Partings Pt 03

Ch 3: PARTINGS: The Art of The Deal

I took a deep breath standing in front of our—Jerry's and mine -- house. It would become hard to accept or think of this as mine alone. The next steps would be the toughest. Yes, I was home, but I felt so alone.

A full week away at a National Service Induction Center had one plus. I lost a few pounds and toned my muscles. To the public, strong bodies might be presented as a benefit of mandatory National Service.

The concept of National Service had been sold to the public as a panacea. Induction of unemployed young people into National Service promised to promote full employment, repayment of student loans and provide labor to perform less desirable jobs in the armed forces and in hospitals and nursing homes.

My bad luck, with the downturn in the economy, was demand evaporated at the fertility clinic where I was employed in HR as of all things an Industrial Psychology. With slackened demand, the firm collapsed; my experience invited silly grins on interview circuit. That put me in jeopardy of a call -- up.

Different from dreams sold to the public, my induction in National Service imparted the hopeless feeling of a total loss of control. I experienced being forcefully separated from my husband, stripped naked, placed on display, examined like cattle, run through grueling daily exercises, by Sergeant Abby Meyer, a bulldog of a female marine, and left to sleep in a cage on a stone floor.

Other girls called Sergeant Meyers, the black witch. I'd answer, "Meyers is toughest on me. I don't complain. Do I? It doesn't pay and no one listens anyway!" The girls laughed. If Sergeant Meyers overheard, I'd get more push -- ups, according to Meyers "on general principles."

At the moment, all I wanted to do was put that behind me and sleep in my own bed.

I sighed on entering my house. Our tenant, Mrs Pye, clutching her bathrobe, peeked out of her door. "When you and Jerry answered National Service's summons, I feared I'd never see you two again." Hesitantly, she asked, "What happened to Jerry? You too love birds were quite a pair—inseparable."

Yes, my husband Jerry and I were complementary combination. Where I took things as they came, Jerry planned every move in detail. With more time, Jerry assured me, he'd have invented jobs to exempt ourselves from the call up. Something Jerry was whipping up could get both of us out after two years.

"Jerry was taken -- armed services, I think," I replied with the sentence ending uncertainly in a higher pitch, "I drew Service Support -- assigned locally for now.

So," I sighed, "I'm home—for now at least."

"Support Services?" Mrs Pye asked.

"Support Service assists the other services," I replied, "with professional, managerial, and administrative personnel. I'm new. I don't really know what all that means, but most new inductees in Support Services draw hometown assignments."

I suspected that the reason I ended up at home and Jerry did not was Sergeant Meyer.

Before releasing me, Sergeant Meyers mentioned that I was being considered to be returned to school to complete my degree in Industrial Psychology. "It'd be a shame for Service Support to lose someone with your potential to clean bedpans and sheets in Humanitarian Services," Sergeant Meyers quoted the station commander. Only the Support Services had any interest in experience as Psychologist at a Fertility Clinic.

"It looks like you're wearing the clothes you left in, a week ago?" Mrs Pye, staring at Jerry's ratty T -- shirt and my raggy jeans, asked. "No uniform?"

"I'm lucky. I got my clothes back," I replied as I reached the staircase and clutched the bannister, "most of them," holding my arms away from my body to present my attire, "Jerry's old grey T -- shirt and my ratty jeans. I'd really like to get them off and—eh rest for a while."

Actually, I had someone else's underwear. Hopefully, their former owner was clean. Right now, I wanted them off and burnt. Chances are their former owner was marched out of the cage in the induction center to be hauled naked aboard like cargo on a truck headed for god -- knows -- where, like Jerry.

Oh, surely Sergeant Meyer had her own agenda in promoting me for a degree program in Industrial Psychology. Her interest in returning me to school explained why I was climbing the staircase to my rooms. Was it the sassy quip that Jerry and I planned to avoid spurious issue? How did that go? If separated at the Induction Center, both of us would stick to girls; Jerry could only do them anally?

"Much as you two wanted to be taken or returned home together..." Mrs Pye's voice trailed off.

Always the planner, Jerry hoped to score high enough in Induction testing place in Police Services; I'd be strong enough for Support Services; both could come home together. Ironically, I was home; he wasn't.

"I'm glad," Mrs Pye continued, "you were able to come home. It's been quiet here without you two."

Hmm, two had become one; had Sergeant Meyer intended to replace the other?

Climbing the stairs to the rooms that Jerry and I occupied, I told Mrs Pye, "You'll see me around the next few days. War is hell! I'm off from duty until Friday." I tried to sound cheerful but could not shake the gnawing feeling of guilt. Mrs Pye tried to engage me in further conversation, but "I need to get these dirty, sticky clothes off before I pass out from the smell."

What would happen Friday? Would I be asked to commit to returning to school to get my doctorate in Industrial Psychology? To accept, I'd have to pledge 10 years instead of the two I now owed. Three of those ten would be in school and I'd have an employment status. I chuckled exempt from induction. What was this Sergeant Meyer`s angle in engineering this offer?

Those three years on my own, in school would give me the opportunity to implement a plan to surprise Jerry on his return. Would he want a boy or a girl? I wondered.

Inside our -- Jerry's and mine -- rooms, I stripped off my clothes off and dropped the underwear in the trash. Leaving the door ajar, I rushed to stand naked in front of the mirror on the back of the hallway door. I felt the thrill of posing naked in a moment of narcissism. Part of the excitement was the potential, however small, of being watched. Would dear Mrs Pye sneak a peek. Who knows? Maybe!

Before those notices came, Jerry, after grabbing, overawing and plucking me bare, would drag me here to do the mating dance before the mirror. With Jerry behind me, his head buried in my neck, his bulging erection tickling my tush, Jerry would hold me across the waist. We'd sway together for a time I prayed could last forever. Jerry would recite one of his poems:

"Eyes appealing // Lips singing // Hips swaying // Body quaking."

I would whisper in his ear, "Why do you like to take me from the rear?" His hot blood surging in his veins was infectious. I could tell I was already speaking in a higher octave.

Jerry belted out his ditty: "Blood bubbling // Back stooping // Void stretching // Port unlatching."

"Is it power?" I asked as Jerry forcing my legs apart intruded between them.

Breathing heavily Jerry posed a rhetorical question: "Who has the power, him who penetrates or her who allows it?" Jerry returned to his limerick.

"Pin pulsating // Socket spreading // Spindle striving // Connection realizing."

Power? When Jerry and I were in college, Jerry was pleasantly amused by my studies in Industrial Psychology. "Employment is about power or the appearance of it. Life is give and take. Who gives and who takes depends upon the perception of power in the relationship?" Smiling, Jerry fell into rhyme.

"Breasts heaving // Poker popping // Partners pumping // Power combining."

A power relationship? How did that fit into the offer from Support Services to return me to school?

Today returning to my image staring back at me, I appraised my unadorned body. Week-long hard training had firmed the muscles of my shoulders and arms. My gut had been hardened into a press board stomach. My neatly trimmed pubic hair was fashioned into a cone shaped arc; "the sides of the arc," my husband Jerry joked as he trimmed them, "are a direction finder to a potential admirer."

Naturally—interesting choice of word—I thought as I admired my physique. Having been worked at the Induction Center naked outdoors, I had an even tan. Some of the girls inducted with me had been nervous as uniformed personnel entering the center observed them.

Differently, I told the others, "I'm bare but unabashed, more concerned about fuzz returning to my underarms and legs. Humiliated being worked nude? You are humiliated, by believing yourself to be. Think on it! Shouldn't," I asked, "passersby, appreciate fine figures and feminine strength unleashed?"

Belief, my husband Jerry explained, debating the merits of Industrial Psychology, is the key to power. "If you believe in power, then it exists. To an extent, power is defeated by refusing to acknowledge it."

Now released from the Induction Center, I wondered why had Jerry and I had reported in like sheep for Induction?

In front of the mirror, I examined my pits and legs. I usually shaved every three days. After a week, hair was returning. I'd deal with that later. Swiveling to my right then to my left to inspect my hips and butt, I noted that glutes had firmed, not an ounce of fat. A week of hell had strengthened my legs and thighs.

Temptation overtook me. A few moments of quiet cavorting after a week of hell would do me good. I cupped my hands under my breasts and rhythmically kneaded them sending a rush through my body. My nipples went erect. The skin around my neck burnished scarlet, spreading across my breasts.

Leaving one hand to work my nipples, I ran the other one hand across my press - board stomach to massage my mound. As I was about to reach through my trimmed pubes to plunge into the chasm to probe my vaginal folds, I thought of Jerry.

It was so unfair that I must dance alone in front of the mirror in the privacy of our home, working myself orgasmic when Jerry was piled naked in the back of a truck bound for destination unknown.

If Jerry were home, he'd be watching. Having subdued me, Jerry often preferred to see me thrust my fingers in my folds and fondle my clit. When my moans intensified and my shouts "fuck -- me" became loud enough to disturb Mrs Pye, Jerry bent me over to be taken doggy style. Tickled by curly hairs on Jerry's belly teasing the soft flesh of the cleft of my butt cheeks, I'd giggle as Jerry plunged inside.

Right now, I wished I had taken Jerry's unwashed clothes to sniff his scent from a discarded, sweaty T -- shirt. Too late! Breaking the rhythm to rummage through the laundry basket would destroy the mood. I had to content myself imagining the sight, sound and smell of Jerry as he readied to impale me on his pulsating poker. Viewing my image in the mirror sent an electric charge through my body.

Steps away from a wild orgasm, my body went rigid. Knees buckling, teeth grinding, sweat exuding from my pores, eyes narrowed to slits, my mouth opened agape, I deliberately allowed my teasing fingers to hesitate before penetrating my inner wonders.

At that I heard a sound caught between a gasp and a short burst of restrained laughter. Looking over my bare shoulder, I saw the stern bulldog face of Sergeant Abby Meyers, my stocky, muscular training sergeant from National Service Induction.

This was serious. Meyer came dressed in the class A Marine Corps Service uniform, a drab lime green skirt and matching jacket over a khaki shirt and green neck -- tab. Were those black pumps spit shined? Meyers meant business. The uniform she chose, I knew from Jerry who used to talk endlessly about his days in the Marine Corps, served the purpose of a civilian business suit.

"Oh, my God," still panting, I exclaimed in a high octave, "I'm so sorry Sergeant Meyers. I hope I didn't embarrass you." Though I ceased stimulating myself, I made no effort to cover up.

I suspected that Sergeant Meyer was here about the proposed contract to extend my time in Support Services in exchange for a commitment to return me to school to complete my degree in Industrial Psychology. Why was she pushing the issue so quickly? I had only been released a couple of hours ago. I asked myself, why now and not before I was released?

"If I weren't in a hurry, I'd tell you, `Carry -- on, Trainee." Breaking into a smile, Sergeant Meyers uttered an apology of sorts, "Think nothing of it, Trainee. I watch inductees 24/7." She paused before she added dryly with a sick half -- smile, "Women can be as sassy as men are brassy."

Though naked and caught in what some might regard as an embarrassing situation, I kept my poise. I even laughed at Sergeant's clever play on words.

"Perhaps, I could have afforded you, Trainee Warbler, the ugh—civilian courtesy," Sergeant shifted to a stultified form manner of address, "of calling ahead to warn you, but now that you've been accessioned in Support Services even when you're at liberty, you're still on duty 24 hours a day."

"I take it you have something important to discuss," I replied. "Should I get dressed?"

"No need," Sergeant Meyer spoke in the staccotic military intonation, "I'll be brief. Support Services has an important issue to be resolved."

Obviously, she wanted to intimidate me. What might Jerry have said, "power lies with the perception of it. Embarrassment is a feeling not a fact. If you don't feel embarrassed, you aren't."

"Oh?" I asked, "I thought I was off duty, eh—I mean—at liberty—until Friday morning 0500h." Jerry had taught me when I was re -- negotiating the scope of my duties under my contract with the Fertilization Center to act as `Industrial Psychologist' to make the other party explain his terms.

"The station commander," Sergeant Meyer handed me documents, "wants you to decide on Support Service's offer to allow you to complete your degree in Industrial Psychology."

Inviting Sergeant Meyer to the kitchen table, an aluminum bistro set in the corner of the kitchenette, I suggested, "Come sit down to discuss it. While it's an intriguing proposal, I have been out of work for months, before induction. How would I pay for college and my rent?"

"There are some," Meyer explained, "benefits attached."

"You'd have to explain them -- and show me where it is in the contract." I motioned toward the table. "Come sit down, you said, we need to get the terms of the deal settled, right away."

First step, in negotiations, gain control of the discussion.

Uneasily sitting down, Meyer could not stop staring at my chest as I dangled my breasts in front of her. I plopped down. I had turned my minuses to a plus. Meyer may have wanted me naked to intimidate me. I was using my nudity to distract her. Meyer didn't understand the difference between "naked" and "nude." The former equates to vulnerability; the latter is a state of undress.

To hold the spell, I showed no reaction to the shock I felt. A bolt of electricity shot a sudden jolt from my tail bone to the back of my neck when my bare butt collided with the cold aluminum of my seat.

"Tuition -- fully funded," Meyer explained, sighing deeply as her gaze dropped from my breasts to my conical tuff of pubic hair, "you draw a Cadet's salary equivalent to the pay of a Corporal in the Armed Services and get an allowance for private quarters. You owe 10 years from date of acceptance. Upon graduation you would receive a commission as a Lieutenant in Support Services."

"Right now, I owe two years less one week, 103 weeks, right?" Speaking slowly, I pointed to the document, "If I," leaning on the table, "accept, the clock is reset and I owe 10 years. Correct?"

Looking around, Meyer said in the gravel voice of authority, "Nice place you have here, Trainee Warbler. It would be an awful shame to see you re -- classified, transferred to Humanitarian Services, shorn like a lamb, and shipped out to wherever to change bed pans and mop floors."

I thought carefully. This was a task for Jerry. Always the planner, Jerry, the Marine, thought tactically. What did Jerry say: never engage an enemy on their own ground. Faced with a threat, thank your adversary. See if you can figure out their goals and fears. "I thank you for your efforts on my behalf, but where exactly do you figure into this proposed agreement?" I inquired.

Silence, a deep breath, Meyer was deciding whether to tell me what she had in mind. Her eyes bulged and her heart skipped, as she gasped when I scratched my inner thigh. Breathlessly, Meyer related that she had a similar opportunity and thought we could room together.

Leaning forward to wag my tits under her nose, I reminded her. "`Living on the economy' you get an allowance for quarters. I suppose the landlord might accept an assignment as payment of rent."

Still breathless, Meyer countered, "The manager of the property became J & A Realty under a lease from you and your husband Jerry. J -- Jerry; A -- Amy? I was hoping to keep my allowance."

Meyer had come prepared. But, now I knew how Jerry intended to get out after his time was up. He had created jobs for both of us. No sense in fighting Meyer on her own ground, I chose my words carefully, presenting her plusses in the arrangement. "I suppose you want someone to coach you on basic college courses and help you with graduate level assignments."

Nodding, Meyer strove to maintain eye contact, but couldn't keep her eyes from straying to my vertical smile.

"Anything else?" I asked.

"You worked at a fertility clinic. I figured..." Meyers voice trailed off.

"As an Industrial Psychologist!" I laughed. "Everyone working there needed a Shrink to cope with lunacy from sterile husbands and their wives, single want -- to -- be moms and lesbian couples gripped in Baby Fever. Anyway, the place closed in the downturn. I landed in the Induction Center, stripped naked and held there for a week. What do you want from me?"

"Once I get ed -- ed, exempt from duty to return to school..." Meyer's voice trailed off.

I interjected continuing the thought, "Fully funded, with extra location pay, and allowances for expenses... on track for a direct appointment as a Major or Colonel ... locked into a pension. Right?"

"You know a great deal," Meyer replied. She paused to invite a response. When none came, she added, "I guess Jerry, your guy, was prior service, a Marine." When more silence drew no reply, Meyer added, "once I'm ed -- ed, exempted from duty, I want to get pregnant. Can you help me?"

"You ask for a great deal from me." I sighed, "Yes, I'll help you with getting pregnant as long as race is not an issue. Do you want a brain surgeon or a nuclear physicist?" I asked.

Jerry preached salesmanship means that you promise more than you deliver. As smart as Jerry was when he made me raid the fertility center for my severance pay, Jerry wanted to raid the sperm bank. I agreed to walk off with what equipment we could carry, but refused to take the sperm bank. "As money got tight here, sperm came from male employees moonlighting for a few extra dollars. Don't you know that you have to over sell your stock."

What sperm I had in stock came from Jerry. Surely, Jerry was a smart as a brain surgeon; the Marines were trained in leadership, to take charge in a crisis. Even Meyer had to agree.

I awaited an answer. All usually stoic Meyers could manage was a girly giggle. "No race specified, just a brilliant sperm donor. Ok?" I asked. To her nod, I declared "Splendid! We'll enjoy working together."

"Your terms?" Meyer sheepishly asked.

After a deep brief, I added, "To rent the empty apartment in the back, you assign the entire allowance including location pay to J & A Realty. How soon can you get me—Ed—ed, exempted from duty?"