Gay Erotic Stories

“Attention on deck!” someone yelled, as the Drill Instructor entered the barracks. God I was sick of this shit. By now, everyone knew to line up in front of his respective bunk and snap to attention. In was a Sunday afternoon again. Would this be yet another “personal hygiene inspection,” which the DI had obviously come to enjoy?

“Starting tomorrow gentlemen,” said the DI in an uncharacteristic soft voice, “the Recruitment Centre will conduct a week of intramural sports.” The DI went on to explain that our company would be pitted against our sister company in football, basketball, track, and swimming. “This is extremely important to me personally, men,” continued the DI, “and I expect to win in all categories. I know you will not let me down. It is your job to kick the shit out of your opponents. My previous company of wimps let me down, and I do NOT intent to suffer that humiliation again. Does everyone understand me?”

“Sir, Yes Sir,” shouted everyone at once.

Well, well, well, this might actually be fun. As Company “A”, our teams would practice in the mornings and Company “B” (our asshole opponents) would practice in the afternoon. The competition would be held on Friday.

“Now then,” said the DI, “I need eleven men for football. If you think you can play football, step forward.” I personally had never played football, and wasn’t about to start. Besides, you can actually get hurt, and I don’t like pain. Fifteen guys came forward, a few of which didn’t even look like they knew what a football was. The DI slowly walked the room, looking at each of the volunteers. “Step back,” the DI commanded, “You’re too little. They’d kill you.” The poor guy retreated.

After eliminating three more recruits, the DI then ask for basketball volunteers. “All you tall people step forward!” said the DI. Six men came forward, but the DI only needed five for basketball. He promptly eliminated the shortest man, which might not have been such a wise idea. We’ve all seen some pretty incredibly short basketball players.

Okay, this left track and swimming. Having run track in high school, I thought about volunteering for that team. But I’d also been on the swim team. “I need four men for track. If you don’t volunteer for track, you’ll automatically be on the swim team!” said the DI. Five guys came forward for track. “Okay, if you have run track in high school, raise your hand,” commanded DI. All five raised their hands. “Let’s try this again,” said the now flustered DI, “If you were both on the track and swimming team in high school, raise your hand.” Pretty clever, I thought. No takers. “Well, we’ll make it easy,” said the DI as he simply pushed one of the prospective track members back against his bunk. “There now, we not only have the track team, but by default, the swim team. Perfect!” the DI concluded as he made haste for the exit.

That evening, there was quite the buzz about the following week. Each team was talking strategy on how we’d beat the crap out of Company B. I’d seen our competition marching to chow several days ago, and most of them looked pretty pathetic. Of course you never know.

After Monday morning chow, the DI marched the Company around the base, dropping the respective team members at the proper place. The five of us on the swim team were the last of the bunch. “Now get in there and prove yourselves!” said the DI, as we entered the indoor pool area and were ushered to the locker room.

Waiting for us was a young guy, dressed in a swimsuit and tee shirt, both of which sported an Army emblem. “Men, welcome to swim competition. You may call me Sir!” said the instructor, as he continued. “Our job in the next four days is to ensure we can whip your competition. To do that however, we need a secret weapon. I just happen to have such a tool,” as he held above his head an electric razor. It was the kind used to shave our heads every Friday morning at the barbershop. “I will remove all hair from your body, thereby eliminating any drag during competition!” said the instructor, somewhat delighted with himself as if he was the first to think about that trick. Surely he wasn’t thinking about removing our pubes. “And for those of you wondering, yes I will be shaving your pubic hair, so get used to it,” said the instructor as he answered my silent question.

“OK men, chuck the uniforms, get naked and stand in front of this bank of lockers,” the instruction said, gesturing to the wall opposite the team. This would, without a doubt, be the single most humiliating experience of my life.

The five of use slowly removed our uniforms and hung them in a locker. We were in no hurry, as the instructor waited for his prey. Since none of us wanted to be first, there was some confusion as to where to go. “Over here men! Line up!” shouted the instructor, obviously becoming impatient. OK fine, let’s get this shit over with.

The instructor fired up the electric razor and started on the first man. Arms chest and armpits were the first to go, followed by the legs. The bush was next. From the corner of my eye, I could see the instructor removing the pubic hair from one of my fellow team members, actually holding his dick in one hand and the razor in the other. It didn’t take long.

The instructor moved to the next recruit, making quick work of the task at hand. I was next. This was not only embarrassing, but also totally unnecessary in my humble opinion. After competing the final team member, the instructor commanded us to turn around. Several of the guys had hair on their backs, which was promptly removed.

“Now then men, we need to finish the job,” said the instructor as he held up a straight razor in one hand and shaving cream in the other. “Into the shower men!” commanded the instructor.

We all scampered to the shower, where the instructor turned the water on full blast. Actually the water felt kind of good after having being the recipient of an electric razor cruising all over my body. Once fully soaked, the water was turned off.

“You! Come here!” said the instructor shouting my direction “Stand right here,” motioned the instructor, as he lathered my entire body with shaving cream. Within five minutes, this asshole had managed to remove every single hair on my body. I resembled a newborn baby. The worst part was the shaving of the ass, removing all hair from around my anus. To be honest, the straight razor shave finished off what the electric razor left behind and it actually felt much better. Naturally I became semi-erect as the instructor was shaving my balls.

The remainder of the team suffered the same fate as myself. Once this was complete, we were ordered back to the shower to rinse thoroughly.

“OK men, follow me to the pool,” said the instructor as he led the way.

“Excuse me Sir,” said one of my brave teammates, “Where are the swimsuits?”

“Shut up asshole,” replied the instructor, “You swim naked around here.”

So there we all were in the pool area. Of course the instructor had to inspect all of us. It was the usual drill. The one guy who was uncircumcised was required to “skin it” for the instructor. All assholes were inspected, as if the guy didn’t get that chance during the shaving exercise. The uncut man popped a woody and was promptly berated by the instructor. “You can’t swim with a hard dick son,” yelled the instructor, “It will act as a rudder and slow you down! Now get rid of that!”

At the beginning of practice, each man was assigned an individual swimming stroke. Mine was the backstroke, which I didn’t much care for since I would be fully exposed at all times. Maybe I should have signed up for football. Anyway, I did fairly well and the instructor even complemented me on my lap time.

After practice, the five of us (now hairless) returned to the barracks to meet up with the Company. Typically we all take showers before Taps, and of course were the laughing stock of the other men, as we paraded into the shower in our new uniform, that is, hairless from head to toe. One guy asked me how if felt with no pubes. “Strange,” I said, “But I’m concerned it might not grow back.” Actually I knew it would, and probably even more bushy, as if I had anything to begin with.

The remainder of the week went well. My fellow swim teammates had worked very hard to establish times that the instructor said were probably unbeatable. “I know the instructor for Company B,” he said after the Thursday practice, “and he has no secret weapon like you men. There is no doubt you can whip their butts. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

Friday was the big day. Football and basketball would be in the morning; track and swimming in the afternoon. This was really pretty exciting.

All men from each Company gathered at the football field. We were on one side; our asshole opponents were on the other. By the third quarter, it was apparent Company A was going down to defeat. Our DI was furious. He had warned us all that should we lose the tournament, the following week would be one we all sincerely regret. Company B whipped our ass by a score of 21 to 3. Pathetic.

As we marched to the basketball court, our DI had no kind words. “You bastards better shape up!” screamed the DI. I thought he would have a heart attack. Obviously he was taking this personally.

It was the same song, second verse in basketball. Our Company lost by a score of 75 to 40. We sucked, and the DI reminded us of this fact as we marched to the track field. We had to win track and the swim meet to even tie Company B. And even if there were a tie, a showdown would be necessary to capture the now coveted trophy, which our DI apparently had wet dreams over.

Will wonders never cease? Our Company won the track meet handily. I mean there wasn’t even a question. Our DI was ecstatic. Now we had to win the swimming competition, even though the DI knew there would be some type of tiebreaker.

Both Company A and B were directed to the bleachers surrounding the pool. The respective teams prepared in the locker room. Our instructor gave us a big pep talk prior to entering the pool. Both teams entered about the same time. Company B started to laugh uncontrollably as our team entered the pool. What? Haven’t they seen a shaved dick before? The members of Company B sported their bush, apparently not aware of our secret weapon.

Frankly it wasn’t even a contest. We won the free-style, breaststroke, backstroke, sidestroke, and diving contest. I personally beat my opponent by at least one lap. Our DI was going nuts!

Now it was time for the tiebreaker. Rules of the contest stated that, in the event of a tie, there would be a showdown in the last sport scheduled. As an example, if football were the last sport to be played, sudden death would be played until someone scored. Since swimming was last, that would be used as a tiebreaker. While the ten swimming participants stood around (still naked and cold by the way!), the instructors were trying to figure out which one of their team could best beat the other. This was rather risky, since neither instructor knew which team member would be selected or which stroke would be used.

“Come here son,” said the instructor, point directly at me. My Company immediately cheered! “Now look here, you can beat any one of those assholes!” whispered the instructor. My tits and dick had shrived up by this time. I wasn’t alone. “Yes Sir!” I responded, very confident I would be the winner.

The instructor from Company B made his selection from the group of five men. Their team member would do the free style, while I would do the backstroke. Actually, I thought this guy was pretty good, having barely lost to our free style guy.

On your mark, get set, GO! We both made a dive for it, and off we went. We were to swim six laps, which were two more than in regular competition. My opponent was right by my side. This might be a problem. Giving it all I had and having forgot the fact that my dick was in full view of the audience, I pulled ahead of my competition by the third lap. By the fifth lap, the man from Company B had pulled ahead of me by about a body length. There’s one good thing about the backstroke: you can see what the hell’s going on around you. Turning into the final lap, we were at a dead heat. Then I poured it on. Beat the bastard by at least three body lengths. I was exhausted!

The men from my Company went berserk, screaming their lungs out! Our DI personally came to the pool to congratulate me. Our instructor was jumping up and down, acting like a complete fool. Company B was noticeably silent. Tough shit. We had succeeded, albeit barely.

That night at the barracks, all the guys told me what a great job I did. Yeah, I knew that. But I had to admit that it might just have been the secret weapon that deserved the credit. In the mean time, my crotch kind of itched.

Next installment: Week 7 – Indentured Servitude