All my adult life I have known that the warrior who lived within me was a special and wonderful part of my life. I believe strongly in reincarnation, and felt that many of the men who served in my unit in Viet Nam were warrior spirits that served in Alexander's army, fought at Marathon, lived and died in the Civil War here in America, and once again found themselves incarnated as warriors in that unhappy war.

I served as an officer in a combat unit, though a young man, my responsibilities were grave, and the decisions I made often meant life or death for good men. Now at age 53, I often wonder how I did it, but I did, and was good at it.

Ours was a good unit, a crack unit, decorated, relied upon, and proud. Each of us felt a bond for one another, to a lesser or greater degree. It was easy to identify the men who were the natural warriors, the ones in whom the warrior spirit burned strong and true. We recognized that inner spirit in one another, and became together the animating force of the unit.

I'm sure it is hard for you to imagine that Viet Nam could be beautiful, but it often was, green and lush, a tropical paradise with deadly secrets.

Our unit had been in the field for several days, and had finally secured an area, and established a perimeter around a fresh water estuary where we could have the chance to wash away the dirt and mansmell and relax just a bit, taking turns bathing while others kept the watch.

Finally, as the fast falling night of the tropics approached, at last I had a chance to enjoy the calm of the water, and wash away a bit of the smell of combat.

A noncom was finishing his bath, lazily floating, eyes closed. He heard me, and almost jumped to his feet in the shallow water. "Sir, sorry Sir, I'll get out of your way right now." I laughed, and said, "Sarge, this puddle donesn't care about rank, and neither do I, so you just enjoy yourself, and I'll clean up some."

He was a older than me, not much, but a few years seemed like a lot then. He had that maturity of body that is never there in really young men. Hairy, muscled, manly, and one hell of a soldier. I was the officer, but I had trusted his judgement time and again, and been glad I had.

After a final check that all was well, I shucked down and stepped into the water. God it felt good, even now, almost a lifetime later, I can feel the cool clean of it. If you have never been a soldier in a tropical country, you can't imagine how luxurious a bath can be after days without one.

I enjoyed every minute in that water, washing myself, glad my men had had the same opporunity.

Several weeks before, I had been slightly wounded on my back by schrapnel, and while the dressing was no longer on the wound, infection is a constant worry in the jungle environment. The scar is still there, in a spot hard to reach, and I wanted to be sure I got the wound clean.

"Sarge, would you mind checking to see if I got this scratch on my back cleaned up good"? He paddled toward me, finally standing in the water, I remember how magnificent he was rising like Neptune from that jungle pool. I turned my back toward the waning sun, so he could have a good look. He took my rag and the soap, and carefully washed the area. "It's fine sir, healing up real good." He continued, to my surprise, to wash my back in good hard circles. I felt the tension leave the muscles of my back for the first time in days. God I was tired, tired of the responsiblity, tired in mind body and spirit.

I realized that my cock was filling with blood, and had not one clue how to hide it. I tried to act like I needed to piss, taking hold of it and pointing it down, not at all in the direction it wanted to go. My face must have been redder than the head of my dick. I lost my balance a bit, and stumbled back into Sarge, who was still giving my back a soapy massage. I felt his cock, hard as a rock, in the small of my back.

"Jesus, here I am, an officer and a gentleman in a creek with a hard on, and my Sarge in the same predicament". I stammered something, and he said, "just relax sir, nothing wrong with letting someone else share the burden a bit by making you feel good". And it did feel good, I don't think I even thought about homosexuality, I just knew this mans touch was an experience I'd never forget.

At some point, I took the rag and soap from him, and began to wash the broad expanse of his back, finally we turned toward one another, slicked by the suds, and pressed our bodies together in the sweetest of embraces. I wish I had had the courage to kiss him, but I didn't. He took the soap from me, and latherd his balls and legs, then held them tightly together and guided my cock into the warm slippery wetness there. Without even thinking, my hips began to move, and he thurst his manhood against my belly, my hand helping to give him pleasure. As I write these words, my cock swells in memory, the manly grace of it a testament to the warrior spirit.

We both came, not together, of course, that only happens in the movies, but there was a satisfaction that somehow reached the center of my being. Then in my twenties, I would be 47 before I once again had the courage to make love to a man, and we did make love, we did raise the warrior spirit, and pay him homage.

I am delighted to find this website, and to share my first such experience. God bless all the Warriors, remember me when the magic happens, remember all who came before.



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