The following is an opinion piece written by a second deck fan room currently serving aboard USS Carl Vinson (CVN-70)
Look you two, I know this is your first time here, but I’m no idiot, and I can pretty much guarantee I’ve got a good idea as to why the both of you are in my personal space this late at night.
And I’ll also have you know I’m not having any of it.
So you, E-6, (Petty Officer Ojeda, is it?), zip those coveralls right on back up. And, you, Seaman Keebler, go ahead and put that pretty blonde hair of yours back into a regulation bun. And then both of you need to exit back into the passageway and go find somewhere else to smash fuzzies, because I ain’t in the mood tonight, see?
Look, I’m not bullshitting. This is a no-bone zone, ok? Seriously you two, get a room.
Now, believe me, I understand you’re both having some urges, and that’s something to be expected underway. But this just isn’t the place to act on them. That big black “X” painted on my hatch exterior is supposed to represent a material condition of readiness, not an adult content rating.
And don’t think I’m kicking you out because you’re the first couple of kids to come try and play “hide the howitzer” in my watertight space, or that I’m afraid of getting welded shut after you both get busted doing some crazy coital shit that I’ve never seen before.
No, shipmates, far from it. In fact, during the 30 years I’ve been around — ever since this bird farm was commissioned — there’s pretty much nothing I haven’t seen.
Seriously, I’ve seen it all. We’re talking dude-on-chick, dude-on-dude, chick-on-chick, two dudes/one chick, chick-on-chick with one lucky dude watching, two chicks with a didgeridoo — pretty much everything.
But the thing is, after three decades of letting you horny bastards sneak on up in here during the dead of night just so you can slap skins and swap spit, I’m feeling a little burned out.
Actually, that’s only the half of it… In truth, I’m just tired of feeling ashamed.
See, I used to love to watch. I would totally get off on it.
Back in the day, staring at a couple of hump-happy sea warriors engaged in some pre-coitus heavy petting, like the two of you are right now — and, again, I really need you to cut that shit out — well, that used to make these steel alloy bulkheads of mine even harder than they are now, if you can believe it.
And then, post-foreplay, when things really got going, there was nothing that turned me on more than having a pair of soft female palms slapped up firmly against any one of my walls, with the rising room temperature making them sweat as they gradually coated my flat surfaces in warm liquid passion.
I just loved feeling dirty… So, so dirty.
But that’s all in the past now.
You see, during this last ship rehab period, I had some time to think, and I decided I didn’t want to be that kind of fan room anymore. I decided I just couldn’t keep being some half-assed, no-tell motel of a second deck enclosure that got its rocks off watching Sailors grind groins as they all-the-while played Russian roulette with their careers, their marriages, and their health.
Also, I decided I was sick of looking at ugly people fuck.
So, flash forward to today, and I’m no longer some weirdo who easily gives into his twisted, voyeuristic sexual fetishes. Now I have a fresh coat of paint, a resurfaced deck, and a newfound sense of dignity.
And that’s why I need the two of you to stop feeling up each other’s crotches… rubbing ever so tenderly… and leave me in peace.
Like, for the love of God, just put your clothes back on and get out of her before I-
Hey, is that spice?
Wow, that looks like some really good shit.
Hmm… Ok, I’ll tell you what:
Seeing as how the two of you are pretty much all the way naked, I suppose I could let you stay inside me and do your thing for a little while, but not too long, alright?
So, yeah, Ojeda, how about you go ahead and spark that big fat bowl on up. And, Keebler, go ahead and make sure my hatch and vents are closed all the way.
And then the three of us are going to have a chat about how this little party’s going to play out.
Because tonight… Well, tonight we’re gonna’ sweat.
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