At Ease

First, this is what I think of as a 'guy story'. The protagonist has sex with several ladies. If any of you are offended by this, I suggest you find something else to read.

This story takes place mostly in the small town of San Juan, California. Now...before you go breaking out your maps to look for it, I should tell you that it doesn't really exist. It is a figment of my extremely over-active imagination. In that imagination, San Juan is very conveniently located in eastern San Diego County...somewhere between El Cajon, Santee and Alpine...or somewhere around there in that general vicinity...somewhere. San Juan is loosely based on the small unincorporated city of Lakeside, CA...a place where I used to live...and I mean based very loosely.

After much thought, I've decided to put this in the BDSM category, although there is none of that here in the first chapter. I prefer to keep all chapters of a story in the same category.

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It was a dark and stormy night... [

Nah...just kidding. Some of you will get this, most won't.

]

For anyone who had ever served in the U.S. military and has done it, knows that escorting a body home for burial is easily among the toughest duties to perform...that is emotionally speaking of course. Especially if the escort knew the service member being escorted home and their family.

That is exactly what happened to me a while ago. My name is Aaron Allen Archambault III, Gunnery Sergeant, United States Marine Corps...soon to be USMC (retired) due to injuries sustained in combat. Due to my triple 'A' initials and the III that followed my name. I became known to almost everybody as 'Trip', to those who know me well. I was just a couple of months short of my 36th birthday. At 5'10" and weighing about 5 pounds short of an even 200, I was fit man despite my injuries. With short dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes, women apparently found me easy on the eyes as I seldom lacked for female companionship.

I was resting tiredly yet comfortably in seat 2B in the first-class section of a United Air Lines Boeing 747 about an hour out of Limburg Field in San Diego, California. It was mid-June and the weather was ideal. I'd been awake for nearly 20 hours since departing Germany. For reasons I never understood, I have never been able to sleep on a plane, train or any other conveyance. I found myself in first class because an old retired World War II veteran found out who I was and why I was on board insisted on switching seats with me. I actually tried to refuse, but the elderly gentleman simply could not be convinced otherwise. He had explained to me he had performed the same duty himself after the war.

In the hold of the air craft somewhere below and behind me was my closest friend, Staff Sergeant Arturo Coletti. He was riding home in one of those bleak looking metal coffins seen by nearly everyone on TV. This one was not flag draped...yet. This is rarely done on commercial aircraft. I had been informed that there would be a team from Camp Pendleton to take care of that the moment the coffin came off the plane. Staff Sergeant Arturo Santino Coletti or Art as I had known him, was killed by an enemy IED [Improvised Explosive Device] in Afghanistan...but not before languishing in a comma at Ramstein Air Base in Germany for nearly three months.

He was killed as much by the ROE [Rules Of Engagement] as by the explosion itself. Probably some idiot back in Washington D. C. who probably never wore a uniform in his life, let alone served in combat, apparently devised these rules to, in his liberal mind, make the American troops appear to be more than fair and humane in combat/war, I suppose.

We were on patrol in eastern Afghanistan very near the Pakistani border, when I spotted what I was almost certainly sure as a suspected leading member of the Taliban, walking hurriedly away from us. A name popped into my head. I thought he was a...Faruq bin Something-or-other...I could not remember the full name exactly. I'd gotten the lieutenant's attention. I explained my concerns to him best I could but, because he was young and inexperienced, he was an absolute stickler on the ROE and since there was no outright positive identification and the fact that man did not appear to be armed...and because of the aforementioned ROE, he forbade us to pursue him. Instead, we were ordered continue away from our patrol route...it was just then the proverbial light bulb clicked on!

I was not the only one to realize our mistake. "Get down!" Art had bellowed at the top of his lungs. He shoved me violently out of the way seemingly only a split second before the IED exploded and had almost gotten out of the way himself but didn't quite make it. The truth was, that he should have died then and there. Both legs and an arm were literally blown off. His legs were successfully re-attached, but the arm was too badly damaged to save. Half of his face and upper body were horribly disfigured. One lung was destroyed outright, the other to a lesser degree. On top of that, he had a severe brain injury, which even if he had lived would have most likely left him little more than a vegetable. Two other team members were killed and four more were injured. As fate would have it, only the lieutenant escaped any injury. In some ways, I suppose I was glad Art never recovered consciousness. Still, I would miss my 'brother' more than I can ever put into words.

I was among the four that were injured. And rather badly at that. Art absorbed most of the force of the explosion, but the right side of my body, my right hip, leg and arm caught a great deal of shrapnel. The left leg caught some too, but not as much. I practically had to learn to walk again and still walked with a very pronounced limp and would for a long time. There were several broken ribs on the right side of my body, but the body armor surely saved my life. The muscles in my right forearm were mangled badly. My right hand still did not work properly though I did have some use of it. Fortunately for me, I am left-handed. Due to my injuries, I was soon to be 'medically' retired after sixteen years of service. The doctors told me that I would never regain full use of my right arm and hand. And with the damage to my hip, I likely never would be able to run properly again. I had been told that I was lucky to be able to walk at all. Walking was not terribly difficult for me, but it was very painful and that pain would leave me utterly fatigued after walking a little over a mile or so. This would pass to some extent over time, I had been assured...and it did...to a point.

I was certainly not looking forward to my arrival in San Diego. The Coletti family would be there and I wasn't sure I wanted to face them. Art's parents and younger sister would be waiting to receive the body. I felt as though I had failed them, not bringing Art home alive. Vito and Consuela Coletti were like a second set of parents to me. Mine own had died in an automobile/big rig accident just before I started high school. Both of my parents were only children and I had no living relatives, other than a great uncle I'd never met. It's doubtful if he even knew of my existence.

I had met Art in Marine Corps boot camp and we'd hit it off immediately and remained close friends throughout our military careers. We had ended up being stationed together more often than not. Twelve of the sixteen years I spent in the Corps, Art and I were stationed at same duty station, including two years pushing through new recruits at MCRD [Marine Corps Recruiting Depot] Paris Island, South Carolina.

To make a much too long story short, upon completing recruit training myself and having no family to speak of, I accepted an invite to travel home with Art on leave. He and I graduated boot camp at MCRD San Diego, California and his family lived just a few miles away in a tiny little unincorporated city named San Juan.

I had met the Coletti's just after our graduation ceremony. Vito, Art's father was a rather short powerfully built man in early middle age. About 5'6", 200 lbs. without an ounce of fat to be seen anywhere. About a foot taller, he could have been a linebacker for the Green Bay Packers. Art's mother, Consuela, was a short plump woman who must have been a woman of extreme beauty in her youth...and still was. Then, there was Carmen, the 9-year-old kid sister who immediately upon meeting me, announced to her parents and brother that her and I would one day be married and have a dozen children. She was a really cute little girl, so I jokingly pledged my undying love to her, though I didn't take the whole thing too seriously.

That leave, over the next two weeks was easily one of the best times I'd had in my life to that point. The Colettis are Italian...or to be more specific, Sicilian, I was told that under no uncertain terms! One important thing I learned was, when visiting a Sicilian family and the mother offers you something to eat...never, under any circumstances...NEVER say no! Whew! One would thought I personally insulted her entire family all the way back to her Sicilian ancestors! Long story short, I learned that lesson very quickly. Other than, that, it was near perfect. All of the Colettis took an immediate liking to me and seemed to consider me as a part of their family. A man could not possibly ask for a better adopted family.

Over the years, I had grown to know and love them as if they were my own flesh and blood. I watched little Carmen grow from a little girl into a beautiful young woman. She still occasionally told her parents that she and I would one day be married with a house full of children. Eventually she ended up marrying a young Navy seal who was a good man. As one might expect, with him being in the Navy and Art and I in the Marines, there was always a lot of good-natured bullying and harassment. He always took it good-naturedly and gave it back quite well. Carmen seemed to be happy yet still something was missing. She'd told me once that finally grew tired of waiting for me to propose to and had simply settled. I assumed she was kidding, but...

Then came that final tour in Afghanistan. It was a third tour for both Art and myself. All we wanted to do, was to do our jobs and go back home. It was a tough job, but somebody had to do it. Neither Art nor I considered ourselves heroes. Just two guys to a distasteful, thankless job that nobody else would want for a laughably substandard wage. Not that we didn't enjoy our work, we both loved it. Doing our part for God and country as they say. Until the day of the explosion...

There was a change in the pitch of the engines and I felt the aircraft slow little and start to descend that brought me back to the present. I had been reminiscing and daydreaming. The pilot came on the intercom and told us that we are starting our approach to San Diego. That's when I became more nervous. I still dreaded seeing the Coletti's. The closer San Diego I got, the more nervous I became. Approximately 20 minutes later, the plane landed at Limburg Field. By then I was a wreck. Just before the plane got to the gate, I was informed by a flight attendant that I would be getting off the plane first. In about three or four minutes, the plane came to a stop. I stood and gathered my carry-on luggage and headed for the exit. As I stepped into the jet way, I was immediately directed out of a door which led outside down a steep set of stairs to the tarmac. I was escorted to the rear of the plane where I saw a hurst, a limousine, seven Marines and the Coletti's. As one might expect, both Consuela and Carmen were dressed completely in black. Vito was wearing a dark gray pinstriped three-piece suit. As I approach them, I tried to formulate my first words to them, but when I got there and opened my mouth and nothing came out.

Vito took one look at me and seemed to instinctually know and understand my inability to speak. He took my hand and said. "It wasn't your fault, Trip. There was nothing you could have done. As far as I'm concerned, my son died a hero."

On the verge of tears, "I'm so sorry." I managed to choke out before I actually began crying like a little baby.

As I turn to speak to Consuela, Carmen threw herself at me clutching me to her as if her life depended on it. She was weeping but managed to say. "I'm so glad that at least one of you made it home." Before I knew it, it turned into a tight group hug with me and all the Coletti's.

After a brief time, we were interrupted by a Marine Staff Sergeant, who was the head of the detail picking up Art's body. "We'll take it from here Gunny." As his men draped the coffin with an American flag. The Coletti's and I climbed in the limousine and we headed out of the airport to San Juan.

When we got to San Juan, everything seemed the same as it was before. I had visited this town many times during my nearly 16 year career in the US Marine Corps. Nothing appeared to be different at all.

After dropping Art's body at the funeral home, the limousine took us to the 'Little Capri', a tiny restaurant and mom-and-pop store. The Coletti's lived in a large four-bedroom apartment above the restaurant/store. There was a separate entrance to their home on the side of the building. We got out of the limo and went upstairs. After Consuela fixed coffee for everyone we sat down in the living room. After taking a deep breath, Vito said. "We've already heard the Marine Corps version of what happened. We would like to know your side of the story."

I took a sip of coffee, and looked directly into Vito's eyes. After hesitating for just a moment, I said. "Mr. Coletti..."

He interrupted me giving me a fatherly pat on the shoulder saying, "Now Trip, you know better than that. My name is Vito."

"Vito...are you sure you're ready to hear this?" He nodded and I continued. "We were on patrol just a couple klicks from the Pakistani border. I thought I saw what I was sure was a member of the Taliban, but wasn't quite 100% sure. Because of the Rules Of Engagement, we were not allowed to pursue him. Art and I figured out about what was going on at the same time. He shoved me out of the way just before the IED exploded. He saved my life. If not for him, we both would have most likely died. You are right, he did die a hero. "

I could see the despair and all their eyes. Vito nodded and said. "At least one of our sons made it home. And you know Trip, we truly consider you one of our sons."

I lost my voice again and was only able to nod in response. I looked over at Carmen thinking that this must have been doubly tough on her. Jim Jones, the Navy seal she married had been also killed by an IED a year before in northern Iraq. When I finally found my voice. I asked her. "Sorry about Jim, Carmen. He was a good man."

Carmen took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Thank you, Trip. I miss him terribly." I could see that she was hurting but, had become somewhat accepting of her situation. She looked directly into my eyes and I could see her sadness and despair along with something else I couldn't quite identify. I knew that she had spent a lot of time in Bethesda with her husband before he died. Like Art, he lingered in a coma weeks before actually passing.

We sat in silence for a while...me stifling yawns. I was exhausted having flown from Ramstein airbase in Germany to get here. I have never been able to sleep well on a plane, plus I was more jetlagged than I had assumed. I told the Coletti's that I needed to get some sleep and took myself and my things into the guest room. I stripped down to my boxer shorts and crawled into bed. I fell asleep within seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

I have no idea how long I slept. My dreams were varied and disjointed as always. I dreamed a bit about the explosion as I did every night. I also dreamed of other things. One dream involved a lovely half black, half Japanese woman that I saw occasionally during my down times in Afghanistan. She was a news correspondent and a hot little thing that never seemed to get enough sex. Also, she never seem to get enough of sucking my cock. It seemed almost an addiction for her, but what the hell? As long as I was getting blow jobs, who was I to complain? I was dreaming of the woman, whose name was Minda, who was servicing my meat as usual.

I awoke slowly and looked about the room. I could tell from looking at the windows that it was dark outside. Then I noticed I had a hell of an erection. For the record, I am fairly well endowed. Not porn star huge, but being between 6 and 7 inches, I measured it once, in my youth but, was not all that interested anymore. Why should I be? I couldn't complain...none of the women I bedded ever did. And at the moment, it was hard enough, that I probably could have batted baseballs with it.

Then I noticed something else. My boxers were missing...and I wasn't just dreaming of getting a blow job, I actually was getting a blow job...and a very good one at that. I looked down and saw a head of long black hair bobbing up and down in my lap. "What the...?" The head lifted up and looked at me and I saw Carmen's dark brown eyes looking directly into mine. "Carmen, what the hell are you doing?" She stopped briefly, slowly removing me from her mouth...

"I haven't had any of this..." She playfully waved my cock at me. "... In over a year...almost two. And I'm just not going to pass up on this opportunity. Besides, you know I've always wanted you and I decided to wait until you came back." Then, she resumed sucking my cock. I was stunned, but could not help how lovely she looked with my shaft in her mouth. And... She was right. She always claimed love me even as a child and when she grew into adulthood, she had many times intimated that she wanted this.

"But Carmen...what about James?" I couldn't believe this was happening and even as good as it felt I wasn't sure I wanted it to. I started to feel a bit guilty about Carmen being in bed with me, with her husband dead only a year. James had been deployed to what most in military service refer to as the 'sand-box' for almost a full year before being fatally wounded only a couple of weeks before he was due to rotate back to the U. S..

"Trip, you knew James pretty well. You know, I doubt very much if he would mind, given the circumstances...besides, he's gone. You certainly can't expect me to remain celibate for the rest of my life, can you?" As she slowly, carefully crawled up my body, I could see that she was completely naked. Her body was slender and graceful. I knew her to be just shy of 5 feet tall and certainly weighed less than 100lbs. While I never actually fantasized about sex with Carmen, I did wonder from time to time what it might be like. From what I could see, she could very easily have been a model. Her breasts appeared large on her diminutive form, but were no larger than a 'C' cup by my estimation. I reached up and grabbed them both, gently squeezing and lightly tugging on her nipples. I heard her gasped out softly. "Oh, yes!"

She kissed my lips tenderly, then said. She slowly lowered herself down on my shaft. "Please Trip, I really need this...really need..." She gasped again as the head of my member entered her wet pussy. "Trip, please..." as I found myself fully inside of her before I even knew it. She began to rock her hips, slowly at first and quickly picked up speed, frantically grasping onto my shoulders to keep her balance. Within seconds, I felt her body start convulsing as a powerful orgasm swept through her. "More, more please!" She whispered almost inaudibly. While I still felt a little guilty, I knew she was right. Given the circumstances, he most likely wouldn't mind. I know I most likely wouldn't. But Carmen felt so good riding me, I no longer had any intentions of stopping. She bent down and kissed me with unbridled passion. She stopped only long enough to whisper. "Fuck me Trip, fuck me hard!" I rolled her to her back and started pounding my meat into her. It had been a long time since I had had any sex, all the way back to the last blowjob Minda gave me, so I knew I most likely would not last very long. She wrapped her legs around me and matched my pounding with upward thrusts of her own. "I love you Trip, I always have, I always will." She gasped rather loudly just before another orgasm took her.