Men in uniform. Every woman has a soft spot for them or else there wouldn't be a hundred different prime time dramas with the words "Fire" or "Med" or "Blue" in them. We fantasize about being rescued by the ripped firefighter with his big, heavy, fire-proof coat and smoke smudged face. Or the state policeman in his wide brimmed hat and black boots bent over on the highway as he asks the driver he pulled over for their license and registration. Or, my personal favorite, the military uniforms. The rugged men in camo, the Army dress uniform, the Navy whites.
When little girls are young, we are taught to look up to those men in uniform. To salute at Memorial Day parades and put our hands on our hearts during the National Anthem...partly to honor those men and women who served. I don't know when that child-like adoration turns to thigh-wetting lust, but it happens. These men in uniforms go from being our heroes that return us to our homes and parents, to our white knights that rescue us from danger, so we can then unbuckle their belts, let those camo pants drop to their ankles around their combat boots and pull their masculine, military cocks inside of us.
There was a summer in college where I was on the staff at a beach club. A beautiful location in a swanky New England town...one of those towns that was so old money Yankee that the beach club being super rustic and old school is what make it swanky. The summer was full of early mornings sweeping sand that never really went away, mastering the technique of anchoring rented beach umbrellas near cabanas, and serving drinks at the beach bar for endless corporate parties. Our small staff of seven college kids had rotating schedules with few nights off during the busy summer. However, the local yacht club had one weekend where they hosted a major regatta and we were all invited to the regatta ball. For a group that spent most of our days barefoot, and most of our nights either working at the club or drinking with our 50-year-old stoner boss, a night out was a rare opportunity to celebrate. I had my day off scheduled on the night of the ball, so I borrowed a bike and went to the grocery store to get some supplies for us to host our own dinner before heading over to the ball. We each pulled out the one "fancy" outfit we had with us for the summer and met up in the event room to eat dinner and have our first couple rounds of drinks.
The yacht club wasn't far...but we did have to catch the quick ferry ride from the island where the beach club was located over to the club. We wandered the short distance from the club to the ferry together with the girls opting for a barefoot walk rather than sporting the heeled sandals too soon. The ferry docked, and we could see the lights of the ballroom from the water. Growing up hours from the ocean, yacht clubs and regattas were new to me. I assumed this would be a stuffy event straight out of
Caddyshack
with lots of old, wealthy men who would likely spend their nights at the bar, and elegant wealthy women. As we approached the club, the view of the ballroom became clearer...and the sea of white, black, and gold appeared. After asking some of my more yacht club-savvy friends, I learned that this regatta was not only a draw for the local yacht club members, but more than a few college teams and (gasp!), the Naval Academy sailing team.
The ballroom included the
Caddyshack
-like crew as I expected, but also had some shaggy haired, blue-blazered college kids on the dance floor. My eyes were drawn to the Navy whites...the crisp uniforms, the short haircuts, shiny black shoes, and the masculinity that oozed off that sea of servicemen.
Out of our staff of seven, five of us were female. We traveled as a pack across the room to the bar and learned very quickly that we likely would not be paying for any drinks that night. We were an interesting assortment -- four of the five of us were single (myself included). One was dating one of our male beach club staffers, and another hoped to be dating the other male on our staff, so they were firmly stuck to the sides of our beach club guys. For the remaining three, we had a preppy, blonde southern girl who wore a white sheath dress with cherry designs on it. The senior member of our staff sported short hair, glasses, and a tomboy look in her simple black dress. I wore a very early-90's long, teal dress with a square neck and high slit.
As the three of us talked with the Navy boys, we learned that most were being hosted by local yacht club members during the regatta. Most were either staying in a spare room or pool house in town. As the night wore on, we started to pair off a little more. One particular blonde, blue-eyed Navy boy cornered me near the bar. This was my first night off in weeks, and most nights I fell asleep to the sounds of my roommate and her boyfriend having sex. I was loving Navy boy's attention and pursuit, and his stumbling flirtations. Even more, I was loving his uniform...and was very interested to see what was under it. We stepped out to the deck to escape the humid ballroom, where he casually mentioned that his host's house was just down the street...we could even walk there along the beach.
Moment of truth -- Navy boy was here for this regatta. Leaving with him was not the start of a long-lasting romance but could be the start of a hot night that included my weird 90's dress hiked up to my waist and his creased white pants crumpled on the floor. As he made small talk trying not to seem too obvious with his invitation, I considered the situation. The ferry stopped running at midnight and started up again too late in the morning to avoid a long walk of shame down the sandy beach road towards the club. The last thing I wanted was to see club members driving by on their way to town in the morning as I stumbled down the street with my dress on, and sandals in my hand. Timing would be a little tight, but those blue eyes were staring into me from that alcohol and heat flushed face. This was not his first rodeo...that much was clear. He leaned over the railing on the deck to look out over the harbor, and the view of his tight, round ass filling out those dress white pants made my decision easy.
"I'm ready if you are," I said as I leaned on the railing next to him. I watched his eyes travel from the harbor, to my lips, to my breasts. The combination of a relatively useless strapless bra borrowed from my roommate and my square neckline was giving a generous view of my 36 D's. His gaze was so blatant and unapologetic; I almost expected him to lick his lips in anticipation. Partly to show him that I saw him looking, but mostly for my own amusement and turn-on, I slid my right index finger along the strap of my dress from my shoulder, across my collarbone, and down to the turn in that square neck. Rather than take the 90-degree turn, my finger continued down, pulling the neckline just enough to release my right nipple which was dark and hard from the cool breeze blowing off the ocean. I took a step closer to him with and watched him watch my right hand; my thumb joined my index finger to pinch my nipple so it firmed up even more and then he did lick his lips just in time for me to lean in for a taste of that tongue.