"I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who fucks my wife under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it." Unknown (because no one has actually ever said this).
* * *
After the day's rains, the asphalt glistened in the harsh glare of the sodium vapor lamps that were spaced with exacting precision along the roadway.
The navy Range Rover kicked up a fine mist of rain mixed with the accumulated oils of sixty-odd years of traffic. It maintained its sure footing as it arced through a bend in the road, the soft rubber tires performing their duty effortlessly. Just before the road straightened, a pair of raccoons darted from the tree line and scampered over the curb and onto the road. The driver jerked the wheel to the left to avoid knocking the rodents into oblivion but quickly brought it back to course. A moment later, pulses of blue and red flashed in the rearview mirror and filled the cool interior of the SUV with an almost psychedelic eeriness.
Private Jaret had tucked the military police sedan on a siding off one of the main thoroughfares running through Fort Bragg, hoping to read a magazine or two to relieve the boredom of his evening patrol. No sooner had the eighteen-year-old recruit doused the headlights and gotten comfortable in the worn seat than the image of the SUV slid across his windshield. His radar gun was off but he estimated the speed of the vehicle to be in excess of forty miles per hour before it appeared to depart from its lane into the oncoming one. He sat up straight, flipped his headlights back on and accelerated onto the road, illuminating the roof rack at the same time.
He caught up with the SUV a quarter of a mile later and the driver dutifully pulled to the side of the road. Private Jaret brought his sedan to within ten yards of the Range Rover before coming to a stop. He swiveled the laptop computer toward him and ran the license plates, first through the North Carolina Department of Motor Vehicles secured system and then through the army base's system. He frowned mildly at the information he received from the United States Army, shrugged, and got out of the car. He approached the idling truck on the driver's side and the driver's window slid down.
"Good evening, sir . . . uh, pardon me . . . ma'am."
"Evenin', Private." Her voice was like sugar in a mint julep. "What can I do for you?"
"Uh, I'm sorry, ma'am. Do you know why I, uh, why I've stopped you?"
She battered her eyes at him momentarily. "Why, I surely do not, Private. Do tell?"
He eased closer to the driver's door and his nose twitched almost imperceptibly. "Can I see your driver's license, ma'am, as well as the registration for this vehicle?"
"You certainly can," she began, leaning toward the glove box. "But do you mind telling me what we're doing here, Private?"
"Did you notice the posted speed limit, ma'am?"
She turned back toward him, having retrieved the SUV's insurance card and registration, and her driver's license from her large handbag, and handed them to the young man. "I confess, Private, that I did not."
Private Jaret studied the license briefly. "Well, the speed limit on base is twenty five miles per hour, Mrs. Carlock. And your speed was well in excess of that."
"I certainly am sorry, Private." Her bright smile lit up the damp night and she tilted her head coquettishly toward the enlisted man.
"Uh, ma'am, have you been drinking this evening?"
"No . . . well, I did have a few spritzers, Private. A charity dinner sponsored by a group of officers' wives at the O-club, you see."
"Uh, uh." Private Jaret took a step back from the truck. "Ma'am, would you please exit the vehicle?"
The woman jerked her head back slightly in surprise. "Why, whatever for, Private?"
"Ma'am, your driver's license identifies you as Suzanne Carlock, but this truck is registered to Colonel Hummel. And...uh...it appears that you may also be intoxicated."
She chuckled lightly. "I can explain that to your satisfaction, Private. Colonel Hummel is my husband, you see. However, I have chosen to keep my family name because it tends to open doors around these parts. That's all, Private."
"Please show me your military identification card, then, Mrs. Hummel."
Suzanne rolled her eyes in exasperation but turned away from him once again and reached into her purse, digging around. "Dammit," he heard her mutter. "I can't seem to locate it, Private."
"Ma'am, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you again: please step out of the vehicle."
In exasperation, Suzanne pushed the heavy door open. She swung her left leg out and planted an open-toed heel on the wet pavement, her toenails bright red against the harsh lights. When her right heel joined the left, she tottered a moment before her slender fingers smoothed down the front of the silk skirt that brushed against her tanned thighs a few inches above her knees.
"Do you need assistance, Mrs. Hummel?" Private Jaret inquired, taking in the long legs and luscious thighs of the woman who stood before him.
"I most certainly do not, Private. And as I explained quite clearly, I did NOT take my husband's name. Please be so kind as to refer to me by my actual name."
"I apologize, ma'am."
"Please, private. Our temporary quarters are just down the street, to the left. I'm sure that my military ID is on the counter in my kitchen." Suzanne stretched her arm behind her, indicating the direction of her house, causing the white silk blouse to stretch across her ample torso.
"Yes, ma'am. Still. . .," he insisted.
"Please, private. You are making far bigger of a deal of this than it deserves. Follow me back to my house and I will show you my identification."
"I'm afraid I can't allow that, ma'am. You'll have to accompany me to the MP post."
Done reasoning, Suzanne tried to flirt her way out of this predicament, and hung her lower lip and twisted her hips back and forth like a child, setting her large, soft breasts in motion. Private Jaret's cock stirred in his pants.
"Private, if you do that, I will get in a lot of trouble with my husband." She paused, her gaze on the young man's crotch. "Come on. My house is just a minute away."
"You know that I cannot allow that. It's against post regulations."
Suzanne eased her lush body closer to the young grunt, her large breasts brushing against his right arm, and stroked her elegant fingers down the cloth covering his chest. "Please, Private? I'll be eternally grateful." Sugar still, but laced with lust.
He hesitated a moment, looking around to ensure that no one observed Colonel Hummel's wife so close to him while her flowery perfume and the faint smell of whiskey assaulted his nose. But he still did not agree to her cajoling and she stepped back, hands on her hips.
"Now. Enough with this, Private," she intoned. "I told you who I am. You are going to accompany to my home where I will show you my ID and we will be done with this charade. Is that understood, young man?"
"Ma'am," he started to protest.
She pointed an elegantly French-manicured nail at him as she eased back into the Range Rover. "Don't 'ma'am' me again, soldier." She shut the door behind her and pulled the seatbelt across her chest, further accentuating the massive mounds that lay hidden beneath the glimmering fabric. She turned her head toward him. "Well? Don't just stand there, Private. Get back in your car!"
With that, she put the big truck in gear and moved smoothly away from the curb. She watched in the rearview mirror as Private Jaret, furious at her insolence, scrambled into the sedan and accelerated hard to catch up with her, and a slight smirk creased the soft surrounds of her full, lush lips.
Forty five seconds later, she turned into her driveway and pulled into the two-car unattached garage and alighted from the truck, striding purposefully toward her home. Private Jaret pulled in a moment later and jumped from the sedan, walking quickly to catch up with her.
Suzanne reveled in the scene, having the young man follow her like a little puppy dog. She put a little extra sway in her hips, knowing that the young man's bright, innocent eyes were devouring her tight little bottom as she strode quickly toward the door, her heels clacking along the concrete sidewalk that led to her front door. 'Like lambs to the slaughter.'
She pushed the door open and moved into the interior of the house. When Private Jaret finally reached the door, he stopped on the porch and called out to her.
"Come on in, Private," he heard her yell from somewhere near the rear of the house. "I'll be just a second."
"I can't do that, Mrs. Carlock. You know that. I'll wait right here."
"'Kay."
Private Jaret looked around the small street. The homes were occupied mostly by colonels, but also by a newly flagged general. He hoped that no one saw him standing on Colonel Hummel's porch. He'd have to have an explanation for that and it would have to be a good one. He turned back toward the open door.
"Mrs. Carlock?"
"Goddammit, Private," she yelled, still from the back of the house. "Just get your lanky ass in here. I can't find it."
His tender cheeks reddened in fury. "I cannot do that, ma'am."
"Do it, Private. Do it now! Or would you prefer that I tell the Colonel that you were harassing his sweet wife tonight on some trumped up DUI charge?"