Army Exploits Series
Even those who never served in the military are probably mindful of how unique the life of an enlisted person must be. As a veteran of seven years, I can certainly bear witness. Most could not imagine, though, that finding romance or even occasion for casual sex can, itself, be an exceptional challenge.
Without fail, every time I share any of my sordid tales of intimate congress while in the Army, people are overwhelmingly shocked and enthralled. Hopefully, with this series of short stories that I'm calling "Army Exploits," I can stir up a little amusement, curiosity and lust or possibly encourage others to write about their time in service.
My goal is to share authentic experiences, warts and all, as best as I can remember them. I'm not wanting to over embellish or try to make myself out to be a hero or gigolo. This won't be in chronological order, either. My expectation is to submit stories as inspiration dictates. I always welcome comments, criticism, feedback of any kind. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy.
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It was a dream realized. For almost two years, I've endeavored to become an Army Flight Medic, and now I had arrived. Fort Rucker, Alabama was the home of the Army's warrant officer academy, helicopter pilot school and most pertinent, the U.S. Army School of Aviation Medicine. Finally, after all the hoops I had jumped through, asses I had to kiss I was here.
Not only was it highly competitive just to get into a class, but this was considered some of the most intense training I would ever experience. It wasn't the physical aspect, I mean, you were still expected to maintain a high standard of fitness, but the mental side was grueling. Those that I knew that had made it through the course described it as "trying to drink from a wide-open fire hydrant," because you were supposed to digest so much information in such a short amount of time.
* * * * *
On deployment back in 1999, Camp Doha, Kuwait, my then roommate and I were working as ambulance medics. While dropping off a patient at the hospital, we noticed a soldier in a flight suit outside, so we struck up a conversation. Rodriguez, I think was his name, and he informed us within about a minute of introducing himself that he was a Dust-off medic.
We had a myriad of questions, which he was happy to answer. He was cocky, not an asshole, but definitely sure of himself. The uniform was badass. We had to wear the same desert fatigues that every other chump was wearing. This guy stood out, looked important.
Most appealing was that he flew to work. We had a four-hour drive to get back to our base in a Humvee ambulance with no AC which had a proclivity for overheating. That's when I realized I had been wasting the best years of my life doing sick call at the aid station or bullshit transfers like today. Occasionally I got a trauma patient so I could employ my training, but for the most part I was a peon. I wanted to swoop in on a UH-60 Blackhawk looking like Tom Cruise and drag my dick through all the groupie trim that entitled me to. I wanted to do the hero shit.
"Ju gotta know yer chit." He boasted in a heavy Puerto Rican accent. "...but it's like more pay and it's laid back and the chicks dig it." He continued. We obviously were intrigued. He went on about how cool it was to go on random training flights just to go eat lunch, how in aviation units people weren't always jumping down your throat about this and that, and how heads would turn every time he walked into a room wearing his flight gear. "Yeah man, put in for it. It's wort a chot, man. Worse ting, dey say no. Plus, the chicks dig it." He kept on encouraging us. Almost every other phrase out of his mouth was, "chicks dig it."
He probably would have rattled on as long as we would let him. We hung onto his every word, but Brad pointed out that we would be expected back at our forward base soon. We had gotten just about enough information so that we could investigate it later. I didn't need any further convincing. This was my future.
* * * * *
The term for temporary duty which involved travel was TDY. Normally you were paid a per diem and issued a government credit card for incidentals. Sometimes barracks space or on post housing was available, but most times you got a hotel room nearby. Luckily, Fort Rucker had a four-star hotel just a short walk from the schoolhouse.
When I got to the installation, I went ahead and checked in. Accommodations on base were nice. Most of us got a spacious two bedroom. It had a full bath and while not brand new, was way better than most on post hotels. Settled in, I got some rest anticipating the next morning when we would report for duty.
Unlike most of the training I had experienced, there were not drill sergeants barking orders when I arrived. Instead, there were about five staff sergeants in flight suits greeting students, checking names off their roster. Once it was 0800, we were all supposed to be there, but they still waited around for stragglers. Never have in my military career have I seen such leniency from leadership. Rodriguez did mention it was laid back, but I was beginning to wonder if I was still in the Army.
It was a coed class with about a three to one male to female ratio. Most of the females were unimpressive, but there were a few lookers. There was this brunette, Dianne Wilson. She was about a six-footer with giant hooters. I remember her name was Dianne because she reminded me of Wonder Woman. There were some other cuties, but she really stood out. I already had in mind to find out what her situation was and how close her room was to mine.
With all the rush of the first day and the stress of trying to keep up with all the info the instructors were tossing at us, I didn't get a chance to talk to her. My hesitancy would leave me out in the cold, as two guys from Fort Bragg swooped in and started chatting up her and her blonde companion. Sergeants Tatum and Nelson, it's like it was their mission to find girlfriends as soon as they were away from their wives. It wasn't long before they were joined at the hip (among other things) for the duration of our stay.
My folly reminded me of one of the oldest Army proverbs, "What happens on TDY, stays on TDY." This meant things like power drinking, gambling and especially fucking around; you know, behavior your wife would not care for, were considered normal while you were out of town. If your wife were to find out about your misdeeds, it meant that someone ratted you out. The offended person, by law, could have you drawn and quartered.
Normally, if in this situation, I would have tried to woo her myself and leverage the fact that they were a couple of shitbags stepping out on their families to my advantage. The only problem is that the first corollary of the 'what happens on TDY' code forbade me to bust them out lest I be in violation warranting a fate similar to the above. The bond between a traveling soldier and his paramour was clearly a most sacred thing.
Generally, it's bad form to cut in on a fellow warfighter's side piece anyway. As a rule, getting on the wrong side of anybody that could be presumably asked to risk his neck for yours was not worth it. Plus, I really needed to buckle down. Getting in a squabble over some skirt, even one that hot, would be a huge distraction. I was so close to getting my dream job, no way I was going to fuck that up.
Vigorously, I took notes the whole first day trying not to miss a thing. They mentioned several times the need to have a battle buddy. Customarily that meant a peer that you could depend on and that could help keep you accountable. Here, that was true also, but they mostly wanted you to have a study buddy to help you keep you on pace academically.
When we broke for lunch, that was my objective. It didn't take long before I found that I was possibly the only person who travelled here alone. Most arrived in small groups or pairs and were already set for a partner. The ones that didn't seemed to find someone to pair up with quickly.
So right away, that's two strikes. No study buddy, no fuck buddy; I was seriously beginning to doubt myself. Ultimately, there with me at the bottom of the barrel was Sergeant Maureen Wulf. With my options waning, I proposed we be partners and she accepted. Little did I know what a stroke of luck this was to end up with her.
Wulf was an Army brat, her dad retiring at the rank of Lieutenant Colonial. She had spent her whole life bouncing around the world from one base to the next, so she was as well versed in the ways of the military. Considerably early in her career, she took a leadership role at a VIP clinic in D.C., which made her highly connected. On one occasion, she said she had to draw blood from Colon Powell, the former Chairman to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, because none of her soldiers were up to it. To top it all off, she turned out to be pretty much the smartest person in the class. If my goal was to do well here and earn my wings, this was the ideal teammate.
As for my other issue, I resolved that it was best to rely on cold showers and five on one sessions to keep myself sane. Besides, judging by first impression, I felt with this chick, I wouldn't be tempted into any monkey business. She was the tom-boy type and all in all, she really didn't have what I'd describe as classic good looks. Her legs made a bee line from her torso to the floor with little deviation. The acne scars and adult braces didn't help either.
Don't get me wrong, I've done way worse. Off the bat, she showed a keen wit and could make anybody laugh at will, which was appealing. I mean, if she made herself up, she did have some killer facial features, high cheek bones, full, thick dark red lips and fierce mocha colored eyes. I noticed she even had great hair even though she wore it in a bun most of the time, even out of uniform.
Not to bury the lead, but there was one other thing. My historically most immutable weakness was a nice set of tits and this bitch had it in spades. I remember the day we were issued our flight gear, as soon as we got our suits, we were filed into two dressing rooms, male and female and instructed to change into them. It was a loose-fitting uniform, but still, we needed to know right away if they were the right size, so we could exchange them. When she emerged from changing, it looked like a dead heat in the zeppelin race. They must have sent her back three times before they gave up and decided there was no way to hide her massive chesticles.
So, she had a few good attributes, but she was no Diana Prince. Besides, like I said, she was just not my type. By how butch she came off, at first, I thought I might not be hers either. All that said, I felt comfortable spending off time hitting the books with her without fearing that I'd be so preoccupied with giving her the one eye, that I'd fail out of the class.
By close of business on what they called zero day, we hadn't really done anything apart from clerical and admin stuff. The tone was made clear, though. You'd have to be on your toes, head on a swivel at all times. We were given so much information about the course and what was expected, that if you blinked or your attention drifted for a moment, you'd be behind with little chance to catch up. This only served to make me that much more nervous about when class started that I'd be one of the ones getting left behind.
