When you're eighteen, you think you know a lot about everything, but in reality, you don't know very much about anything. When you enlist in the Marine Corps, the drill sergeants have a way of impressing that fact on you. The sadistic bastards rip apart everything you thought you knew and then teach you about reality. It doesn't stop there either. From Recruit Training, you go to the School of Infantry, and it happens all over again.
When you get out of Infantry School, you're pretty confident. You've learned how to do everything the Marines taught you to do, and along the way, you picked up a little about life. Since a lot of that additional training takes place in bars full of available women, you're all set to go out and live life. You can take on anything with a rifle, bayonet, grenade, even with your bare hands...or so you thought.
Then the Marine Corps sends you on a yearlong vacation to some foreign country where people like shooting at you. That old "you're part of a team" they taught you in SOI doesn't seem to work for about three months. That's because nobody on your team is going to trust you not to get yourself and them killed. Only after you've learned a new set of skills and proved to be proficient at them will you actually become part of the team.
After that combat assignment, you'll probably get assigned to a stateside unit for a year, and then you go overseas again, this time to a place that isn't doing its best to kill you. After that year, you come back to the states to wait out the remaining time of your enlistment.
That's what happened to me. I spent my last eight months in an infantry unit at Camp Pendleton as part of the training cadre for SOI doing all the things the way the Marines said they should be done. I found it interesting that a lot of what I'd learned in combat weren't exactly the Marine way. It was also hard to remember that my utilities were supposed to be pressed and that I needed a haircut every week.
When I was discharged, I was happy. I could do what I wanted to do whenever I wanted to do it. I went home to Bogata, Texas to spend some time with my folks while I looked for a job.
The first week home was great. Mom fixed all my favorite foods and hugged me at least four times a day. Dad said I looked like a man now, and we shared a couple beers on the front porch every night.
After the first week, Dad asked what I was going to do now. That was his way of asking me when I was going to get off my dead ass, find a job, and move out. Mom kept dropping hints about this girl and that girl who were really nice girls and were still single.
By the end of that week, I'd had enough. People had been telling me what to do for four years and I thought it was time I started making my own decisions.
I did want a job, but that old thing -- reality -- set in when I started looking. There weren't many jobs in Bogata. Bogata is kind of a bedroom town for Paris, Texas, and most people with jobs who live in Bogata, like my dad, work at either Kimberly-Clark or Campbell's in Paris. I couldn't see myself making sanitary napkins at Kimberly-Clark or stirring pots of soup at Campbell's. There were other jobs in Paris, but they all required more education than I had.
I'd signed up at the Unemployment Office in Paris, but the woman there said there weren't many jobs for a person with my qualifications. Basically she was telling me I had to get my ass in college if I ever hoped to make enough money to survive on. That direction didn't suit me either. I hadn't done all that well in high school, mostly because I liked to learn things by doing them instead of reading about them in a book.
It was the Monday of my second week home when I got a call from the Unemployment Office. The woman said she had a possible job for me. It didn't pay a great deal, but I'd have a room of my own and three meals a day. That would at least get me out of Mom and Dad's house while I looked for something else, so I asked her what the job was. I about fell over when she said it was a job as a personal bodyguard.
Well, that sounded interesting. I pictured myself in a suit and tie with really dark sunglasses, my trusty pistol in a shoulder holster under the jacket, and driving a long black limousine with my employer sipping champagne in the back. I told the woman I'd take the job. She said she'd tell the client and set up an interview. I asked Mom if I could borrow her car.
As I had learned over the past four years, most of life is a far cry from how you imagine it to be, and this job wasn't any different. My first clue was when the interview wasn't in an office but was instead at a ranch about fifteen miles west of Paris. For the last six miles, I was the only thing on the road except for a couple rabbits and one armadillo. Beside the road on each side were woven-wire fences that looked taller than I was, and off in the distance I could see cattle grazing on the grass between the trees.
My second clue was when I drove up to the gate of the ranch. On each side was a pillar constructed of stone and at the top and between the pillars was a sign with "Aldor Cattle Ranch" spelled out with steel bars. Suspended from that sign was a video camera.
The wrought iron gate was closed, but there was a sign on the right hand pillar that said, "Call For Entry". I got out of Mom's car, walked up, and pressed the button.
A minute or so later, a woman's voice came over the speaker above the button.
"Yes, who is it?"
I said, "Mark Rivers. I'm here for a job interview."
The voice said, "Just a minute and I'll open the gate."
I got back in Mom's car and waited. Just as the voice had said, a minute or so later, the gates swung open. I drove through and watched the gates close behind me.
The road I was driving on was blacktopped just like the highway I'd turned off of. It wound through about a mile of trees, and half way to the house, I saw a lake off to my left. There were the same high fences on both sides of the road, and as I drove into the circular drive in front of the huge ranch-style house, I saw there were several other buildings arranged around the drive. One was obviously a stable because there were six horses grazing in a pasture, and another must have been a barn because I saw three black bulls resting under the trees in their pasture. The big sliding doors of the third were open and I saw a couple tractors, a pickup truck, and two four-wheeled ATV's inside.
After seeing the size of the house, I figured the woman who'd let me in the gate was probably a housekeeper, and when I rang the bell, she'd be the one who answered the ring. She'd let me in and then take me to my interview.
I was already wishing I'd dressed better. When the Unemployment Office said I was going to a ranch, I figured jeans and a clean shirt would be enough. The size of the place had me reconsidering though. I had no idea how much a place like this was worth, but I was pretty sure if the owner wanted a personal bodyguard, they would be expecting a more professional appearance.
I pushed the bell button, and was surprised when the door opened almost immediately. It was a woman, like I'd expected, and she was dressed about like I was except instead of cowboy boots, she was wearing blue running shoes with ankle length socks with pompoms at the heels. That meant she had to be the housekeeper. I smiled and introduced myself.
"Mornin' Ma'am. I'm Mark Rivers, the guy who called from the gate. I'm here for a job interview."
The woman looked me up and down with a frown on her face, but said, "OK, come with me."
The woman looked a little over thirty. By that, I mean her face looked about that old. There were a few little crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, and what I thought were probably laugh lines, though she seemed pretty sour right then. The rest of her was pretty nice and filled out her jeans and button up shirt really nice too. As I followed her though the house, my eyes kept straying to the way her ass cheeks moved up and down with each step. I thought it was pretty erotic and then reminded myself I was there for a job interview and shouldn't be doing anything to distract myself.
