Thanks to Wanda for writing to me and requesting this story.
*****
You know, when people think of the military, the last thing they think of, is that people actually might work in an office. But that's where I was -- in an office.
Sure, I was doing my thing for Uncle Sam, serving my country, wearing my uniform, and looking damn good in it, too, thank you very much -- but the work was just as boring as in any other office.
Oh yeah, introductions are in order. I'm Jasmine Tate, First Lieutenant, United States Air Force. I'm working for Colonel Haggerty. What do I do? The weather reports for the fighter wing. See, I told you it was boring.
Anyway, if you must know, my skin is a deep rich chocolate brown, my eyes are coffee brown, with a dreamy quality to them, and my hair, when I'm not wearing it in a very proper bun, is past my shoulders, jet black and shiny. People -- mostly men -- tell me I look like the porn star Jada Fire.
My cubicle -- yes, cubicle -- sat just outside the colonel's office. I could hear him gear up the fax machine. The distinctive chirp told me it was the secure fax. Then I heard him say, "Great. Damn machine."
That's the other thing that separates military office work from civilian office work. Sometimes the stuff you see, nobody else can see. And if you do see it, even if you are cleared to see it, you are ordered to forget you ever saw it, and to never tell a soul you ever saw it.
Trust me on this one, I've done a lot of forgetting.
But as I looked at the satellite photo on my computer -- the very best high definition monitor money could buy -- I knew there was something I could not forget.
I've built quite a career for myself, working for Uncle Sam. All my relatives never pass up a chance to toot my horn for me. Only problem is, most men are intimidated by the uniform, or when my aforementioned relatives just "happen" to mention I'm in the military. They only see the uniform, and not the body under it. Which is a pity, because I've got quite a body. Those same men that drool over my booty when they meet me, turn tail and run when they hear I'm military.
And that's just regular civilian guys.
My fellow military men carry a whole different set of problems. You think sexual harassment policies in an office are bad, wait till you read Uncle Sam's policy against fraternization. It's quite a policy. Sometimes I tear pages out of it to pad my bra, not that I really need it, though.
I heard behind me, locks being opened. Then Colonel Haggerty said, "Jasmine, can you come in here, please?"
"Yes, sir." I locked my computer first -- security, always -- and took the necessary ten steps over to the Colonel's office door, tugging my uniform blouse down. I stepped into the door way. "Yes, sir?"
"Come in, Jasmine. Close the door, please."
I did so. "What's up, sir?"
The colonel took a large manila folder stamped "Classified", and put it in a stainless steel brief case, and clicked the locks shut. "My personal secure fax, naturally, went down just now."
"You've got to me kidding me. Again, sir?"
He nodded curtly. "Yes, again. And so I need you to take these materials over to the wing office PDQ."
I nodded. "I'm assuming I need to deliver it to a specific person?"
"Right. Take this over to Colonel Thomas himself. Not his aide, not his secretary, not even God, if He asks."
"Will they let me in, Colonel?"
Haggerty grinned. "Don't worry. I've already called ahead. Get going."
"Yes, sir."
So I took a walk.
It was a lovely day. You wouldn't think it was fall, from how nice and warm the day was, the sky such a clear crystalline blue, except for a few high thin clouds. I knew from experience that this was the kind of weather the pilots liked. Sometimes I would get to do the weather briefing before a mission.
It made me a little nervous, to deliver classified material this way. But fortunately, the operations building was just a quick ten-minute walk from the Met building.
The guy at the front desk, who was only doing his job, looked me over from head to toe. "Can I help you, Lieutenant?"
I raised the case so he could see it. "Yes, I'm here to deliver this to Colonel Thomas."
He made to take the case from me. "I'll make sure he gets it."
I shook my head assertively. "I'm sorry, Sergeant, but I have to deliver this to Colonel Thomas himself. Those are my orders."
"I also have my orders. I need to see what's inside that case, ma'am."
"Sergeant, the only person who knows the combination to this case would be Colonel Thomas. And if you know him, you know he will be most displeased if I was unable to deliver this to him."
The desk sergeant spoke into his radio. A minute later another sergeant appeared and said, "Follow me, ma'am. Just got word from the Colonel's office."
I said, "Lead the way, Sergeant."
As I followed the young Sergeant further inside, into the operations room itself, and along a row of offices along the wall, I noticed a familiar face. I wanted to run over and give him a big hug. But business was first.
I slipped him a wink, instead.
It took just ten minutes for me to deliver whatever the hell it was in that case to Colonel Thomas. Now I just had to see if I could relocate my friend.
Yes, friend. Because that's all we can afford to be, really. Military life is not one that's conducive to having long term relationships.
As I walked back across the room, I saw him -- five nine, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and built like a fucking Mack truck. Believe me, there have been several times when I have given in to my very real and insistent desire, to fuck him and let him fuck me. Let him have his way with me.
But as I said, military life is not relationship friendly. Unless you're married -- in which case, one of the people involved has to retire -- good old Uncle Sam has no trouble whatsoever with sending the two of you to God knows where. Usually as far away from each other as possible.
Goodbye relationship.
But I went over to where Todd Meyers, MD, Captain, United States Air Force, stood, and said, "Hello, Captain. It's nice to see you again."
"Hello, Jasmine -- I mean, Lieutenant Tate. It's nice to see you again, too."
I smiled at him. That was easy to do.
"Captain Meyers, this is a bit of a surprise. I didn't know you were going to be in this neck of the woods."
Todd sighed. "Yes, and I have some news for you."
"What's that?"
"Why don't we talk about it over dinner at my place? 1900 hours?"
"Certainly. Shall I wear my dress uniform, Captain?" That was our flirting code.
Todd said, "Nope. Just standard issue. But bring your appetite."
I winked at him again. "I sure will."
Several hours later. 1900 hours. Seven PM, for the uninitiated.
And I was looking very un-military. I wore a sparkly short sleeved black turtleneck sweater, a knee length black leather skirt, and knee high, black patent leather boots, with the highest heels I could wear -- 4 inches. My hair was down, and curled in long wavy curls.
Under my prim but sexy outfit, I wore a bra, but no panties.
God, I had such a feeling, stirring way down deep in my loins. And I didn't know what it was. I didn't know if it was my tummy growling, begging to be fed, because I was hungry, or if it was nerves, because I didn't know what his "news" was, or if it was just my hot, wet pussy, begging to be serviced, because I was damned horny.
In my purse, I had some condoms. I'd already put the birth control thingy in my pussy. Should be working by now.
Anyway, I pulled into the parking lot of Todd's apartment complex, and paused for a minute, to check my makeup. I applied just a bit more red lip gloss, then got out of my car and made my way across the parking lot, to Todd's apartment.
It's been so long since a man has asked me out. Which is why I gladly accepted Todd's invitation. But Todd wasn't just "any" man. We've known each other for years, ever since we got to know each other one afternoon in a quaint little coffee shop. Neither of us had been in the service for very long.
It was a conference of some sort, that much I remember. It was Paris. In spring.
As they say, blame it on Paris. But I couldn't forget Todd. Or the afternoon of passion we shared in his hotel room. The very thought of it made me wet.
But, military life being what it is, we went our separate ways. Since then, we've had our moments of pleasure, taken quickly, in strange hotel rooms all over the world, taken when we've had the chance. And each time I've seen him, I've had to fight my most primal, insistent urge -- to abandon my service career and be his wife.
Believe me, I would. In a heartbeat. He just has to ask. I would love nothing more than to be Mrs. Jasmine Meyers.
Funny thing, though, my family has never met him, at least not yet. Sometimes I wonder how they would react, what they would say. I like to think they would be happy that I found a good man, no matter what the color of his skin was. But I have a feeling they won't be so happy to see me on the arm of a white man.
But I don't care about that. God, I love him so.
