Active Duty: Gay Military Erotic Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A

need for release. He yanked his cock out and let fly. A geyser of spooge coated Keith’s wriggling white ass.
    They remained locked together for a few more minutes as they caught their breath and allowed their pounding hearts to return to a more normal pace. It was Abe who spoke first.
    “I gotta ask you something, Keith. Did you have the hots for me before you got that letter from home?”
    “What do you think? Of course. But I wouldn’t want to cheat on my boyfriend.”
    “So does that mean you’re all mine now?”
    “Appears so.”
    It was a few months later when the proof of that quiet statement became all too clear. The day had been a violent one. The armored carrier Abe drove struck an IED and was blasted off the Afghanistan highway into a roadside ditch. It wasn’t the first time his vehicle had been unfortunate enough to hit a roadside bomb and Abe managed to control their crash to a certain extent. Dazed, he scrambled out to check on the men in the back.
    “Damn, you’re okay,” he cried out with relief, as he helped Keith from the wreckage.
    They hugged briefly but fiercely before pulling the rest of the men to safety.
    That night back at their base, the two managed to catch a rare moment of privacy behind the mess hall in the darkness of a starry Afghan night. They kissed passionately, glad to be alive and glad to be in each other’s arms. Neither could resist the urge to fuck, and with their dusty khakis around their knees, Abe tenderly and deeply plowed his pal’s pale white ass with his fat black cock.
    While they fucked in the starry darkness, Keith turned his head to whisper in his soldier-lover’s ear. “I got a letter from home today. Seems Peter wants me back after all.”
    Abe hardly missed a stroke, sliding his immense meat in and out of Keith’s hot hole slowly and steadily. “What are you going to tell him?”
    “What do you think? I’m going to tell him ‘Sorry, pal. I got myself someone with a much bigger cock,’” he teased.
    Abe made sure to slide his dick all the way home, burying it to the balls and turning Keith’s snicker into a deep groan.
    With the two soldiers happily grinding and groaning in heated lust, the dangers around them seemed far, far away that night. Home, for now, seemed as close as each other’s arms.

DO ASK, DO TELL
    Julian Mark
    S kin it back and squeeze the knob,” Sergeant Baker ordered.
    Welcome to Monday morning short-arm inspection, a ritual to ensure that none of the troops had dipped their wicks into anything contagious over the weekend. Sergeant Billy Baker, our personal dick inspector, roused us with a shrill whistle at five-fucking-A.M. We stumbled out of our cots, uppers and lowers, and stood tall in a variety of undergear that would gladden the heart of Calvin Klein. To wit: boxers, briefs, boxer-briefs and come-fuck-me ball-huggers.
    “Drop your drawers,” was the sergeant’s next command, which was not necessary because after three months of basic training we astute recruits knew the drill. As the boys complied I always wanted to shout, “HOLD YOUR HAT AND HALLELUJAH, PAPA’S GONNA SHOW IT TO YOU.” However, being a legally gay PFC, as I now was, did not give me the right to break into song at the drop of a guy’s jockey shorts nor, for that matter, the right to drop to my knees.
    We were a dozen tent mates residing under a canvas tarp over a concrete slab. The accommodations gave new meaning to the word sparse. The tent held six double-decker cots, three on either side of the twelve-by-twenty concrete floor, each cot assigned a footlocker. This Monday-morning display of manly pulchritude often reminded me of the West Point dictum, “You can measure a man’s courage by the length of his foreskin.”
    Alas, there was only one courageous man among our snipped dozen.
    This was Julio Zapata, who everyone mistakenly called Julie. Julio was a cross between Fernando Lamas, Ricardo Montalban and Adonis. To watch Julio skin it back was