This is the first chapter of a story. 18K+ words. This chapter is meant for character development and set up. There are graphic sexual scenes described here in. All sex is between consenting adults older than 18 years old. I wrote this for my enjoyment. I hope that you enjoy the reading of it. If you are an anonymous troll looking to nit pick the story don't waste your time or mine. Please leave feedback good or bad. This is my first effort at writing, please be kind. I am looking to improve as time goes on. Thank you
The Hunter
I grew up in a rural setting. As a child my nearest neighbor was ~1 mile away. My nearest neighbor with kids was about 2 miles away, needless to say until I was in school I was socially distanced (LOL). I got a.22 pellet gun when I was 8, a Crossman 10 pump single shot. I stalked and killed a variety of birds, squirrels, other small targets of opportunity. When I was 12 I got my first real gun, a.22 caliber Mossberg bolt action, it has a seven shot clip (adjustable for either short, medium or long rifle bullets) as well as adjustable iron sights. Squirrels, rabbits, and other small game were put on notice.
Growing up it was mostly my mother along with a growing litter of half siblings along with occasional step-dad. My mom, bless her heart, hated being lonely, but her picker was broke. She couldn't pick a man worth a damn if her life depended on it. I will always remember the first time mom let me take the car out. As she handed me the keys, she stated IF your old enough to fuck'em, then your old enough to marry them. I had never heard her use the F bomb before. I don't know if she used it for effect or if she felt that strong about it, but it stuck.
My biological father was absent, and I first met him when my grandmother passed (when I was seventeen). After my introduction, we had a hit and miss type of relationship, mainly miss since I lived 1500 miles away.
I had quite a number of acquaintances but few friends high school, but the friends I had, I would go to war with. The school I attended my freshman year was about 90% white segregation was happening next year, school mandated bussing, and all that great stuff. I was going upstairs to the library and turn in my books at the end of the year, when a young man of a different race knocked my books out of my arms. He stood over and with a snarl on his face stated that if I wasn't a scared pussy to come on out to the football stadium after school. Well I wasn't a scared pussy so I along with four of my friends took him up on his offer. We stopped by the bicycle rack and borrowed a chain or two. I really had no race issues. I gave respect and expected respect back in return. I really have no idea, to this day, what prompted the melee, however, when the fight was over, me and my buddies all had angle food cake cutters in our back pockets. We had them in our back pockets on the first day of school the following year and didn't have race problems the rest of the year....Another time, my friend Rick had a girlfriend in a neighboring town. She was a waitress at a local Diner that closed late at night. We were sitting around drinking beer and smoking some weed when he got a call. There was a customer that was harassing her. She had talked to the cook about it and he wouldn't take up for her. She was crying and was pretty upset. We loaded up and about 25 minutes later we walked into the joint and sat at the bar. Upon entry she looked at us and we subtly shook our heads, we wanted to see first-hand what was going on. The guy kept asking for things (new fork, more water, another napkin, etc.) each time Melody went to his booth, he tried and sometimes succeeded in feeling her up. After the second time, Rick was boiling. When he made his move, Scotty and James went to the back to talk to the cook and me and Rick approached the douche bag and attempted to educate him on proper dining etiquette. Well one thing led to another and we ended our discussion in the parking lot. He had several bones broken in his hand and a couple of broken ribs, along with the obligatory busted lip and black eye. Come to find out, the douche bag was the son of some local town royalty. Thanks to some local people that were in the diner willing to speak on our behalf and had no love for the douche bag we were asked to leave town and not come back, which we gladly complied.
I was more of a party animal but from time to time hormones kicked in and the pursuit of female companionship became my focus. I had a steady girlfriend my last year in high school, our make out sessions were special and heated. It got to the point where her mom had a sit down with me to point out that my girlfriend did not have to get pregnant to get married. I agreed with her and with a wry smile told her that if and when we would marry, then it would be the right way and pregnancy would not be an issue until after the honeymoon. My prospects for earning a decent living I my hometown were not that rosy and my future had military written all over it. At the end of summer I went to South Carolina, joining Uncle Sam's Misguided Children for indoctrination and training. I got a "dear john" letter my second week of boot camp. Such is life.
My name is Jedidiah Jones, my friends call me JJ. My acquaintances call me Jed. My enemies call me the Hunter. I am 6'2", 220 pounds of mostly muscle. I have added about 5 pounds of excess since my injury forced me to retire from the seals. I spent 12 years on the teams in a variety of situations and a variety climates. During my time in the teams, a man named Roberto befriended me. His family was wealthy and he was being groomed to take part of the family investment business. For whatever reason, (probably after DAD was caught swimming in the secretarial pool and an ugly divorce) he decided not to partake of the family business. He still followed stocks, bonds, and his knowledge of investing strategy did not leave him, and for that I am grateful to this day. During our time together he taught me about investing, what to look for, some pitfalls, and rules of "the game". I was a petty officer second class at the time of my discharge. I have excellent hand to hand combat skills, an expert in most weapons. Like Leroy Brown, the bad boys call me sir. I still work out to keep in shape. I'm not rock hard, but my muscle definition is still there. I run five miles on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I work out with free weights and PT on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. I go the bars from time to time. I enjoy shooting pool and of course there are always the girls.
After my departure from the service, my life was....well. mine. I had no real plans, no real family that I was close to, and no desire to change my current life status. I had money from enlistment bonuses, re-up incentives and other temporary pay incentives that I had invested (Thank you Roberto) well and thankfully those investments had paid off. I was comfortable and as long as I didn't get too crazy I could live reasonably well for a long time. Part of my re-indoctrination back in the mainstream of life was to set up a Facebook account, a twitter account, and an email account. I would spend about fifteen minutes a day, usually during breakfast, reviewing my "social network" of news (LOL) and contacts. I had several friend requests and followers. I turn down most friend request, choosing people that I truly know and not friend of a friend of a friend types. I seldom post anything so any followers are probably bored or extremely frustrated with my lack of "social" involvement. I do, from time to time, get contacted from head hunters about people with my skill set.
