If anyone tells you it's easy being openly gay when you're an Army cadet, they're lying through their teeth. When I joined, fresh-faced from university and full of the confidence - and the naivete - of youth, I decided that from day one I would be out. No messing, no need for acting, and we'd all know where we stood. An admirable philosohpy no doubt, but were I to do it all again I'd probably keep a slightly lower profile this time. Oh there were no major problems, just constant ribbing from mates. There were two main types: the "backs to the wall lads, here comes Phillips" kind of comment, which needled me so much that on one occasion I stopped in my tracks, looked the bastard up and down once slowly, and said, with an expression of acid incredulity on my face, "what the fuck makes you think I'd want to have sex with you?" before walking on serenely. He went red and was a lot quieter after that; and the "give us a blowjob, pretty boy?" kind which just made me smile. I know I'm a good-looking boy, and comments like that, spoken in an exagerratedly jeering tone, were as close to expressions of what they really wanted as these testosterone-soaked straight lads could bring themselves to say. I enjoyed life as a cadet and managed to fend off such verbal attacks, usually good-naturedly.
Perhaps surprisingly, there were no physical or sexual attacks at all. I'd half-expected there'd be something at some point, but it didn't happen. Well, only once, and I'll come to that soon.
Bondage is something I've never really been into, but because of a silly misunderstanding one day I became associated with kinky stuff in the eyes of the other lads. It was nothing really - I'd been lying on my bunk, naked except for my boxer shorts, eyes closed, headphones on, hands clasped behind my head, listening to REM on my iPod one evening. The others were lying or sitting about reading, or writing letters home. As is the way of things, my mind had been wandering - I can't even remember what it was I'd been thinking about - but I'd got a stonking hard-on, although I wasn't aware of this. Suddenly something landed on my chest. I opened my eyes and sat up, picking up the magazine and looking around to see where it had come from. Nobody looked like they'd just thrown it to me. It was a copy of a gay mag, and I leafed through it idly. The centre-page spread was a colour photograph of a dungeon, with a skinhead hogtied, gagged and blindfolded on the floor and a masked leather man standing over him. I looked at it, wondering what guys saw in that sort of thing, and trying to figure out what at all the strange devices on the shelves behind them were. I must have been studying it for a while - and then Buzz, one of the more vocal lads, noticed.
Buzz seems to have a problem with homosexuality. My personal opinion is that he's latently gay - I've seen him glancing at us lads in the showers with more interest than would be expected from a straight guy, but he comes across as agressively hetero. Mind you, with his choice of aftershave he must be straight. It's dreadful. He's a great muscular hairy thing, but if he'd stop scowling for a moment he could be quite attractive. His cohort, Geoff, is of similar ilk, but less confident about it. Unlike Buzz, who might make it one day in some bizarre set of circumstances, Geoff will never be officer material. He needs guidance in obnoxiosness, which Buzz conventiently provides.
"Whoa - looka that, lads!" Buzz's hairy hand snatched the mag from me. He glanced at the picture, then at my boxers which were straining to contain my erect cock. "I think our Phillips is into kink!"
Of course the others gathered round, whooping and jeering. The magazine was passed from hand to hand, and my erection became the focus of everyone's attention. Normally this is something I'd have been pleased about, but now I tried to cover it up and to explain. However, a couple of the lads grabbbed my wrists and held them away, and my words of protest went unheard. From that day on I became known as "Kinky Colin". I remember being amused that it had taken alliteration and sexual innuendo to get them to start calling me by my first name.
A week after that happened, we were due to take part in an orienteering test. I liked orienteering - map-work, navigation by stars, and reading the land were some of my stronger points, and I was looking forward to it. The test was simple: we'd be loaded into a truck early one morming; blindfolded; taken miles away, then dropped off in teams of three, and have to find our way back to base. The first team home would be the winners. It was all quite straightforward.
The sun wasn't even up as we marched to the truck waiting in the compound. All we had on were our cammos and boots - no underwear was allowed on these tests - God knows why, perhaps they thought that the wearing of underpants was cheating when trying to find your way home under test conditions - and the sharp morning air made me tingle. This test was without maps and compasses, so it would be about reading the land and using our initiative.
There were wooden bench seats arranged in shallow tiers inside the truck, with space for the instructors to move about, and we were sat down and had gaffa tape wrapped around our heads and stuck down carefully around the tops of our noses so we couldn't see where we were going. Our wrists were plasticuffed behind our backs to stop us from getting at the blindfolds. It smelled a bit locker-roomy in there with all of us lads, and I remember smiling to myself as it occurred to me that the guys in that magazine centre-spread would probably wet themselves if they could see us - twelve hunky young army cadets all tied and blindfolded...
The truck set off and I applied myself to following its progress on the map of the area that was in my mind. I needn't have bothered - the driver was clearly under instructions to confuse us as much he could. We drove around the camp several times, did circles in one place, reversed and changed direction, and after only a few minutes I had no earthly idea where we were or in which direction we were headed. I knew the drive would be a long one; we had to be taken a fair number of miles away. Talking was not permitted, so I amused myself by listing increasingly large prime numbers in my head (mathematics is another interest of mine).
Later, the truck left the road and the ground became more uneven. We bumped along, and it was very noisy in the truck. I wondered where the hell we could be, but there was no way of knowing. I went back to the primes.
We'd been in the truck for several hours when it happened. I felt legs drop down either side of me as someone - presumably one of the instructors - sat on the empty seat behind me. Then a hand clamped hard over my mouth, gagging me. Another hand reached down and closed around my soft cock through my cammos. It began to stroke and tease slowly.
I tried to open my mouth to say "What the fuck?" but the guy clearly knew how to gag a boy efficiently: no sound came out at all. I tried to struggle but his legs either side tightened against me and kept me firmly in place. My hands were tied and, pulled back as I was against the bench behind, I was effectively helpless. All I could do was close my knees together tightly to try to protect myself but it made not the slightest difference. The fingers stroked up and down my cock through the rough fabric and I was mortified to find that I was getting hard.
As my cock stiffened, the fingers moved it into a more accessible position inside my cammos, then began to wank me - at first slowly, then with increasing speed. I was nineteen years old, it was early morning, and I was as horny as fuck. The guy behind me wasn't going for extended pleasure, he was clearly intending to make me cum as quickly and as irresistably as possible. His fingers found my cockhead, and the sweet spot on the ridge, and he milked me with clinical efficiency. My whole body spasmed and he clamped his hand even harder over my mouth as I came silently. He continued to wank me as my spunk squirted out into my cammos, soaking the fabric with a huge load of cum. I could feel it spreading through the material, wet and rapidly cooling.
I was expecting the hand to be removed from my mouth but it wasn't; it kept me gagged for another few minutes, until the truck slowed and came to a stop. Then the guy got up, and there was general movement in the truck as the first team of three were dropped off. That included me. I was stood up and guided out onto the ground. One of the instructors removed our blindfolds - I was thankful my hair was short but it still hurt like hell coming off - and then our plasticuffs. I squinted in the daylight and rubbed my wrists as the truck drove off. Then I noticed who my team-mates were. One was Geoff, and the other was Buzz. This couldn't be coincidence, I thought: the two most obviously homophobic guys in the squad partnered with me.
I looked at them, and they looked at me. "Well look who we got," said Buzz slowly.
I saw their eyes drop simultaneously to my spunk-soaked crotch, and with a silent sigh, waited for it. I wasn't disappointed.
"I don't fucking believe it! The little bugger's creamed his cammos!"
"Like being tied up, don't you?" Sneered Geoff. "Got off bigtime being helpless and blindfolded in that truck with all of us hunky lads. Thinking about what we could do to you, helpless like that, eh?"
I didn't even try to explain what had happened. The truth was unlikely in the extreme, and they wouldn't want to believe it anyway. "Just a morning woodie and a bumpy ride," I said dismissively. It sounded lame even to my own ears.
"Come on, we'd better get going," I suggested.
To my surprise they nodded. Perhaps I was the little queer-boy, but they knew I was the best in the squad at orienteering and given that they were crap at it, that I was their only hope of getting back to base first.
I looked around. There was moorland as far as the eye could see in every direction and not a single sign of habitation. A few sorry-looking sheep turned curious eyes towards us before dismissing us as irrelevant. To Buzz and Geoff, this no doubt was as bad as it got - no clues at all as to where we were - but in fact it's very rare not to be able to see a cottage or a farm or a river or a road in the distance anywhere. I scanned my mental map, trying to think of places that would fit. A low range of hills loomed in the distance through the morning murk.
"Come on then, Kinky, where the fuck are we?"
"Shut it, I'm thinking." I reckoned we were probably north or north-west of the camp, something like 20 miles.
They waited while I considered. I looked at the sky, noting the position of the sun. We hadn't been allowed to bring our watches with us, but I esimated that it was about 10am. So.... I pointed. "That way should get us to a landmark." We set off.
After a few miles we came to a wood. I smiled. "Yep - the other side of that wood is the road to Denley. We're about 25 miles northwest of camp. Should be back by teatime."
Buzz and Geoff looked at each other. A smile passed between them. We walked into the woods.
I'd been cold, but the walking soon warmed me up. My spunk had dried and was now a stiff patch in my cammos. The rough material rubbing against my cock wouldn't let it go completely soft. I decided there was something to be said for going commando after all.
As we walked, Buzz and Geoff chatted in that peculiar way straights have - saying nothing at all of consequence but being very male about it. I tuned their ribald comments out and tried to figure out what had happened on the truck. It must have been one of the instructors, but I'd no idea which one - there had been five of them with us. I assumed that I was the only one who'd been done, so it must have been planned, especially as I'd been partnered with these two neanderthals afterwards. Oh well, I decided not to worry about it. As I replayed in my mind the milking, my cock got hard again. I'd rather it had been done in more comfortable surroundings - on a four-poster bed with a nice bottle of red on the side table, say - but hey, an orgasm is an orgasm.
I suppose I'd been expecting it, but I was still surprised when it happened. We were surrounded by trees and bracken when they jumped me. Geoff held me in a vise-like grip while Buzz roughly undid my cammo trousers and pulled them off me. He thrust them over my head and tied the flapping legs tightly around my neck to form an impromptu but very effective hood. I couldn't see a thing. From then on things were a lot easier for them. They got me on the ground and held me down while first Buzz and then Geoff spat on their cocks and fucked me hard. Buzz had me face down where I was, and was pounding me like a sledgehammer from above, but Geoff turned me over, put my legs over his shoulders and fucked me like that so he could get in really deep. I suppose one of the advantages of being gay and being used to getting fucked is that it doesn't hurt as much. In fact to be honest I quite enjoyed it, although neither of them showed any technique to speak of and they both came disappointingly quickly. I didn't try to struggle - I knew it would do no good anyway - and there was something very primal and sexy about being held down and raped senseless on a forest floor by squaddies. I'd rather not have been hooded though - I'd like to have been able to see them as they used me. As it was, my cock - which had already been semi-hard from the walk and my earlier thoughts - flowered into the full magnificence of erection before their disbelieving eyes. This seemed to confuse them a bit.
When they'd finished, Buzz roughly pulled the cammos off my head and threw them onto my mud-streaked chest as I lay there looking up at them. I couldn't resist it - I grinned and said, coyly, "next time, boys, just ask me nicely."
I thought they might beat me up, but in fact they both burst out laughing. Geoff actually reached an arm down and helped me to stand up. He looked at me and shook his head. "You're all right, kid," he said.
I put my hands on my hips and raised my eyebrows questioningly. "I suppose you think you've finished."
"Huh?" Buzz frowned. "What the fuck do you mean?"
I looked down at my fully-erect cock waving like a flagpole in the air. "Well what do you intend to do about this...?"
They kicked me in the arse and wouldn't let me put my cammos back on until we got to the road.
From that day on I seemed to be flavour of the month with Buzz and Geoff. They became very protective towards me - I think they saw me as a mascot of some kind, like a little furry bunny rabbit or something, and that was fine with me. Of course the fact that we three had been the first back no doubt helped.
It was a week or so later that I found the photograph. It had been stuck onto the inside of my locker door over my picture of Marky Mark (I know, I know, but I fancied him then, ok?) It's difficult to tell from the picture, but I think the instructor behind me (I'm the boy in the centre of the photo, by the way) is Collins. I've squinted at him suspiciously several times since then but he's shown no reaction at all. I'd like to think it was him who milked me anyway, cos he's a hunk.
Next week it's orienteering finals. Same setup as before, though we'll be much longer in the truck as we'll be taken a lot further - possibly even oversea. I don't know who my team-mates will be, but I have my suspicions. In any case I'm looking forward to it - those guys on that centre spread might just have something after all with this bondage thing...