Recently I have been talking about a Navy Boy, we shall call this boy KC.
I met KC about seven years ago on a trip to Pensacola, Florida with my best friend and her family. It was never my intent to meet any boys while on this vacation, at the ripe age of 16 I still held my v-card and had no clue how to suck a cock.
KC and I crossed paths one afternoon when my friend flaunted herself in front of his room mate, how gorgeous he was running down the beach, sweat running down his perfectly tanned and toned body…and I’m carried away. Anyway, upon following him into the beach condo he called home we were both pleased to find an additional three men, all equally as gorgeous, all bearing Navy garb.
Having an instant crush on the roommate with the accent, we’ll call him George, I didn’t give KC much thought. I really do owe George a lot, the man taught me to give the head I give today, and I’m pretty sure I give damn good head. My most memorable moments from this encounter were “suck on it like a tootsie-pop” and “shake it like a coke bottle.” These don’t have to make sense to anyone but me, and I rarely give a blow job without thinking of one of these tips.
Shortly after our suck-fest I was quickly reminded that men are complete d-bags, even the cute ones with accents. George informed me that while my blow job skills were better than his girlfriend’s, she was in fact coming to visit the next day, so I was going to have to pretend none of the past few hours had happened. LAME. It was upon leaving the condo that night that I noticed KC.
The rest of the week was kind of an amazing blur, like the kind you would see in a chic-flick. I remember drinking a lot of booze for 16. I remember Hurricane Isabel was making its way to shore, bringing with it big waves and jelly fish.
One evening right before sunset we were all playing in waist deep water when a HUGE wave came crashing into the five of us standing there. Coming up for air I instantly realized I no longer had a suit top on. GASP! I dropped into the water, cringing a little and wondering how the hell I would get home without a top. As if KC read my mind, or had been watching me the whole time, he came to my rescue. Sweeping me up in his arms he covered and carried me back to the house, kissing my forehead and blessing me with a shirt and shorts to walk home in. Words do not give that story justice. Girls don’t get rescued out of the ocean by a Navy man, who kisses your forehead and makes sure you get home clothed.
The next day wasn’t so magical. I got stung by a jellyfish, on the outside of my leg, where I couldn’t pee on it to feel better. KC to the rescue. Yeah, he peed on me. Yeah, it felt good. Yeah, I used my new found BJ skills on him in his shower. Love.
On our final night together KC too me on a real date, but before I could be seen in public for dinner I had to get a dress. KC handed me some cash, gave my friend and I the keys to his car and told us to find me something nice, and boy did I!
Weeks like this do not exist, but I was fortunate enough to have one. I sometimes wish I could have met him a couple years later, when we surely would have fucked, and fucked good. Which reminds me, I should write my smut version of this story, the only way the week would have been better…
These fond memories are some I wont quickly forget, and since reconnecting with him all I can do is smile.
