Secret Sins

Polka Dots

I'd called my parents before turning in that night to let them know that I was settling in. During a breakfast that I had to go out for the next morning, I recalled the conversation I'd had with my father. They were in bed at the time, Mom already asleep, and I apologised for calling so late, explaining what kind of day I'd had and the details of my first posting. Dad was more concerned about the latter.

"You know what they're doing, don't you?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Tara, I know how well you did at College but, despite that, no Lieutenant who's fresh out of CFOT, no matter how well they did there, gets a posting like what you have. Especially not in a place like what you described. Normally, you'd be taken under some other Officer's wing for a while so you could get some real world experience with a safety net underneath you, not cast out to sink or swim on your own like this."

"Dad, Major Hurdle

is

my commanding Officer. I might have command of the house, but it falls under the Waterston Centre, and I fall under his authority. I didn't even hire my own assistant, he did."

"That's not what I mean," he said, clarifying with, "Honey, don't take this the wrong way, but you're not a suitable candidate for this assignment. You're too young and you're too inexperienced."

I knew how he meant that but, as he went on, I still found it hard not to take it the wrong way.

"This is nothing short of an attempt to make you fail. H.Q. is sabotaging you right from the start because you're our daughter, given you an impossible posting that you're in no way ready for, setting you up for failure, or trying to make you resign your commission. Well, I won't have it. I'm going to call the Territorial Commander and-"

"Dad, no!" I cut in.

"Tara, you don't even have a proper living arrangement! It's unheard of! I know what I'm talking about here, and I'm going to get this straightened out before-"

"Dad, don't do that! I mean it!"

Hearing how adamant I was by my tone, his surprised pause allowed me a chance to go on.

"I

can

handle this," I insisted. "Major Hurdle has every confidence in me, and this is a huge opportunity for my career

and

to help people. And besides, even if they are setting me up to fail, I refuse to bow to pressure. They tried that at CFOT and it only made me more determined, only made me study harder and do better. Please don't call the Territorial Commander, Dad. You know how that would make me look. I'm going to succeed here and show them what I'm made of. I swear, I'll make you and Mom proud."

There was a long pause before he spoke again, saying, "Tara... I don't like this, but I'll abide by your wishes. Against my better judgement, I won't call H.Q., but... be careful. Okay?"

"I will, Dad."

"And I'm going to check out this Major Hurdle," he added. "I've still got a few friends in the ranks, and-"

"Dad,

no!

Please don't do that! I'm not a kid anymore, I earned this uniform and the responsibilities that go with it!"

"Tara, I'm only saying that I want to check him out. How could it hurt you to have a little background information on him?"

He was right. It was just that I didn't like him interfering with my life. As I said, I do respect my parents' years of service and experience in uniform but, at the same time, I don't necessarily agree with all of their observations about the Army. Yes, I've faced some blowback because of who my parents are, but I wanted to make Major before I was forty. I didn't see anything wrong with that, and I didn't need my parents making matters any worse for me before I could even prove to HQ that I was different from them, that I was a team player. Beneath that, however, maybe I just didn't want to believe that my posting was a setup because of my parents' reputation in the ranks, that my successes at CFOT really had earned me a command right out of the gate. And maybe I was too attracted to Major Hurdle to want to hear anything about him that would disappoint me.

"Okay," I reluctantly allowed, "but

no

calls to H.Q., Dad."

"No calls to H.Q.," he agreed.

The conversation turned to more mundane topics before we got off the phone, he wishing me luck and all the expected rest of it before I hung up with a sigh of relief. I loved Mom and Dad, but I also loved my newfound independence, and wasn't about to have it taken away from me by my overprotective parents. Besides, I really didn't believe, at least I didn't want to believe, that H.Q. would set me up to fail just because of my last name. And this was what I was musing about the next morning, distractedly chewing on my

Egg McMuffin

when the doorbell rang.

A woman stood on the walkway at the foot of the front step, looking up at me in the open threshold of the doorway. She was, in a word, beautiful. Apart from her perfect facial features, she had the most striking, light hazel eyes that I'd ever seen. They were almost gold and, in contrast with her long, black hair, they were nothing short of bedazzling. I'd guessed her to be somewhere in her mid-thirties, yet possibly in her twenties, or forties. I know that sounds senseless, but she had a strange quality that made her age hard to estimate. Holding a black briefcase, her shapely body was dressed in casual business attire consisting of a black camisole, well fitted, black dress pants and a deep red blouse that hung stylishly untucked.

Aside from her striking beauty, I was impressed with the strange thought that I somehow knew this person, like an unspoken, insubstantial familiarity that impressed itself on my psyche. Of course, I knew I'd never met her before- I'd have remembered meeting such a beautiful woman- but the feeling was strong enough that it wasn't easily brushed aside.

"Lieutenant Watts?" she asked as I stood in an old pair of loose fitting blue jeans and a white polo top with a little Salvation Army shield above my left breast.

"That's me," I replied.

"I'm your assistant, Donna Liski," she politely informed, her incredible eyes giving me a onceover with a hint of what looked like satisfaction. "I'm sorry, Major Hurdle gave me a set of keys but, knowing that this is also your residence, I wasn't sure if it would be appropriate for me to just barge right in."

"It's nice to meet you, Donna, and its fine," I assured. "My quarters are upstairs, so feel free to use your key. C'mon in."

I stood to the side to allow her entry, ascertaining that I'd never seen my new assistant before, yet she still seemed somehow familiar. After closing the door, I led her from the entryway to the main area of the house, turning to face her. I couldn't help but note that she was roughly my height with a thin to medium build that was in keeping with her fair sized bust and proportionate hips.

Now, as one who's seen a lot of porn, I know an attractive woman when I see one, and I know that there are some attractive women who look better in their clothes than out of them. Then there are women, such as myself, who look as good out of their clothes as they look in them. Donna Liski, like me, was of the latter group, and I'd seen enough different women of all different types, both in and out of their clothes, to know the difference. In fact, as I surreptitiously looked her over, I was surprised and somewhat confused/excited to find myself actually physically attracted to her. Again, I know an attractive woman when I see one, such as Alessa Hurdle, but I'd never been actually attracted

to

a woman before meeting Donna, and I had a little trouble computing the sudden and unexpected reality of that.

"Ummm..." she commented, looking around herself.

I couldn't help a nervous chuckle while replying, "Yeah, I know. We've got our work cut out for us."

With a suddenly brightened smile, she looked at me and said, "Well, we'd best get at it, then."

She stuck out her hand and, as I took and shook it, and I couldn't help but like her then and there, and this impression went beyond any physical attraction. I gave myself another mental kick, shoving these crazy thoughts aside to assert my professionalism once and for all.

"I'm afraid you should have worn some older clothes," I commented as she walked further into the room, looking about herself again as my professionalism helplessly checked out her perfectly shaped tush.

"Yeah, well," she lightly said as she meandered towards the kitchen. "As they say these days, it is what is. I really just threw this outfit together and was hoping it would be suitable for... Oh my

god

...!"

She'd reached the kitchen, looking around herself as though some heinous crime had been committed there and, as far as I was concerned, there had.

"Isn't it something?" I asked with a laugh as I walked across the floor to join her.

"Something..." she tried, searching for words and coming up with, "Something else. Yeah, wow, it makes me want to throw up and laugh at the same time."

"That pretty much says it, alright," I agreed, sneaking another look at her from her side.

Her bright smile filled me with confidence, no matter the interior situation of the house as she asked, "Is this the first thing on the list? Please tell me this is the first thing on the list."

"No," I laughed, having by then mostly pulled together my senses. "I'm afraid that the first thing on the list is to hang our shingle out front and, before we do even that, we'll have to make said shingle and then come up with a way to hang it. After that, I think we should pick up the litter around the yard and in the side lot. According to some information that Marilyn Davies gave me- have you met her?"

Donna shook her head, so I continued with, "Okay, well, the empty lot to the side of the house is part of this property, so we're responsible for that. I've been thinking of some different ways we could use it but, for now, I think we should just get it cleaned up."

"Agreed," she threw in.

"I've also looked over your resume last night and I saw that you've worked with Habitat for Humanity."

"Sure did."

"So, I'm hoping you'll have some expertise with tools and stuff."

"Sure do."

"Great," I said, breathing a sigh of relief, "because I don't. Which brings me to my next thing... These are all the tools I actually have at the present time."

From my pocket, I'd produced the multitool that I'd bought at the Dollar Store the day before. She laughed, but not in a derisive manner before again calming my fears.

"Yeah, I can help with that, too. What kind of budget do we have to work with?"

"Not a big one," I admitted.

"Okay, well we'd best start out at the Dollar Store. We're not starting a construction company, so what we can get there will do us for what we need to accomplish. Then we'll take a quick look at Kijiji and save the hardware store for last. Sound good?"

"Sounds

great

," I said, "let's go."

As with many people these days, Donna's resume was what one might call 'diverse'. Besides having worked with Habitat for Humanity, she'd also worked in hardware and was once employed as a life guard. She'd spent her last five years as a Human Resources councillor at a call centre, and I wondered why she wasn't still there. The Salvation Army certainly doesn't pay a lot, and that includes management positions.

The Major had made note of how highly her previous employers had spoken of Donna and, upon meeting her, my talent for reading people had no doubt of this. By the end of the day, however, her actions and ability to deal with people backed up their claims, and I knew without a doubt that Hurdle had indeed hired a very useful assistant for me. Also important was the fact that we got along well.

I know what you're thinking. You're remembering what the Major told me about underlings, but it really wasn't like that. Donna never once made a decision where I didn't give her free reign to do so, and never once referred to me as anything other than "Lieutenant", or "Lieutenant Watts." Despite a very forward, personal nature that happily got things done with a great attitude, she remained professional and respectful to me and what my status represented within our relationship, making the place I had to maintain with her easy to stay in.

It took most of the day to acquire the materials needed for our sign and a suitable post, and then to actually make them but, by three o'clock, the paint was drying on our perfectly cut and painted sign, it's black, wrought iron, gallows style post drying beside it in the empty living area of the house. She'd done most of the work, but we both looked at the bright red shield with the neatly stencilled, white letters with pride as we enjoyed coffee from

Tim Hortons

during a well-deserved break.

"I feel really bad about your clothes," I told her for the fifth time that day.

She'd removed her blouse early on, working in her supportive camisole, now spotted with paint. Her rayon dress pants had suffered the same fate, but were also marred by unsightly picks from the rough edges of the plywood shield before we sanded them smooth. Except for when she was bent over working, the camisole didn't show much cleavage and, when it did, it didn't bother me. I mean, there she was, getting things done that I never could have, sacrificing her dress clothes without a thought. What right did my professionalism have to complain? Besides, it's not as if a little cleavage would bother someone with a porn addiction, is it? I'd found myself purposefully looking down that camisole to enjoy the scrumptious view on way more than one occasion.

"It's nothing," she insisted, waving my apologies away.

"I could replace them," I offered.

"Nope, its fine, Lieutenant."

"It's the least I could do after all the work you did on this today."

"It's my job. Besides, I enjoyed it. It's been a long time since I've worked with my hands. It's very satisfying and well worth an old pair of dress-pants and a camisole my loser ex-boyfriend bought me."

An unfortunate mental image of Donna bouncing on the pelvis of some faceless ex-boyfriend tore through my mind, riding his big, hard cock with her long hair in disarray as she groaned and grunted, boobs bouncing around in that camisole. I wiped it from my mind, ignoring the tingle in my panties that the momentary fantasy gave birth to as I cleared my throat.

"Single?" I asked.

"Yup. You?"

"Yes."

"Here's to peace and quiet then," she toasted, holding up her coffee as she smiled at our sign.

With a smile of my own, I toasted.

"So, what's next?" she asked. "Cleaning up the side lot?"

"After our coffee."

"Check. What about tomorrow?"

"That horrible kitchen," I decided with a sigh.

"I was

so

hoping you'd say that."

The next morning, Donna showed up in more suitable clothes. Kind of.

She'd poured herself into a pair of faded gray, low rise jeans with no back pockets and legs that ended just below her knees, a look that her hips and tushie could certainly pull off. Her white, V-necked T-shirt covered more than her camisole had the day before, but it was just a bit small and only just too short to tuck into her painted on jeans. Her sensible, white, flat soled shoes were obviously old, but looked good with this outfit. Her hair, done in a ponytail with an elastic near the top of her head, made her look all the more practical and positive about the day's work. It was just that those jeans were so tight, her boobs seeming so prominent, a body that was obviously perfect in every detail on semi-display. The gap between her thighs almost seemed to invite me to place my hand there and squeeze until she came for me, crying out as she-

Nervously expunging that from my mind, I tried to hide a small, embarrassed smile from her as I took the coffee she'd bought for me to the kitchen. It certainly wasn't like her attire offended me, and there was really nothing that was outwardly indecent about it anyway, so what was my problem? Wasn't I merely blaming her for my own perverted imagination, maybe envious because my position disallowed me from wearing clothes that fit me like that in public? I have the same gap between my thighs but, in the same loose fitting jeans that I'd worn the day before, that wouldn't show. My boobs are bigger than Donna's, but the tan coloured, Salvation Army polo top that I wore didn't make that obvious.

"Oh, I hope these clothes are appropriate, by the way," she said, as though reading my mind.

"They're fine," I told her with a smile.

"Are you sure?" she asked with a look of concern. "I saw you looking at my tits with a funny expression, so I kinda wondered..."

Needless to say, I was almost floored by this. I'd thought I was pretty sneaky about checking out her beautiful body, but apparently I hadn't been sneaky enough. As a sudden hot flush began working its way up my body, I battled the sudden fear that she'd also caught me checking out her crotch in those tight jeans to come up with some explanation.

"No, no, I- I just wish I could dress like that," I managed.

She only looked at me with a questioning expression, and I could have kicked myself. Truthful as it was, my stupid comment that was supposed to hide my troubling attraction to her had inadvertently made me come off like a judgemental, sarcastic, catty little bitch.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything like that, there's absolutely nothing wrong with the way you're dressed, I just meant that... well, as an Officer, I can't dress the way I want to. Like a woman sometimes wants to, I mean."

To my relief, the smile that I'd become familiar with returned and she replied, "It's okay, Lieutenant Watts, I get it."

"Good, because I'd really hate for you to get the wrong impression of me. I know some Christians can be a little..."

"Judgemental?"

"Yes, judgemental. I'd hate to come off like that because, well... nobody's perfect. My father says that everyone's a hypocrite."

"Your father sounds like a wise man. And actually, you seem pretty cool. I have to admit that I was a little worried about the religious thing but, now that I've gotten to know you a little, I don't get that pious, judgemental side from you at all."

I only smiled in reply, glad she understood as I took another sip from my coffee, assuming afterward, "So you're not? Christian, I mean?"

"No," she replied. "I hope that's not a problem."

"No."

"Good," she said, then asked after a thoughtful pause, "Can I ask you a personal question?"

I answered with a shrug and a smile.

"Well, I understand that you shouldn't wear something like a pair of tight hip huggers while you're working, but you're not

always

working, right? I mean, what if it was a nice, sunny Saturday and you wanted to go to the Farmer's Market or something? Or, what if you wanted to go to the beach?"

I sighed, allowing my eyes to stray to the ceiling in thought before I answered with, "There is a certain code of conduct for Officers, even when we're on our own time but, strictly speaking, it's not exactly ironed out in specifics. Let's just say that if I went out in public on my own time wearing jeans like yours, and if Major Hurdle saw me, he'd... well, he'd be within his loosely stated rights to talk to me about it."

"I'd be curious as to what he'd say," she replied with a smirk, as much to herself as to me.

"How do you mean?"

Her expression and hesitation before answering made it clear that she regretted the comment, but she explained, "Well, when I went for my interview, he checked me out a few times."

"He did?" I asked, surprised and jealous.

Both these reactions were unfounded as I shouldn't have been surprised that he'd checked Donna out, considering how he'd so unabashedly done it to me, and Donna was a gorgeous woman of only thirty-five, as she'd mentioned earlier. But my jealousy was more disturbing because of what all it represented. Seeing this, however, didn't make it go away.