All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 years old or older.
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Part 1
Chapter 1: Elise Meets Her Crush
As she wrapped up her work at the end of the day, Elise Coogler noticed a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to look out her plate glass window and saw a young man standing shirtless at the set of pull-up bars on a concrete pad on the other side of her window.
He shook his arms and hands and hopped up and down as if hyping himself up. He was deeply tanned, lean, every muscle sharply defined. His shoulders were inhumanly broad.
His short tousled hair was coal black. He was tall, maybe six three, and breathtakingly handsome. His chiseled features were something she'd expect to see in a fashion magazine, not on someone standing shirtless right outside her window, unaware she was watching his every move in fascinated admiration.
She saw him hop up, grip the bar with hands wide, palms outward and pull himself up effortlessly until his chin broke the plane of the bar, lean muscles rippling. Over and over again, he glided up and down. She found herself counting and was amazed when he was still going strong after 20.
She walked backwards, refusing to take her eyes away from the beautiful youth and edged to the common office area. Glancing aside, she saw her six employees crowded against the window, admiring the man's rippling muscles.
Out of her employees, women ranging from 28 to 42, all married or dating, she was the only unattached one. She'd gotten divorced ten years before.
Her husband left her for a younger woman, who in turn left him for a younger man. They later reconnected and became friends. They had four children, 12 grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. Her oldest daughter was 50, her oldest grandson was 32 and her oldest great-grandson was 14.
The young man outside her window couldn't possibly be older than 25.
The seven women stared fascinated out the window, the world around them forgotten. It was near the end of the day and the phones still rang. They ignored them, or maybe they didn't hear them.
Elise snapped out of it, realizing her nose was nearly pressed against the glass.
Shaking her head, she turned to her employees, noted they were as mesmerized by the young man as she's been and clapped her hands loudly.
"Alright, girls, time to snap out of it," she said loudly. "Let's get back to work so we can close up shop."
They jumped, looked around at each other, laughed nervously and then fanned themselves dramatically. Chattering excitedly, they went back to work, answering phone calls and closing out work they'd pick up again the next day. Occasionally, one would glance longingly out the window at the young man now doing pushups, his muscled body shining with a thin sheen of sweat.
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His name was Corporal Javier Hierro and he was 19. His friends back home called him Javi. He joined the Marine Corps the day he turned 17 and shipped off to boot camp a week later. He enlisted open contract, meaning the job he was assigned was up to the "needs of the Corps," and would be anything from cook to motor transport operator to infantryman.
In its infinite wisdom, the Corps chose him for the infantry.
He didn't care. He just wanted to be a Marine. It's all he'd ever wanted ever since he could remember, ever since he met a Marine at the mall in his dress blues. The man looked tough and larger than life. He was so set on this goal that his mother took to calling him her "soldadito," her little soldier.
After graduating boot camp in southern California, he went to the School of Infantry (SOI) about 50 miles north in Camp Pendleton, where he was designated as an Infantry Machine Gunner. After finishing THAT school, he was assigned to 1/5 (1st Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment).
The Corps usually picked bigger and stronger Marines to haul around the 27-pound M240B machinegun. He was slender and tall, but immensely strong, probably stronger than everyone in his battalion. It was a no brainer he was a machine gunner. His buddies gave him the nickname "Ironman" because of his last name, "iron" in Spanish, and because he always played the hero.
A few months after checking into the unit, at the tail end of the workups every unit went through before deploying, he deployed to Iraq for six months where he went from being a scared, wide-eyed boot to a salty combat veteran.
One year and another combat deployment later, he decided being a machine gunner wasn't for him and went through the process to change his job specialty. He spent several sessions with the career planner and finally decided on a career with potential for advancement, a job that allowed him to experience more of the Marine Corps than just the infantry.
A few months later he was at his new school, where he graduated at the top of the class, earning a meritorious promotion to corporal in the process. He'd been an honor graduate after recruit training and SOI and been meritoriously promoted after each class as well.
He'd hoped for orders to the Fleet Marine Force and was disappointed when he got orders to support South Florida recruiting instead. It was a "hot fill" and he had no choice, "needs of the Corps" and all that.
As long as he was there, he'd make the best of it.
He really couldn't complain, the weather was great year around and the place was full of hot women. Not that he'd had much luck with them. He could be on a tiny island alone with hundreds of them and he'd still be alone.
He shared an apartment with another Marine and developed a routine. He'd PT (physical training) at the end of the workday, Monday through Friday, and meet up with a friend he'd made at his apartment complex to play volleyball in the complex' sand court. On the weekends, he and his friend Winston, he liked to go by Win, spent the day at the beach playing beach volleyball with the other sand crabs.
He and Win became quite good and pretty soon were giving professional players a run for their money.
Javi was born in Mexico. His dad had gotten work in San Antonio on a work visa and was eventually granted a permanent resident card. He later got green cards for his wife and three sons and moved them to Texas.
Javi didn't want to go. He liked his friends and his school and didn't want to leave, but he had no choice.
He was taciturn and angry and wouldn't talk to his classmates or teachers. Eventually, being a lone wolf became habitual. He did the bare minimum and just went through the motions. Somehow believing, in a childish way, that his parents would eventually notice his rebellion and go back to Mexico, for years he was defiant and stubborn, even refusing to learn English.