We were both worn out from our late partying, but John had to be at the Navy recruiting office at 9:00. My appointment with Lance wasn't until noon. I tried to sleep in but couldn't. I had too many things on my mind. What am I going to do without John if the Marines won't take me? Then I worried about what would happen to my guitar if they did. Sleep wasn't for me, so I dragged my sorry ass out of bed, got dressed, and headed for the Navy Annex, arriving shortly after 11:00 -- almost an hour before I was expected. Lance came down the hall, paused, "Hey kid, glad you're early. Come on in, I've got some good news for you." I followed him into his office, again sitting opposite him. "Damn it, you left the door open; close it. OK, here's what's happening. You'll be 17 in just a couple of weeks, and we will take you in on what we call a kiddie cruise. But that can't happen 'til the day after your birthday. I wired your mother for her permission, and, if she agrees, we will issue you transportation orders and train tickets whereupon you will forthwith proceed to the U.S. Marine Recruit Office in Santa Ana California. Gunny Sargent Jackson will then transport you to your mother's where she will execute a document permitting you to enter the Marine Corps. Once she has done that, you will be left with your mother 'til the day after your 17th birthday, whence you will proceed to the U.S. Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, arriving there no later than 6:30 AM October 3rd." Lance stopped shouting, lowered his voice and said ... "You are going to make one hell of a Marine. After boot camp, keep me posted as to how you are doing. After boot camp, keep that guitar with you, it will remind you that Marines do care about their buddies. I'll let you know as soon as we hear from your mom." I was pretty sure mom would agree. I had missed almost a year of school, so going back to school was out of the question. Then, on top of all that, a lot of kids were dropping out of school and going off to war. By the time I got back to the "Penthouse", John had returned and was laying naked on the old mattress on the patio soaking up the sun. "So what happened with Lance?" After slipping out of my clothes, I laid down beside him, letting my body relax from all of the partying. I told him the good news; he seemed genuinely happy for me. Very rapidly the hours passed as we just laid there talking, enjoying each other's company. The sun was on its way down when we heard a rap at our door. Still naked I walked to the door and opened it a crack. It was Lance. He came in with a grin "Hell, don't you kids ever wear any clothes?". Mother had wired her permission; my train left Penn Station at midnight tonight. He had brought my orders and the train tickets. "Well, gotta go. Have a meeting downtown in less than 30 minutes. Besides, you two have a lot of goodbyes to say." It was a mixture of sadness, and excitement. A new adventure was about to begin. I had arrived in New York with only the clothes on my back. I now had a guitar and two suit cases full of sharp looking duds. The train was packed with military and a few civilians that I later learned were like me, heading for boot camp. My ticket was for a sleeping compartment. The black porter showed me where it was. There were four bunks so I knew I had roommates. The train would take me to Union Station in Los Angeles. A bus would then transport me to Santa Ana. The porter had made up the bunks, but I was too excited to sleep. Most of the train was asleep. I found the dining car, but it was closed. When I returned to my compartment, I found two of the bunks occupied, both soundly asleep. As I undressed, the train pulled out of the station. The clumpy clump rhythm of the wheels soon lulled me to sleep. Sometime during the night, the train had pulled onto a siding, so that it could proceed into Chicago to pick up passengers at 8 AM. While the rhythm of the wheels had put me to sleep, the same sounds woke me as we continued towards Chicago. The porter came by and suggested that if we wanted breakfast we had better hurry to the dining car. It was then that I met the other two guys. One was a sailor dressed in blues, the other a soldier headed for Schofield Barracks in Hawaii. I had never before been on a train, so the exploration last night at least gave me an idea of what and where things were. I was not, however, prepared for the dining car. Crisp white linen. Crystal glasses, polished silverware. Black waiters in white uniforms. One handed each of us a pad. "Y'all write on the pad what ya wanna eat. Just copy it off of the menu. If ya gotta military vouchers, you use that menu, if ya don't, then ya use this 'n." We all three had vouchers so we took turns reading, selecting, and writing down the same choice: pancakes, sausage, coffee. Our waiter picked up the order slips, carried them to a tiny kitchen in the back of the car, returning with coffee. I had hardly doctored my coffee with cream and sugar before he was back with our breakfast. "Ya all wanna gimme da vouchers now. One from each of ya." We handed them over, and began to eat our breakfast. We were just settling into our compartment seats as the train pulled into Chicago Station. The porter came by and told us to just stay put, they were taking on passengers and would be departing within 15 minutes. I took the guitar from its case and began to improvise, a little country, a little western. I was relaxing, and the other two guys seemed to enjoy the sounds. The porter ushered in our other roommate. He was dressed in Navy blues. Short, crew cut, blonde hair, about 17 or 18. A butt that wouldn't stop, and a complexion that should have made him a model. My dick jumped straight to my belly button. "Wow, what a cute guy," I thought. He took one look at me and my guitar. "Fuckin' hillbilly. Do I gotta listen to that shit?" "If you don't want the guitar bounced off your head, and my dick up your little butt, you will shut the fuck up, sit down, and be thankful I didn't lose my temper." I couldn't believe I said that. He muttered something about `hillbilly faggot', and I went for him. The other two guys held me back, and told him he'd better find someplace else to sit. The porter came in, got the kid's suitcase, and moved him to another car. Every time we saw each other, we glared, and that went on for 3 days. One of my other roommates had played a little guitar, and gave me some pointers. He also taught me a few more tunes, as the three of us played, sang, and harmonized all the way to L.A. Union Station in Los Angeles was about eight blocks from the Bus Station. I put the guitar strap over my shoulder, picked up my two bags, and headed towards the bus. A cab went rushing by me. "Hey ya fuckin' faggot, hope ya drop dead." It was the cute young sailor from Chicago. Two hours later, I was in Santa Ana. I called the number Lance had given me. It was picked up on the first ring. Whoever answered spoke so fast that I couldn't understand what they said. "Hello. Can I talk with Gunny Sargent Jackson." A different voice came on the line. "Sorry the Sargent won't be back 'til after 2. Can I take a message?" "No, I was instructed to call him immediately upon my arrival in Santa Ana." The voice paused. "Where are you calling from?" After telling the voice where I was and why, they told me to just stay put, and a car would pick me up. "Keep your eyes open for a black Ford with USMC on the door." The car had deposited me at the Marine Corps Recruiting office. I had been sitting there for about an hour. A tall, muscular, marine came into the office "You the kid from New York that Lt. Parker called me about?" Mother wasn't home when the Sargent and I arrived, so we sat in the living room 'til she returned. I could tell the Sargent didn't think much of the house, and must have wondered how a marine corps officer got involved with me. When she did return, she couldn't believe how much I had changed. This nerdy little kid had run away, but what returned was a well dressed young man, exuding confidence, and self assurance. She and the Sargent spoke for a few minutes, then she signed the paper he gave her. "Don't forget. San Diego on the 3rd." Mother looked out the window and said, "Look the kids are home from school; you want to go out and see them." I was curious, but not willing to make the first move, so I walked down to the corner store. The kids spotted me, recognized me, but couldn't really believe it. I was dressed in my white slacks, my gray shirt, and my blue jacket. At the store, the clerk told me how happy they were that I was back, that they understood I was going into the Marine Corps. I bought a bottle of chocolate milk, and headed back towards the house. "Hey I see you're back," a familiar voice spoke. I looked at Bob Schubert with a glare. "Wanna go for a hike in the hills?" "Listen you little asshole, if you come near me again, I'll stomp your stinking ass into the ground." He made some nasty, threatening retort. I turned, raised my voice, "And if that doesn't work, I'll tell everyone you sucked my dick from the time I was 12 'til I left for New York." And that ended my problems with Schubert. If I had only known how to handle him a couple of years ago, things would have been a lot different. In comparing the neighborhood kids with myself, here and now, I knew that I was happier to be who I was and would not trade with any of them. From the very beginning, my mother's husband did not like me, and I certainly didn't care for him. From his point of view, I represented an interference in his life with her. I'm sure he was happy when I ran off to New York. So it was with some apprehension that I awaited his coming home from work. When he did greet me, it was with warmth and more than a little surprise in how much I had changed. The kids (my peers) began to hang around, trying to engage me, but I found them boring and child like. Within a few days, I was only too happy to see my birthday spring past me, letting me depart for San Diego. When I did leave, I left my guitar, saying that I wanted it as soon as I was out of basic training. I told her to give away my clothes as I was still growing, some one else might like them. October first, my birthday, was hot and humid. While laying in bed, my thoughts drifted back over the years: New York and John, Lance, Maurice and Fat Fred, Jack, Jerry, and then Hal. My good morning boner was getting in the way. I hadn't gotten off since that last day with John. It began with my scratching my pubes and my balls. The scratching continued along the shaft. Each pleasant scratch caused my shaft to bounce. Again, my thoughts flashed back to John, that night when he nibbled the length of my cock. My hand encircled the base of the shaft, and slid upward, forcing the blood into the head, engorging, enlarging it. "Breakfast is ready... Happy Birthday." I flipped over on my stomach as mother entered the room. "It's almost 10 o'clock... I've even baked you a cake." Thus ended my morning fantasy. I got up, took a piss, put on an old pair of corduroy pants, washed my teeth, and had breakfast. Mother said she had invited some of my "friends" over for ice cream and cake. Kind of a birthday party. "Although, I know you are too old for that now." The kids arrived in a group. There was Dick, Eugene, Tom, Alvin, even Charlie Case who lived almost a mile away. "Where's Bob?" my mother inquired. Someone said that he couldn't come. To me the party seemed stupid. Little kids sitting around eating ice cream and cake. Hell, the last party I'd been to, we drank Martinis, got drunk, and fucked the shit out two girls. And CERTAINLY stupid for a United States Marine. The party was short lived; the kids left, my cock was still up and down most of the day but I couldn't find time to be by myself. Dinner came and went. Mother reminded me that tonight was the last night I'd be at home as tomorrow I had to catch the train to San Diego. We went to bed early that night. The house was quiet. The light of a full moon flooded my room as I lay under the covers, again reflecting back over the years. As my mind traveled back in time, anger rushed into my soul. All of the bullying that I had suffered at Bob Schubert's hands, all of the rejection that I experienced from all of the local kids. I even felt anger towards my mother for not being home enough to know that there had been something very wrong in those early years. It was about 9:30. I couldn't go to sleep. I dressed, left the house, and walked up one of the old roads, re-exploring the scenery, and my tribulations. Walking by a pasture reminded me of the time when 12 year old Eugene tried sticking his dick in a cow's cunt, but couldn't find a way to keep her still. Then on the left was the oil well where I got my first blow job. I walked over to the well, sat on the platform, my legs dangling over the edge. My cock was throbbing in my pants. Unbuttoning them let it jump into the fresh air. It beckoned my hand. It wanted to be stroked. "What the fuck got into you the other day?" It was Bob Schubert; he had apparently followed me up the road. "Whatcha doin' there?" He walked over, standing before me, standing on the ground some three feet below me, looking straight into my rod. I didn't answer. All of the anger boiled out of me as I grabbed his head, brought it down on my dick, almost sticking it up his nose. "God damn you. Open your fuckin' mouth before I shove it up your sniveling nose.". Those years of abuse that I had suffered at his hand brought emotions from deep within me that I didn't even know were there. As he slipped his lips over the head of my cock, he also started pulling his cock out of his pants. "If you want your cock out, then get naked," I commanded, but I wouldn't let loose of his head, I kept it on my dick. My hand was pumping his head while he attempted to remove his clothes. First the shirt, then he dropped his pants and shorts. By then, mine had been kicked to the ground. One of my arms slipped out of my shirt while the other was pounding his head into my groin. Switching hands, the shirt easily slid off. Bob still was wearing a tee shirt. Reaching over, I grabbed the bottom of it, jerking it up, trying to rip it off of his body. Instead, it gave me an unexpected leverage on his head allowing me to not only force my dick to the back of his mouth, but jamming it down his throat. He gagged. Vomit started up out of his throat, enveloping my thrusting member with hot liquid. My dick loved it. Using the shirt as a halter I swung his head out, allowing him to breath. He swallowed his vomit as I hauled him back onto my waiting shaft. Yanking his head off of my dick, I shouted "Motherfucker, lay down on the ground. The tee shirt slipped down over his head where he couldn't see as I jumped off of the platform shoving him to the ground. The fall knocked the air out of his lungs. The moon reflecting off of that tender young 17 year old ass was beautiful. My dick was slimy from his vomit and his saliva. Jerking his cheeks apart I slammed my cock hard and fully up his ass; his scream of pain should have been heard for half a mile. "This, you motherfucker, is for that time you stripped me naked and were going to chase me home." My cock rammed in and out, deeply, fully, and rapidly. My ass was moving up and down faster about four times to one pump of the oil well. His screaming changed to cursing, then to grunts, then to moans, and finally sounds of pleasure. "First time you ever been fucked! Guarantee it won't be the last." Each thrust brought back memories of his abuse. I shot my load deep up his ass. I rested a moment. I pulled my dick out of his ass; it was covered with shit. That made me really angry. Grabbing his legs, I twisted him over. There was cum all over his stomach where he had shot his load while I was fucking him. Straddling him, I shoved my shit covered dick in his arm pit and fucked that for a time. When I pulled it out most of the shit had been wiped away. "Open your GODDAMN MOUTH," I yelled, then shoved my cock. "Over the lips, past the gums, watch out gullet here it comes", as it rammed deep down his throat. I could feel Bob beating his meat as I continued fucking his throat. My cum had already built and was ready to shoot. Pulling out, I turned around, "Stick your tongue up by butt. I want to feel it all the way in there." The pace of his licking and tongue fucking increased. My cock spewed forth its load all over his stomach, and triggered his own release which hit me squarely in the face. Moving away from him I started to dress. He was still just laying there with come all over his body: stomach, face, legs, and dripping out of his ass hole. "You got any money?" I demanded. "$5.00." "Give it to me, asshole. I don't let anybody suck my cock unless I get paid for it." He handed over the money. I had a hundred dollars in my pocket, mostly ones, wrapped into a roll which sported a twenty on the outside. Flashing the roll, I wrapping his five around the outside snarling, "The only time I ever want to see you again is if you've got money and want your cute ass fucked or you want to suck my dick." I turned and walked home with the relief that comes from getting 10 years of anger out of my system. I slept like a rock. The next morning just before I left for San Diego, Mom asked if I had gotten a letter from `Hal'. My heart jumped in my mouth. "Hal who?" She said she didn't know, but he drove a blue sports car. "He came by in July, shortly after you left for New York. He seemed upset that you were in New York. I gave him your address at the YMCA. He said he would write." In 1943, San Diego was a beehive of military activity. It was the major naval base for the Pacific. Both the Navy and Marines had major basic training centers. It was also a major sea transportation site congregating thousands of soldiers, sailors, and marines for overseas transport. Thousands of civilians built ships, airplanes, and land vehicles. The train from Fullerton landed me in San Diego at 5:00 PM. According to my orders, I was to report to MCRD at 6:30 the next day. Re-reading my orders, I found that I was to spend the night at the Armed Forces YMCA, and that transportation to MCRD would leave the "Y" at 5:30. My accommodations was a mattress on the floor of the gymnasium; one mattress amongst 100's. Dinner was a hamburger and french fries. A sailor sitting next to me started a conversation. He was from Modesto, a city about 400 miles north of San Diego. Sam had just finished Radio Operator School at the Naval Training Center, and was assigned to a Mine Sweeper. He was to report aboard tomorrow morning. Sam was 22, burly, about 170 lbs, black hair, and had something of a beard. We left the Diner together, walking down several side streets. We went into a bar. Sam had beer, and I got drunk as a skunk on Boiler Makers (that's beer mixed with shots of whiskey). I was too drunk to find the "Y" so Sam practically carried me there. When I finally found the gym it was pitch black. I couldn't find my mattress. I passed out on someone else's vacant pad. "Transportation to MCRD will be leaving in 30 minutes!" The announcement hit my head like a sledge hammer. I scrambled out from under the sheet and realized I was naked. Looking around, I found my shoes, shirt, and pants, but no shorts. I slipped on my pants, got into my shoes, grabbed my shirt and headed for the toilet. Finding a vacant seat I sat down. It was then I found my ass was slimy. Some one had fucked my ass while I was passed out, and probably swiped my shorts. A few small turds dropped as I grunted. I looked down, and saw that whoever had fucked me had dropped one hell of a lot of cum. Then I began to wonder if there had been more than one guy. I was still buttoning my shirt as I ran for the bus to MCRD. "All of you guys are dog shit. You are babies. You are pussies. It is my sorry job to beat you down into a usable mush and rebuild you in to men. Not just men but the best of men. Not just the best of men, but the greatest of all, a United States Marine. You will NOT like me. You will NOT like what I will do to you. But you WILL become a United States Marine. You will become a PROUD United States Marine." As I stood there at attention listening to this tirade by some burly Marine, I could feel cum leaking out of my butt, and down my leg. We were then marched into a long wooden building. The same Marine was still in charge. "OK, girls, you will now strip down to your shorts. Your clothes will either be sent home, or you may donate them to The Marine Relief Fund by dropping them in the box at the end of the counter." A kid up front asked, "What do we do if we aren't wearing undershorts?" "Not wearing undershorts? What do you mean not wearing undershorts. Are you a hillbilly or something? Not wearing undershorts? You will then expose your naked ass to all as you stand in line to get your uniforms, and when you get your uniforms YOU will WEAR Underwear. Is that clear!" Not only had I lost my shorts, but I had cum dripping down my leg. I began scratching my legs and butt, trying to wipe the cum into the leg of my pants. Also, I began to notice the pleasant warmth around my ass hole that happens after you have been fucked. "God I hope they don't look up my butt". I knew any one looking at my ass hole would know it had recently been exercised. I must have succeeded in sopping it all up, as when I removed my clothes to drop in the box at the end, every thing seemed to be dry. But me and the kid up front were the only two who weren't wearing shorts. The Marine in charge walked down the line. He stopped in front of the kid. "Well, well. Gents, look at this cute ass. If you get horny you know where to come." He continued his walk, and came to me. He stopped; "Well, looks like we've got two available cute asses here. What happened to yours, girly?" "I got drunk last night and shit in them." "Well, well, Gents. We'll have to make this one unavailable, as NO US MARINE will ever stick his dick in shit. Is THAT understood." We were then marched into the next room, where we were issued the first part of our duffel bag. The bag, three pairs of shorts, socks, shoes, three pair of fatigues, tee shirts, a cap, belt, soap box, soap, and razor. For the next three weeks, we marched, climbed, did pushups, marched double time, and practiced hand to hand combat. Then in the afternoons we would do the same thing. Then in the evenings we would do the same thing. Our barracks had a hundred racks (bunks) in it. Each rack had two bunks, a lower and upper. The racks were positioned in groups of four, two end to end, two side by side. Lights out was at 9:30. Every night I was asleep within five minutes. My body ached; my legs hurt; I was sore all over. The only time I had a hard-on was in the mornings. At 4:30, "Up and at'em. Drop your cocks and grab your socks. Out of those sacks. Muster in 15 minutes on the grinder." My bunk mate, meaning the guy whose breath I smelled if we slept facing each other, was from New Orleans. `Stocky, muscular, 5 foot 6 inches, a well defined baby's butt, and a good tan" should be his foundation description, upon which I would add, happy-go-lucky, carefree, and with a perpetual hard-on. His name was Burt. He was not only my bunk mate, he became my best friend. On the third Sunday of our training, we were permitted visitors. Marines whose families lived near by could bring food and have a picnics on the lawn in front of the visitors center. My mother and her husband made the 100 mile trip. Burt came along. Earl, my mother's husband, had done the driving, so it was just the four of us. There was chicken, Kool Aid, potato salad, and apple pie. There was also a thermos Earl supplied, it had two quarts of Orange Juice. To be more correct it had 1 quart of Orange Juice, and 1 quart of Rum. Earl gave me a sip of his "punch"; I shared it with Burt, so as the afternoon went on, the Kool Aid was consumed only by mother, while Burt and I bottomed out the orange juice. We also devoured every morsel of food they set before us. Mother wasn't too happy about the orange juice, but her only remark was that she wondered why the marines didn't feed us more. They left at 2:00. Burt and I were feeling no pain. We didn't have to be back at the Barracks 'til 4:00, so we wandered off, exploring parts of the base we had not seen. We stumbled upon a room that had a huge blower used to cool the educational building. Being a Sunday, there was no one in the building. We sneaked into the room, snapped the inside lock, and sat on the floor like a couple of kids. We talked and bragged about girl friends, and getting laid. We lied a lot. As we talked my dick got stiff so I reached inside of my pants and moved it. Burt touched his own dick, and I could see that it was aroused. "This is the first time I've been by myself since I left home. No pussy, haven't even been able to jack off." "Yeah, I know what you mean. So what's stopping you?" I opened my fly and pulled out my cock. He watched me give it a couple of strokes and then took his out. There we sat jacking off like a couple of teenagers. We were watching one another, and I think what we saw made it better, for it wasn't more than five minutes when I came. Burt dropped his load less than 30 seconds later. The exercise had worked most of the alcohol from our systems. And surprisingly neither of us seemed embarrassed at what we had done. We buttoned ourselves up, left the blower room, and returned to the barracks, a load off our minds. Our first weekend pass came the week before graduation. Burt and I had decided to hitchhike up to Hollywood. Maybe we might even see some movie stars. Our passes started Friday at 16:30 hours. We had to be back by 05:30 hours on Monday. At 17:00 hours, we were standing on the highway with our thumbs out. We had been paid, so Burt had $50.00 that combined with my $155.00 to give us over two hundred bucks to spend. We had been standing for less than 15 minutes when a beautiful red convertible stopped. The driver was a gray haired man of about 35. Good looking, well dressed, nice smile. "Where you soldiers going?"