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m/m A General Increase (Parts 1 and 2)

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The man wrote the number forty-five on the calendar page sitting on the desk and then circled it three times.  He stared at what he had jotted down for a long time.  It seemed so far away, but after anticipating that day for so many years, what was another month and a half.  Pages were quickly flipped – like a movie scene where you move into the future.  The turning stopped on a page that was covered in hand drawn stars and the word ‘retirement’ underlined about seven times.  The man’s finger ran across the word lovingly – or hesitantly.  And then, just as quickly, the pages were moved back to the present date.

 

General Artemis (Art) David Scala returned to the forms on his desk.  Paperwork that required his signature.  As he put pen to paper, the desk wobbled, causing the man’s signature to go wildly off the line.  An expletive was muttered under his breath and then Art slid back his chair and carefully bent forward to readjust the piece of cardboard that had come loose from under one of the legs.  He knew that one false move could make his back go out, which usually caused him to hit his head on the metal piece of furniture he had been battling for seventeen years.  Once the cardboard had been wedged in place, the General slowly returned to a sitting position – careful to not twist the wrong way.  He glanced at his signature – terribly askew – and contemplated asking his assistant, Private Ron Sanders, to print out another copy of the page, but he realized that this was just his obsessive compulsiveness about things being neat and tidy getting the best of him.   He glanced at his clock and saw that it was almost time to go down to the lab. 

 

“Ron!”

 

“Yes, General.”

 

“Jesus!  You scared me.  What were you doing – hanging out by the door?”

 

“Yes sir.  I saw what time it was.”

 

Damn, this kid was a great assistant.  It almost unnerved the General how Ron could anticipate almost everything that his boss would need – from bringing coffee mere seconds before a request was going to be made to opening the office door right when said coffee had run its course and a bathroom was needed.  Coffee did that to the General – well, coffee and his age.  A need to pee could come on with little warning, but Ron always seemed to be one step ahead and ready to make the General’s dash always successful.  A brawny twenty-one-year-old who’s six-foot frame always made Art feel a little intimidated – even though his uniform had so many stars every soldier on the base snapped to attention in his presence.  Ron was definitely the son Art Scala had never had.  The General, however, never played favorites and, if asked, Ron probably would have said his boss barely noticed him.  That was far from the truth. 

 

“I have all those papers, here, for you.”

 

“Yes sir,” the young man said as he stepped to the desk to take the folder.

 

“Any news from the lab?”

 

“I’m afraid so, sir.  It seems the tests, today, did not go well.  Dr. Brown called the latest round a complete failure and thinks they’ll have to return to the drawing board and start over.”

 

“Damn, damn, damn.  I bet that put Martha is a terrible mood.  I almost want to skip going down there to talk to her.”

 

Martha Brown was brilliant.  Art Scala had personally requested she be hired for this job.  She was also as much of a perfectionist as he was.  She had been working feverishly for six years to find a way to enhance fossil fuels.  To make natural gas – what she called – a hundred times stronger than it already was.  She wanted to somehow make it last longer, do more work with less effort, to basically become ‘super’ powered.  Another setback in her work would not only be discouraging for her, but it was going to make the Pentagon take a closer look at the continually failed work she was doing.  Art knew that in forty-five days he would no longer be here to defend her.  Whoever was put in his place would probably side with the powers that be and her project would no longer be funded.  

 

“I might as well get this over with.  Let’s go to the lab, Ron.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Art Scala had turned sixty-eight two weeks ago.  He had put off retirement for three years in hopes that Martha Brown would have some success.  He knew he couldn’t put it off again.  Even at retirement age, the General was what the girls in the front office called ‘a catch.’  He was a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, bull of a man with graying temples that only made him more handsome.  He could still command respect just from entering the room, but he also knew his king-of-the-pack days were almost over.  It took him a lot longer to recover from a cold, he ached for days after a hard workout, and getting out of bed without any aches and pains was impossible.  It was time for some younger buck to take the lead at this base.  They were a secret facility out in the middle of a desert that was out in the middle of nowhere.  Hell, Art didn’t think he could find the place if he didn’t come and go in a helicopter with an excellent pilot.  The General didn’t know what it would be like to live back among civilians – in a regular city.  He knew he was going to find out in a few months, though.  He paused briefly at the door to the lab.  Ron, knowingly, waited for his boss to be ready.  With a heavy sigh, the General opened the door and went in – followed by his assistant.

 

“What’s the good news, Martha?” the General said when he saw the red-headed brilliant chemist coming towards him.  She had been alone in the lab.

 

“General, don’t patronize me.  We both know you already heard we haven’t had success.  You have the most efficient assistant on the planet.  I will steal him one day.  I’m really sorry, Art.  You deserve better news.”

 

“Oh Martha, you never were one to beat around the bush, were you.  I’m sorry for you.  What seemed to be the problem – and don’t use all that chemist jargon I don’t understand.  Tell it to me in layman’s terms.”

 

“My perfect enhancement formula doesn’t want to get it on with the fossil fuels.  It’s like the football team captain is trying to seduce a devout lesbian that hates athletes.  It’s like…”

 

“I get the point,” the General said, smiling.  “What if you threw in some alcohol?  That always helps opposites attract.”

 

“Not in this case, I’m afraid.  I think alcohol would dull the power of the enhancement formula – it might not know how to ‘get it on,’ so to speak.”

 

“Then you start over, Dr. Brown.  Isn’t your motto “Now you know,” when something goes wrong?”

 

“Yes, it is,” Martha said, smiling, “But we both know you have limited time here and I won’t have the big scary General to fight all the bureaucratic bullies anymore.  I’m wondering if I might skip out before you do.”

 

“Nonsense!  Start again.  Tonight, if you have too.  I believe in you.  Let’s keep fighting until we can’t anymore.  I leave in forty-five days – that’s a lot of time.  And the military might be very slow to replace me.  You might even have six months to a year.  Back to work, my dear.”

 

“Um, Dr. Brown,” Ron said, after clearing his voice, causing both the General and the doctor to turn toward him with looks of surprise.  It wasn’t like Ron to interject with a comment.  “Have you tried the enhancement formula on anything else besides fossil fuels?”

 

“Like what, Ron?” Martha asked.

 

“I don’t know . . . supplements, foods . . . animals.”

 

“Well, we have tried it on all of those things and more, except animals.  We have not gotten clearance to test this on living things . . . well, except micro-organisms.  So far, we’ve batted zero on everything.  We did have some organisms that seemed to become different after we mixed the formula with them, but then they just returned to normal.  It was very discouraging.”

 

“I see,” said Ron, “Thank you.”

 

“Martha, let’s chat a little about your next plan of attack,” the General said, glancing back at Ron – confused by his interruption.  He moved Martha off to the side to chat with her, privately. 

 

Ron walked around the lab.  He had learned a long time ago when his boss needed him to be invisible.  And right now, that’s exactly what Ron wanted.  He stood to the side, looking at all the testing materials while the General and the doctor spoke.  Soon, the General turned and started to exit.  Ron followed.  When they were back in the hallway the General turned to his assistant.  Ron was nervous that he was in trouble . . . that he had overstepped the boundaries.  Artemis Scala put his arm around the younger man’s shoulder – something he had never done before.

 

“How about you and I go have a drink at the Officer’s Club, First Lieutenant?”

 

“I can’t go there, sir…” he began, but then he fully comprehended what the General was saying.

 

“Any officer, approved for his promotion, but waiting for the paperwork, can accompany another officer into the club.  Section blah, blah, blah of the official military rules on Officer’s Clubs.  It came through today, son.  Congratulations.  You deserve it.  I promised I would get this promotion for you before I left and, by god, I did.  At least something good has happened today.”

 

“I’m speechless, sir.”

 

“That would be a first, Ron,” the General said, laughing and then they headed out.

 

*********

 

“May I get the drinks, sir?  It would please me a lot.”

 

“Of course, Ron.  I’ll have a double whiskey.  I need something to make the day a little more tolerable.”

 

Ron walked to the bar and ordered the drinks.  He was nervous as hell, this being his first time in the Officer’s Club, but there seemed to be something more.  He fumbled around the bar for a little longer than he would have liked, but the General had been busy talking to other officers when Ron got back – so he didn’t notice.  Ron handed his boss his drink and there were beads of sweat gathering on his brow.  The General thought it was adorable – watching his unflappable assistant become rattled just because he was around all the officers for the first time.  They brought their glasses together, the General impressed that Ron asked for the same drink.

 

“To your health,” Art said, smiling.

 

“And to yours, sir,” Ron replied and they both took big gulps.

 

*********

 

Ron loved the General.  Wait – years of therapy had taught Ron to be more precise with his thoughts - Ron was in love with the General – deeply and hopelessly in love.  The General counted down the days to his retirement with a little sadness, but mostly with excitement.  Ron counted the days with nothing but despair – his own desk calendar marking the time left, as well.  Whenever Ron contemplated his boss his hands unconsciously went up to his own nipples and he scraped them with his thumbnails and pinched them hard.  Fur covered pecs – seen with secret, furtive glances at the gym.  A deep, gravelly voice that made Ron’s ass tighten.  A wide he-man bubbled butt, which still ignored gravity even at his age.  Thick legs that looked as sturdy as trees.  A face that perpetually had a five-o’clock shadow.  How could any gay man on earth not fall in love with this man.  Of course, Ron had never let his feelings for the older man interfere with his work.  Ron was the consummate professional when it came to his job.  Everyone told him so.  But when he was in the privacy of his own bungalow his desire for the General was not hidden.  A stolen used jock kept sealed in a Ziploc bag and taken out for late night sniffing.  A flannel shirt not washed since it was taken – worn to bed on cold nights so Ron’s bed smelled like the General.  Multiple pictures snapped inconspicuously and printed on special photo paper so they’d last longer.  Ron’s shrine to his boss.  The private acknowledged and accepted how weird his actions were.  He was always as honest with himself as possible.  He was simply head-over-heels in love with General Artemis Scala. 

 

That’s why he had made the decision to help his boss.  He knew the General was getting older. He could see how the love of his life had trouble sometimes rising from a low-sitting chair.  He noticed the grimaces on his face the day after hard workouts.  He could see that the General was tired.  Ron didn’t question his decision to do something about it.  He never doubted that he was supposed to find a way to make the General feel better.  He even decided that being court-martialed for insubordination would be justified – in his mind – if he extended the vitality and the life of the man he would love forever.  It was worth getting in trouble, if he could just help the General.

 

That’s why Ron stole an entire vial of Martha Brown’s enhancement chemical while she was talking to the General.  That’s why he had poured it into the glass of whiskey he had served the General that very evening.  That’s why he now pinched his own nipples unconsciously looking into the bathroom mirror of the Officer’s Club after he had stepped away for a few minutes to calm down.  The man of his dreams was going to be enhanced . . . or dead . . . within twenty-four hours.  It was now just a waiting game.

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I can see where this is going.  Another great story. Yes!  more muscle

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A new LB story is just what's called for when stuck at home!  Thanks!

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8 hours ago, londonboy said:

The man wrote the number forty-five on the calendar page sitting on the desk and then circled it three times.  He stared at what he had jotted down for a long time.  It seemed so far away, but after anticipating that day for so many years, what was another month and a half.  Pages were quickly flipped – like a movie scene where you move into the future.  The turning stopped on a page that was covered in hand drawn stars and the word ‘retirement’ underlined about seven times.  The man’s finger ran across the word lovingly – or hesitantly.  And then, just as quickly, the pages were moved back to the present date.

 

General Artemis (Art) David Scala returned to the forms on his desk.  Paperwork that required his signature.  As he put pen to paper, the desk wobbled, causing the man’s signature to go wildly off the line.  An expletive was muttered under his breath and then Art slid back his chair and carefully bent forward to readjust the piece of cardboard that had come loose from under one of the legs.  He knew that one false move could make his back go out, which usually caused him to hit his head on the metal piece of furniture he had been battling for seventeen years.  Once the cardboard had been wedged in place, the General slowly returned to a sitting position – careful to not twist the wrong way.  He glanced at his signature – terribly askew – and contemplated asking his assistant, Private Ron Sanders, to print out another copy of the page, but he realized that this was just his obsessive compulsiveness about things being neat and tidy getting the best of him.   He glanced at his clock and saw that it was almost time to go down to the lab. 

 

“Ron!”

 

“Yes, General.”

 

“Jesus!  You scared me.  What were you doing – hanging out by the door?”

 

“Yes sir.  I saw what time it was.”

 

Damn, this kid was a great assistant.  It almost unnerved the General how Ron could anticipate almost everything that his boss would need – from bringing coffee mere seconds before a request was going to be made to opening the office door right when said coffee had run its course and a bathroom was needed.  Coffee did that to the General – well, coffee and his age.  A need to pee could come on with little warning, but Ron always seemed to be one step ahead and ready to make the General’s dash always successful.  A brawny twenty-one-year-old who’s six-foot frame always made Art feel a little intimidated – even though his uniform had so many stars every soldier on the base snapped to attention in his presence.  Ron was definitely the son Art Scala had never had.  The General, however, never played favorites and, if asked, Ron probably would have said his boss barely noticed him.  That was far from the truth. 

 

“I have all those papers, here, for you.”

 

“Yes sir,” the young man said as he stepped to the desk to take the folder.

 

“Any news from the lab?”

 

“I’m afraid so, sir.  It seems the tests, today, did not go well.  Dr. Brown called the latest round a complete failure and thinks they’ll have to return to the drawing board and start over.”

 

“Damn, damn, damn.  I bet that put Martha is a terrible mood.  I almost want to skip going down there to talk to her.”

 

Martha Brown was brilliant.  Art Scala had personally requested she be hired for this job.  She was also as much of a perfectionist as he was.  She had been working feverishly for six years to find a way to enhance fossil fuels.  To make natural gas – what she called – a hundred times stronger than it already was.  She wanted to somehow make it last longer, do more work with less effort, to basically become ‘super’ powered.  Another setback in her work would not only be discouraging for her, but it was going to make the Pentagon take a closer look at the continually failed work she was doing.  Art knew that in forty-five days he would no longer be here to defend her.  Whoever was put in his place would probably side with the powers that be and her project would no longer be funded.  

 

“I might as well get this over with.  Let’s go to the lab, Ron.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Art Scala had turned sixty-eight two weeks ago.  He had put off retirement for three years in hopes that Martha Brown would have some success.  He knew he couldn’t put it off again.  Even at retirement age, the General was what the girls in the front office called ‘a catch.’  He was a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, bull of a man with graying temples that only made him more handsome.  He could still command respect just from entering the room, but he also knew his king-of-the-pack days were almost over.  It took him a lot longer to recover from a cold, he ached for days after a hard workout, and getting out of bed without any aches and pains was impossible.  It was time for some younger buck to take the lead at this base.  They were a secret facility out in the middle of a desert that was out in the middle of nowhere.  Hell, Art didn’t think he could find the place if he didn’t come and go in a helicopter with an excellent pilot.  The General didn’t know what it would be like to live back among civilians – in a regular city.  He knew he was going to find out in a few months, though.  He paused briefly at the door to the lab.  Ron, knowingly, waited for his boss to be ready.  With a heavy sigh, the General opened the door and went in – followed by his assistant.

 

“What’s the good news, Martha?” the General said when he saw the red-headed brilliant chemist coming towards him.  She had been alone in the lab.

 

“General, don’t patronize me.  We both know you already heard we haven’t had success.  You have the most efficient assistant on the planet.  I will steal him one day.  I’m really sorry, Art.  You deserve better news.”

 

“Oh Martha, you never were one to beat around the bush, were you.  I’m sorry for you.  What seemed to be the problem – and don’t use all that chemist jargon I don’t understand.  Tell it to me in layman’s terms.”

 

“My perfect enhancement formula doesn’t want to get it on with the fossil fuels.  It’s like the football team captain is trying to seduce a devout lesbian that hates athletes.  It’s like…”

 

“I get the point,” the General said, smiling.  “What if you threw in some alcohol?  That always helps opposites attract.”

 

“Not in this case, I’m afraid.  I think alcohol would dull the power of the enhancement formula – it might not know how to ‘get it on,’ so to speak.”

 

“Then you start over, Dr. Brown.  Isn’t your motto “Now you know,” when something goes wrong?”

 

“Yes, it is,” Martha said, smiling, “But we both know you have limited time here and I won’t have the big scary General to fight all the bureaucratic bullies anymore.  I’m wondering if I might skip out before you do.”

 

“Nonsense!  Start again.  Tonight, if you have too.  I believe in you.  Let’s keep fighting until we can’t anymore.  I leave in forty-five days – that’s a lot of time.  And the military might be very slow to replace me.  You might even have six months to a year.  Back to work, my dear.”

 

“Um, Dr. Brown,” Ron said, after clearing his voice, causing both the General and the doctor to turn toward him with looks of surprise.  It wasn’t like Ron to interject with a comment.  “Have you tried the enhancement formula on anything else besides fossil fuels?”

 

“Like what, Ron?” Martha asked.

 

“I don’t know . . . supplements, foods . . . animals.”

 

“Well, we have tried it on all of those things and more, except animals.  We have not gotten clearance to test this on living things . . . well, except micro-organisms.  So far, we’ve batted zero on everything.  We did have some organisms that seemed to become different after we mixed the formula with them, but then they just returned to normal.  It was very discouraging.”

 

“I see,” said Ron, “Thank you.”

 

“Martha, let’s chat a little about your next plan of attack,” the General said, glancing back at Ron – confused by his interruption.  He moved Martha off to the side to chat with her, privately. 

 

Ron walked around the lab.  He had learned a long time ago when his boss needed him to be invisible.  And right now, that’s exactly what Ron wanted.  He stood to the side, looking at all the testing materials while the General and the doctor spoke.  Soon, the General turned and started to exit.  Ron followed.  When they were back in the hallway the General turned to his assistant.  Ron was nervous that he was in trouble . . . that he had overstepped the boundaries.  Artemis Scala put his arm around the younger man’s shoulder – something he had never done before.

 

“How about you and I go have a drink at the Officer’s Club, First Lieutenant?”

 

“I can’t go there, sir…” he began, but then he fully comprehended what the General was saying.

 

“Any officer, approved for his promotion, but waiting for the paperwork, can accompany another officer into the club.  Section blah, blah, blah of the official military rules on Officer’s Clubs.  It came through today, son.  Congratulations.  You deserve it.  I promised I would get this promotion for you before I left and, by god, I did.  At least something good has happened today.”

 

“I’m speechless, sir.”

 

“That would be a first, Ron,” the General said, laughing and then they headed out.

 

*********

 

“May I get the drinks, sir?  It would please me a lot.”

 

“Of course, Ron.  I’ll have a double whiskey.  I need something to make the day a little more tolerable.”

 

Ron walked to the bar and ordered the drinks.  He was nervous as hell, this being his first time in the Officer’s Club, but there seemed to be something more.  He fumbled around the bar for a little longer than he would have liked, but the General had been busy talking to other officers when Ron got back – so he didn’t notice.  Ron handed his boss his drink and there were beads of sweat gathering on his brow.  The General thought it was adorable – watching his unflappable assistant become rattled just because he was around all the officers for the first time.  They brought their glasses together, the General impressed that Ron asked for the same drink.

 

“To your health,” Art said, smiling.

 

“And to yours, sir,” Ron replied and they both took big gulps.

 

*********

 

Ron loved the General.  Wait – years of therapy had taught Ron to be more precise with his thoughts - Ron was in love with the General – deeply and hopelessly in love.  The General counted down the days to his retirement with a little sadness, but mostly with excitement.  Ron counted the days with nothing but despair – his own desk calendar marking the time left, as well.  Whenever Ron contemplated his boss his hands unconsciously went up to his own nipples and he scraped them with his thumbnails and pinched them hard.  Fur covered pecs – seen with secret, furtive glances at the gym.  A deep, gravelly voice that made Ron’s ass tighten.  A wide he-man bubbled butt, which still ignored gravity even at his age.  Thick legs that looked as sturdy as trees.  A face that perpetually had a five-o’clock shadow.  How could any gay man on earth not fall in love with this man.  Of course, Ron had never let his feelings for the older man interfere with his work.  Ron was the consummate professional when it came to his job.  Everyone told him so.  But when he was in the privacy of his own bungalow his desire for the General was not hidden.  A stolen used jock kept sealed in a Ziploc bag and taken out for late night sniffing.  A flannel shirt not washed since it was taken – worn to bed on cold nights so Ron’s bed smelled like the General.  Multiple pictures snapped inconspicuously and printed on special photo paper so they’d last longer.  Ron’s shrine to his boss.  The private acknowledged and accepted how weird his actions were.  He was always as honest with himself as possible.  He was simply head-over-heels in love with General Artemis Scala. 

 

That’s why he had made the decision to help his boss.  He knew the General was getting older. He could see how the love of his life had trouble sometimes rising from a low-sitting chair.  He noticed the grimaces on his face the day after hard workouts.  He could see that the General was tired.  Ron didn’t question his decision to do something about it.  He never doubted that he was supposed to find a way to make the General feel better.  He even decided that being court-martialed for insubordination would be justified – in his mind – if he extended the vitality and the life of the man he would love forever.  It was worth getting in trouble, if he could just help the General.

 

That’s why Ron stole an entire vial of Martha Brown’s enhancement chemical while she was talking to the General.  That’s why he had poured it into the glass of whiskey he had served the General that very evening.  That’s why he now pinched his own nipples unconsciously looking into the bathroom mirror of the Officer’s Club after he had stepped away for a few minutes to calm down.  The man of his dreams was going to be enhanced . . . or dead . . . within twenty-four hours.  It was now just a waiting game.

Love your stories. Want to see more

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Esta historia está buenísima, aunque fue bastante corta al principio espero ver la proxima parte! No puedo esperar :3

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30 minutes ago, MochiNii said:

Esta historia está buenísima, aunque fue bastante corta al principio espero ver la proxima parte! No puedo esperar :3

Thank you.  I hope to have a second part for you soon.

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I DID not expect this !  I was thinking this story was a solo by the general about the regrets of getting older but still being devoted to duty on the way out the door.  I DID not expect [comment deleted due to spoiler alert!]

 

I'd forgotten what a terrific writer you are - the pacing, the descriptions, the inner dialogues......Thank you for sharing this!

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Always good to see new work from you Londonboy. Looking forward to the next chapters. 

 

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Part 2

The General was amazed as he moved from the total unconsciousness of sleep to being somewhat awake and realizing he didn’t have a hangover.  There was no dull headache or cloudiness of mind.  He actually felt good – great, as a matter of fact.  He could tell he had gotten a wonderful night’s sleep.  He felt energetic – charged in some way.  And there were no noticeable aches or pains – as there were on most mornings.  Instead, he noticed something that had not happened in a very long time – his friend, Oscar, the cock, was fully and slightly uncomfortably engorged.  Artemis had a raging hard-on.  Sprouting morning wood had disappeared for the most part somewhere in is late fifties.  There was the occasional surprise when he woke up, but it was usually gone by the time he stretched and yawned.  This present boner, however, showed no sign of going away any time soon.  Art was seriously surprised at how hard his cock was when he slipped his hand beneath the band of his boxers to grab his faithful friend, Oscar.  The name had been adorned on his dick a few years ago when the General had become frustrated that perusing porn on the computer could not make his grouchy penis come to attention.  The moniker had fit perfectly and the elder man had finally given up trying to use pictures to arouse Oscar.  He had finally given up on trying to be sexually aroused at all.

 

“What gives, Oscar?  You been taking steroids?  You’re hard as a rock and seem weirdly larger than usual.  You need to lay of the drugs, son.”

 

The General’s hand had started to move up and down the firm shaft, causing him to emit a low, hoarse-sounding moan.  In the midst of the pleasure shooting through his body, Art let his mind drift back to some fuzzy images that had been in his dreams.  Most of it was unclear – or he couldn’t recall – but there were definite feelings and desires awakened by this search of nighttime snippets.  He suddenly thought of a huge, smooth, bubbled ass – and that made Oscar leak some sweet pre-cum – but then the ass hardened and became something much different than a woman’s backside in fishnet stockings.  The General’s hand immediately stopped stroking his hard-on.  The elder man shook his head – a lifetime of suppressing unwanted images returning in an instant.  He let go of his penis, hoping with some desperation that the hard thing would quickly soften.  However, it did not.  He slid out of bed and moved to the shower with much more speed – and ease – than usual.  Cold water hit his waiting body and this shocked him back to reality.  A brief lapse of decorum had been ended.  Something had been stuffed away – tightly.  The General would explore these bits and images much more freely in forty-five days.  He promised himself.  For now, he simply let his still engorged cock flop around pornographically as he hopped energetically under the cold water.

 

***********

 

Even in the midst of a pounding headache, terrible dry mouth, and a nauseous stomach, Ron found himself moving his fingers to his nipples and pinching them hard as he awakened to the new day.  His intense hangover – caused by trying to keep up with a seasoned elder drinker – could not prevent his waking thoughts from being about the General.  From the moment Artemis Scala had put his arm around the young private outside the lab, Ron had been fully hard, fully nervous, and fully sure of wanting to give his boss the enhancement fluid.  The tweaking of hard nips stopped immediately as his mind allowed the thought that the drug could have killed the General during the night.  Ron turned to his nightstand and grabbed his phone – registering quickly that his head felt like it had exploded.  He dropped back onto his pillow as soon as he saw the locked screen of his phone.  General Scala had sent a text ten minutes ago that said, ‘See your ass at the gym, First Lieutenant, in thirty minutes.  That’s an order.’  Ron was immediately relieved – he had killed no one.  His hands returned to his nipples and fingernails scraped back and forth, quickly.  Then, Ron stopped and grabbed the phone again – re-reading the message.  The General had actually typed, ‘see your ass.’  It wasn’t a lustful dream.  The General never said things like that – not to Ron, well, not to anyone.  What the fuck, Ron thought.  Could this be some kind of reaction to the enhancement formula.  That thought made Ron sit up, quickly – the action almost causing him to lose the contents of his stomach.  A stupid hangover . . . hell, not even wild horses . . . no, nothing was going to keep Ron Sanders away from the gym today.  He had to see if Dr. Brown’s formula had changed the General in any way.  He had to see if the older man had been enhanced.  Suddenly, his phone buzzed and the General’s exact message came through a second time.

 

**********

 

Damn, damn, damn!  Why hadn’t he paid more attention when Ron had explained how to delete a text.  Everything he tried was wrong.  He even accidently sent it again.  What in the world had possessed him to write ‘see your ass.’  How could a seasoned army man make that kind of foolish mistake.  That could be viewed as sexual harassment . . . couldn’t it?  Oh shit, should he send an apology.  Would that be bringing too much attention to something that didn’t matter.  Was Ron the kind of guy that just saw this as regular banter between two guys or had he read something into it.  And why in the hell was it bothering Art so much – that was really the question.  The only good thing about all his worrying was the fact that it had soothed the beast, Oscar, and the General was actually able to put on some workout shorts.  He threw on an old t-shirt, too, noticing that it had gotten pretty thin and tight from too much time in the washing machine and dryer.  It was one of his favorites, too.  What a pity – it would be hard to get rid of this shirt.

 

***********

 

It is a nice ass, the General found himself thinking as he drove to the large gym that was on the other side of the base.  Ron Sanders had the kind of butt that shot out and then curved nicely down, as if waiting for you to rest a tray of drinks on it.  And the way his uniform pants rode way up into the crack emphasized the bubbliness in the same manner a well-worn glove fits your hand perfectly.  A stop sign was passed unnoticed as Artemis realized where his mind had drifted off to.  He couldn’t believe he had briefly contemplated Ron’s butt so intently.  He, of course, had noticed it – everyone did – but he had never thought about it in exactly the way his mind had just taken him.  He had overheard the girls in the front office talking about the private’s ass one day using words like ‘mighty fine,’ and ‘so deliciously perky.’  He had even seen it uncovered by clothes once in the locker room when Ron’s towel had come undone.  The General had always been able to steer clear of focusing on that part of his assistant’s body – or any part of his assistant’s body.  What the hell was going on with his brain . . . and his imagination . . . today.  Was it because he was so close to retirement.  Was his subconscious slowly getting ready for freedoms he had never known before.  Suddenly, all these thoughts were put aside as the General noticed the guys down hat the car was had been playing with the features in his Lexus again.  The seat was way too close to the steering wheel and the mirrors were set for someone shorter.  Why did they change everything?  They merely drove it for two seconds as they took it to the drying station.  Why was it necessary to move things around?  By the time Art had everything back in a place in a way that was comfortable for him, he was driving into the parking lot of the gym.  That’s also when he noticed a familiar looking ass poking out of the back seat of a car as someone grabbed their bag.  Oscar – having only today remembered what hard-ons were – skyrocketed painfully to full attention as the General beheld Ron Sanders’ glorious butt.  Art thought quickly, grabbing his phone so when Ron turned and saw him he could wave the younger man on into the gym – acting like he was on a call.  The General would need a few minutes for Oscar to calm down.  Cotton shorts with a deep crevice between the cheeks was too much to handle.

 

**********

 

Even in the midst of a painful hangover, Ron could tell there was something different about the General.  He couldn’t put his finger on it perfectly, but as the older man walked across the almost empty spacious floor of the gym he had a very different air about him.  Was it Ron’s imagination or did the General look taller.  Also, was he bigger?  The flimsy t-shirt covering his daddy body was pulled tight, stretching so much that you could see the thick salt-and-pepper hair of the General’s chest through it.  Was that something new?  It must have been because Ron was sure he would have noticed it before.  The General also seemed to move more freely – as if he were younger or not as stiff as he used to be. 

 

“You look like something the cat dragged in, young fella.”

 

Young fella?  Where the hell did that come from, the General thought.  It was not like him to say things like that – yet it just came out, as natural as breathing.  Ron’s face changed briefly, as if noting the weird greeting, but then immediately went back to his professional ‘good morning, sir’ face.  Art resisted the urge to hug the younger man, squeezing him hard and lifting him off the floor in his arms.  He couldn’t even believe this idea lodged in his brain as he beheld his assistant.  What the hell was going on with him – and why was Oscar starting to awaken again as Art beheld the nice firm torso of Ron Sanders.  This was getting seriously out of control.  He immediately moved his big bag in front of his crotch and acted like he was looking for something.

 

“Good morning, sir.  I’m afraid I’m not feeling one hundred percent this morning, sir.  I had a few too many whiskeys.”

 

“Ahhhh, it’s good for you, youngster!  It will put hair on your chest.  Make a man out of you!”

 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Art wanted to reach out, grab them, and shove them back in.  This was not the way he spoke.  He would never say something like this to his assistant.  He sounded like some arrogant cocky asshole.  And at the same time, there was something so familiar about it, too.  It was as if he had been wanting to talk this way for a long time . . . as if he actually liked it.  At the same time, the General realized his body was itching all over – as if he were covered in poison ivy or something.  He also could feel how tight his clothes seemed – around his chest, around his biceps, around his thighs – hell, even his toes felt cramped inside his shoes.  He pushed all of this out of his mind, however, as he forced himself to lead the way to the locker room.  He was intentionally silent – so he wouldn’t say anything else he’d regret.  He also avoided looking at Ron’s hot body.

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