I was commissioned on the USS Carter as a Medical Officer’s Asst.  The guys who got to know me knew that this was one dimension of what I could do. Although I helped guys thru everything from broken bones to beer-bottle-bruises; --those who knew me would tell you that It’s what I did for them from the neck up that mattered most under the conditions we were in.

 

Guys in a sub are packed in tightly. The sleeping area doesn’t offer much for consolation – except the very top bunks.  They had “head room” & I had one.  They’re pretty narrow too – but the top ones will accommodate two guys sitting up – facing each other on opposite sides of the bed – or two guys laying down – closely face to face or (as on the top bunks), one on top of the other.

 

Early on in high-school, I’d been labeled as a “pretty boi”.  So, I hit the gym & by my Jr. year – I was a  “studmuff’n”.  Because of where I grew up, -my options seemed really limited so I opted for the Marines; - & because the Navy uses Marine corpsmen, -I ended up on the Carter.  I won’t disclose who else was on board –because it would probably cause a major scandal – still.

 

Why all the random tidbits of info?  Because it’s to get to my main point: None of these guys wanted to be around or associated with a bunch of limp-wristed femme-bois. What mattered to each was his sense of pride & the respect he got in the modicum of privacy we had.  These guys were working an extremely dangerous job, under great pressure & many hadn’t seen “loved ones” for months. Because of my job & my warm demeanor towards guys – I was “everyone’s best friend” sooner or later.

 

It usually started out with someone getting hurt. If it wasn’t “serious”, they stayed on board.  Muscle pulls & problems related to job posture became the #1 “crisis”.  Formally, in the clinic – we’d hand out OTC meds (usually) & sometimes scripts too.  If it was a guy I liked or wanted to know better – I’d tell him to meet me at my “bunk” at the end of his shift & I’d see what else could be done to help the healing process.  The rule was generally AFTER you 3S (Sh1t, Shower & Shave).  I was a neat/clean freak. I let people know.

 

Generally, the guy would come to my bunk at the time prescribed & I’d invite him to hop up & sit with me while I looked over his paperwork.  90% of the time, he’d be in his underwear.  We were quiet – everyone generally was.  Communication was generally nonverbal with me showing “the patient” how or where to move a body part.  All that was – was staging for getting the guy to pull his shirt & lay down.  See, these guys all needed 1 thing-constantly: A massage. It was the job’s tension that caused a build up to what I jokingly called a “spaz implosion”.  They didn’t know how badly they needed a massage, -so when they found themselves stretched out on a bed -& getting one from somebody who “had a reason” to give them one – there were lots of opportunities for off-color jokes from guys who secretly wished within themselves that they were the ones being rubbed on.

 

It was common for the 1^st “treatment” to catch a guy off-guard & for him to groan something like, “Awwwe….maaaannn” or “Phuckkk yeahhhh…” – which might get comments from those around…everything from: “What are you guys really doing up there?” to “Yup, another passenger on the Love Boat seduced by the Doc.”  I’d usually look over my curtain & make some joke like, “Hey, some respect for the dying here…”, in my Bronxiest accent.

 

I’ll never forget on one occasion, I was firmly slow-stroking along a sailor’s back when a problem disc slipped back into place.  He let out a fairly loud sigh of relief as the pain just vanished.  One of the guys nearby asked if we needed to get the Captain to do a wedding at sea; -- & the guy who’d just had his back fixed bluntly said: “Man, if he could do to my dick what he just did to my back – I’d never go back to women…”  In retrospect, that makes me ask: “I wonder if he ever did.”

 

At those ages, most guys are in good shape with youthesque looks, & statistically: you get more sea-studs in the mix.  They’re awesome guys who want to be respected, appreciated & loved.  My quiet – yet extroverted personality & job oozed all 3 & my walk among the crew was generally one of high-5’s, smiles, louder-than-usual greetings &  handshakes mixed with “manly-hugs”.  I became the “stud-brother” they could talk about their “personal sh1t” with.  I was the guy when things got really bad – like an accident -- & I helped minimize the damage & in a way that any guy who knew me—knew it was personal to me – because they were my GOOD buddies.  I was the guy they could go to in pain & end up being massaged all night there in my bunk (as long as they didn’t mind laying face to face –draped mostly across me).  It was nice & it didn’t take long to discover which guys wanted a happy ending with their “massage”.   Sleeping with another guy in the rack was easy to excuse considering some of these guys were working serious overtime & massage tore whatever semblance of consciousness away far too easily from those guys.    “He passed out from exhaustion during the follow up.”, was a common reason given for anyone discovering my “patient” before he awoke & returned to his own rack.  Since it wasn’t that uncommon for guys to fall asleep in close proximity in such tight quarters – added to the fact that I could produce half a dozen photographs containing examples of that very thing – nobody ever made it an issue. 

 

And, of course – guys talk & tell stories the way they “remember them”.  They give advice to “explain” what they’d experienced in terms that didn’t offend their sensibilities.  Things like “Ask Doc to give you the Special JO Cream…It’s got something in it – probably illegal seeing how good it make you feel.”.

Why would guys say that to another guy?  Because they wanted to get close to the guy, -& the “scam’ behind the “special JO lotion” is that your own body chemistry cancels out it’s effectiveness & it becomes just like any other lotion. BUT, if it’s applied with a different hand then your own – the results are amazing -- beyond words.  A strategy to get buds to willingly jack each other off? Yeah…thanks to “your’s truly”!

 

So, “best buddies” would give each other a hand using “the lotion” because it would eventually get used on them (& it does feel lots better to have someone else doing the stroking).  The personal tension between guys level dropped magnitudes on the ship while this was going on.  Nobody involved wanted to piss off his JO buddy!  The “lotion” was plain-bottled dollar-store anti-bacterial stuff that I’d mixed with just a little bit (my secret formula) of glycerin & capsaicin (for a heat effect) & then repacked into a small, 4 oz, black pump-bottle.  You could even eat the stuff if the desire came upon you.   I was selling it for $100/bottle.  I kid you not! “Magic lotion” isn’t cheap on the retail!

 

Whenever I’d get a referral – I’d tell the guy to schedule an appointment with the clinic due to “lower back pain”.  When he showed, I’d give him a note to see me after his shift.  Since the guy was a referral – he was usually some hottie that another guy wanted to be tender on in the 1^st place.  The “referral” would show at shift’s end & I do the routine I did that eventually moved to massage.  Like the friendly big-brother who “loved sharing this taboo to his best buddies”, I’d 1^st produce the small bottle & verify that the guy had “1 or more buds” who he totally trusted & wanted “in” on this.  I’d then go on to explain why this “magical lotion” would set fireworks off in a guy’s skull.  Of course – the down side was your own body chemistry cancelled it out for the most part & to experience the “full effect”, it needed to be applied by someone else “in on it”.  The first rule of application was: “Keep away from mucus membranes”.  He was warned that contact under a guy’s hood might become very uncomfortable.  The 2^nd rule was that it wasn’t for fags – other than fact that “the arse wasn’t for phuck’n”, the added warning was that the ingredients were too harsh on mucus membranes & would make a fag’s arsehole fall out “waaaay faster than normal”.  Making that distinction with a tone of moral certainty created a clear understanding in the minds of most guys that using the “JO lotion” with a buddy wasn’t being a “fag”.  It was simply a gUy-thing, - not a gAy thing. 

 

The last part of the pitch was me making sure he wasn’t “allergic”.  I’d produce an epi-pen & let him know that a shot of “this” will stop an allergic reaction “but let’s hope that it doesn’t come to that.”.  And just saying “matter of factly”, --just relax bro & think about anything you want.  As he got comfortable, I’d help him slide his shorts off.  Resting on my side –beside him – I’d work some of the lotion onto his cock & balls – to get good coverage, -- & then I’d work on his thighs & upper legs, belly, pects while I waited for a “response”.  The goal was to be tactile enough while waiting for the “heat sensation from the capsaicin” draw his attention to his “warming” genitals.  The sensation of heat opened certain arteries & usually caused an involuntary erection in most guys – especially younger guys with the added psyche-component suggesting that’s what the stuff did anyhow!  Round 2+ of gently tendering his erection to “get better coverage & rub it in thoroughly” would usually produce a full-mast hard-on that your basic “seaman” could only contain for a few minutes –before jizz’n so hard his wad would fly into the next bunk if something wasn’t ready to intercept it.  From the perspective of most guys: the intense feelings of being JO’d were proof that the lotion “worked”. After the guy popped, -I always played it cool as I wiped him off & let the guy know I was glad he wasn’t “allergic” – at which time he’d often profusely agree.   “That’ll be $100 for the lotion...”

 

It was a GUY thing: Men being men with each other in total respect, camaraderie & acceptance.  Friendships were welded solid. The guy being JO’d might be thinking about his girlfriend back home for all the guy jack’n knew. But, the fact that another guy accepted him & cared enough to do said “jack’n” … Now THAT’S what a FRIEND IS ;- & regardless of the precise shape the emotional attachments took – “my” guys loved each other with a friendly openness that is the stereotype of “best friendships”. 

 

The “prank” I most often pulled became catching a sailor who’d been working overtime & pin him into a massage long enough that he wasn’t fighting the applied massage any longer.  Only after he wanted to fall asleep – even on the deck plates - would the massage be stopped & he’d be rousted back to his duties longing for that slice of heaven he’d just tasted.    

 

Men on the Carter during my stay were seen as & treated as men: NEVER as proxies for female anatomy.  ArseSex was what phags did & the capsaicin in the “magic lotion” was concentrated enough that arse-sex with it was completely out of the question (wow – that would be hilarious to hear about)! 

 

Yet, there were a handful of guys that had demeanors begging to be kept in the dark about all of this.  It was an unspoken understanding that some guys were arseholes who’d label any M2M closeness as suspicious behavior contrary to military policy on homosexuality….blah, blah, blah.  Ironically, it was those types w. the stereotypes provided by the “phags” that caused the greatest stress to regular guys who just happened to luv their buds “more than normal”.  “War” is something to be kept outside of the ship -- & in a sane world: It’s opposite - on the inside.

 

-Doc