He lets out a short, barking laugh. “Nah, man. I was out cold. Passed out the second I lay down.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Shit. Someone got ballsy.”
“Can you imagine if Rourke had heard?”
“Fuck, he’d have them doing push-ups till their arms fell off.” He shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face. “Man, good for him, though. Whoever it was. At least one of us got some relief.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m serious, bro. Twenty-three days and counting. My balls feel like they’re gonna explode.” He adjusts himself through his pants, and I have to force myself to look away. “I’m tempted to do the same, man.” He gives me a sly look. “Find a tree, you know? Quick little session.”
I swallow. “What, right here? Now?”
“Why not? We’re alone. No one’s around for miles. We could take five, rub one out real quick.” He shrugs. “We’re probably way ahead of the other teams anyway. Got some time to kill.”
I don’t know about that, but I don’t say so. My hands feel clammy. What’s the right reaction here? If I say yes too quickly, will that give me away? Make me seem too eager? But if I say no, I’m the uptight prude, which is also not what I want to be.
“Man, I don’t know,” I say. “Rourke would kill us if he found out.”
“He’s not gonna find out. No GPS, remember? He’s got no idea where we are. Look,” he says, gesturing around us. “It’s justtrees, as far as the eye can see. We both need this, mano. You said yourself yesterday that you could use some release.”
I open my mouth to come up with another excuse, but he’s already loosening his rigger belt, that olive-green nylon webbing. The sound of the buckle unfastening is shockingly loud in the quiet woods. He pops the buttons on his pants one by one, not turning away from me, not hiding anything.
Then his cock is out.
4
The thing I’ve been trying not to look at, not to think about, is right there in the open. Diego holds his cock loosely in one hand, already half hard. He spits a thick glob of saliva on the crown and smears it around with a quick twist of his wrist.
“See? No big deal,” he says, his breathing already a little heavier. “Just taking care of business.”
What am I supposed to do? What’s the normal guy’s response here?
It’s like watching a gun get loaded right in front of me. Part of me wants to run. To bolt through the trees and keep going until my lungs give out and I can’t hear the slick, wet sounds he’s making. The same sounds as last night, only now in broad daylight, with a face to match.
But the other part of me, the one that’s been getting louder every day, wants to drop to my knees and offer myself up. To open my mouth and let him shoot that weapon down my throat.
“Come on, mano,” Diego says, panting a little. “You’re not gonna just stand there and watch, are you? That’d be weird as fuck.” He grins, a flash of white teeth in his tanned face.
Iamwatching. I can’t stop watching. His cock is growing in his fist, getting thicker, longer. He’s using long, smooth strokes, from the base to the tip, twisting on the upstroke. He’s not shy about it. He’s proud of it. And why shouldn’t he be? It’s a fucking cannon.
But he’s right. It would be weird just to stand here and stare. I have to do something. I have to act like a normal, red-blooded American soldier, faced with a chance to blow off some tension with his battle buddy.
My fingers feel clumsy and stiff as I fumble with my rigger belt. The buckle catches on the fabric, and I have to wrestle it open. Finally, it gives. The buttons pop one after another, sounding as loud as gunshots in my ears. My cock is already hard, straining against my briefs. Of course it is. How could it not be, watching Diego stroke himself like that? I pull it out, the warm air hitting the wet tip. I’m embarrassed by how much precum is already leaking.
“Damn, bro,” Diego says, nodding. “You’re pretty fired up yourself, huh?”
“Yeah, well,” I say, my voice rough. “Twenty-three days. Like you said.” I spit in my palm and wrap my hand around my dick. The sensation is electric. My knees feel weak. I’ve been so keyed up, so full of tension, that even this simple touch is almost enough to set me off. I have to grip the base hard to keep from coming right away.
I’m not as big as Diego. Not as long or as thick. He’s packing a shotgun, and I’ve got a standard-issue pistol. But he doesn’t seem to be judging me. He’s focused on his own task, his eyes half closed, his head tilted back.
We stand there, maybe seven feet apart, stroking our cocks in the middle of the woods. The only sounds are our heavy breathing, the slick, wet sounds of our hands on our dicks, and the buzzing of insects.
“See? Much better, right?” Diego breathes. “Taking care of the problem.”
“Yeah,” I manage. “Much better.”
“You think this is what they mean by camaraderie?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t think this is in the Army handbook.”
