FRICTION FICTION: LAVENDER BRIGADE by Donald Vining (1991)

[monshanjik]

THE LAVENDER BRIGADE

By Donald Vining

(Mandate.July.1991.)

As he drove the general's limo away from the Pentagon and out past the
Beltway, Todd Thorpe smiled, recalling how his family had reacted when
he'd joined the Army. His father had shed perhaps more tears than his
mother, though more secretly. Mr. Thorpe had feared that his only son
might be returned to him in a flag-draped coffin after some undeclared
war against a tiny Caribbean country that had turned sassy to the CIA.
However, instead of hacking his way through jungles booby trapped by
barefoot guerillas, or inching his way up beaches fiercely defended by
snipers in the trees, Todd was happily driving this massive shining car
off to Fort Leonard Matlovich.

General Sedgewick, busy on the phone in the back seat, was to inspect
the newly created all-gay units which the Dept. of Defense had had their
arms twisted to create. The divisions were modeled after the segregated
black and Nisei units of World War II. The General, of course, had no
notion that his favorite driver was as gay as anybody at the Fort.
Otherwise he surely wouldn't have complained so loudly, "Why didn't they
call the Department of Agriculture," he grumbled "and get a fruit
inspector for this assignment!"

General Sedgewick was one of those with incomplete faith in Alexander
Graham Bell's invention, for he shouted into the phone as though his
voice had to carry without mechanical assistance over the increasing
miles between the limousine and Presidential Aide Ohnono back in the
White House.

"Yes, I've heard the rumors that they paint the likeness of Jesse Helms
and Representative Dannemeyer on the dummies they use for bayonet
practice I'll check that out," the general shouted.

If only, Todd thought, the gay units had been created before he joined
up. He certainly would have preferred to be in their ranks than having
to hide his sexual orientation as he chauffeured all these Pentagon big
shots hither and yon. Masquerading as straight was a pain in the ass,
and there were more pleasurable ways to achieve that.

It was ridiculous, of course, for the Defense Dept. to keep hewing to
the old line that it would demoralize the troops to have homosexuals in
their midst. The big brass knew as well as Todd did that thousands of
gays had served in all wars, in all branches of service, including the
macho Marines. For years similar arguments had been used to resist the
integration of black servicemen, and then to rebuff women's attempts to
enlist. Those minorities couldn't "pass," as so many gays did, though
Deborah Sampson had pulled a fast one during the Revolutionary War:
She'd enlisted in male drag!

Now, at last, a couple of openly gay Congressmen had proposed the
compromise which forced the Pentagon to do as they'd finally done with
the other spurned groups — accept them in segregated units. Faced with
the alternative of the closing of the fort, the local rednecks who had
at first raged at the idea of gays in their area, quickly woke up to the
fact that gay money was as good for the country's ragged economy as
straight. So they jacked up the prices at all off-base establishments,
and locked up their sons instead of their daughters!

It was pretty country, Todd told himself as he drove along winding roads
bordered by horse farms. There had been talk at first of assigning the
gay units to the Aleutian Islands, far away from civilization, which
might be "contaminated" by contact with queers. In the end, though, it
was the wails of those grieving over the loss of potential profits if
there was no Army payroll that clinched the decision. It was quickly
rationalized that it was better to station the new units where the
Pentagon could keep an eye on them without too much inconvenience.

Todd was growing tired of the sound of General Sedgewick's voice barking
away in the back seat, one phone call after another. Then suddenly, the
fort came into view. Not all signposts had been changed to read "Fort
Leonard Matlovich"; some still bore the encampment's original name —
that of a legendary World War I hero. When veterans' groups had insisted
the old boy's memory would be dishonored by having queers in "his" fort,
the new commanders readily agreed to rename it for the gay Vietnam hero
who'd had inscribed on his tombstone: "They gave me a medal for killing
two men, and a discharge for loving one."

Todd noted that the sentries guarding the entrance stood smartly, they
were trim, well built, and macho. Even General Sedgewick, a stickler for
spit and polish, could find no fault with them as they saluted.

"Which way to headquarters?" Todd asked. Though the general wouldn't
have noticed it, there was a locking of eyes as the smashing looking
sentry responded and instantly recognized Todd as one of his own.

The young man gave beautifully precise directions and Todd drove in.
Waiting for them on the steps was the CO, gray haired but model handsome
Colonel Shaw, accompanied by his staff, each standing as erect as a high
school senior's aroused cock.

As he finally put aside the damned phone and stepped stiffly out of the
limo, General Sedgewick turned offhandedly to Todd and said, "They'll be
taking me around the installation in their own vehicles. I won't need
you, Thorpe, until three."

The general and the colonel turned to enter headquarters; one of the
staff stepped forward and instructed Todd where to park the limo. The
handsome soldier also told him where the recreation center was — in case
he might want to pass some time there as he waited — and gave him
directions to the mess hall. Great hospitality, Todd thought, and he'd
like to bet the food in the mess was several levels above routine GI
chow. No shit on a shingle here, he was sure. The quiche on Sunday
mornings might be made with Spam, but it would be garnished to a fare
thee well. And even Beef Wellington wouldn't surprise him.

Absurdly, General Sedgewick walked as though he were ready to protect
his private parts from Col. Shaw's staff, though Todd doubted that
anybody — including the general's wife — had had any interest in them
for years; funny how it's always the least likely sex object who's sure
that all gay men want him.

Todd drove to the parking lot and nosed the limo into the berth, then
sat at the wheel for a moment and looked around. Though the fort had not
been serving its new purposes very long, already it had been transformed
by new landscaping into something quite different from the dreary camps
where Todd had done his basic training. The Spartan starkness of so many
army camps had been routed by an almost sybaritic aesthetic sensibility.

Just as Todd stepped out of the car, a unit went briskly marching by,
chanting "Hup, one, two; hup, one, two; I'm-one-too" and looking out the
corner of their eyes to gauge Todd's reaction. He smiled. As they
disappeared around the corner of a nicely painted barracks, two of the
men in the last row gave a little backward kick like chorus girls
disappearing into the wings. Todd laughed but hoped they controlled
their tendency to camp when the general was reviewing them. He felt sure
they would, that they knew perfectly well when they were with friends
and when they were confronting the enemy.

The rec hall as Todd entered was resounding with the ping and pong of
table tennis, the thud of darts, and the clank of soda machines eating
coins and delivering cans with a thump. Todd headed for a lounge area
where less active types were reading The New Yorker, Vogue, and here and
there were leafing through skin magazines. Todd picked up a copy of
Connoisseur that lay on a table and settled in a comfortable chair.

Over the pages of Sports Illustrated a sergeant sitting nearby clearly
had his interest piqued by this soldier who was not wearing the pink
triangle shoulder patch that the new gay unit had insisted on. Todd's
eyes and those of the sergeant kept looking each other over
surreptitiously and meeting head on, till finally the good looking
sergeant put his magazine down.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, rather sharply.

"I'm a limo driver for a general from the Pentagon who's here on
inspection."

"Mmm," said the sergeant. "We heard one was going to pay us a surprise
visit."

"So it's not really a surprise then?"

"We have our friends at the Pentagon who give us warning so we'll put
our hair up and get our shit in order."

"It's really nice here."

"No thanks to the Defense Dept. They'd like this place to be a real hell
hole. We've fixed it up with our own resources and fuck 'em!"

"I'd like to transfer here. I joined up before . . ."

"Sorry, but you wouldn't qualify."

"Wouldn't qualify! How come?"

"Because we're all gay here. It would seriously affect morale if
straights were integrated into our ranks."

"But I'm not straight."

"I'm a recruiting sergeant for this unit and I guess I can tell a
straight guy when I see one. Sure, you'd like to be here now that you
see how nice we've made it."

"I'm telling you I'm gay."

"Shit. You wouldn't know a glory hole from a fox hole."

"Is that so? Well, I certainly know a stupid asshole when I meet one."

The sergeant bristled. Sergeants seemed to be sergeants, gay or not.

"Who are you calling stupid asshole? I could have you busted."

"I'm not in your unit."

"And never going to be either, if I have any say in the matter. And I
do. We want no fucking straights around here"

"Damn it, I'm not straight. What do I have to do to convince you?"

The sergeant looked squarely into Todd's eyes, cupping his hefty crotch
with one hand: "You could suck my cock for starters."

Todd appraised the husky, muscled sergeant. Butch crewcut. Strong,
hairy, tattooed forearms. There were worse ways to spend an afternoon,
Todd realized.

"Is this a test you make all recruits pass?"

"Just those I'm doubtful about."

"And if they do it, they're in?"

Not so easily. I have other tests."

"I'm already in the service. If I declare myself gay, I'll bet they'd
transfer me in a hurry."

"Wrong, buddy. We're not required to take just anybody who starts
mincing around. We have standards, and high ones."

"So just what are your criteria?"

"This unit is out to prove that faggots can fight as well as the next
man. So we want good physical specimens to start with. If you've just
been sitting behind the wheel of limos you're probably soft and flabby."

"The hell I am. I work out in a gym, I jog, I . . ."

"I'm not taking your word for that. I want to see muscles."

"I'll show you muscles."

"You really want to join the unit?"

Sarcastically, Todd said, "No, asshole, I'm just making chitchat."

The sergeant stood. "Follow me," he said, and headed out of the rec
hall. Todd hesitated a moment, then followed.

Without looking back, the sergeant walked along one of the lesser roads
in the fort. Todd hurried to catch up to him. Before he knew it they had
come upon an obstacle course where men were busy climbing walls,
scrambling under barbed wire, leaping ditches. On a hill overlooking
their efforts General Sedgewick and Col. Shaw sat in a jeep, observing.
Todd and the sergeant paused long enough to see that the men were
covering themselves with glory as they surmounted a whole series of
obstacles. Todd felt proud of them.

"You know," said the sergeant, "in World War I the allies and the enemy
both laughed at the Scottish troops when they showed up wearing kilts,
but before long they were being called the Ladies from Hell. Everybody
found out that under those skirts there were brave fighting men. It's
going to be the same with Hell's Belles."

"Hell's Belles?"

"That's what we call ourselves around here. But it's for us to say, not
an outsider."

The sergeant took off and Todd was hot in pursuit. The sergeant entered
one of the barracks buildings.

"The guys who bunk here are out on bivouac, having war games between the
lavender and the pink teams. We won't be disturbed."

Todd looked around. There were curtains on the windows and other
decorative touches that made the place homier than the barracks Todd had
known. Over many a bunk there were pinups, not long limbed girls but
long cocked men. Some were porn stars from skin flicks, but others were
obviously objects of affection rather than of pure lust. One, Todd
noted, was in a sailor's uniform.

Noticing the direction of Todd's gaze, the sergeant said, "His boyfriend
is on the U.S.S. Provincetown. That's the ship with the all-gay crew."

"The Navy's got an all-gay . . ."

"What one branch of service has, the other branches insist on. So now
the Air Force has the Flying Faggots, who compete with the Leatherneck
Marine Queens."

"This barracks is really nice. Now I know I want to be . . ."

"Come with me," said the sergeant, heading for the latrine area. Once
there, he stood in front of a urinal unzipped his fly, and hauled out
one of the meatiest uncut cocks Todd had ever seen. Then he reached into
his khaki pants and rolled out a pair of plump low-hangers, snarled with
wiry black hair.

"Now we'll see if you're faking it — or if you know what you're doing
when you come up against heavy artillery like mine."

Todd knelt in front of that huge, hooded dick, then took the knob of the
sergeant's cock in his mouth, sliding his lips along the lengthy shaft.
He felt the soft meat beginning to harden and began to play with the fat
weighty balls.

"So far, so good," said the sergeant. Putting his hands on the back of
Todd's head to steady it, he began slowly to fuck his face. Todd firmed
his lips into an O shape and let the sergeant thrust his now stiff cock
in and out. He let go of the balls so that they swung back and forth
with every thrust and withdrawal.

"Mmmm. This doesn't seem to be the first time for you."

Todd rolled his eyes as he thought of how often he'd been down on his
knees in front of one man or another.

The sergeant pulled out and away and Todd moved closer, his mouth
feeling suddenly empty and eager for more.

"No. Stand up, turn around, and drop your pants," the sergeant ordered.

Todd felt a twinge of anticipated pain as he looked at the now giant rod
the sergeant was proposing to thrust in his ass.

"I don't know about that," Todd said, dubiously.

"I've got condoms, if that's what's worrying you," the sergeant said,
taking a package out of his hip pocket. Opening it, he proceeded to
slide it over the huge cock head and back over the wet shaft.

"It's so big. There's no way that's not going to hurt."

"So you're a coward about a little initial pain? I knew you weren't cut
out for Hell's Belles."

"I am, I am," Todd said hastily. Turning around, he lowered his pants,
then his underpants, and braced himself for invasion by the cock that
now seemed the size of a cannon.

He felt the lubricated tip of the condom, encasing that huge mushroom
head, pressing against his asshole. He kept telling himself to relax,
make it easier. The sergeant increased the pressure against the
resistant sphincter muscle and finally it surrendered, yielding entry.
With the swollen head of the cock once inside him, the rest slid in
easily. His body now took in the additional inches hungrily, until it
felt filled up. As he adjusted to the hot flesh moving back and forth
within him, a flicker of a smile passed over Todd's face as it occurred
to him that if many in Hell's Belles were hung as heavily as the
sergeant was, they'd have to get a new name for "short-arm inspection."

The sergeant gripped Todd by the waist and began to pump away with his
formidable tool. All pain ceased and Todd felt his insides flood with
warmth. He began to stroke his cock in rhythm with the sergeant's
thrusts but the sergeant reached around and replaced Todd's hand with
his own. Now and then he would interrupt the stroking to give Todd's
butt a hard slap.

The pace accelerated and then suddenly Todd heard the sergeant's breath
coming in gasps, and body tremors broke the regular rhythm of the
thrusts.

"Oh, yes, YES!" the sergeant cried as he slammed into Todd, stiffened
his body, and came. A few frantic strokes on Todd's cock and he began
shooting too, blasting out a load, the sergeant's thick cock still hard
up his butt. Todd's dick spurted hot white -bullets into the air,
splashing against his thighs and onto the latrine floor. The two men
panted and heaved, the sergeant's strong arms locked around Todd's
sweaty chest.

Both men were quiet for a few moments, then the sergeant slowly drew his
spent and shrinking cock out of Todd's ass. Later, as the two men
casually cleaned up their cocks at adjacent bowls in the deserted
latrine, Todd asked, "So now are you convinced that I qualify?"

The sergeant smiled, "I never doubted it for a minute."

"Son of a bitch."

"But if I didn't pretend I thought you were straight — how was I going
to get your pants down around your knees?"

With mock seriousness Todd said, "Sergeant, I may have to report you for
abusing your position."

"What can I do to keep you from turning me in?" the sergeant said,
smiling.

Todd grinned.

"You can do what you just finished doing — whenever I feel like having
it done."

"Fair enough!" replied the sergeant.

Todd gave him a snappy salute. Then he lowered his hand and groped the
sergeant's bulging crotch.

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Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!