Getting off the plane put us in the grips of Army Intelligence. Sean had military ID and his permits—they referred to them as orders—plus the marriage certificate. No one ever spoke to me, except to ask for photo ID. Eventually, things came to a head over my laptop. The Army wanted to know why I was carrying such sophisticated image handling software. Sean gave them one of my business cards. That led to another discussion. I was surprised to hear Gerald's name mentioned several times.
Calls were made. Time passed. More calls. More time. Eventually, Sean was scolded for bending regulations, but we were allowed to leave—without my laptop. It would be returned when we boarded the plane. It was dark outside. I was very glad they provided a car and a driver, named Sergeant Johnson, though perhaps spy was closer. He had something of Gerald in his carriage.
Whatever his other duties, Sgt. Johnson took us to something like a motel, helped check us in and carried our luggage to the room. I was politely, but firmly, told not to touch anything. Once inside our room, I let Sean give me a long hug. For a little longer, I leaned my head against his chest. When we broke it was for a quick, chaste shower. I was hungry, which meant Sean was probably starving.
The street outside our motel reminded me of Atlantic City in July, except for all the uniforms. Most of the uniforms were of the PT variety, i.e. black shorts and a gray T-shirt, both with the Army logo. Beach togs were likely a violation, but every other soldier was wearing them. Civilian clothes tended to be loud. My Hawaiian beach bunny dress would not have not fit in, quite. I considered the potential impact of putting Christine in it. It made me wish we brought the chest, until I considered what the spooks would have thought of its contents. Better not to have it.
Sean inquired after the nearest PX. It turned out there was only one, but it was nearby. That answered one of my questions. We were on a military base, beach footwear not-with-standing. The PX turned out to be a three building cluster near, the air strip. Surrounded them was in a sort of mini-mall. The only open stores were Pizza Hut, Burger King and a coffee shop called Green Beans. We stopped at the Pizza Hut long enough to place an order, then went to the PX.
I did not know what to expect. It was sort of like a Target split between three buildings. There was a PX, a PXtra and an Express, whatever that meant. We never went to the Pxtra. Sean said it would have tlarger, more expensive items, like weight training equipment, furniture and elctronics. The PX had a little bit of everything from soft lines to books. We went there first.
In soft goods we acquired two beach towels, two pair of beach togs and a wide brimmed fake-straw hat for me. The next aisle was assorted "tactical" gear. Sean opted for something called a boonie, which was a rollable hat made of digicam fabric. The sunglasses they were in a locked case, so we had to wait for help. Sean selected two pairs of Oakley's. At over $100 a pair, I would never have considered them for myself.
From there we went to the Express, which was like a Walgreens without the pharmacy. One row was a selection of magazines, mostly up to date. At the end of the row was a standing rack of postcards, one of which caught my eye. It was a condolence card. I was unsure whether to be sorry it was there, or glad that no one had needed it. Sean noticed where I was looking. He said, "I know. You never forget flying with a flag covered coffin. It changes you." There was nothing to say to that.
One wall was cold storage, mostly drinks and ice cream, but also frozen dinners and meat. Sean grabbed a bottle of juice, two bottles of water and a frozen Snickers. In sundries, Sean added suntan lotion, zinc oxide and a box of razor refills. As we waited to check out, Sean grabbed some refrigerator magnets, with pictures of aircraft and the names of Iraq bases. They were marked down from $1.99 to $0.25.
Outside there was an area of picnic tables. Sean put the bags on the table and left me to watch them. He had only been gone a minute or two when three soldiers decided to hit on me. A small shake of the head was enough for two of them, but the other was bolder. I let a little of Cynthia into my gaze, which sent the boy stumbling back on his friends. Behind me, Sean said, "Is there any trouble, Ma'am?" I said, "No trouble, Sergeant. They mistook me for someone else." They scattered so quickly that Sean snorted. It was his good, "That's finished" laugh. Spare me the other one.
Given my recent meals, American style pizza was a welcome change. Sean told me that The Exchange owned the world's largest Burger King franchise. Nothing says USA like a burger and fries. After a month outside the wire, that taste is like coming home. His point could be made for pizza as well. Conversation drifted to the subject of MRE's, about which little good is said. Sean's expression was, Meal, Rarely Edible.
By the time we made it to our room, it was almost midnight local time. Sean was dragging and I was dead on my feet. Sean had me strip and lay face down on the bed. As his massages went, it was a quickie, but he untied knots where I did not know I had muscles. Pausing, with his hands on my ass, he asked, "Do you think they are listening?" I turned completely pink, but answered, "Would that be good or bad?" Sean chuckled and gave my fanny a quick slap.
Sean:
I had forgotten how anal the US Army can be when they set their mind to it. I had proper authorizations and valid orders, but our last minute change of plans raised flags. Add to that the brand new marriage and security noses began twitching. Before we arrived, the intel guys had decided to keep an eye on us. The fancy laptop with fancy software was icing on the cupcake.
The worst of it was that we passed the sniff test. Once they had met and talked to us, the hackles went down. That was where the Army's anal retentive nature kicked in. Once we were flagged, they had to follow through. Someone, somewhere would ask questions. So they kept Sheila's work computer and gave us a nanny, but they threw us a bone. Sergeant Johnson was probably neither a Sergeant nor a Johnson, but he had a car.
He took us to our room, which was likely for mid level VIPs. We were not allowed to touch our bags while they were in transit, but they were left with us when the door closed. I was not sure what to make of that. It made no difference, because I wanted food and a shower.
Showering with Sheila can be a lot of fun, but this was purely a quickie. Once we were ready for the street, we stepped out. As expected, we had a shadow. My guess was that things were slow, so they were practicing. We went to the PX and food court. I ordered a pizza, then introduced Sheila to one of my benefits. The PX is never cutting edge, but they go where the military goes. One can be a slice of home when you need one.
As expected, I was able to outfit us for fun in the sun. I was tempted to get a left side thigh holster for Gerald, but decided that it could wait. Even though it was marked down to a buck, I did not want the spooks seeing me buy it. Not yet anyway. I did pick up some picture magnets.
When we made it back to the Pizza Hut, our pie was ready. I ate most of it, of course, but Sheila managed two slices and part of a third. For her, that's a lot. I made sure she drank plenty of water. Kwaj is equatorial, so dehydration is always an issue. Every soldier and most athletes know you can sweat faster than your gut can handle new water. Prior hydration is key and I expected a lot of sun the next day.
By the time we reached our room, Sheila was about ready to fold. I told her to strip down and lie on the bed. Sheila replied to command voice like a trained recruit, quickly and without emotion. She had shown the red silk clear back in Hawaii. It seemed a long time ago, but this was not an appropriate venue. Still, something could be managed. It gave me something to think about while my hands put her to sleep.
When I woke, it was dark outside. By the time I finished with the latrine, that had changed. The sun rises quickly in the tropics. Sheila was still asleep, which gave me a chance to find a few things. Not the scarves. I wanted her to hand me the scarves. I needed a waterproof cover for the bed, some towels, shaving cream and a good razor. When all was assembled, I threw back the sheet and popped her ass with a towel. Sheila is so fair skinned, you can see her whole body blush. It was a shame to let her tan, but what would a trip to the tropics be without one?
Once she was fully aware, I told Sheila that I had seen one of her scarves, but not both. She understood that this was an instruction, so she stopped acting shy and went about her task. That transition is one I treasure whenever I see it, which is surprisingly often. It can be very useful in business. Employees want to understand their duties. Simply making the duties plain has a calming effect. The trick is not to overdo it.
Sheila, being Sheila, also understood my other point. There was a good chance the room was monitored. If so, they would get audio but no explanation. While Sheila was fetching her restraints, I put a garment bag on the mattress and covered it with towels. The situation was far from ideal. I could use the headboard, but there was nothing at the foot, not even legs. The bed was on a solid pedestal. Oh well. Needs must make do.
Just as I turned, Sheila threw her arms around me and gave me a big kiss. Then she stepped back a pace, lowered her gaze and presented the scarves. No. I was not a master and she was not a slave. I lifted her chin til our eyes met. Far from fighting it, Sheila may have had a twinkle in her eye. I stepped out of character a bit and embraced her man to wife. She stiffened with surprise, then melted into my arms. Sheila claims I give the best hugs, but I privately disagree. Hers are the best and only I get them.
