I had just finished a 1 year assignment with the Department of Justice. I was still in the Army, but I had been working with the DOD, CIA, FBI, the Secret Service, and military Special Forces units. Full disclosure, I personally have never been Special Forces, I only worked with them. Of course what I was doing is still classified, but the Pentagon decided that some of the experiences I had during that time needed to be incorporated into the training programs at Camp Mackall in North Carolina. That is where the Airborne and Special Operations units go for various training programs, including SERE and Q-Course.
I was a Staff Sergeant at the time, probably 27 or 28 years old. I stood 6'2" tall, about 215 pounds and had less than 2% body fat. I know because I had thorough medical examinations before, during, and after my time with the DOJ. My shoulders were broad, my chest and abs were like sculpted marble. Honestly, I really enjoyed the attention I got from the civilian women I worked with during my assignment, but now that was over and I found myself at Camp Mackall where the only women were few and always students which meant they were off-limits to me, regardless of rank.
My assigned duty station was located on Camp Mackall; that's where my office was, and where I delivered briefings, presentations, and training activities for the senior staff and instructors. However, for my convenience the Army worked out an arrangement so that I could have a desk to work from at an Army recruiting station off-post. The recruiters there were really welcoming to me. They set me up with an office of my own that was nicer than the one I had on-post. They loved to have me share my war stories with their applicants. Sometimes to get them pumped-up, other times to calm their fears.
I was living in a hotel suite off-post and whether I was headed to the recruiting station or my office at Camp Mackall, I would pass the same Shell station / convenience store on my way to and from work. My caffeine of choice is Dr. Pepper so it became part of my daily routine to stop and grab a couple of bottles and a twin-pack of Slim Jims on my way in. Of course, that might also have to do with the really cute girl, Chrissy, that worked at the register in the mornings.
I would describe her as very pretty. In fact, she could have been some politician or military officer's daughter. She had that look of a girl who was the apple of her father's eye, and went to the best schools. But I did notice a "Metal Mulisha" tattoo on the inside of her forearm so perhaps she wasn't as innocent as I thought.
Every morning when I walked in, she would always call out, "Good morning big sarge!" It always made my cock twitch just a bit at the thought that she might look forward to seeing me as much as I enjoyed seeing her. "The usual again I see" she would remark while ringing me up.
"Breakfast of champions" was my usual reply.
"Well it seems to be working for you big sarge. I hope you have a good day."
"You too."
Our conversations began to last longer each morning, to the point that I was holding up the line on occasion. I learned that she was into skateboarding and preferred to skate pools and half-pipe just like me. She really liked my 1969 442, although she referred to it as a "gutless Cutlass." This didn't bother me for two reasons. First off, she drove a 1998 Camaro Z28 with a "Metal Mulisha" decal on the rear window. I knew my 455 cubic inches would destroy her 305 cubic inches in the ¼ mile. The second, and better reason was she would always reach out and touch my hand playfully whenever she referred to my "gutless Cutlass". This would always make my cock jump in a way that she must have noticed. Perhaps that is why she did it. All I know is that I really enjoyed it.
I was called up by my bosses at The Pentagon to give an update on the training activities I was developing at Camp Mackall. Because of the sensitive nature of the training, this meant a 5-hour drive to present my updates in person. I left my hotel at 0300 the next morning so I would be sure to make it to the 0900 meeting on time. Unfortunately, this had me stopping at the Shell station before my favorite clerk began her shift.
The recruiters were nice enough to let me use one of their "G-rides" for my trip to D.C. for which I was grateful. Getting around D.C. is much easier in an official vehicle with GSA license plates, plus I was glad to have the modern amenities of air-conditioning and comfortable, power seats and windows since I was traveling in my dress uniform.
After the meeting, which lasted until 1330, I was invited to dine with the Brigadier General, his attaché, and a Sergeant Major who was part of the Special Operations Group. After I had finished my food, I thanked the General and respectfully requested to be excused so I could drive back to Camp Mackall that night.
"Nonsense!" the General exclaimed. "I'll have Chad (the Lieutenant Colonel that served as his attaché) get you a room at The Watergate." (Yes, THAT Watergate)
"Thank you very much, General. But I really must get back to North Carolina tonight so I can get started on the changes we discussed earlier." Truthfully, I just wanted to get back that night so that I would be able to see Chrissy in the morning.
"I admire your dedication, son. Alright, you do that... but I don't want you reporting for duty before 1000. Better yet, make it noon. I'll have Chad call your commander and get you excused." That wasn't really necessary since I pretty much made my own hours, but I wasn't about to tell a general that.
"Thank you very much, General. I will be sure to sleep in as ordered, Sir."
I hit traffic leaving D.C. and in every big city I passed through so I arrived at the recruiting station pretty late that night. I needed to drop off the GSA vehicle and pick up my Olds, otherwise I would have gone straight to my hotel. I am so glad I did however, because as I drove past the Shell station I recognized a familiar Z28 with Metal Mulisha decal on the rear window. I wasn't hungry or thirsty, but I pulled in just to see Chrissy.
Chrissy wasn't working, she was actually just there to pick up her paycheck from the assistant manager, who she was chatting with when I walked in.
"Well hello Sergeant Cutlass, looking goooood. Oh, I mean looking sharp." She said this very seductively with elevator eyes and a sly expression on her face. I had forgot that I was still wearing my dress uniform.
"Oh... yeah, thanks," I stammered, distracted by how good she looked in her short-short cutoff 501s. "I had a meeting with the brass in D.C. today."
I walked over to the refrigerators, not sure what I was going to get this late at night. I looked back at her and took in the beautiful sight of her body. Her sandy blonde hair hung down past her shoulders. She was wearing a Volcom shirt with a low collar that allowed me a great view of her cleavage, not too big, but a very nice set of B-cups. From this angle I could see a reptile tattoo of some sort, just the tail was showing from under her shorts on her left hip where it snaked down her outer thigh before ending in a spiral just above the back of her knee. She caught me staring so I quickly grabbed a chocolate Yoo-hoo from the fridge and headed to the register.
"I'm sorry sir, but your card is declined." The assistant manager stated after ringing me up.
