Are you ready? Yes, you read that right, this is not your average cruise ship hookup story. More like a warship hookup, which is a little more interesting, a little more dangerous than a relaxing cruise ship hookup, anybody can get laid on a cruise, I mean come on, everyone that’s there, wants to be there. On an Aircraft Carrier, things are a little trickier, keep reading to learn what I mean.
You haven’t felt real heat until you’ve been in the Persian Gulf, in the middle of July, when it’s 135 degrees Fahrenheit. Oh, and the humidity? It’s so bad, your sweat sticks to you like petroleum. Most people wouldn’t do anything to intentionally make things a few degrees warmer, but I’m not most people. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was in the process of creating a club, The Salty Sailor Club.
The Salty Sailor Club. The rules to join used to be very strict, but I’ve loosened them up a little. The rules used to be: fuck a girl while deployed on a warship. But as I’ve said, I’ve lowered the bar, considering that I don’t want any of my readers to join the military.
The new rules: fuck a girl (not your wife or girlfriend) onboard a boat. It can be any boat, it doesn’t matter if you’re in a canoe, or a life raft. It has to be your first time fucking them too. That’s it. Fuck a girl for the first time on a boat, and she can’t be your wife or girlfriend. I’m working on a tattoo for club members only.
I’ll admit, I had some tools that made it a little bit easier. For one, I had email access onboard, so during the working hours, I’d shoot this chick a hot email telling her how much of a dirty slut she was. She loved it. Other than that, it was my only tactical advantage. Aircraft Carriers are huge, but you’d be surprised how difficult it can be to find a place on board to fuck a girl. Somebody’s always on watch. Military police are always roaming around, and if you’re looking for someplace comfortable to do it, unless you’re an Officer with your own bedroom, forget about it.
For four nights, we met at the same place, a hidden balcony overlooking the moonlit ocean. Sound romantic? As though this belongs in a cruise ship hookup story? Not quite, jets were blasting off the flight deck with deafening speed, taking off every three minutes. This lay cost me a bit of my hearing, I’m sure of it. At first, we talked, we made out, but each night I pushed it a little further.
In the Navy you have to be careful when it comes to physical escalation. The Navy brainwashes its women into turning in guys for acting inappropriately towards them. Simply going for a kiss, and then backing off as soon as she says no, can land you in big trouble in the Navy, with a possible discharge and a mark on your record as a sex offender. It’s happened to me three times in the Navy over the course of a few months, back when I was really trying to understand ship game. Girls that I swore liked me, that I felt I shared a connection with, and would never turn me in, would turn me over to their chain of command without a second thought. Then, the girl and her friends would treat me like a creepy rapist, but let’s be honest, they knew I was far from it. Luckily, on all three accounts, I was let off with just a warning (it pays to know people). A few months before, I was legitimately violated by a pervert, but since I’m a man, I’m expected to just “shake it off.” But that’s another story.
To reduce my level of “turn-ins,” I changed my approach, and I created a safety buffer tailored for Navy Ship Game. Before any physical escalation, I make it very clear to the girl that at any time, if I do or say anything that’s “too much,” to please let me know, and I will back off. It sounds lame, but this is a legitimate precaution I had to take to ensure my own safety. The buffer essentially lets the girl feel like she’s “in control” of the interaction, but it also gives her a sense of guilt, that just might be enough to stop her from turning me in. I did, after all, tell her we could stop any time she wanted to.
Even with this safety buffer, I’ve still had girls turn me in even for merely asking them for a kiss. Okay, there was one girl in Bahrain who I told I wanted to fuck her brains out in the sand-eroded port-o-jon we were sitting next to. But no safety buffer could have saved me there.
Each night, as my moves advanced further and further, she became more responsive, and on the third night, the cock-grabbing began. All this, after telling me she wasn’t that kind of girl, she’s a good girl, she normally doesn’t do things like this. I almost would have believed her if she wasn’t jerking me off so hard while she said it. I casually hinted at sex, but she told me to wait. In a week we could get a hotel in Bahrain, it wasn’t worth the risk, she said. But the heat, her big firm tits, her creamy white skin, there was no way I could keep my dick in my pants for that long. I had to push her to do what she knew she wanted to do.
The next day, during my chow hour, I secured a sex location. “It’s a good one, nobody will find us,” I told her. It was a damp, stuffy, tight little mop closet that was at least ten degrees warmer than it was outside. The deck was wet, and there was rust everywhere. My buddy was on the midnight watch, and I told him to look the other way, he knew what that meant.
When I finally convinced her to go into the mop closet, she got a little claustrophobic. She started freaking out, I had to calm her down. “Deep breaths,” I said, as I stuffed her hand down my pants. It had a surprisingly cooling effect on her, and she began to relax. We started taking each other’s clothes off, and the next thing I knew, I was pounding this girl from behind, one hand on her ass, the other holding my cell phone light (it was pitch black). I wanted her to ride me, but that meant lying down on the wet rusty deck. In the heat of such an erotic moment, and two months into a deployment, a man gets primal. I laid down on that wet deck, the water soaking into my shirt, and she rode me, the bitch rode me. After doing that, I bent her over again (there are only so many positions you can try in a tiny damp mop closet). I busted on her ass, and it was over with.
The next day she sent me an email: “we are so bad.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I was a little disappointed though, just saying,” she said.
“I wanted you to take charge more, I wanted you to rape me.”
This pretty much sums up an encounter with your typical female Sailor. I laughed as I read this email, it reminded me of this Louis C. K. standup routine.
Anyhow, that’s it, the story of how I got initiated into my own club. Want to join? Comment your harrowing tales about your warship, or cruise ship hookup, tell me how you got into the Salty Sailor Club, and don’t spare the details.