Active Duty: Gay Military Erotic Romance (13 page)

But enough horn-dogging. The military had attempted to train me to think logically, so I considered my situation. I was locked in a cell in an isolated area of Afghanistan, held by
captors I thought were Taliban—but I wasn’t sure. Four men, a mix of teens and adults, had brought me there in the truck, but I didn’t know how many had remained.

My cellmate had a weak ankle and appeared to have gotten debilitated during the time of his captivity. The fact that he’d been there for a while implied that they were in no hurry to get rid of either of us.

Our only weapon, as far as I could tell, was the tiny file in my shoe. If I got close enough to a jailer, I might be able to use the file to cut him or even put out an eye. But would that be enough? And was I adept enough to manage? Alec undoubtedly could; Rangers were famous for being able to get out of tough situations with their wits and brawn alone.

The door to the cell swung open and banged against the wall. An elderly Afghan man with a creased face, missing several teeth, held out two two flat ovals of
nan-e Afghani
, the native bread cooked in a tandoori oven. He wore a light-blue headscarf and a woven sweater in a pattern of blue and purple diamonds.

I jumped up and began speaking in rapid Dari. “This man is injured. He needs soap and water and clean bandages. If you don’t keep him alive he will die, and you will lose his value as a hostage.”

“I am just an old man,” he said, thrusting the bread toward me. It was still warm, speckled with tiny burnt circles, and smelled rich and doughy.

I took the bread, and he backed away, slamming the door behind him.

“What did you say to him?” Alec asked.

I handed him one of the flat breads. “That you needed fresh bandages.” I took a bite of the bread, which tasted as delicious as anything I’d ever eaten, and I realized how long it had been since I’d had food in my stomach. “This is all we get?”

“There’ll be stew later.”

“Is he the only one who’s ever come to look after you?” I asked.

“As far as I know. I’ve heard other voices, so there might be more.”

I chewed the bread slowly, to make it last, and wished I had some water to go with it. A few minutes later, the cell door swung open again. This time the old man had a basin of water, a bottle of U.S.-issued hand sanitizer and a roll of gauze over his shoulder. He handed the stuff to me without saying anything, then left.

“You must have the magic touch,” Alec said.

I shrugged. “It’s a gift. Let’s see what your hands look like.”

He shifted position into the shaft of light, and I began to unwrap the dirty gauze. It could have been worse; his wounds were angry and red, but they had scabbed over and there wasn’t evidence of gangrene or any serious infection. “Whoever wrapped you up the first time did a good job,” I said, balling up the layers of flimsy gray fabric.

“I did it.”

I looked up at him. “You?”

“Rangers learn field medicine. Ninety percent of deaths in the field come from nonfatal wounds left untreated.”

His left hand was shaking, and I clasped it in both of mine to calm it.

“That feels good,” he said.

His eyes were light blue, the color of the early morning sky. I looked deep into them, then, embarrassed, pulled my hands back. I had learned to keep a clean handkerchief in my pants pocket, and I dug it out, then dipped it in the warm water and wrung it out.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, reaching for the cloth. “I can manage.”

“You’ll cross-contaminate,” I said briskly. “If you try and clean one hand with another that’s already dirty. Just let me take care of you.”

He smiled. “Yes, sir.”

I liked his smile. “Good attitude, soldier,” I said.

“But if I were you…” he began.

I looked up at him.

“I’d take a drink before getting the water dirty. And I’d give one to my buddy, too. You don’t know when the next time we’ll see water will be.”

“Good idea.” I lifted the bowl and took a small sip. The tepid water tasted metallic, but it felt great on my parched throat. We passed the bowl back and forth a couple of times, taking small sips. When we were finished, I carefully wiped away the dirt from his hands, one by one, spraying each with the hand sanitizer. When they were dry I wrapped the bandage around them sparingly, leaving his fingers free to function.

We spent a very intimate half hour together, sitting close to each other, one of us always touching the other. The feel of his skin against mine sent my heart racing and made my dick swell. I felt myself blushing and hurried through the final steps. Then I moved back to my side of the cell.

When things got boring in the field, I often spun myself elaborate fantasies to keep my mind occupied. I’d daydream about running away from the war, for example. Just start walking toward the north, in the direction of the border to Tajikistan, which had so far remained aloof to the Afghan conflict.

I’d imagine how I would survive, finding a river to follow, threading my way through fields and around the bases of mountains. I would glean food as I passed, drinking from rivers,
maybe even catching a fish. One summer in high school, I took a two-week outdoor survival course, and combined with what I’d learned in the Army, it made me confident I could manage.

Things got hazier once I reached the border. If I just walked away from my commission, I’d be a deserter, and I wasn’t sure how close the Tajik language was to anything I spoke. That was usually where the fantasy faded away.

I looked up to see Alec staring at me. “You looked like you were in your happy place,” he said. “Where’s that?”

I was embarrassed to be the subject of his scrutiny. “Just walking,” I said. “Out in the countryside.”

He nodded. “I wish I could walk away sometimes myself. It’s crazy, you know? I mean, what are we doing here anyway? The Afghans don’t want us. The Talibs certainly don’t. We could just pull out and leave them to kill each other.”

“And then they’d come after us,” I said. “The Talibs don’t just want to run this country, they want to wipe out everyone who disagrees with them. All over the world.”

“That’s the story they tell us,” Alec said.

“Let me take a look at your ankle now.” I sat cross-legged across from him and lifted his leg gently so that his foot rested in my lap. I unlaced his boot and slipped it off, and he winced.

“Buck up, soldier,” I said. He leaned forward to swat me but I shifted out of his reach. I slid the sock off and felt the ankle. “Can you move your toes?”

He wiggled them.

Having his naked foot in my lap was very erotic, and I could feel my dick bouncing back up again. Jesus, was I that much of a horn-dog? I ran my hands gently over his rough sole and the smooth skin above. “The foot doesn’t feel that swollen,” I said. “Just tender. Hey, does that make you a tenderfoot?”

“It makes you a lot less than a field medic,” Alec grumbled.
“But I have to say it feels better out of the boot.” He yawned. “Time for another nap.”

He pulled his foot back, stretched out on the floor, adjusted his camo jacket beneath his head and closed his eyes.

He looked so handsome in that shaft of light, like a sleeping angel. A very buff, masculine angel, his light green T-shirt riding up to reveal a line of smooth flesh. He rested on his back, and my eyes were drawn to his groin, wondering if his dick would be as big as the rest of him was. I fantasized about sneaking over there while he was asleep, palming his goods through his camo pants, just to get a feel for them.

Then, if he didn’t wake, I might get more daring. I’d seen the waistband of his boxers peeking out above his pants. I could unzip those pants, reach through the slit in his boxers and touch him. His dick would be warm and firm, like the rest of him. With a few expert strokes, I could bring his dick to life, using his precum to lubricate my efforts.

And then, what the hell. I’d go down on him, taking that succulent dick in my mouth, teasing him with my tongue, tantalizing him, making his blood race the way mine did when I looked at him.

The thought of it was making me hard. He was still asleep, tiny snores rippling his lips, and I reached down and slowly unzipped my pants, leaving them splayed out over my groin as my stiff dick surged through my boxers. Slowly and quietly, I began to stroke myself.

“You’re not just going to torment me, are you?” Alec said, his eyes still closed.

I hurried to stuff my dick back into my pants. “Sorry?”

“You don’t have to put it away on my account,” he said, sitting up, with a sly grin on his face.

“I wasn’t…I mean, I didn’t…”

“You were jacking yourself off,” he said, resting his right hand over his groin so I couldn’t see if he was hard or not. “It’s all right. Guys do it all the time.”

He shifted position and I saw his hard-on poking against his pants. “What’s your fantasy?” he asked. “You have a girl back home you were thinking of?”

I shook my head, licking my dry lips. I took a deep breath and said, “I’m gay.”

He laughed. “No shit, Sherlock. I knew the first time you rubbed your woody against my ass.”

“I wasn’t rubbing it!” I said indignantly.

“Sure you were. Made me hard when you did. Or didn’t you notice?”

“You?”

“Queer as a three-dollar bill, as they used to say. And now that they wiped out that dumb-ass Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, I can say it proudly.”

“But you’re…so masculine. Tough.”

“So are you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

I never thought of myself that way. Sure, I was athletic enough to play high-school sports, and I’d made it through basic training without too much trouble. But inside I was still a shy, gay kid who didn’t know what to make of his attraction to other men.

“Are you just going to sit over there?” Alec asked, breaking me out of my reverie. “Not daydreaming again, are you?”

I clambered over to sit next to him. “No need. I have a walking wet dream right here.”

I leaned toward him, and he met me halfway. His lips were as dry as mine, but we managed. He opened his mouth a bit and his tongue came out, teasing its way along my lips. I opened up and our tongues met. With one arm around his shoulders,
I pulled him closer, and the passion that had been simmering inside me rose to a boiling point.

My hands roamed over his broad back, feeling his muscles beneath his T-shirt. He didn’t have as much flexibility in his hands so they stayed on my shoulders, holding me close. After we’d kissed for a couple of minutes, though, I pulled back.

“What if the old guy comes back?” I asked. My heart was beating like a high-school drummer and my breathing was shallow. “We don’t want these guys to know we’re gay.”

Alec looked up at the crack in the ceiling. “You’re right. He pops in unexpectedly sometimes. But once he’s delivered supper, that’s the last we’ll see of him until sunrise.”

I backed away. “Then you can be my after-dinner treat,” I said.

“Dessert,” he said, smiling back at me.

The next couple of hours were hell. I kept looking up at the crack between the roof and the wall and trying to will the sun to go down faster. To distract myself from thinking of Alec naked, I focused on remembering everything I could about our surroundings.

The school building was tucked into the side of the mountain. The truck carrying me had parked a few hundred feet downhill, and I had been manhandled up a curving dirt pathway beaten into the mountainside. As we climbed, I noticed a cluster of buildings in the valley—simple houses of stone and concrete block, with corrugated metal roofs. I had no idea what the village’s name was, or where we were. I had only been in Afghanistan for three months by then, and my command of the country’s geography was slim.

I focused my mind on the approach to the school’s front door. I had noticed that inscription above the lintel and recognized the building’s original function immediately. The two
men guarding me had walked me through a large classroom, though the few remaining chairs and desks had been broken into kindling and piled along one wall.

That was it. I’d been pushed into the cell with Alec directly from that room. Where had the water come from, then? And the bread? I knew there were often springs in these mountains. But the bread had to have come from the village. Did the man go down there to get it, or did someone bring it to him?

The light was almost completely gone before the door banged open again. This time the old man held a large pot in his hand which smelled of fermented goat’s milk, coriander, garlic and onions. It was accompanied by two more slabs of bread—nowhere near as fresh as the ones we’d had before.

“When can this man see a doctor?” I demanded of the old man. “Is there anyone in the village who can help him?”

“I am just an old man,” he said, putting the pot and the bread on the floor. “Others return in two days.”

He backed out of the cell and slammed the door behind him.

I sat on the floor across from Alec and we took turns dipping bits of bread into the stew. We were both so hungry the bowl was clean in minutes.

“Two days,” I said, when we were finished. “At least we have a chance to keep track of time now.”