SEAL Firsts

by Sharon Hamilton

  He tilted his head back to avoid giving a belly laugh that would surely wake her. He didn’t want to be robbed of these delicious moments. How could he have met a girl who drooled in her sleep?

  He scanned the walls of her bedroom. She had tacked several tissue paper sketches of what looked like produce labels and several other ones of large flowers done in chalk or pencil. There was a sketch of a light pink sandy beach cradling white surf coming from a bright turquoise ocean. He noticed a poster made from a picture of Brandy dressed in a large purple grape costume. She was holding a bottle of wine and standing next to Dorie, in an identical costume. Their legs were bright purple from the knees down as they stood in a large stainless steel vat, stomping grapes.

  She had a calendar with pictures of beaches from around the world and a photo of her as a young girl sitting beside an older gentleman driving a tractor at a pumpkin farm. Her burgundy bustier and bridesmaid skirt were draped over an easy chair, mixed with his black pants, white shirt, and red white and blue cotton boxers. He was a little embarrassed at the rah rah in his underwear, but he couldn’t help it. It was the way he was.

  Her bookshelf burst with paperbacks, spilling over onto the floor in several stacks. It appeared every one of them had a picture of a naked man on the cover. The bedside table still gaped with the open drawer containing a box of condoms. He noticed she owned a bright pink vibrator, and that nearly ruined his composure.

  But it was all good. All normal. These were the trappings of a woman he’d been trained to protect. Her precious way of life was valuable, something worth saving. This was evidence that what he’d done as an elite warrior was all worth it. He hoped to God she never had to endure some of the things he’d seen out there on the other side of the planet, where children inhaled a steady diet of uncertainty, misery, and smoke from the ashes of their crumbling civilization that knew nothing but war. His job was to make sure that war stayed there and didn’t come home.

  Brandy was moving against him, stroking him like she’d done so delicately last night. Her pubic bone pressed into his thigh. He raised his knee to help intensify the feeling.

  At last, she placed her chin on his sternum and fed from his eyes. What did she see? He hoped she wasn’t disappointed. He wasn’t. He remembered every kiss, every stroke, every shudder, and every time he pinned her to the bed with her arms outstretched, as if he could will himself to climb inside her and shelter in place.

  She was twirling his frosty chest hairs, biting her lip, and waiting to say something, or waiting for him to speak first. But he didn’t feel under any pressure to talk so he just watched this dark angel with the red lips he was ravenous for. He wanted to see her enormous breasts bounce in the morning sun as she writhed above him. He wanted to see her face as he filled her, made her come.

  She opened her mouth to say something when the door to her living room opened and a man’s voice called out, “Brinny?”

  Brandy scrambled to sit up, taking the sheet with her, which left Tucker completely exposed. If the man in the next room came to the doorway, he’d also notice the enormous hard-on Tucker had developed.

  She smirked, whispering, “My father.”

  He sprung to action and quickly slipped on his patriotic boxers, but remained seated on the bed.

  “Just a minute dad. I’ve got someone here,” she shouted to the next room. Twisting the sheet around her, she stepped to the doorway. Tucker got a nice view of her shapely rear, her long mahogany hair falling everywhere about her shoulders and upper back. He’d kissed every vertebra last night, kneaded the cheeks of her ass until she squealed. She could take everything he could give out, and then some. He hated having to be careful in his sex play. Brandy played at the same intensity.

  “Oh, fine. Look, I’m headed off to the store. You coming in today?”

  “Maybe later this afternoon. Would that work?”

  “Sure. Sorry I didn’t let you know yesterday, but I’m going to be one short today. If you can, that would really help me out.”

  “No problem, Dad. How about one or two o’clock?”

  “Great. Hey, how was the wedding?”

  She adjusted her sheet again, briefly shooting him a gaze as Tucker lay back on the pillow, his hands clasped behind his head. “Dorie was gorgeous. You should have come. They had a great band, lots of people you knew were there.”

  “A friend of Brawley’s?” her dad whispered, but Tucker could hear it clearly.

  Brandy nodded. “Dad, I’ve gotta go.”

  “No problem. See you later on this afternoon.”

  The door closed behind him.

  Tucker watched her face recovering from the blush that also sent pink blotches to her upper chest. “That was awkward,” she mumbled, fiddling with her fingers and refusing to look back at him.

  He was charmed with the blush, but even more interested in getting the sheet off her. “Come here,” he whispered.

  Her face pinked up again, and he chuckled.

  “After all the things we did last night, you expect me to believe you’re really shy?”

  She began twirling her hair around her forefinger, still avoiding eye contact.

  “Come here, Brandy. Just for a little bit. Then I’d like to take you out to breakfast. I’m thinking pancakes.”

  Her large brown eyes snapped to attention. She crawled on all fours toward him. By the time she reached him, the sheet had been left behind. Her breasts overflowed in his hands as her young body undulated over his groin, pressing against the ridge of his hardness. Her fingers deftly slid his boxers down over his thighs while she guided him to her core. He held the sides of her hips, raised her up, and then plunged her back down on him.

  Then he remembered. They’d forgotten the condom. Again. With his fingers digging into her flesh, he stopped her movements completely, knowing he had to ask the question and leave it up to her.

  “Is it okay?”

  “It’s perfect,” she blew back at his face, and then she kissed him.

  The Samoan Pancake House was always a Team favorite on weekends. But today was a holiday so the place was packed. He nodded to several former Teammates, a couple of whom were at the wedding last night.

  She chose a corner at the back of the restaurant, and ordered.

  “So you used to serve with Brawley, right?”

  “About ten years ago. We grew up together in Oregon.”

  “You’re from Oregon?”

  He noticed she had a dimple to the right of her mouth, which was cuter than all heck.

  “What?”

  “You have a very sexy dimple right there.” He touched the spot and loved her blush, as she held his hand.

  “I love it up there. My parents had plans to retire near McMinville, but my mom passed before they could sell everything and go do it. Now Dad’s stuck with the store.”

  “That’s close to where Brawley and I grew up.”

  “That’s what I thought. So your family was farmers, then?”

  “Still are. My sister and her husband and kids live with them and they all work in the family business.”

  “Sounds nice. What do they grow?”

  Tucker was hesitant to explain the details of his parent’s venture, so he deflected the question by giving a half-answer. “They do hydroponics, greenhouse stuff. They used to grow wheat, but over the years, they’ve sold off parcels so now they only have a few acres left. It’s all they can handle.”

  “You miss Oregon?” Brandy asked as their breakfast was served.

  Tucker poured syrup all over his pancakes and even his eggs and the extra biscuit he ordered. “I worked up a regular appetite, Miss Brandy.” He winked at her, amused by the way her jaw dropped as she watched him take his first bite. Then she blushed again.

  “I don’t miss Oregon at all. I like it here. More sun, less rain. More to do outside, and I don’t have to prepare for monsoons to do them, either. San Diego suits me just fine.”

  “Yup,” she agreed.

>   “You grew up here, then?” He knew she had, but wanted to keep the conversation going.

  “Right here. I’m not sure if I stay because of Dad or he stays because of me. I work for him, help him out a bit, since I’m between jobs at the moment.”

  “I thought you worked with Dorie at the ad agency.”

  “Used to. I guess I pissed off a customer. I don’t think the advertising business is for me.”

  “Brawley said your dad’s store is quite upscale? Can he make it with Amazon and all those other players fighting for the retail dollar?”

  “I think he makes just enough to live on. Dad’s not someone who could ever work for anyone else. He owns the market outright, and the half-acre lot behind. He has some fantasy of doing a little truck farming, perhaps grow his own organic produce.”

  “Farming, even on a half-acre, is a lot of work.”

  “I think that’s the point, Tucker. When he gets tired of it, then he’ll sell. This gives him something to do. Keeps him from missing my mother. She was everything to him.” Then she added, “I don’t think our family does well with retirement. It’s kind of a dirty word.”

  Tucker nodded and completely agreed. “Smart man. Men have to do things. They can’t just sit around and watch the world go by. They have to get into action, or at least the men I hang with do.”

  “So now that you’re off the Teams, what do you do?”

  “I run some trainings for guys, mostly high school age, who are interested in joining the SEALs. I try to get them in good physical shape to help them pass BUD/S. I’m kind of the guy who tells them the truth, dispels the garbage the recruiters fill them with. I make sure they know what they’re signing up for.”

  “They’re lucky to have you.”

  “It’s only part-time, but it gives me a chance to give a little back to the community. I also do some personal training and I work at the glider port, instructing for the skydiving school.”

  “Skydiving? Wow.”

  “You should try it sometime. You’d have a ball.”

  He was surprised to see she appeared resistant.

  “No, thanks. I’ll stick to the ground, thank you. If God had wanted me to fly through the air, he would have given me wings.”

  “Or an expert tandem buddy. It will change your life, Brandy.”

  “Or end it.”

  “No. These guys are safe. They train all the SEALs down here. Some of the most experienced skydivers and stuntmen in the country. It’s all completely safe.” He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “All about trust, Brandy. And finding out about your limits.”

  They finished breakfast, and Tucker reluctantly took her back to her car. She turned towards him before she got out of the truck.

  “I had a great time, Tucker. I had a goal to have one perfect evening, and it was all that and more. Sorry I got sick on you.”

  He leaned over and cradled her jaw with his palm before kissing her. “I did, too. I don’t want to tell you my goal because you dashed it all to hell. This is the part where I ask you if I can see you again. I’m hoping the answer is yes.”

  She held his hand between both of hers. When she looked up, he thought at first she might say no.

  “I was just looking for one perfect night. I guess I could handle two.”

  Chapter 6

  Brandy changed her clothes and put on her comfortable cross trainers since she’d be standing the entire afternoon. She drove down the strand past the SEAL Qualification course and thought about what it had been like for Tucker and Brawley going through the training together. Many times, she’d watched the boat crews of new recruits working their way over the rocks or running down the beach carrying telephone poles over their heads. She mused that Tucker could actually make a telephone pole look small.

  She turned off the highway and into the tree-lined streets of an older suburban neighborhood then headed away from the bay where things were a little more spread out. Small ranchettes dotted the landscape. She came upon the boutique strip mall containing a cluster of specialty stores with her father’s organic grocery and deli at one end. She could see his silver pickup truck parked at the side, as well as Kip’s beat-up VW. The five time college freshman had worked for her dad ever since he’d mastered the art of riding a bike. He was practically family. There were only a couple of other cars in the lot, indicating they were having a very slow day.

  She loved the smell of the produce and the bright colors of the vegetables and fruit every time she arrived. It was like the smell of flowers at a florist. Her dad was famous for carrying unusual fruits from all over the world, but he specialized in California and Florida citrus and always did a huge business every Christmas sending fruit baskets to customer’s relatives all over the globe.

  She ducked under the portable canvas awnings shading the lovely displays, piled up in pine boxes. Two shoppers wandered down aisles inside the building itself. One was headed in the direction of the checkout, having spotted Brandy arrive.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told the woman. “Just got to grab my apron and punch in.”

  Inside the store’s tiny office was her father’s desk, covered in catalogs, papers, and envelopes—most of them unopened. It was obvious he needed help with his bookkeeping and office organization. She intended to have a discussion with him about that very thing, and soon.

  Brandy placed her purse inside the top file cabinet drawer, noticing it had been pushed aside and was slightly crooked. With a couple of shoves she righted it to stand snug against the desk, where it belonged. Her dad’s chair was pulled out, and his glasses were folded on top of the closed laptop that was so old the Apple store refused to work on it any longer.

  Slipping the kelly-green apron over her head, she deposited her cell phone in the large center pocket, tied the straps behind her waist, and began to look for her father.

  “Dad?”

  There was no answer so she figured he might be in the large cooler room at the rear.

  That’s where she found him. He was sprawled on the floor, his face turned to one side. A trickle of blood had seeped into the floorboards coming from under his upper body somewhere. His face was pale, lips slightly purple. She was immediately worried he might be dead.

  “Oh my God. Dad! What’s happened?”

  She fell to her knees and tried to revive him, but his body remained limp. Then she checked for a pulse and was relieved to have found one. And he appeared to be breathing, but when she tried to arouse him again, he didn’t respond. His face was cold and clammy.

  With her own pulse racing, she dialed 911 and gave instructions to the paramedics who promised they’d be there within minutes.

  She called out for Kip, but again received no answer.

  “Hang in there, dad.”

  But her father didn’t register any response, which sent a spear of panic down her spine. She wasn’t sure if she should roll him over on his back and decided it would be safer to just leave him on his side. Beneath his head she felt the sticky dark red blood. Finding a clean hand towel, she applied slight pressure, hoping to stop the bleeding. In mere seconds, the towel was bright red and soaked. Her hands were dripping in her father’s blood. She carefully rested his head against the soaked cotton and staggered out front to see if she could find Kip. It was hard to concentrate, but she managed to calm her nerves.

  The customer was waiting not-so-patiently by the checkout, but when she spied Brandy’s bloody hands, she began to scream. Brandy jumped as if she’d been slapped.

  “Hold on. My father has taken a spill, and the paramedics are on their way. Give me a minute to get myself gathered. Have you seen Kip?”

  The woman closed her mouth and merely shook her head briskly. “Who’s Kip?”

  “He’s the other clerk here.”

  “I didn’t see anyone.”

  Brandy looked at the woman’s basket, then at the counter and discovered the cash register drawer had been pried open and was completely empty. A ch
eck was crumpled at her feet. It began to dawn on her that perhaps this had been a robbery attempt gone badly.

  “Ma’am, it looks like we’ve been robbed, too. You sure you didn’t see anyone?”

  “No. No one was here. These folks,” she said, pointing to a couple behind her, “arrived after me. Is your dad okay?”

  “No. I’m worried. He’s unconscious, but help is on the way.”

  Just then, she heard the familiar sound of Kip parking the company van. He entered the store, tossing and catching his keys. Upon seeing Brandy, he gave her a big grin. “Hey there.”

  “Kip, Dad’s fallen. He’s in the back. I’ve called the paramedics and they’re on their way. This woman wants to check out, but I need to stand guard with Dad until the paramedics come. Can you get the backup working? If not, can we just close down the store?”

  “Sure thing.” Kip was already on his knees, extracting another register from under the counter, connecting the telephone feeds, and adjusting the paper. “I’ve got this. You go be with your dad.”

  She jogged to the back of the storeroom. Her father still hadn’t moved.

  She was relieved to hear the sirens getting closer until she saw just flashing red lights. Someone must have directed them to the rear because two paramedics ran through the back door and bent over to attend to her father. Their fingers deftly poked and repositioned his head and neck, checking out his neck, arms, and legs.

  “Did you see him fall?” the handsome dark-uniformed rescue worker asked her as he scanned her bloody hands. He turned his attention back to her father, focusing on the bleeding from his head.

  “No. I got here like ten or fifteen minutes ago. I expected to find him in the store, so I went looking for him and found him here. Just like this. I put the towel under his head. But there was so much…blood.” Her voice wavered.

  The other paramedic was up on her feet, barking instructions into the com strapped to her shoulder.

  “Are you a relative or co-worker?” the male paramedic asked.