The Pursuit of Manliness

It was patently evident to Colonel Nesmith Norman what the nawab was so clumsily suggesting. The pretty girl who was being presented to him and who was one of the nawab's many daughters borne to him no doubt by one of his many wives was fully at Colonel Norman's disposal should he so desire. This had become one of the many acknowledged perquisites in a career in Her Majesty's Services Overseas, particularly to be expected when one had the power to bring advantage to one of Her Majesty's imperial subjects. But the colonel pretended not to understand.

"She is indeed a pretty maiden," Colonel Norman agreed. "A fine match for any husband, I'm sure. But I think you'll find that everything is already in order, sir. Would there be anything else you desire me to know?"

The nawab seemed slightly flustered, perhaps attributing to the colonel the mythical reserve and prudence of his Christian overlords. Of course, as Colonel Norman knew, had the nawab presented one of his fine sons, whose manly frames stood behind their father, their bare breasts gleaming the keen musculature of youth and exercise, then the colonel's detachment would surely have deserted him. But the colonel was too wise to expose his sexual preferences to any of Her Majesty's minions, who must see only the incorruptibility of the imperial rule he represented. If only manliness were not also defined in terms of the objects of a man's desire as well as by the manliness of the man himself, then Colonel Norman was surely as much a man as any man could ask for. 

As the nawab departed, perhaps content that his daughter could be offered afresh to another man, Colonel Norman's eyes followed the bodies of the nawab's sons, his penis twitching with desire. If only those boys knew what it was he had hidden in his britches, who knows? Perhaps they would have surrendered to him the flavour and firmness of their bodies. A slight perspiration crossed the colonel's brow arising not only from the damnably wretched heat of this corner of Her Majesty's dominion. Those bare muscular torsos. The sun glancing off the hairless abdomens. They may be dark-skinned, but as Colonel Norman had discovered for the price of just a few paisa in the Calcutta slums, the colour of the skin in no way lessened the quality of a man's body or his sexual receptiveness.

God damn my eyes! swore the colonel to himself. He needed manual relief or something stronger after having tarried so long in the company of such fine-looking young men. But fortunately there were sufficient young men of similar proclivity serving Her Majesty abroad that such relief was never far to find.

The colonel retreated to his quarters, a relatively large room at the back of the barracks, within sight of his command, but a room sizeable enough for two serving officers of his rank. This was another perquisite of Foreign Service, which came with the many servants and the low cost of living. If only there were fewer of those damnable flies and mosquitoes! And so often the colonel longed for a decent spread of roast beef, instead of the rice-based meals that the coolies prepared for him.

What he needed more than even the most succulent roast beef, served with swede or potatoes, with a side helping of offal, was a very different kind of meat. But a meat that was thankfully within easy reach of a colonel who well knew how to apprise his men. And the man most fit for his carnal appetite at the moment was Corporal Knight, a first-rate swarthy fellow, who was most gracious to respond immediately to his superior officer's call, passed along to him by one of the colonel's servants. Colonel Norman gazed at his servant, young Namid, as he scurried away to summon the corporal. His servants were such measly weak fellows, not blessed, as the Nawab's sons were, with a diet that could build up their muscles to manly proportions. They were instead wiry, if strong. But even were the colonel to think well of carnal relations with his servants, he knew also how ill the natives oftentimes accepted it when one of their own was buggered by a servant to Her Imperial Majesty. Far safer, and indeed far more dignified, to exercise one's bodily desires with one of one's own kind.

"You called, sir!" said Corporal Knight, a muscular, lithe fellow, with golden blond hair and more than a trace of his Geordie accent remaining after his years of service for the Crown.

"At ease, corporal. It is service of an agreeable kind for which I have called you. If, that is, you have a mind for it?"

The corporal smiled grimly, seeing from his senior's recumbent pose, his shirt undone and his britches unbuttoned, exactly what service was required.

"I have a mind for it, sir. Indeed I do. I saw those fine fellows who accompanied the Nabob bobbin fellow, and I had half a mind myself to seek out a junior with whom to relieve myself. But with you, sir, it is always the greatest pleasure."

Words were not needed, and would even be unwelcome, as the two men hurriedly divested themselves of their military attire, revealing ripples of muscle on sculpted ribs, tight abdominals of washboard beauty, hard supple flesh and muscle, and then collapsed onto the colonel's camp bed to press their compact naked bodies against each other. Firm. Hard. Rippled. Tense. Their mouths met. Moustache against moustache, corporal against colonel, tongue entwined in tongue, and sweat admixed with sweat.

And the climax of all the groping and foreplay, after a scant few minutes while the blood engorged the organs, there they were: two penises, erect and pulsing. One slightly bent and somewhat thick, the glans easily pushing back the foreskin and pulling taut at the hairy scrotum in which his balls were straining to release, but not quite yet, the fruits of Onan's seed. And the colonel's own, much prouder even than his corporal's, a goodly length, perhaps a whole foot in length when erect, correctly proportioned and throbbing with energy and unreleased spunk. The colonel was proud of his member, his Peter, his John Thomas, his manhood, his pride and joy, a marvel for anyone, but especially another man whose tastes were attuned to the glory of manly abundance.

And then, the corporal took the colonel's penis in his mouth, the whole of it unlikely to get far inside, relishing its mighty masculinity, as throbbing and as proud as any part of a man, his moustache brushing against the length of it, while the colonel stood up, holding the corporal's head in his broad palms, his fingers running through the thick mass of blond hair, using the ears as handles to secure the head in place, his manhood sucked and licked and nibbled as energetically as the corporal could. 

Of course, rank meant that Colonel Norman would not be able to take the corporal's penis into his own mouth. Nor could it ever be permitted that he be the recipient of the glorious act of sodomy that culminated every session of lovemaking. This was only right and proper, although there was never a written law of conduct relating to homosexual acts in the british Imperial Army. A colonel can bugger a corporal, but a corporal could never bugger a colonel. Similarly, a lieutenant could bugger a sergeant but never a sergeant a lieutenant. And for that matter, Corporal Knight could bugger his infantrymen, but they could never bugger him.