Carnival has come to haunt me with memories again. Thoughts take me back to a Fat Tuesday, a "Mardi Gras," when I was young.

Fat Tuesday ends Carnival, being the last day before Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent, followed after 40 days by Good Friday and Easter. It is one of the most fascinating annual gatherings in modern times.

The Encyclopaedia Britannica states that "in the United States the principal carnival celebration is in New Orleans, where the carnival season opens on Twelfth Night (January 6) and climaxes with the Mardi Gras season commencing 10 days before Shrove Tuesday. The French name Mardi Gras means Fat Tuesday, from the custom of using all the fats in the home before Lent . The most famous modern carnival, however, is perhaps that of Rio de Janeiro. Masked balls, elaborate costumes, parades, and various other festivities mark such celebrations."

Ah, that Fat Tuesday in New Orleans when I was young! I was there with a fellow soldier to do the town. He was a pilot and had flown us south in a tiny, rented private plane. All the way down, across half the United States, I racked my brain for some way to get into his pants. He was a gorgeous hunk, an older instructor at the Army school where I was a student at the time. I was an avid flyer, too, but unlicensed yet, and he wanted a co-pilot to go along.

High in the sky, jammed together in the Piper, my mouth watered at the sound of his voice talking to control towers as we made our way across country. When he wasn't on the radio, he raved about Mardi Gras.

"They tell me the women are practically naked in the streets! We are gonna have us some babes! That's why I wanted you along. You got the gift of gab. I bet you can talk a broad into the sack faster than anybody I know. I'm not too good at that. Ha! Ha! I sure can use a man like you!"

My heart sank deeper in my stomach the more he talked that shit, but in those days I never lost hope that somehow someway somewhere there was always a way into a hot guy's pants. If I was one thing, I was persistent in sex and damned cut up if I couldn't rope my chosen bronco into bed. My batting average was pretty good. I guess I had a taste for the tough ones. Pushovers were not my thing. I didn't care how long the seduction took, or what I had to do, and in his case, I damn well wasn't giving up meat for Lent!

The town was jumping when we made our way through the crowds after parking the Piper at the military field. Naturally, we headed for the Latin Quarter. I had always wanted to be there when Carnival hit the fan, and there I was, fighting my way through the mob on the tail of a really hot man.

He had weathered World War II. The guy had a body that drove me mad, and a butt that kept me panting as I chased after him through the streets. We checked into a dump hotel in the area where he had made a reservation six months before on the strength of a buddy's telling him he could bring in babes. I was, I knew, more or less along for the ride, and although I sensed I might not score, given the availability of women everywhere, I figured what the fuck. It was worth a chance,

In the dinky little hotel room, there was just one bed. That was not a day and age when a pair of men were freely admitted to share a bed in American hotels, so he registered alone and I met him upstairs. Considering our Army pay, we had to travel on the cheap.

"I figure we won't be in here much," he said when he saw the way I looked at the bed. Of course, he had no idea what was really in my mind.

"Yeah, Boxer, we can take turns up here when we get our women. When I get one, I'll bring her here and throw a good fuck into her, and then I'll take her out and you can come in."

"Sounds like a deal to me," I said, nodding my head like a good ol' boy, watching him furtively as we stripped to freshen up in the shower. I kept my briefs on, but not him. Whew! I had never seen him like that before. It was almost too much. I turned away so he wouldn't see my dick get raging hard.

"Gotta take a piss," I said, sidling toward the bathroom door.

"Yeah, then I'll take my shower first," he said. "Takes an old fart like me longer to get duded up than it does a young buck like you."

He laughed and slapped my butt. It just about made me cum, but I managed to shut the door fast and stayed in there a couple of minutes with the faucet running full blast to make him think I was urinating and washing my hands. Little did he know I was leaning forward over the basin swishing my red hot dick in the cold-ass water bubbling to the brim!

Otherwise, I think I could have shot a hole in the wall. I giggled to myself thinking of the headlines the next day: "Randy Soldier Pumps Pellets of Boiling Cum Through Bathroom Wall Shooting Hotel Guest in Heart!" My cock subsided. More than once in my life had my weird sense of humor saved me from embarrassment.

He brushed against me when I came out on his way in to take his shower. Wow! My pecker rose again, harder and hotter than before. No cold water to save me this time! I reached into my shorts and cupped my hand over the tip just in time to shoot the load in my palm. I was grateful I'd had the sudden orgasm because after he showered, he walked out stark naked, rubbing his head with a towel.

All I could think of was the drill sergeant in Basic Training, who burst into the barracks every morning at 5:00 o'clock after the bugle call for reveille, yelling: "Get your hand off it! I wanna see every one of those dicks swingin' when your feet hit the floor!"

Oh, shit, my fly buddy's whopper sure did swing! With my cock on the rise again, I twisted away from him and rushed out to the balcony overhanging the street the whole length of the hotel. All I had on was my briefs.

Cat calls and wolf whistles from the crowd dancing in the street made me realize what I had done. I was leaning against the wrought-iron railing with my rampant pecker sticking through the grille! I raced back into the room and disappeared into the shower while my buddy was still towel-drying his hair. I hoped to God he hadn't seen!

Once we hit the streets, I was OK. We danced at random with willing women to the music of roving Dixieland bands. We popped in and out of bars to down some beers. The sweat and wild dancing kept us afloat in the body-to-body crowd as evening wore into night. Grab-ass was the name of the game.

We caught glimpses of the parade, but I mostly followed him with my eyes, my dick hard the whole time. Once, the crowd pushed us together face-to-face. I was close enough to sniff his breath. I felt his cock throb against mine. I wanted to grab him and hump him till I came, but the crowd pulled us apart and dragged us in separate ways.

That did it for me. I couldn't take it anymore. He had disappeared. I went back to the room and stretched out on the bed feeling desolate and alone. I damn near cried I wanted him so much. I figured he would eventually bring back a broad, and I'd have to leave. A deal was a deal. It promised to be a rough night ahead for me.

I had no idea how I would handle the thought of him in ecstasy with some bitch in heat while he banged her. I would be walking the streets while his balls slapped against her butt and his beautiful tool swizzled the juices in her cunt. I imagined myself to be her when he opened her wide and she welcomed him in with an "Oh, my God, fuck me, man!"

It was too much. I pulled off my pants and underwear and took my cock in my hand. I stroked my chest and belly with the other hand, pinching my nipples and thinking of him above me looking down with eyes of love. I imagined his dick inside me, probing, moving from side to side, almost withdrawing, then working his way back with short, controlled thrusts, driving me crazy before plunging it in to the hilt.

"I'll bet that feels good," I heard him say.

"Only because of you," I whispered back.

It seemed so real, I opened my eyes.

It WAS real. He was there, kneeling beside the bed, his face close to mine. My reverie had been so deep, I hadn't even heard him open the door and walk in.

"It's OK," he said, his arm reaching across to hold me down when I made a move to roll to the other side of the bed. "Don't be embarrassed. I've got something I want to say."

My heart dropped back into my chest. He got up and sat beside me on the edge of the bed. I wasn't sure where to look or what to say. There was a long silence before he spoke again. When he did so, he looked into my eyes exactly as I had imagined during my fantasy of having his sweet peter up my ass - with love.

"I flew us down to Mardi Gras because it was the only way I could get you alone," he admitted. "I've had a crush on you, kid, since you first enrolled in my class. What could I do? What could I say? If I came on to you and you objected, you could have ruined my career. I've seen it happen - court martial, dishonorable discharge, maybe doing time at Leavenworth - in any case, cast out as a pervert for the rest of my life! I've found a home in the Army. Christ, there's no place else for me!"

He stood up and started taking off his clothes. In the flashing light of the neon sign, I saw his meat sticking straight out. His silky balls hung from it like peaches on a branch. The sight took my breath away. He helped me take off my shirt.

"Leave your dogtags on," he side. "I like to know I'm in bed with an Army man."

Everywhere he touched me it seemed like red-hot coals. I caught the sweaty smell of him as he moved. All that dancing, all that beer, had made us perspire like mules.

"I think we stink," I murmured.

He chuckled. "No, we smell like soldiers after a long, hot march. That turns me on."

When we were both naked, he lay down beside me without touching. "I was almost positive I had got it right after you had all that trouble with your hard-ons this afternoon. You were scared I would see how much I turned you on. Hehe! You provided a better show than anything we saw on Bourbon Street. Shit, I laughed my ass off while you were in the shower, but since I couldn't take a chance yet, I didn't jump you when you came out."

I chuckled. "I wish you had. It would have saved me a ton of grief tonight!" I rolled over and swung my leg over him and laid my head on his shoulder. He was right about the sweat. He smelled rich and masculine. I was wondering if I should attack his dick and balls. Sweat soup!

He lifted his arm and let me cradle my head in the crook. That was more comfortable and brought us very close. He went on talking.

"I figured if I got you drunk and maybe put you up against some hot broads out there in the streets in case you were bisexual or really straight after all, then you'd let me ball you later if you didn't find a babe. But I knew I was on the winning team after the crowd pushed us and I saw the look in your eyes when our stiff joints bumped up together. Jesus, I almost came, and then those fuckers pulled us apart and I lost you in the crowd. Shit! A million people, and I felt so damned alone! I went crazy looking for you after that. Thank God I gave up and came on home. Finding you here stroking your dick was the high point of my day. Will you let me take it in my hand?"

He was so gentle and sweet. He treated me like a porcelain doll, like my pecker would break off if he played with it too hard. I wasn't used to that. The guys I met in the Army could get pretty rough, and the sex was usually furtive in our fear we might get caught. It was a mind-set among servicemen. Even if you were off-base somewhere, the pall of terror at being discovered made you do it fast - the "Hurry up, buddy, and get me off" school of sex.

There was no concern about that at Mardi Gras. We were far away from our Army base, out of uniform, and in a spectacular setting where wild sex was the rule of the day.

He treated me less like a doll and more like a man as our libidos turned on high. He got rougher when he kissed me, his burly arms gripping me like a vise. It got clearer as we went along that he was doing it to me, not me to him. He was the cat. I was the mouse. The passion rose in him to the point where he had to pull back and take a breath.

He turned me over and kissed my back, then buried his nose in the crack of my ass. He licked my asshole damn near raw, but I loved the feel of his spit running down the back of my balls. He chewed on them every once in a while, not too hard, but he made me wince.

The hotter he got, the more military he became. I could feel the strength in him, the power, the will. He didn't give me any say. He just took over and told me what to do. He seemed to be fascinated with my buns.

"Get up on your knees!" he commanded me. "All I want to see is asshole and elbows, soldier!"

My ass rose like the moon, with my knees and elbows for support. I heard him sigh, and he licked and stroked my buns for several minutes before he leaned out of bed and stuck his hand into the small duffel bag he used for gear. He pulled out a can of Crisco. I knew what that meant.

"It's OK to fuck me," I said. "Just take it slow going in."

"I don't fuck guys," he said gruffly.

I dropped my butt. "You mean you're not gay?"

He gave my ass a smack. It hurt. "Who told you to drop your butt?" he breathed gruffly. "Get back up on your knees! I'm only queer for a guy like you. Move it!"

I lifted up. My ass stung where he had struck it, but the afterglow wasn't bad. "Spank me again," I said.

"I'll only spank you if you get out of line! It's a punishment, not a pleasure."

I had never run up against a guy like him. I sort of liked his style. Macho was not a word used much in the States at that time, but a macho man is what he was.

I didn't ask why he needed the Crisco. I was young, and not naive, but some things were still new to me.

He began by greasing my dick and balls and playing with them in such a way - pinching, squeezing, stopping short of an orgasm - that I couldn't seem to cum. I felt years of experience in his hands. There was something to be said for increasing age.

The whole time he played with my toys, his tongue was buried in my ass - sucking, lapping, probing. I asked permission once to take a shit.

"OK," he said, "but you do it my way."

Out of the duffel he took a douche bag and a rubber tube with a long tip on the end. "It's enema time." he said. "You gotta be clean for what I have in mind."

Suddenly concerned, I asked, "What's that?"

He lifted his arms and swatted me across the buttocks twice. Those blows really stung.

"Ouch!" I cried.

My reaction affected him. He grabbed me in his arms and covered my face with kisses. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispered. "Daddy hit you too hard. I won't hit so hard again. C'mon, I'll show you what we have to do."

He melted my heart. He was so beautiful, and we were now so close. I couldn't get pissed. I kissed him back.

"That's my good boy," he murmured in my ear.

I had begun to feel I belonged to him.

He sat me on the toilet and told me to evacuate all I could. After so many beers, the noise was loud and the aromas what are euphemistically called healthy. I was embarrassed, even after living in a barracks with 29 other men using a row of toilets without stalls. He stood over me and wouldn't leave.

"We're soldiers," he said, "we're military men. In WWII, I was with guys who didn't bathe for a month. The few guys I played with in fox holes on the front lines smelled mostly like skunks, but a horny man is a horny man, and if you love a guy, you'll eat his shit if that's what it takes."

I made a face. "Not me," I said.

He grinned and pulled my head against him. Because I sat on the toilet seat, my face was at his crotch level.

"Some do, some don't," he added. "I myself am not really into what they call scat, but you know how bad a dick can smell if you haven't taken a bath for a couple of days."

"Yeah," I grinned. "I run into guys like that sometimes."

"So what do you do when the smell just about knocks you down after his meat is already hanging in your face and you got the hots for him so bad you gotta have him and you've only got three minutes to blow his joint or you might get caught and kicked out of the Army?" he asked.

I laughed and flung my arms around his butt. "You blow the man down!"

He giggled with me. "You bet," he said, "now add shells exploding overhead and maybe you've got three minutes to live if the next shell has your name on it and this beautiful buddy you love to death whips out a wiener that hasn't been washed for a month. What do you do?"

I got his point. I kissed the tip of his half-hard dick. "Again, you blow the man down," I said, and I understood.

I finished evacuating all the feces I could. I wiped myself while he filled the enema bag in the seat. He closed the cap and held it in the air above my head. The six-foot rubber hose dangled down.

"Spit on the tip," he told me, "and slip it up your ass."

I started to stand. "You can sit on the toilet," he said. "The pressure generated by the downward flow should be enough to clean the cavity out."

"I thought you said you weren't going to fuck me," I said.

"I won't," he said, suddenly brusque and military again. "Just do what you're told."

It's his game, I thought. Follow the leader.

The warm water pumping into my ass felt good. "Enough!" I said. "I have to shit."

He pinched the tube to stop the flow. I pulled the tip out of my butt. A fresh batch of feces, obviously tucked up deeper inside than the first flush from the anal cavity, blew out in a rush of water. It was not as foul as the first. He then had me stick it in again. After two more flushes, the water pumped inside me ran out clear. He had flushed the toilet after each time.

I was no longer embarrassed by his presence in the bathroom. A subtle transformation had come to pass in our relationship. There were no secrets between us. It was like being one man. I think my tolerance level for whatever he wanted to do to me sexually shot off the charts during that enema experience. I was ready for anything.

We went back to bed.

"On your knees!" he commanded.

He toyed with me again, sometimes rubbing his joint in the crack of my ass. Where the tip touched my buttocks, it left a trail of pre-cum. When he began moving faster, he quickly pulled away. "I might cum. It's too soon. And you don't cum either. We have to build up a tremendous load."

I grunted my understanding, and he went back to playing pool with my balls.

"What is it with you and women?" I asked. I was comfortable asking that of him after the intimacy of the enema.

After a long silence, he said, "Hard to tell. I have had a lot of them. I like to fuck 'em, but I can only love men. Pussy suits me fine for getting off, but I like the strength and the smell of a man. I like his brains. I like his heart. I can identify with a man. I never wanted to get closer to a woman than her cunt. I stick in my pecker and prop myself up on my hands so my body doesn't touch her anywhere except between the thighs. If she tries to embrace me, I tell her no, and if she doesn't listen, I lift one hand and slap her face. They like that. The dominant male. Keeps 'em in line. Then I fuck the hell out of them, and they always beg for more. Women are crazy. I could never love them the way I love men."

His deep voice sounded like music. I was scarcely aware that his steady massage of my balls had numbed the whole genital area. "Do you think you'll ever get married?" I asked.

"Hell, no!" he answered back sharply. "I'll never marry anybody. Sex between male and female is a barnyard reflex. Making love to your own same sex is a work of art. I won't live in a barn or in an art gallery. My place is in the Army, where I am surrounded by guys and can take my pick. If I want women, they're out there dancing in the streets."

 

My genitals had lost most of their feeling by now, but I felt him run two greased fingers into my asshole and move them around, crooking his fingers at the second joint and stretching the anal opening from side to side. It felt good. He heard me sigh.

 

"It's nice and clean in there, boy." he said. "Just relax and don't be afraid."

 

I felt three fingers now, then four. I tensed up, expecting pain.

 

"No, no, boy," he soothed. "Daddy knows best. This is going to give you the thrill of your life. I won't hurt you, son."

 

He didn't, even when I felt four fingertips probing inside. Gobs of Crisco began to melt and run down my ass. My tension decreased. I tried to relax my sphincter and let him in.

 

"Flatten out on your belly," he instructed me. "Then I want you to turn over on your back very slowly. Easy, buddy. Don't flex your asshole. It will push my fingers out."

 

I rolled over as gently as I could. As I did so, I could feel his fingers pulled in deeper by my body's rotation, like a pencil pulled into a sharpener by the inverted circular grinding of the blades. He told me to lift my legs behind the knees and hold them to my chest. I was slim enough then to accomplish such a feat. He crouched near my buttocks, his fingers working their way into me. He removed them only to apply more Crisco. He used the whole can.

 

The insertion stopped at his knuckles. Beyond them, he could go no more. I was amazed by my elastic asshole. It proved to me that I could just about any cock in there provided the other man proved to be as careful and patient as my soldier was.

 

He flexed his fingers and wiggled them, to my utter delight. It was a weird sensation, like a flock of butterflies had flown into my bum. After awhile, I realized his hand was stroking a tender area within me that stimulated my prostate gland. It was a sensation I had rarely felt before and only when a dick with an upward curve penetrated me from a certain very awkward position.

 

He had moved in closer between my thighs and leaned forward over me, hovering like a cloud. "Let go your legs," he said, "and put your feet on my shoulders so when I lean harder it pushes your knees down."

 

I complied. He continued his internal massage. My cock was

throbbing. My butthole squeezed involuntarily around his knuckles. It was so well greased it sucked them in a little more.

 

His free hand enfolded my penis. The melting Crisco made his hand hot and soft. It felt like slippery silk. He rubbed his thumb against the back of my corona near the tip. I felt the ecstasy coming on. The juices were rising up from my balls. Pre-cum was bubbling out. I had to cum soon.

 

"Finish it yourself," he finally said. "Only you can give the right rhythm. I want to watch your beautiful face. Please keep your eyes open and look at me."

 

Nearly breathless now, I took over just in time. While I came in spurts that left puddles on my belly, he had grabbed with his free hand the wrist of the hand up my butt. I had never experienced any sensation like the powerful reflexes of my asshole pulsing and gripping his fist. He was pushing hard with the other hand. My God it was magnificent!

 

In one magic moment when my spraying was done and my sphincter relaxed to the point that I could swear his hand had penetrated me to his wrist. He denied that it had, probably so as not to scare me, but I distinctly remember ribbons of Crisco at the top of his hand.

 

Whew! I came down off that mountain to find him standing over me.

 

"Sit up!" he ordered. "Lick my asshole! Chew my balls!"

 

His knees were bent so I could reach him. I did as he asked. His balls slapped against my forehead while he jacked-off his dick. His knees squeezed me at the shoulders for balance. I could hear his breaths go shorter.

 

"Oh, oh, oh!" he said and pointed his dick down so his cum sprayed all over my face. I caught it like a man dying of thirst being blessed with rain. The sounds, the smells, the balls, the man - sheer perfection! One of the great moments of my sexual life!

 

We fell into each others arms soaked with sweat and gooey with cum and dropped into dreams with our heads on one pillow. What a beautiful night!

 

We stayed friends for years. Long after I got out of the Army, I visited him where he was stationed in Europe, but nothing we ever did together then took us as high on the mountain as that night of Fat Tuesday in New Orleans when I was young.

THE END