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?"
