Author's Note:
Hello all. My very first submission here, so if you like the way I write, please leave comments and rate. If I get enough interest, I'll start working on Chapter 2. Some of you may not be happy that I didn't jump right into the sexy stuff, but I prefer a slow burn. There will be plenty more to come if, as I say, I get enough interest.
All characters are 18 years or older.
Thanks all, hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1
The plane touched down in Tampa, coming from D.C., and Bobby disembarked with the rest of the passengers. People nodded respectfully to him as he passed, his desert camo fatigues drawing their eyes. He was 23, his hair was a deep brown, almost black, close cropped to the skull but starting to grow out a bit to give him a slightly fuzzier look than he usually allowed himself. He kind of liked it, though, how it felt under his hand when he rubbed the back of his head. He headed over to the baggage carousel and waited with the rest of the passengers heading for their respective destinations. He reached out and picked up the thick duffel with the name R. Masterson stenciled on the side. He lifted it over his shoulder and turned crisply toward the outer doors.
Stepping outside, he pulled his cover from where it was rolled up in his back pocket and put it on, looking around for a cab he could take to his family home. They had no idea he was coming, so he had to figure this out on his own. The next moment, he knew he wouldn't have to.
"HOLY SHIT! Bobby Masterson is that you, you son of a bitch?!"
His head whipped toward the sound of the loud, obviously male voice and suppressed a grin. He put on a scowl for effect, "What the fuck did I tell you about insulting my mother, shithead?"
A fairly big guy, lean but well muscled, pushed through the crowd of departing people with a mock contrite look on his face, "C'mon, bro, you know I love your mama."
"A little too fucking much, in my opinion," said Bobby, his grin finally breaking free.
The guy burst out laughing, knowing that Bobby knew his mom had been a total MILF when they were growing up. The two embraced roughly and Bobby shoved him back, "What are you doing here, shitstack? Not even my mom or my sisters know I'm coming in today." His best friend and the brother he'd never had, Sean, snorted in reply.
"As if I'm here for your dumb ass. I was supposed to pick my mama up from her flight, but no one told me she missed her layover and isn't coming in until tomorrow. You need a ride, dipstick?"
Bobby snorted right back, "I dunno, have you bathed recently, you smelly fuck?"
Sean rolled his eyes, "Come on, my truck is in short term parking."
The two laughed and talked as if they hadn't been apart for the last six years as they went to Sean's truck. As Bobby threw his duffel in the bed, Sean tossed him the keys. Bobby looked confused, throwing him a question glance as his friend got into the passenger side of his own truck.
"We're less likely to get a speeding ticket if you're driving, Gunny," he laughed.
Bobby rolled his eyes and got in behind the wheel, "You really are the shittiest influence in my life, you know that?"
Laughing again, Sean replied as the headed toward the exit of the parking garage, "What's the point of serving your country if there aren't any perks?"
Shaking his head, Bobby pulled out of the garage and rolled the windows down, letting in the humid Florida air. It was easily ninety to ninety-five degrees out, but there was a decent breeze coming in. It felt good to be home. The desert was great and all, but he'd missed the moisture in the air. As they got onto I-4, heading for I-75 North, it effectively cut off their chatter, the wind roaring in through the open windows.
As they drove, Bobby lost himself in thought, going over the events of the past month. It had all started by interrupting a gangrape. Four guys had cornered one of the female friends he'd made in the Corps, and as soon as he'd seen what was happening, he'd started throwing punches, freeing the woman and letting her help kick the shit out of her would-be assailants. MPs had found the four on the floor and had woken them up, only to have the four of them accuse Bobby and the girl of assaulting them, unprovoked. The conflicting stories had had them both up before the Base Commander, offering them a reduction in rank or an honorable discharge with no offer of re-enlistment.
Bobby had been furious that nothing was happening to the four would-be rapists and had had to grit his teeth to avoid having his honorable discharge turned into a dishonorable and criminal charges being filed. His friend had also taken the discharge and they'd caught the same flight back to D.C. from Afghanistan. They'd spent some time adjusting to what had happened, dealing with the amount of bullshit that had been heaped on them by the guys in their unit for taking the discharge. A couple of weeks later, they'd gone their separate ways, her to Ohio to be with her family, him to Florida to be with his own.
He came to his senses as he followed the familiar roads back home. Home. He'd been home just twice in the past six years. Once for his father's funeral, two years after he'd joined up, and once when he'd gotten back from his last deployment. His mother had been on the mend, that second time, his three sisters living at home and helping her out. As he pulled up in front of the house he put the truck in park, plenty of memories washing over him as he looked at the slightly run-down façade, the slightly unkempt lawn. But the American flag that hung outside was still flying at half-staff.
He looked over at Sean, who nodded quietly, letting him have his moment. Bobby took a deep breath and then held out his close fist to Sean, who bumped it, "Good luck, bro. I can already hear the squeals of excitement."
Bobby grinned a little at his friend, knowing his sisters and mother all too well. He got out, grabbed his duffel and then headed up the drive toward the door. He tested the knob before entering fully, sweeping his cover off his head and twisting it up, looking around the mostly familiar living room. There was a new leather sectional, a U-shape in front of the dark flat screen, his mother's knickknacks scattered about the room. He took a deep breath through his nose. It didn't
quite
smell like home, but it was there, under the overtones of his mother's favorite scented candles.
A figure suddenly came out of the kitchen, holding three plates in her hands, a confused look on her face. She was early forties, with deep gold curls framing her pretty face. There were more lines there than he remembered, but Angela Masterson was still a knockout. She was in incredible shape for her age, busty, with a flare to her hips and good sized thighs that hid a wealth of good muscle, but retained that feminine softness that was so appealing.
Her face was a mask of confusion and the spark of anger that someone would just walk into her home without so much as a knock. But when she saw the smile breaking over her son's handsome face, his father's smile, the plate dropped from nerveless fingers, shattering on the floor before she put a hand to her upper chest, as if to still her racing heart.
His smile only got bigger as he saw the tears of joy welling up into her eyes and he spoke softly, "Hey, mom. What's for lunch?"
She flung herself across the room with a low cry, wrapping him up in a tight hug, crushing her baby boy, her firstborn, to her chest in a death grip, "Bobby, oh my God!" Her voice barely rose above a whisper she was just too stunned to manage any more volume.
Bobby held her tight, and without the two inch heels she was wearing, she would have been almost four inches shorter than him. He held her tight as a shout came from down the hall, where the ground floor bedrooms were located, "Mom? Is everything okay?"
It was a feminine voice, and one he knew well. At the sound of it, Angela pulled back, fresh tears falling from her eyes to look at her son, "Ah, c'mon, mom. Don't cry. You're gonna get me started." His voice was already thick with emotion.
Having not gotten a reply, the speaker from down the hall came to investigate and saw the wreckage of the plates, then turned to look at her mother standing in front of the door, hiding another figure from sight, "Mom?"
Angela turned and suddenly Bobby was looking at his younger sister. The eldest of his three sisters, Stella was ridiculously stunning. At 22 years old, she had long dirty blonde hair down to the middle of her back, a cute, heart-shaped face, full lips. She was chesty, like her mother, easily a D-cup, with the same flare to her hips. She looked dumbstruck as she looked full into his face, and then she let out a squealing scream, "BOBBY!!" She sprinted around the couch and threw herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around him and forcing him to catch her. He grinned, "Hey, sis. Good to see you too." She was almost incoherent with crying and hyperventilating in excitement.
Her exuberance had drawn out another figure from another room on the ground floor. Megan was 20, and she looked confused and angry at the noise. She broke the mold in the family, inheriting their grandmother's auburn hair that hung to her shoulders, an athletic build with C-cups. She was also shorter than her mother and sister by about an inch. Her hips were narrower, coupled with her athleticism afforded her a spectacular ass. She saw Bobby's face over Stella's shoulder and her entire face lit up as she vaulted over the couch and closed with her sister's back, hugging both of them just to get in on the action.
Bobby laughed, "Jesus, you two, it's not like I came back from the dead!"
Angela smacked the back of his head, "Hush, you. They missed you like crazy."
"Yeah, big brother, no one will go running with me when you're not here!" This from Megan, who still hadn't let either of them go.
Bobby grinned, "You mean to one will let you dust their ass? Poor baby." Angela smacked the back of his head again.
Eventually the two girls released him and stood back, bathing him in radiant smiles. He took in their faces, then looked up and frowned, "Where's Hannah?"
