ericrodman101
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Dec 26, 2013
- Posts
- 8,267
Captain Ma Ze Nan stood by the rail of the lookout tower, scanning the horizon through binoculars. He knew it was unnecessary. Technology had long replaced physical surveillance in strategic intelligence gathering. But it gave him time out from his stressful job. He would climb the tower alone, light a cigarette, scan the horizon, and enjoy the fresh sea air blowing across the atoll.
The island had many names. The British, the Filipinos, the Vietnamese had all named it. But it was a Chinese island now, by dint of occupation. And the Captain's job was to ensure it stayed that way.
Captain at 25. Youngest Captain in the Coast Guard. He knew he was lucky. Right parents. Right college. Right enlistment. But luck was only part of it. Captain Ma was respected by the men and women who served under him, and relied on by the senior officials he reported to. Barring the unforeseen, his career advancement was assured. And if that meant spending a year on this remote atoll in order to secure a promotion to a home port, so be it.
There was only one black cloud on Captain Ma's horizon, and an atoll posting was the best cure. He liked sex. Males and females. Groups. He was driven, since a young age, to fuck. Not that seamen were expected to be celibate. Not even Chinese military seamen. But gay sex and group sex, while not illegal, were still risky behaviors, and he knew he needed to manage his urges.
Before the recent cooling of international relations, Captain Ma had been posted on ships which had called regularly at foreign ports in the region. Like every other crew member, he'd enjoyed going ashore to find relief from the rigors of shipboard life. Manila. Bangkok. Hong Kong. Incheon. He'd found physical solace in them all. He and his crew. They'd drunk and fought and fucked together through the back streets and red light districts of all the ports in East Asia. But only the Captain, or Seaman Ma as he was then, knew all the places he'd found relief, where he'd explored his sexuality privately in ways his seniors would not have condoned.
He struggled to keep the binoculars in his hands and pinned to his face as his cock hardened behind his starched white shorts, thinking about those nights in Bangkok, in Manila, in the clubs and bars and bedrooms of boys and girls and beautiful people who didn't claim either gender exclusively.
And here he was, delegated to monitor the United States drone program from this outcrop in the South China Sea, far from the nightlife he craved. Forced to find solo relief just like, he guessed, all the fellow sailors with whom he shared the posting.
The Captain let the binoculars fall to his side, freeing a hand to rub the bulge in his pants as he gazed into the steamy tropical distance.
The island had many names. The British, the Filipinos, the Vietnamese had all named it. But it was a Chinese island now, by dint of occupation. And the Captain's job was to ensure it stayed that way.
Captain at 25. Youngest Captain in the Coast Guard. He knew he was lucky. Right parents. Right college. Right enlistment. But luck was only part of it. Captain Ma was respected by the men and women who served under him, and relied on by the senior officials he reported to. Barring the unforeseen, his career advancement was assured. And if that meant spending a year on this remote atoll in order to secure a promotion to a home port, so be it.
There was only one black cloud on Captain Ma's horizon, and an atoll posting was the best cure. He liked sex. Males and females. Groups. He was driven, since a young age, to fuck. Not that seamen were expected to be celibate. Not even Chinese military seamen. But gay sex and group sex, while not illegal, were still risky behaviors, and he knew he needed to manage his urges.
Before the recent cooling of international relations, Captain Ma had been posted on ships which had called regularly at foreign ports in the region. Like every other crew member, he'd enjoyed going ashore to find relief from the rigors of shipboard life. Manila. Bangkok. Hong Kong. Incheon. He'd found physical solace in them all. He and his crew. They'd drunk and fought and fucked together through the back streets and red light districts of all the ports in East Asia. But only the Captain, or Seaman Ma as he was then, knew all the places he'd found relief, where he'd explored his sexuality privately in ways his seniors would not have condoned.
He struggled to keep the binoculars in his hands and pinned to his face as his cock hardened behind his starched white shorts, thinking about those nights in Bangkok, in Manila, in the clubs and bars and bedrooms of boys and girls and beautiful people who didn't claim either gender exclusively.
And here he was, delegated to monitor the United States drone program from this outcrop in the South China Sea, far from the nightlife he craved. Forced to find solo relief just like, he guessed, all the fellow sailors with whom he shared the posting.
The Captain let the binoculars fall to his side, freeing a hand to rub the bulge in his pants as he gazed into the steamy tropical distance.