Gary Rinsem

Deflowering The Boot Camp Barf Boys
by Gary Rinsem
September 1982

  • Chug-A-Lug

“Almost all absurdity of conduct arises from the imitation of those whom we cannot resemble.”
Samuel Johnson

"If your child ain't all he should be now, this girl will put him right. I'll show him what he could be now. Just give me one night."
Tina Turner, Acid Queen

There's sailors and strippers, beer and barfing, street whores and miscarriage followed by dicks and cum, plus saying fuck a few times. Just a typical evening of good 'Ol Navy fun.

Begin Barfing

Boot camp tradition demands liberty call on the weekend of graduation. I went with five "kids" who bunked close to me. I say kids because that's exactly what they were, immature high school boys. At 23, I was an old man in boot camp.

Liberty began around 10am Saturday and ended Sunday evening. We'd heard the bars downtown didn't card sailors. It didn't matter to me, but it was all the boys could think about. By 2pm the Barf Boys were earning their title. Too much beer, they were lined up barfing in the gutter on "B" street in San Diego. Undeterred, there was another barf session around 5pm. Drinking beer by the pitcher they were ready to barf yet again at 9pm.

They had seen more naked women gyrating on stage than imagination could have conjured, but the beer induced barfing took it's toll on three of them. They were done and too drunk to get themselves back to our hotel room. I took over as babysitter.

Around midnight the other two Barf Boys were knocking on the hotel room door. I let them in, followed by two 40+ year old emaciated prostitutes with bad complexions, worse perfume, skimpy clothes and bizarre shoes.

The prostitutes kicked the first three Barf Boys out of the two beds, then stripped naked and got under the covers. The five Barf Boys took their turns, none taking a full 30 seconds, each handing over $40 as they got dressed.

The TV commercial said:
"But wait, there's more!"

First part of this memory is pathetic, the really fun part begins now.

The prostitutes didn't leave right away. They went into the bathroom instead of out the door. It seemed hours passed, likely 20 minutes, when the Barf Boys all began doing the I gotta pee dance from a full day of beer consumption. Listening at the door they could only guess what was happening on the other side.

Eventually the door opened and the prostitutes said goodbye as they left. My most desperate Barf Boy dashed for the bathroom, but the door only opened part way, hitting an obstruction on the other side. Peering around the door and into the room, he exclaimed "What the FUCK!" and backed away in shock. Each of the other four Barf Boys followed with the same reaction. They wouldn't, or couldn't, say what was wrong in the bathroom. I had to go look for myself.

A miscarriage is the only explanation for the condition of that bathroom. I can't bring myself to describe it so use your own imagination. The sanitized description includes the fact that our shower curtain had been taken down and spread out to, uhm, contain the mess. It was a nice hotel, they put out lots of linens, all were involved in the, uhm, mess.

The "I gotta pee" dance troupe was getting desperate. The toilet was plugged with the, uhm, mess. I considered suggesting the bathroom in the lobby, but how would that increase my entertainment I suggested instead that they call the desk for somebody with a plunger. I'm impressed, this fairly small hotel had a maintenance man on duty at 1am.

There was at least 20 minutes of gotta pee dancing before a knock on the door. Feeling sorry for the poor guy as I let him in, I pointed to the bathroom and got out of his way. Suffering a momentary loss of professionalism, he muttered "What the FUCK!" and backed away from the door. The look on his face was indescribable.

The man had guts, or too many children to support, either way he sucked it up and went in, closing the door behind him. No kids or ten, I would've found a new job.

The I gotta pee dancing Barf Boys held their crotches outside the bathroom door, listening for signs and speculating on what might be going on in there. Eventually, the toilet flushed. Then flushed again and again. Desperate and with speculation leading nowhere, they were all about to pee their pants when the door opened. Rushing in they crowded round the toilet.

It was now past 2am on Sunday morning. My boot camp liberty experience couldn't be going better. I'd had a most enlightening front row seat to a seriously entertaining day. Near the end of it, I'd been sitting in the hotel room for hours, in a nicely padded chair, with a perfect view of the entire room. I was not ready for the entertainment to end. They didn't disappoint me.

Long done barfing with one or two pees yet to come, my Barf Boys started to sober up. The funny was disappearing from their antics so I started thinking the day was over. They proved me wrong. Drunkenness was replaced with a boyish machismo and bravado. I listened as they told themselves fairy tales about the day. I realized they would always have a fantasy memory of their boot camp liberty, and the women who got their virginity.

Sorry Barf Boys, it's amusing, but I can't let that fantasy go un-challenged.

Debating whether the prostitutes were 20 or 24, I stepped in repeatedly and forcefully until they gave up that fantasy and accepted the truth, they were over 40 and drug addicts. It probably won't stick to their memories long term, but in the moment they remembered reality.

The Barf Boys all laughed at the others for barfing in the street, while I constantly reminded each of them that they too were a Big Bad Barf Boy. Eventually, laughing at the others lost it's appeal on acceptance of their own barf-ness.

This was more fun than it sounds and the best was yet to come.

Things were calming down and there was mention of sleeping. I saw opportunity for more entertainment so couldn't let the party die off.

I quietly asked one Barf Boy why he hadn't washed the other boys cum off his dick. Young enough, immature enough and still drunk enough they didn't think clearly. It was unfair of me, but I didn't care. The opportunity for entertainment was too great. I had complete control of their thought process.

Homophobia of the times was engrained in them. All five had confused looks as their minds stalled over my suggestion, that one of them had the cum of another on his dick. I explained, you saw him leave it in there right before you put yours in and wiggled it round. Loudly this time, I said "You've got his cum on your dick!" Confusion turned to laughter for four Barf Boys and panic for the fifth. In terror he began repeating "I've got his cum on my dick!"

None of them automatically accepted they were in the identical situation. I had the fun of pointing it out five times and five times I watched as each went into shock over having another's cum on his dick.

I saved the best for last, waiting until the two who went first had declared themselves safe, because nobody went before them. Oh my, how foolish I suggested the women had been working all day, many complete strangers had gone before. "You have strangers cum on your dick!" The panic was now complete, all five Barf Boys were soon pants'less amidst the, uhm, mess in the bathroom, while trying to wash cum off their dicks.

My boot camp liberty had gone well so far, it was time for a few hours sleep.

As the six of us did tourist things in downtown San Diego on Sunday, I had to constantly correct the Barf Boys faulty memory of Saturday. They were determined to remember a fantasy version. Sunday was uneventful, with moderate drinking and no barfing. Thinking the fun was done, we headed back to boot camp in the evening.

In the barracks we shared stories with others on the second deck. My little Barf Boys heard from a group having the identical prostitute experience. They told those boys "You have his cum on your dick!" I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Word spread and soon there were 20 Barf Boys panicked in the shower. It was the gift that just kept giving.

Check your voice mail,
I think Dharma called.