one point the pain stepped aside, as if I had finally relaxed and allowed him entry, and I felt his crotch pressing against me, his balls draped over my ass.

He continued kissing me as he fucked me. I found myself wrapping my arms around him, rubbing his back and then reaching down and grabbing his butt and pulling him into me as he pounded at my hole. I spread my legs wider, then wrapped them around him too, so that he had no choice but to fuck me. And that he did, slamming into me with such force that we both began sweating. I could smell his funk intermingling with my own, and the combination of sensation, smell and the sound of our bodies slapping together coaxed another orgasm out of me.

Right at that moment I felt him tense up and push hard, and then his cock began pumping me full of hot cum. I could literally feel it filling my insides, four or five good jolts that left me quivering with pleasure.

We lay like that for a couple of minutes. Then he slowly eased out of me. When his body disengaged from mine the air felt freezing. I think my teeth began to chatter. I drank the rest of the rum and Coke and felt the heat of alcohol gathering in my stomach.

At that point I passed out.

When I awakened later that night, I was in his bed, face down, and he was on top of me, gently sliding his cock in and out of my newly stretched asshole. The feeling was like a massage, so warm and sexy that I couldn’t help fall asleep again. I didn’t wake up until morning, after he had left for the base.

I saw him many more times after that. I always let him fuck me. I was fascinated by his facial expressions when he came inside me – part lust, part bliss. You don’t think of tough military guys having those kinds of emotions, but they do.

This happened before the arrival of AIDS. Obviously I would never have that kind of sex today without taking precautions. Back then all the STDs could be fixed with antibiotics.

I sometimes wonder what happened to the colonel. He was reassigned and I lost track of him.

One thing’s for sure: Maybe working my way through college didn’t build character, but fuck sessions with the colonel sure did!

***

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