This is the first story I have ever attempted to write. I'm fairly well educated, and am pretty imaginative when I'm half asleep in my huge bed. My entire life I have wanted to be a Special Forces soldier in the military (either Recon or Green Berets), and like to fantasize about rescuing beautiful women from dire situations :D. If you would like to comment, please do - negative or positive. I've been reading on Literotica for more than 7 years now, and finally figured I'd give it a whirl...
The story is fairly long with plenty of background (character development, I hope) because if ya'll like it, then I hope to make it into a series of stories. This first one will be light on the erotica, but will set up the other stories.
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Another fat bead of sweat is rolling down my forehead. This damn heat is really starting to make me wish I hadn't decided to stay these extra three months out here.
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My name is Meagan Gerano, and I am what my parents always wanted me to be as I grew up a little girl in Laredo, Texas - an accomplished orthopaedic surgeon. No expense was spared to put me through the best university and medical school the United States had to offer. Undergraduate work in mechanical engineering at Duke University readied me for the hellish four years of medical school at Harvard. Too bad for my parents I had other plans than working eighty hour weeks and spending my rare free time at their damn country club around their stuck-up professional friends. You see, ever since I was the little girl growing up in Laredo, I wanted to travel to far-flung corners of the world - seeing everything and doing everything. I always wanted to see what the world had to offer; to see it, taste it, feel it, live it. I grew up an adrenaline junkie, doing everything I could to push my life to the limits. I was young and invincible...nothing was beyond my reach. I dove on ship wrecks in the Bahamas, carved up some backcountry slopes in Tahoe, BASE jumped from El Capitan out in Yosemite, and endangered my life in every way my parents hated. Oh, and the boys...there never were enough MEN to satisfy my hunger as I was growing up. Not to say that I was a slut - far from it. Most of the time, I did not have the time or the desire to devote to a guy. Not that many of them lived up to my demands.
Coming from a well-to-do and educated family, I had a command on life that was only enhanced by the time I spent with my uncle. Ben was my father's brother - and his antithesis. While my father, the older of the two, grew up as the straight laced southern gentleman of the romance novels, his brother Ben was the wild, party-child that made his mother roll her eyes just about every day.
Ben was two years younger than my father, but was more intelligent, more athletic, more charming, more of everything that a woman could want in a man. He was my role model in life, everything that I ever wanted to be. In fact, I even wanted him when I was about thirteen or fourteen, but that was a foolish child's admiration for such an amazing man. He had been in the military after college, but quickly developed a reputation for partying too hard and disobeying all the "unspoken rules". Wild trips to strip clubs, small but inventive pranks on commanding officers, stealing the army humvees at night for a little rowdiness - nothing was out of Ben's reach. Lucky for Ben, he was charming and persuasive enough to get others to go along so he never took the full heat of his officers. The problem with Ben was that being enlisted was not the adventure he had planned, hoped, and wished for during college. He joined the army halfway through an escalating war in Africa, but ended up as a desk jockie after the military found out how intelligent he was. Army Intelligence does not quite live up to its moniker... So, he passed his time by generally pissing off "The Man" (as he so fondly calls any person of authority), until he was called for Special Forces Selection. Special Forces is the cream of the crop of the military, and the Army only takes men who have gone through Ranger School and Jump School into Selection for Green Berets. Ben was just the type of man that Special Forces seek out...tough, intelligent, creative men that work well in a small tactical team and will do anything to help their country. While Ben did some amazing things in Special Forces, his story is long and complicated, most of which he tells only after about half a fifth of tequila. I only bring him up to explain how I came to be in Nigeria during one of the most brutal civil wars that ever rocked the continent of Africa.
Ben taught me everything I wanted to know about life. In the backcountry of Texas, he taught me how to shoot and hunt, drink beer with the best of my high school boyfriends, repair my old beat-up truck...pretty much everything a young Texas boy would ever want to learn. I was the daughter he never had, mainly because his wife was killed at 29 when their first house collapsed in one of Texas' famed tornadoes. Not to say that I was much of a tomboy, I just had a multi-faceted youth that prepared me for a life of adventure. It wasn't until high school that I realized my combination of intelligence, wit, and tough upbringing made me the desire of most of the hot guys in my school. Well, my athletic build and full, pouty lips probably didn't hurt.
Unfortunately for most of the boys at my school, I was mature and an ass-kickin' adventurer, and most could just not keep up. I tested the water a few times, Bobby and Johnny being the best I had (yeah, they had me at the same time on graduation night). I even played around with some of the girls on my cross-country team, but nothing beats the feeling of a hard cock sliding in and out of my tight cunt, ever so quick, ever so rough. My appetite for sex is much like my appetite for life – quick, dangerous, and hard as fuck. There was one man who lived up to my expectations (most guys I ran off after a few weeks because I tend to scare men) during medical school at Harvard. I met Chris while doing some rock-climbing over Spring Break down in North Carolina. His hot body and full blue eyes drew me into him before I knew what happened. Twelve tequila shots and a hot night of passionate fucking in the back of his Silverado, and I was in love. Being a tough redneck that was six years older than me did not seem to matter as our personalities quickly meshed. He was spending the spring and summer guiding backpacking trips on the Appalachian Trail, and I flew down to see him several times over that summer. Too bad for me that Chris was a wanderer; never content to stay in one place, or one pussy, for too long. He broke my heart, and I cursed his hot, thick cock that filled me up just so, leaving me longing for more on the lonely Harvard nights in my single apartment. He taught me the pleasures of playing with myself, and I would rub my pussy raw dreaming and crying over him for that final year of medical school.
After I graduated from medical school, I took an internship and residency in orthopaedic medicine in North Carolina (so I could be close to my mountains), but never made it past two years. I spent too much time staring out the windows and dreaming of the life I had wanted before Dr. Gerano set in. One day after helping perform a closed reduction on a seven year old girl's arm, I walked up to my prick of a supervisor and told him to kiss my sweet Texas ass. I went back to my apartment, called around to some old medical school buddies, and packed my bags. That night I had joined a medical relief team that was dropping into Nigeria in order to help relieve some of the atrocities that were occurring between the ruling factions of the civil-war torn nation. Civilians were being slaughtered whole-sale by both sides in attempt to genetically cleanse the nation...not much we could do for those folks. But the poor civilians caught in the cross-fire of automatic weapons fire, mortar rounds detonating, and decades old mine fields were the target of our relief team. Composed of four trauma surgeons, two orthopaedic surgeons, three anesthesiologists, and a slew of nurses and med techs, our team was funded by private donors who had an interest in preserving human life. We were to stay in country for six weeks, until another team of doctors and nurses could fly in to replace us. Not knowing what kind of horrible injuries and surgeries I would have to perform, I readied myself for the next adventure of my storied life – an adventure I would never have guessed.
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That bad, oily bead of sweat trickled over the vein in my forehead, down over the bridge of my nose, and dripped off the tip onto what the Nigerians call an operating table. It's late, and it's been another hellish day in the middle of a hellish trip. Not that I'm upset at all, but I'm starting to become disillusioned with what God allows men to do in His name. I've always been a believer, but never really had the time to devote to calling on Him. I'm standing in the middle of a makeshift operating room next to Marianna, the cute young CRNA that is desperately trying to help me remove shrapnel fragments from a mortar round that exploded all too close to a young pregnant mother. Her black, velvety skin is poring sweat as her eyes roll back into their loose sockets. She's bleeding out, and there isn't much I can damn well do about it. We performed an emergency c-section to remove her premature baby that thankfully escaped harm. But the baby's poor mother is losing the battle that too many of her countryman have already lost. Covered in her blood, I set down my scalpel and forceps, and take her limp, clammy hand into my own. I lean down and whisper into her ear "May God bless you and keep you..."
