GOOD CHRISTIAN
![Ch. 20.png]( "Ch. 20.png")
Chapter 20: Rewired (Part 1)
Deployment is not about being a hero, fighting the bad guys, or saving the damn country.
It is about following orders and being there when asked to. That’s it.
It is about the heat, the grit in your teeth, and the absolute necessity of maintaining your equipment.
That does include the equipment between your legs.
How are you supposed to do the job with distracting blue balls in skivvies?
The base outside Amman, Jordan, was the usual pile of sun-bleached concrete and dust. It was a staging ground — a liminal space where the air smells like JP-8 fuel and unwashed rank-smelling men.
I had done this a dozen times. I knew how to be a good soldier but with the years, I had also learned how to lead.
I was further up the chain of command now; I had to handle the stupid privates and teach them the ways.
Was I this ridiculous when I was their age? I hoped not. It felt like every generation was getting dumber and dumber, Gen Z was obsessed with their phones and how they fucking looked. Bunch of pussies.
Most of them had no idea how to be a real man. I wanted to slap the overflowing narcissism out of their systems.
Anyway, I also knew to find the relief a soldier needs to keep his trigger finger steady.
I spotted him during the first morning briefing. Darnell.
A corporal from a transport unit out of Georgia. Big, dark skin, and he had that specific look in his eyes —the flickering submission of a man who wants to take it deep. A "fruit" in uniform.
On the second night, behind the supply crates, I gave him the nod. My cock was itching for a good release.
I needed it, the past days had been stressful and I had lost my favorite cum dumpster back in Phoenix.
Darnell immediately understood what I wanted. They always did. The sluts.
The exchange was transactional. Authoritarian. I stood there, staring at the desert stars, while he meticulously worked on my fat cock.
The way his eyes widened when I revealed what I was packing was priceless. It was always one of my favorite parts, the shock and excitement in their eyes, the drooling on the corner of their lips.
His mouth was fine —wet, warm, and probably most importantly, eager. He was not a newbie and he could deepthroat me deep without using his teeth.
But as I looked down at his shaved head, I felt… nothing. It was like getting a haircut. A necessity, but devoid of any real spark.
I blew my load after ten minutes of intense servicing, zipped up, and walked away without a word.
The boy was just a receptacle.
Three days later, I tried again. Different spot, same guy, same result. I could empty myself in his throat but I was bored before I even finished.
Darnell tried his best, though, but I started wondering if I should find another bitch. There had to be another one.
I basically spent the first week on the camp looking for potential targets, and eventually, I did find some.
First, there was Geller, a wiry intel tech from Ohio with a nervous habit of biting his lip. He was young —barely legal to buy a beer— and he practically vibrated with a frantic, desperate energy when I cornered him behind the motor pool.
I expected that raw, rookie enthusiasm to spark something, but when he got on his knees, it was just... clumsy. His teeth grazed me twice, -idiot! -and his eyes stayed shut the whole time, like he was praying for it to be over.
Boring.
Then I tried Staff Sergeant Vance, a barrel-chested mechanic who had been around the block. He was older, more cynical, and he took my cock with a professional practiced efficiency that should have been exactly what I wanted.
He had started as a whore boy decades ago and had moved up the ranks in the army with his desperate hunger for macho dicks.
But as he worked on me, I found myself annoyed by the rough stubble on his chin and the way he smelled of diesel and old cigarettes. He lacked the soft, clean scent of, let’s say, an engineering student.
I could barely finish.
Finally, I sought out "Junior", a kid from the signal corps who had a reputation for being the "barracks bitch" amongst his peers.
He was pretty, almost feminine, with long lashes and a mouth that knew every trick in the book. He tried to get fancy, using his hands and tongue in a way that many of his competition would have envied.
He was doing everything right, but as I looked down at him, I did not feel the adrenaline I used to get. Junior was a pro, but he was a stranger.
What was fucking wrong with me? It was just sex. Not even sex, those were just sloppy meaningless blowjobs. What else was I even looking for?
For the last fifteen years, having these twenty-something worship me had become one of the highlights of each deployment.
And now what? This was over. I could not appreciate the distraction anymore.
Maybe I was getting too old, or maybe my mind was elsewhere.
I thought about Harry a lot but disregarded it. I mean, what the fuck, I did not really care about the British scholar! Sure, I had gone a bit further with him than I had with others, but it was only because he was living in my home.
He was right there, a living and breathing temptation. It was practical, the student was always ready to empty my balls, swallow my spunk or take it in the ass.
Fuck… His ass.
A month in, I was sitting in my bunk, the rhythmic snoring of twenty other men the only soundtrack.
I was supposed to be reviewing logistics manifests, but my libido was relentless. My hard cock was throbbing against my stomach.
I found myself jerking off in the communal showers, the water barely lukewarm. As I stroked myself, though, I weirdly had trouble maintaining a strong erection.
It did not make sense. That had never happened to me before, and I was so horny minutes prior.
I closed my eyes and tried to summon Darnell’s slutty face, or even Mickey from Somalia. My first real blowjob. Nothing.
I tried with picturing Grace. It was even worse.
But the second I thought of that white jockstrap biting into Harry’s hips, or the way his ass tasted, my cock would twitch so hard it ached.
Shit.
Well, there was no point in denying me this nice thought. I needed to get my release.
I was breeding a ghost. I could feel the shadow of his tight, British fruity hole clenching around me. It was a mental infection.
But jerking off was not enough.
The time in the barracks stretched and I needed something to cope.
Okay, Harry had stroked a sensitive cord, he had gotten me horned-up. But it was not like I could catch “feelings” for the boy. I was a 41-year-old Lieutenant Colonel, soon to be a father and leading dozens of men.
“It’s just the isolation.” I told my reflection in the polished steel mirror as I blew another load reliving the time I had banged Harry in the garage and then in the walk-in closet. “The student just has a high-quality mouth… And ass. That’s all.”
To prove to myself I was not compromised, I took a weekend pass and headed into the heart of Amman.
I needed to break the spell. Maybe the fruits from the barracks were just not exotic enough. I had acquired a more specific taste.
The "club" was a hole-in-the-wall in a back alley, draped in heavy silks and smelling of oud and cheap tobacco.
It was a place where the local rules were suspended for the right price. Women with painted eyes lounged on cushions, and young men with hungry expressions leaned against the bar.
I ignored the women. I had a strict code of conduct. Grace was the mother of my child; I would not betray her with another woman. That was a violation of the marriage contract.
Men? Men were just field maintenance.
I found a local. Lean, olive-skinned, with a thick beard and eyes like obsidian. Malik. He was beautiful in a way that commanded attention.
We went to a private room in the back, he led me there, the walls thin enough to hear the thump of Arabic pop music.
Honestly, he seemed so into me that it did not feel like I would have to pay. Let’s be real, compared to most of the clients of the establishment, I was a freaking stud.
“Make it quick.” I barked, sitting on the edge of the low bed.
Malik knelt. He was a professional. He started with the foreplay, his hands sliding up my thighs, his tongue tracing the ridge of my cock through my khakis.
He was good. He was better than Darnell. I really tried to convince myself that was it.
But when he finally unzipped me and looked up with a practiced, seductive smile, the revulsion hit me like a physical blow.
His eyes were not the ones I wanted to astonish. His hair was not curly enough. His expression was not the right amount of cheeky and afraid.
He was not him.
As Malik leaned in to take me, I felt my cock —normally so strong and unwavering—actually start to go soft. That had never happened in a situation like that. Never.
“Stop.” I said, my voice like a whip.
Malik froze, confused.
“Sir? I… I teach many men, I can—”
“I said stop. Get out.”
I threw a handful of Dinars at him and stood up, my heart hammering against my ribs. I felt exposed. Weak.
I walked out into the cool Amman dawn, the call to prayer echoing from a distant minaret. I leaned against a stone wall and cursed under my breath.
Harry had done more than just provide a service. He had rewired the system entirely. He had ruined me for anyone else.
Fucking hell, he was not just a "fixture" anymore; he had become the main power source, and now I was running on empty in the middle of a war zone.
“Damn it, Harry!” I hissed into the darkness. “What the fuck have you done to me?”
The mission was supposed to be the priority. But all I could think about was the return flight —and the absolute, frantic need to bury myself in that boy until the rest of the world disappeared.
Chapter 20: Rewired (Part 1)
Deployment is not about being a hero, fighting the bad guys, or saving the damn country.
It is about following orders and being there when asked to. That’s it.
It is about the heat, the grit in your teeth, and the absolute necessity of maintaining your equipment.
That does include the equipment between your legs.
How are you supposed to do the job with distracting blue balls in skivvies?
The base outside Amman, Jordan, was the usual pile of sun-bleached concrete and dust. It was a staging ground — a liminal space where the air smells like JP-8 fuel and unwashed rank-smelling men.
I had done this a dozen times. I knew how to be a good soldier but with the years, I had also learned how to lead.
I was further up the chain of command now; I had to handle the stupid privates and teach them the ways.
Was I this ridiculous when I was their age? I hoped not. It felt like every generation was getting dumber and dumber, Gen Z was obsessed with their phones and how they fucking looked. Bunch of pussies.
Most of them had no idea how to be a real man. I wanted to slap the overflowing narcissism out of their systems.
Anyway, I also knew to find the relief a soldier needs to keep his trigger finger steady.
I spotted him during the first morning briefing. Darnell.
A corporal from a transport unit out of Georgia. Big, dark skin, and he had that specific look in his eyes —the flickering submission of a man who wants to take it deep. A "fruit" in uniform.
On the second night, behind the supply crates, I gave him the nod. My cock was itching for a good release.
I needed it, the past days had been stressful and I had lost my favorite cum dumpster back in Phoenix.
Darnell immediately understood what I wanted. They always did. The sluts.
The exchange was transactional. Authoritarian. I stood there, staring at the desert stars, while he meticulously worked on my fat cock.
The way his eyes widened when I revealed what I was packing was priceless. It was always one of my favorite parts, the shock and excitement in their eyes, the drooling on the corner of their lips.
His mouth was fine —wet, warm, and probably most importantly, eager. He was not a newbie and he could deepthroat me deep without using his teeth.
But as I looked down at his shaved head, I felt… nothing. It was like getting a haircut. A necessity, but devoid of any real spark.
I blew my load after ten minutes of intense servicing, zipped up, and walked away without a word.
The boy was just a receptacle.
Three days later, I tried again. Different spot, same guy, same result. I could empty myself in his throat but I was bored before I even finished.
Darnell tried his best, though, but I started wondering if I should find another bitch. There had to be another one.
I basically spent the first week on the camp looking for potential targets, and eventually, I did find some.
First, there was Geller, a wiry intel tech from Ohio with a nervous habit of biting his lip. He was young —barely legal to buy a beer— and he practically vibrated with a frantic, desperate energy when I cornered him behind the motor pool.
I expected that raw, rookie enthusiasm to spark something, but when he got on his knees, it was just... clumsy. His teeth grazed me twice, -idiot! -and his eyes stayed shut the whole time, like he was praying for it to be over.
Boring.
Then I tried Staff Sergeant Vance, a barrel-chested mechanic who had been around the block. He was older, more cynical, and he took my cock with a professional practiced efficiency that should have been exactly what I wanted.
He had started as a whore boy decades ago and had moved up the ranks in the army with his desperate hunger for macho dicks.
But as he worked on me, I found myself annoyed by the rough stubble on his chin and the way he smelled of diesel and old cigarettes. He lacked the soft, clean scent of, let’s say, an engineering student.
I could barely finish.
Finally, I sought out "Junior", a kid from the signal corps who had a reputation for being the "barracks bitch" amongst his peers.
He was pretty, almost feminine, with long lashes and a mouth that knew every trick in the book. He tried to get fancy, using his hands and tongue in a way that many of his competition would have envied.
He was doing everything right, but as I looked down at him, I did not feel the adrenaline I used to get. Junior was a pro, but he was a stranger.
What was fucking wrong with me? It was just sex. Not even sex, those were just sloppy meaningless blowjobs. What else was I even looking for?
For the last fifteen years, having these twenty-something worship me had become one of the highlights of each deployment.
And now what? This was over. I could not appreciate the distraction anymore.
Maybe I was getting too old, or maybe my mind was elsewhere.
I thought about Harry a lot but disregarded it. I mean, what the fuck, I did not really care about the British scholar! Sure, I had gone a bit further with him than I had with others, but it was only because he was living in my home.
He was right there, a living and breathing temptation. It was practical, the student was always ready to empty my balls, swallow my spunk or take it in the ass.
Fuck… His ass.
A month in, I was sitting in my bunk, the rhythmic snoring of twenty other men the only soundtrack.
I was supposed to be reviewing logistics manifests, but my libido was relentless. My hard cock was throbbing against my stomach.
I found myself jerking off in the communal showers, the water barely lukewarm. As I stroked myself, though, I weirdly had trouble maintaining a strong erection.
It did not make sense. That had never happened to me before, and I was so horny minutes prior.
I closed my eyes and tried to summon Darnell’s slutty face, or even Mickey from Somalia. My first real blowjob. Nothing.
I tried with picturing Grace. It was even worse.
But the second I thought of that white jockstrap biting into Harry’s hips, or the way his ass tasted, my cock would twitch so hard it ached.
Shit.
Well, there was no point in denying me this nice thought. I needed to get my release.
I was breeding a ghost. I could feel the shadow of his tight, British fruity hole clenching around me. It was a mental infection.
But jerking off was not enough.
The time in the barracks stretched and I needed something to cope.
Okay, Harry had stroked a sensitive cord, he had gotten me horned-up. But it was not like I could catch “feelings” for the boy. I was a 41-year-old Lieutenant Colonel, soon to be a father and leading dozens of men.
“It’s just the isolation.” I told my reflection in the polished steel mirror as I blew another load reliving the time I had banged Harry in the garage and then in the walk-in closet. “The student just has a high-quality mouth… And ass. That’s all.”
To prove to myself I was not compromised, I took a weekend pass and headed into the heart of Amman.
I needed to break the spell. Maybe the fruits from the barracks were just not exotic enough. I had acquired a more specific taste.
The "club" was a hole-in-the-wall in a back alley, draped in heavy silks and smelling of oud and cheap tobacco.
It was a place where the local rules were suspended for the right price. Women with painted eyes lounged on cushions, and young men with hungry expressions leaned against the bar.
I ignored the women. I had a strict code of conduct. Grace was the mother of my child; I would not betray her with another woman. That was a violation of the marriage contract.
Men? Men were just field maintenance.
I found a local. Lean, olive-skinned, with a thick beard and eyes like obsidian. Malik. He was beautiful in a way that commanded attention.
We went to a private room in the back, he led me there, the walls thin enough to hear the thump of Arabic pop music.
Honestly, he seemed so into me that it did not feel like I would have to pay. Let’s be real, compared to most of the clients of the establishment, I was a freaking stud.
“Make it quick.” I barked, sitting on the edge of the low bed.
Malik knelt. He was a professional. He started with the foreplay, his hands sliding up my thighs, his tongue tracing the ridge of my cock through my khakis.
He was good. He was better than Darnell. I really tried to convince myself that was it.
But when he finally unzipped me and looked up with a practiced, seductive smile, the revulsion hit me like a physical blow.
His eyes were not the ones I wanted to astonish. His hair was not curly enough. His expression was not the right amount of cheeky and afraid.
He was not him.
As Malik leaned in to take me, I felt my cock —normally so strong and unwavering—actually start to go soft. That had never happened in a situation like that. Never.
“Stop.” I said, my voice like a whip.
Malik froze, confused.
“Sir? I… I teach many men, I can—”
“I said stop. Get out.”
I threw a handful of Dinars at him and stood up, my heart hammering against my ribs. I felt exposed. Weak.
I walked out into the cool Amman dawn, the call to prayer echoing from a distant minaret. I leaned against a stone wall and cursed under my breath.
Harry had done more than just provide a service. He had rewired the system entirely. He had ruined me for anyone else.
Fucking hell, he was not just a "fixture" anymore; he had become the main power source, and now I was running on empty in the middle of a war zone.
“Damn it, Harry!” I hissed into the darkness. “What the fuck have you done to me?”
The mission was supposed to be the priority. But all I could think about was the return flight —and the absolute, frantic need to bury myself in that boy until the rest of the world disappeared.
