All of the names, ages, and places in this story have been changed to prevent the guilty from suing my ass.
*****
Since I, Brad Westin, was ten years old I wanted to be a Navy SEAL. The sports that I got interested in, and excelled at in High School, were swimming, karate, and lacrosse, which I considered to be good training for becoming a SEAL. I also took survival courses and went to summer wilderness camps, again in preparation to fulfill my goal.
Lots of kids want to grow up to be 6'4" 230 pounds and play linebacker. I always wanted to be 5 feet 10 inches, 185 pounds, the average size of a SEAL. It doesn't do you any good to be 6'4" 230 pounds if you want to become a SEAL because that size is a disadvantage in everything that SEALs do except hand-to-hand combat; the Navy gives you millions of dollars' worth of training, weapons, and equipment to keep you out of hand-to-hand combat situations as much as possible. I almost met my goal. When I graduated from college I was 5'11" tall, 180 pounds.
To fulfill my dream I went to a university that had a Naval ROTC program. During my four years in college I excelled in the ROTC courses. I never was shy about expressing what my goal was. For the first two years my commanders made no comment. Starting about the middle of my junior year they started trying to discourage me. The Chief who was more or less the career counselor for ROTC students was especially adamant.
"Westin, you understand that first you have to qualify physically and mentally to even be considered, and of those that do qualify between 80-90% wash out during training," was Chief McNamara's common refrain.
"Yes sir," I would always reply. I would be an officer and technically the Chief's superior once I graduated, but not until then, and even then you never argue with a Chief. "However, sir, I know that I can make it and I could never forgive myself if I didn't try."
"You know that if you select the SEAL program and washout that they might boot you out of the Navy completely; you're too good of a potential officer for me to want to see that," the Chief started telling me a few months before graduation. I didn't really believe him that the Navy would spend tens of thousands of dollars putting me through school and then not transfer me to some other part, because that just isn't logical. What I forgot is that logic and the Armed Forces do not co-exist well. I selected SEAL training when I graduated. McNamara merely shook his head and said "Good luck!"
Most guys who washout - if you ever find out about it at all since they usually do not broadcast it - will tell you that they got injured, their grandmother had an ingrown toenail, or their childhood dog ate some chocolate and had to have her stomach pumped - or some such bullshit. In fact, they most likely washed out because they weren't mentally tough enough. Even though I was the second to last to washout in my class that is what happened, and it was - much to my dismay and very hard to admit to myself - because I wasn't mentally tough enough.
Wouldn't you know it - Chief McNamara knew what he was talking about. Two weeks after I washed out I got a letter from the Secretary of the Navy which read, in part: "The Navy does not presently have any openings for other officer positions," since all of the ROTC grads throughout the country had now made their selections and the re-enlistment rate was at an all-time high because of the civilian economy, "therefore your Naval obligation is satisfied and you are hereby honorably discharged."
I resolved right then that there would be nothing else, ever, in life that I would fail at for lack of mental toughness. The humiliation I felt I never wanted to experience again.
**************
Since my parents never had to pay a dime for college, and they were pretty well off financially, they agreed to pay for half of my law schooling since my college degree didn't translate into any worthwhile professions given the economy at the time. I had saved some of my own money, and by working part time was sure that I could swing the rest. Despite the fact that I had long ago missed the application deadline, when a spot opened up in a decent law school in City X three days before class was supposed to start, I jumped at the chance to fill it.
The summer after my second year of law school, since I had done very well and since the professor at my school that ran the pro bono outreach program for third year students liked me, I started getting real life experience.
One of the things that I did was to go to a volunteer day, a Saturday, where professionals from all walks of life would give free advice related to their area of expertise to anyone who showed up. The booth I manned with my professor and three other students was right next to MegaBank's booth, manned by three eager young account managers and overseen by a female V. P. whose name tag read "Amber Miller."
The only way to put it is that Amber Miller was a stone cold fox. Long shapely legs, big hips, round ass, tight midriff, ample tits, long auburn hair, a Celestial nose, full lips, intense green eyes, and sophisticated yet provocative attire. She was simply a walking wet dream!
I had had my share of relationships by that time - I was almost twenty four - although none had lasted more than six months. I wasn't anywhere close to being a virgin since I had lost that moniker on my eighteenth birthday, but I was not the most experienced guy around either. I did have a summer fling before my senior year in college with a thirty nine year old divorced friend of my mother's, however, which gave me a great deal of confidence around women. That wonderful experience meant that I wasn't intimidated by the fact that Amber was likely ten years older than I was.
Even if not intimidated by Amber's age, I should have been by her looks. Strangely I wasn't intimidated.
I offered to help Amber's people set up their booth. I was as strong as her three workers combined and they had a heavy table and panels, so she smiled and said "That would be great - Brad," fingering my name tag as she said that - a good start.
The excuses I used to interface with Amber the rest of the day were obvious to both my co-volunteers and hers, but everyone - including Amber - just smiled. She never discouraged me. When we were closing up at about 6:00 I declined the ride I had gotten to the event from my professor and helped Amber bring things to her car.
"Thank you sooo much for your help Brad," she said in a sultry voice. The touch of her hand was even sultrier as I held it tightly but only lightly shook it.
"It was my pleasure - and it was all for a good cause. Between the two of us we must have helped one hundred needy people today," I replied with a big grin.
"I hope so," she chuckled. "If you'll let go of my hand I'll treat you to dinner," she continued with a sly grin.
"Oh...sorry," I said, although I wasn't, as I released her hand. "I do have to eat; I'd really appreciate it."
To look like a lawyer I had dressed in a coat and tie and Amber had on a stylish dress, so she took me to a restaurant about three price points higher than I had ever eaten at before in City X. I did my best not to be impressed, although I was, especially with her familiarity with all the things on the menu and the wine list. I drank little wine, but I did enjoy what I drank.
We really hit it off. She was a well-read person, and I could nicely fake being well-read, and we had a number of interests in common, including water sports. It might have been my best first "date" ever.
Since Amber had consumed most of the wine, I offered to drive her car, a Mercedes 500 SL, home after profusely thanking her for treating me to a great (no exaggeration) meal. She accepted. The amount of her creamy white right thigh that she exposed on the drive home did not miss my notice - and it had a "salutatory" effect on my cock so my tented pants could not have missed her notice either.
She lived on the fifth floor of a downtown luxury condo, only about six blocks from the law school, and seven from my apartment. As we entered the lobby to her building she almost got in my face, put her hand on my chest, and asked "Are you expecting me to ask if you want to come in for a cup of coffee?"
At that moment I decided that I was going to be patient and be in it for the long haul. She was the most beautiful and sexiest woman that I had ever had a date with, she was smart, fun, had at least somewhat of a social conscience to have spent her Saturday volunteering, and wealthy. Does it get any better than that?
I can't believe what I said next. "Amber - what I expect is your phone number, and for you to go paddle-boarding and water skiing with me next Saturday; and I expect to fall in love with you; and I expect to have a passionate long term relationship with you."
I brazenly continued, "Oh, and by the way - the fact that I'm twenty four," in three months, but who's counting, "and you're likely twenty nine," I was sure that she was around thirty four, but she would like hearing twenty nine better, "doesn't mean shit to me. The best relationship I've ever had so far was with someone eighteen years older than I was, so when I call you don't you dare try to use that as a reason to decline my invitation."
Then I held out my hand. "Do you have a card with your cell phone number on it?"
The look on her face was priceless; I mean completely precious. I think that she might have been expecting a one night stand, but whatever she was expecting it wasn't what I said. When she finally recovered from her gap-jawed condition she reached into her purse, pulled out a business card, clumsily wrote her cell phone number on the back, and sheepishly handed it to me.
"Thanks," I said. I stuck the card in my jacket pocket, picked her up in my arms, planted as zealous a twenty second kiss on her lips as I could possibly give, set her down, smiled, and turned and walked home to my apartment feeling on top of the world.
When I called her Monday evening the call went to voicemail. "Hi, Amber, this is Brad. I'd love to get together with you for some water sports this Saturday. Please call me back at xxx-555-5555 if you have any interest. I would love to see you in a bikini - wait, did I really say that out loud? Ha, ha, ha..." was the tailing off message that I left.
She called me back in ten minutes. We had a nice chat, she accepted my invitation, I told her that it would probably be with four of my classmates, two male, two female. "I hope that I don't look like an old-fuddy-duddy next to your girl colleagues," she said.
"I would be VERY surprised if that was the case, unless you were wearing the tightest corset in history on Saturday," I chuckled. "I'll call you about details."
Now I had to deliver.
There was a casual friend of mine by the name of Jeremy in my Contracts class. I knew him well enough to know that his parents lived in the suburbs, also had a lake house, and were filthy rich. He was a little shy, but obviously had an attraction to Sally and Jen, two of our female classmates. I finessed it beautifully; I got Sally and Jen to commit to a day of fun on the water (I "hope" that neither got the impression that they were my date), then called Jeremy up and gave him the opening to invite us to his parents' lake house with his best friend from college. I borrowed a car, picked up Amber first, then Sally and Jen (who lived in the same apartment building), and drove out to the lake house.
I think that Sally and Jen were a little non-plussed by Amber's presence, but they could tell that she was older, and she had a long cover-up on, so they weren't threatened. That is until they saw Amber just in her bikini; scowls immediately appeared on their faces, while smiles and immediately-in-place wrap-around sunglasses appeared on Jeremy's and his friend's faces.
Selecting water sports for this date was not an accident. I had excelled at them since my early teens, including being an All-Conference breast-stroker (the pool kind, not what you're thinking HDK) in High School; and I was proud of my six pack and muscle tone in general because even though I washed out from the SEALs I still had the body that I did then. I could still do thirty pull-ups and an endless number of sit-ups. It was my mind, not my body, that had gotten me washed out.
Enhanced by several twelve packs of beer, after a little awkwardness to start the day, the six of us truly enjoyed ourselves. We went paddle-boarding and kayaking, since Jeremy's parents had almost every water toy imaginable, in addition to skiing and wake-boarding behind his parents' twenty four foot Sea Ray. I had brought both vegetarian and meat dishes for lunch, and we all went out to a seedy nearby crab shack for dinner. I do believe that Jen actually started to be somewhat attracted to Jeremy by the time that I took the three women home at ten that night, and Sally to Jeremy's friend.
