[Not a normal Romance story. This one could have been in the Group area as easily as here. The sex in this story begins almost vanilla except it includes three people. The story is fiction.]
After the ceremony I walked back to my room. I'd been on the base for two weeks and had a room to myself all that time. As soon as I got inside the room my dress uniform came off and the shower came on. Twenty minutes later I was showered, shaved (again) and dressed in a new short sleeved Hawaiian shirt and khaki cargo pants. I left the dress uniform on the floor. The B4 bag full of other uniforms was in the corner of the room and I saluted it on my way out. I carried a half full civilian pack with a change of clothes, a folder of paperwork I'd need, a dop kit, and the case my Silver Star came in.
At the end of the hall I entered the Wing office and walked to the first Sergeant's desk. He stood, shook my offered hand and said, "Leaving so soon?"
"Not soon enough for my tastes."
"Where are you headed?"
"Somewhere far away. Don't figure to have a plan, just go."
"They'd give me a toaster oven if I talked you into re-upping." He smiled as he said it. We both knew he didn't like toast and that any chance of me staying was long past.
"I've more than had enough, Sarge. Don't waste your breath. Oh, someone will need to clean up my room. I left a little trash on the floor."
"Already on it. I'll miss you." He let go of my hand and I turned and walked out.
Outside the building there were spaces for eight vehicles. Three spots were filled with blue sedans with USAF painted on the doors. One spot held the First Sergeant's 1955 Ford F-100. It was red. The wind wing on the driver's side had a broken lock/latch. Other than that the truck was incredible, new paint, leather upholstery, great tires and rims, a 289 c.i. engine that purred and all the other signs that he loved and cared for his truck.
Next to his F-100 sat my 1969 Chevy El Camino. The day I returned from overseas I had it hauled out of storage and detailed. It had been purchased new by my Dad and when he passed on, it passed to me. It had the L-46 engine and a 3-speed Vette transmission when it came to me. I added cosmetic touches like a great paint job, rims, tires and a tuned exhaust system. Two days before the ceremony I picked it up and had to fight my urge to just leave at that moment. The moment I fired up the 349 horse V8 something pulled at me to push the truck down the road.
I opened the door and put my bag on the seat. I opened the bag and took the Silver Star in it's case out of the bag. I walked it over to Sgt. Garcia's F-100 and opened the wind wing window. I reached in and put the star on his seat. I knew he'd understand that I didn't want it, wouldn't keep it and would probably never come for it.
I closed the wind wing window and got in my El Camino. She fired with barely a touch of the ignition and then purred at me. I backed into the street and headed for the main gate. When I made the turn for the gate my spotter was standing next to the gate waving me to the side. He was in cammo's, unusual for on-base attire. I pulled over and he went to the front bumper of the truck, bent over and twenty seconds later stood up with the base access sticker in his hand. He stepped to the side and saluted.
I returned the salute as I left the base.
Thirty seconds later I had to make a decision. I came to a traffic signal at an intersection. Turn left and drive south, turn right and go north or, when the light changed, go west. The light turned green and I went west.
By the time I'd been on the road for three days I'd made a few discoveries.
I discovered that sleeping in motels was expensive. I discovered that eating in restaurants was expensive and I'd discovered that paying someone to open a beer for me cost more than the beer.
On day four of being a civilian I stopped at a huge store and went shopping. I bought four new outfits of traveling clothes; jeans, t-shirts, socks, underwear and a new pair of hiking boots, two sleeping bags, a lantern, a backpacker's stove, six magnets, a tarp, some bungee cords, a book locating campgrounds, an ice chest, ice, a six pack of beer, a six-pack of sodas and when I got to the checkout I bought six condoms. Walking to the truck gave me time to wonder why I bought condoms. It had been a year, a week and three days since I'd been with a woman.
Dad had installed a locking bed cover over the bed of the truck the year before he died. I unlocked it and lifted the cover. The boards between the metal runners were oak treated with polyurethane for the look and waterproofing. Dad and I had worked on them together. I missed him.
After a minute of memories I loaded everything except the ice chest, ice and sodas in the bed. I put the sodas in the ice chest, covered them with ice and had lots left. I put the ice chest in the foot well in the cab and went back inside the store and bought another ice chest. It got filled with the beer and the rest of the ice. I stowed it in the bed and locked it inside.
Three hours later I stopped in a small farming community and had a meal in a small café. The waitress looked to be about twenty-five and already getting old. She took my order and called it out to the cook. Five minutes later the cook, who looked to be the waitress' mother delivered the best meatloaf dinner I'd ever had.
The café was almost empty. All the people inside were already eating when she delivered my dinner. She pulled a chair out and sat across from me.
"You're new." She said.
I smiled and said, "Thank you. Actually I'm near thirty-eight, but new would be good."
"I meant new in town." We both knew I knew that, but my response kept the conversation alive.
"That, I am. This meatloaf is great! I'm impressed."
"I grind the meat myself and it's a mixture. This time of year I can get venison and mix it with beef. Glad you like it."
"I do. Do you do a great breakfast too?"
She smiled and asked, "Will you still be around for breakfast? Your truck has Virginia plates on it. I sorta figured you were headed somewhere."
"The somewhere I was headed was away. I'd say this qualifies as away. Away from Washington D. C.. Away from the Air Force, uniforms, officers, orders and the chain of command."
"Retired?"
"It was offered and I took it."
"Looking for a soft place to land?" Her eye were focused on mine. My answer mattered. I had no idea why.
"Looking, but without urgency. I could wander around for months or settle somewhere."
"When you settle, then what?" She sipped her coffee and seemed genuinely interested. I noticed that she was fit, clean at two o'clock in the afternoon, and seemed interested in me. For a cook to be clean at two seemed to be beyond belief, but then, I wasn't more than a survival cook.
"I've thought about that question for the last ten years, last three pretty heavily. I want to be useful somehow, but at the moment I don't feel useful at all."
