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The beginning of a wonderful relationship.
Pat was pissed because I had interrupted her orgasm. She'd been so deep into the waves of pleasure pouring through her body and assaulting her brain she'd been totally oblivious to everything else. Fuck It! I wasn't about to tell her.
We weren't going to do anymore tonight, and I wasn't too sure about tomorrow night either, but Pat convinced me by royal edict. We screwed every night until Friday when I had the duty again. I was off Saturday and Sunday, and since we were getting underway for almost three weeks, on Monday Pat almost fucked me to death to hold me until we got back in port again.
Which brought me to my present situation as I looked at the puss on the head of my peter. I didn't like what I was going to have to do, but there was no choice.
I headed for Sick Bay and Sick Call to see my friendly Corpsman
Ministers, rabbis, priests, and even mullahs are known by every sailor and marine as "Padre."
Navy Corpsman in the Fleet Marine Force and stationed aboard ships on detached duty are and will always be "Doc." Because they are our doctors.
To be a Corpsman on a destroyer they had to have served as a Corpsman in the Fleet Marine Force. They receive further extensive training and were and are so good that in most cases if we'd had a choice as to a MD or a Corpsman, Corpsman win hands down.
Years later I was a 1st. Class Fire Controlman at Great Lakes. Ill. I had a friend who was a 1st. Class Corpsman. Having nothing to do I went over to Corpsman School to see him. Walking down the hallway I looked at the pictures on the walls. Every picture was a Corpsman who'd been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. There were either 23 or 26 of them. All of awards had been posthumously awarded, and that was before Viet Nam.
I entered Sick Bay and to Docs query, I explained my situation. He closed the door and told me to drop my dungarees and skivvy shorts.
I skinned my peter back and stripped the head so he could get a sample to look at in his trusty microscope. After a short period of time he informed me that I'd lucked out. I didn't have the clap I had Non Specific Urethritis (NSU).
Looking at my puzzled expression he explained it to me, concluding with a smile and assurance that with three or four days of Penicillin shots I'd be ok.
Now I had to ask the question I'd been dreading; did this mean I was on Medical Restriction? Medical Restriction could mean Captains Mast, more restriction, and a fine.
Doc assured me that it wasn't necessary as we would be out at sea until well after I was cured. I wanted to slurp his hand, but he also laid a task on me.
"Normally I have to contact the health department in Norfolk but I can't very well do that if you aren't on Medical Restriction and there's no notation in your medical record."
"You are going to have to get the lady in question to the health department and get her fixed so she doesn't spread it around. They'll find out who gave it to her and they'll should soon have it stamped out. Promise?"
"Doc, that lady and I are going to have a very long one-sided conversation as soon as we get back."
"Don't be too pissed off at her. She may not know she has it. In women it is sometimes very hard to detect, which is why outbreaks can be a bitch, simply because she's spreading it without even knowing she's got it."
While I was there Doc inspected the ripping on my back that Pat had laid on me.
Even after a couple of days at sea they were still there. Scabbed but evident.
Doc whistled and remarked that I'd definitely been flailed. At that point I had to confess how I got them. Doc smiled as an idea came to him.
"if anyone asks, those scabs are the reason you're at Sick Call. I need to make sure they don't get infected."
When those rips and rakes were first seen in the shower I was centered in a lot of cross hairs for awhile.
When you're at sea there are long hours of boredom so anything that relieves it will be fodder for comment and derision.