By Tommy Guns
A few minutes after Dr. Ira left me, two of the Corpsmen I knew from the unit came in and unlocked the restraints from my ankles. They gently lifted me to my feet and guided me down the passageway to one of the private rooms off the main ward. One of the Corpsmen, Charlie, asked me if I was going to give them a problem with the restraints, but I told them I was ready. They guided me over to the bed and told me to lie down on my stomach. They unbuckled the straight jacked and told me to turn over on my back.
I did as I was told, and they removed the jacket completely. I asked them if I could use the head before they restrained me, but they told me it would be bed pans for the next few days. Charlie told me to lie down and they fastened a leather restraint to each of my ankles, and locked them. Next came a tether belt that was run from each ankle and locked to the railing on each side of the bed. This was followed by wrist restraints that were locked on and similarly tethered to the side rails. Finally, a wide leather strap was placed across my chest, under my arms, and tethered to each side of the railings as well.
There wasn’t a hell of a lot of play in any of the restraints, and I was reconciled to the idea that this was how it was going to be for the next few days. Unfortunately, nobody gave the message to my cock, which was reacting to the restraints and becoming more and more engorged. Charlie took a look at my growing woody and just laughed and said to the other Corpsman, “Shit, we got another one here!” They put a pillow under my head, and draped a lightweight blanket over me, and left the room.
A few minutes later, Charlie came back into my room. He had a hypodermic needle in one hand, and a plastic bottle of juice in the other. He came over to my bed and put the needle down on the tray next to the bed, and put a straw in the bottle of juice and brought it to my lips. I sucked thirstily at the juice, since I couldn’t remember the last time I had had anything to drink, and my throat was dry and sore from all the yelling I’d been doing. When I finished the juice, Charlie took an aluminum bottle of some sorts, pulled the blanked back, and guided my cock into the wide neck opening. He said, “If you have to pee, now’s the time to do it. I’m getting ready to go off duty, and I don’t know when you’ll get another chance.” It took a few seconds for me to overcome the embarrassment, but I got over it and let loose with a fine stream.
When I was finished pissing in the bottle, Charlie carefully removed it, swabbed the head of my cock, and pulled the covers back over me. Then it was time for the needle. Charlie told me that it was an anti-psychotic, and would probably knock me out until the next morning. With that, he swabbed my upper arm with alcohol, gently pinched my skin, inserted the needle, and pushed the plunger. He removed the needle from my arm, swabbed the area once more, and left the room. I heard the lock being turned on the door, but that’s pretty much the last thing I remembered, before I drifted off to a deep and dreamless sleep.
The next few days passed in a kind of chemically induced blur. I remember waking up in the mornings, and having Charlie come into my room to bathe me, give me some sort of protein drink, let me relieve myself, and then shove yet another needle in my arm. He went about his business humming some tune I didn’t recognize, and was always very gentle with me. Charlie really seemed to give a damn that I was as comfortable as circumstances would allow, and I got to wondering if there was anything that could upset him. Finally, one morning he came into my room with another Corpsman, looked at me and said, “You ready to go back to the ward?” I hadn’t spent this much time in a chemically induced stupor since the last time I had been wounded and had to have some shrapnel removed from my thigh. I didn’t like it then, and wasn’t real fond of it now, so I excitedly told him that I was long past ready, and how come I wasn’t already there! He just laughed and he and the other Corpsman undid my restraints and helped me to sit up with my legs over the edge of the bed.
Charlie told me not to try and get up yet, since I hadn’t been out of bed for a few days and probably wouldn’t have the strength to stand. I didn’t listen, and pushed myself onto the floor. Sure enough, my legs went all wobbly on me and I hit the deck like a sack of rice and just lay there. They each grabbed an arm and got me back up on my feet and sat me down on the edge of the bed again. Charlie then left the room and came back with a wheelchair. They helped me to my feet again, and sat me in the chair. Charlie wheeled me out of the room, but instead of taking a left to go back toward the ward, he went down the right passageway to where the Doctors’ offices were. He stopped by Dr. Ira’s office and knocked on the door. Dr. Ira opened the door and told Charlie to wheel me in and leave us.
Dr. Ira came over and checked my pulse, respiration, and shined a light in my eyes to see how my pupils were responding to the light. Satisfied, he sat down behind his desk and said, “Well Gunny, you don’t seem any worse for the wear. How are you feeling today?” I told him I was 4-0, and just wanted to get back to my regular routine. He told me we had a few things to go over first. He pulled a sheet of paper out from a folder and handed it to me. It was a letter from the CO of the hospital officially dropping the charges against me, but instructing the staff of the unit that my liberty privileges were to be pulled for a period of not less than 60 days. Moreover, they were not to be restored until the unit team was satisfied that I had made sufficient progress to allow me to return to liberty status without risk to the community. All in all, it was a small price to pay, but I wondered what was meant by “sufficient progress” and I asked Dr. Ira to explain it.
He told me that sufficient progress to him meant that I was to be cooperative with the treatment program, participating in the group discussions, and being forthright in my individual sessions with him. Looking me straight in the eye, he said, “You know Gunny, you are at a crossroads in your life. I don’t want you to look back on this period some day and wonder what might have been. We really are here to help you readjust. For the past six years, you’ve either been in intense training to learn how to take a life, or actually doing it. From your records, I see that you have a confirmed body count of 12, with 5 more listed as probable. Nobody, but nobody, can come away from those kinds of experiences unscarred.” I looked at him with that passive look in my eyes that I get when people around me start talking about the war. It comes off as if I am disinterested or detached from it, but all the while I am thinking, “This asshole doesn’t even begin to understand what it’s really like to take another man’s life!” Dr. Ira looked at me and said, “There Gunny. There’s that look again that you get when we talk about the war. Tell me, right now, what it was like the first time you killed a man.”
I looked at him and said, “Doc, no matter how I try to explain it, I don’t think you, or anybody else who hasn’t dropped the hammer, can ever understand what it’s all about.” He just looked at me again and said, “Don’t sell me short Gunny. I’ve heard more bullshit and more war stories in this office than I can shake a stick at. Nothing you can tell me could possibly shock me. I’ve heard it all before from someone.” I laughed at him and said, “Well, Doc, when was the last time somebody told you they had an orgasm when they watched a man’s head blown to pieces from 800 yards away?” This actually shocked him, but he recovered quickly and said, “Tell me about it Gunny.”
I began by telling Dr. Ira that I had had only three great orgasms in my life, the kind that make you dizzy and breathless, and leave you weak for a few minutes. I told him the first one was when I sucked my first cock, and I went into some detail about my best friend, a fellow Marine, and the only man I truly loved and would gladly lay down my life for, my best bud Billy. I went on to explain how we met, and how what started as innocent experimentation led to a love affair that lasted these many years. I told him I really didn’t consider myself gay in the traditional sense, just that I loved sex with men generally and exclusively, and with Billy particularly. In all other ways, both Billy and I were 4-0 Marines, as much man as anyone could possibly want, or hope to have, guarding his 6 in either battle or in life.
My next great orgasm came on the day that Billy and I graduated from Boot Camp at Parris Island, and got to wear our Dress Blues for the first time as real Marines. I told him that when I saw Billy in his blues, and he handed me my set to put on, the sensation was just too great. As much as I tried to avoid it, my cock simply exploded, staining the front of my trousers, when I had zipped them up for the first time. I told Dr. Ira I couldn’t really explain it any better. It was like a rite of passage of some sort. That Billy and I had passed through some difficult test of manhood, unscathed, and that we were somehow bound together from that moment on, and that neither time nor distance would ever diminish what we had, because we were more together than we could ever be separately. I think Dr. Ira understood this part of my narrative, because his eyes softened and I thought I saw a tear trying to escape from one of them. Ours was a true love story, an unconventional one to be sure, but nevertheless a story as passionate as any that one could find in even the best written novels.
To be continued …