First I would like to apologize for the length of time with no activity. Real life reared its ugly head. Now that I can work on this a bit, I started working Chapter nine up, and went back through to check a few things, and found myself looking at some necessary edits. They are clarifications and streamlines mainly, with one foreshadowing element added.
In the interest of full disclosure there are a couple of things that you should keep in mind when you read on. I started this with the initial premise and a completely non-sexual dog that you meet in Chapter six. The story made it into the middle of the second chapter, and I found that the characters decided that they were going to change the script so to speak. There are quite a few people that got mad at something that was a phantom wandering around in the drafty halls between my ears.
I'm not sure about your fantasy world, but mine has no STD's. If I'm thinking about what it would feel like to do whatever to whoever, I'm not going to stop myself and find out if the mental picture has anything communicable.
I would like to thank "takemeaway my love" for the assistance.
Thanks for taking the time, and please feel free to comment through the Lit profile.
TNC
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Mark Thompson was hurriedly packing the last of his stuff when he was seized by two large hands that threatened to snap his neck if he twitched. Twitch he did though, and managed to land one elbow to the mid-section of his attacker, although it felt more like hitting one of the bulkheads than a stomach. He regretted it as soon as it landed and was rewarded with being stuffed head first into his rack, a hulk of a person giggling like a loon behind him.
"Let me out, you fucking ape!" Mark yelled, only fueling the unexpected gales of laughter coming from Jack Swanson, the chief of the SEAL unit attached to the special operations submarine Mark was assigned to.
They had known each other for over twenty years, Jack and his sister Amy were closer to him than any family could ever be. They had seen him through more drama than anyone deserved and were still his lighthouses in every storm.
Once Jack was finished with his giggling fit, something that really didn't fit his 6'4" 250 pound frame, he wiped his eyes and relented, letting Mark climb back out of his rack.
"What's on the menu for this morning, chief?" Jack asked knowingly.
Mark was most certainly headed home as fast as his '69 Z28 could carry him. Vanessa, his wife and next best friend, was going to be there and he was looking forward to a weekend of sexual aerobics.
Vanessa was Mark's dream girl. She was funny, intelligent, and seemed to know what he thought sometimes before he did; not to mention beautiful. She was his fantasy come to life, stood just a shade over 5'5" and weighed in close to 140, although it was a guess at best; he didn't do stick women. Her hair was a deep chestnut color and fell over her shoulders in waves, framing her face that was dominated by the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. They were the color of mahogany and would entrance Mark any time he looked into them.
The rest of her filled out a size 8 dress and a 36C bra quite nicely. Mark learned this the hard way by telling a salesperson, "I think she's your size." Needless to say, Vanessa wasn't pleased and made sure that the error was corrected, thank you very much. All of that was stacked onto a set of shapely, tanned legs that climbed straight to heaven, better known as her spectacular ass.
Mark and Vanessa had been married a little over ten years and life was good. The only thing that sucked was going to sea, but they only had to make it another six months and he was done. It was time for the picket fence and 2.3 kids. He also wouldn't mind some elbow room and not having to sleep within reaching distance of nine other people. Not smelling the results of the beanie wienies that were typical meals before the midnight watch began would just be icing on the cake. Still, if it weren't for the separation, he thought he could make a career of it; he liked the job and the people, just not the bullshit.
Once Mark got back to his feet, he made a great show of dusting himself off and fixing his hair, then turned to his friend and smirked.
"I just thought I'd go shopping and get my nails done, you thilly man!" in his best lisping voice.
The rest of the people in the goat locker, better know as the chief's quarters started laughing with the two best friends; they also knew where he was headed, and everyone except Jack was just a bit jealous.
When Mark returned from a few days liberty with Vanessa, he was more spent than when he left; scratches on his back, hickeys everywhere else and that thoroughly fucked look that made him the envy of the crew.
As Mark and Jack made their way ashore and to their cars, Jack stopped. "If you can get your asses out of bed for an hour this weekend, come over and we'll do ribs," he offered. It was highly unlikely since the couple normally did their best to shame a herd of rabbits on Viagra with their sexual capacity and intensity, but it was worth a try.
"Yessir. Can't guarantee anything though," Mark said with a leering look and a wink.