For Love or Country

by Jesse Jordan

  “She is pretty in a pro-wrestler kinda way,” Tamara admits. “But, she's a Cow, and I'm just a Plebe. Can't even call her by her first name for another two and a half months. And I'm just Price, not Tamara and certainly not Tammy to her. Oh, and she's also straight. Or at least she's got a picture of a guy above her desk, I saw it when I delivered laundry to her room.”

  I laugh. “I figured she ate boyfriends for breakfast and whipped them BDSM style for lunch.”

  Tammy bites her lip, and I chuckle. “Down girl. You need to let off steam, go take a long shower, the water masks the noise pretty well. Trust me, I know.”

  Tammy laughs, and nods. “Actually, and please don't freak out, but there were a few times when I'd do it in my bed when you were asleep. I'm pretty quiet when I want to be.”

  I don't want to tell her that at least once I knew, but instead nod. “Still, safer that way. You don't want to be fingers deep when a roomie wakes up needing to take a piss, you know? Personal experience from civilian college talking here.”

  Tammy laughs again, and leans back. “Thanks, Ash. Really. I've spent months now wanting to just have someone I can be myself with, even if it's not romantic or whatever. Maybe now that I know I can just be myself around you, I'll drop the stressed out act, you know?”

  “I know,” I tell her. I check my watch, chuckling. “And you need to post yourself outside King's room, you got just a few minutes. Hey, you going to come watch Sandhurst practice this afternoon?”

  Tamara shakes her head, blushing again. “I signed up for submission grappling for Intramurals.”

  I blink, stunned. “You what? Have you ever wrestled in your life?”

  She shakes her head, and her blush deepens. “Nope, but I'm trying to learn. And I get to roll around and get sweaty with King on the mats, she's the only other female on the team. Nice side benefit, you know?”

  “Good point.”

  I've never been in Bradley Barracks before, even though it's right next to Pershing. It's the realm of Second Regiment, there's no reason for me to be poking around there. Better not to play with fire.

  But I've got my French book, and I'm wearing my full PT gear, which means that I'm a little anonymous as I walk down the hall to Cade's room. The only thing I do that gives away my Plebe status is knocking three times on his door. “Come on in.”

  I open the door, and Cade's there by himself, his roomie absent. “Hi.”

  “Hey Carlyle, come on in,” Cade says, waving me over. “Ben's out of the room for a while, so grab his chair and pull it over here.”

  His room is laid out differently from mine, with an L-shaped desk that looks like it'd be more at home in a normal office than a cadet room, but I'd seen those before. Unfortunately Pershing doesn't have enough room in our rooms for the big L-shape, I’d like the space. “Where? Not a lot of space on the other side of the desk.”

  “Then slide over here next to me,” Cade says, laughing. “The door's open, Carlyle. Or can I call you Ashley? At least during studying?”

  It is one of those things that is unique in the foreign language classes, we refer to each other all the time by first name. “Ah, I guess. Sure.”

  I grab Cade's roommate's chair pulling it next to his, and he scoots over, letting me in as best I can. Still, it's a tight fit, and the arms of our chairs are touching as we get started. “So let's try the first script, see how you're doing with translating it,” Cade says, opening his book and putting it halfway between us. “You go ahead.”

  I feel like as we run through the script that I'm actually getting this better than Cade is. My pronunciation sounds a lot closer to the instructor’s, and as we try changes to the script, I'm a lot more accurate with the variations than he is.

  Still, Cade's charismatic. But when he knee brushes against mine, at first maybe accidentally, but the second time for sure on purpose, I don’t like it. Leaning so close over the book that I can feel the warmth from his body on my skin, I'm shocked when his finger traces mine while we're going through our lines. “Cade....”

  “Shhh,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Sometimes it's fun to break the rules, you know.”

  His eyes are full of meaning, but I shake my head, standing up. “Thank you, but no. I... I need to get back to my room.”

  “Your loss. See you in class Wednesday,” Cade says casually, waving. He's not flustered at all, in fact he looks like he's just expectant, like he knows how I'm feeling, and as I quickly leave Bradley and head back to Pershing, I'm trying to keep my head from spinning.

  One touch. One fucking touch, on my hand no less, and my goddamn hormones are jacked up to eleven. I understand it, I haven't exactly had attention from guys in the past few months. But Cade? He's not even my type. Sure, the bodybuilder build is nice, but he's got a fake bake tan, and he rolls the hems on the sleeves of his PT shirt which is already a size and a half too small! Hell, he might as well have been from Jersey and asked me how I'm doin'?

  But it doesn't matter, my body is flying right now on hormones, and I need release. I just need to make sure that whatever I do to release it, I'm not going to think about those ripped biceps or the way his thighs were warm where he touched my knee... FUCK! God fucking damn it all!

  I get to my room and quickly make a decision, I'd told Tammy about it earlier today even. Grabbing my towel and shower kit, I head to the bathroom. I step into the changing area and peel off my clothes, turning on the water and stepping into the stall to give me my own personal space to do what I have to do.

  For me, nothing beats letting off sexual energy in the shower. Cupping my breasts, I tweak my nipples, biting my lip as the hot energy sparkles inside me, the burning feeling good as the water splashes against my stomach and runs down between my legs, warming me even more.

  I've let my body maintenance slip since joining the Corps, and my fingers catch a little in the full bush I've grown, but it doesn't matter, the slight pull is good as my fingers slide between my pussy lips, rubbing the slick folds until I slide my finger deep, moaning as I do. I work quickly, pumping my finger in and out letting the waves wash over me, the heel of my palm grinding against my clit. It's been my guaranteed move since I was thirteen and figured out what my body can do, but something's missing.

  My mind starts drifting, and I start thinking of what I need, a man who can be my fantasy lover. Tall, for sure... his body athletic, but leaner than Cade, a little taller. More serious, none of the playboy bullshit. And I like brown hair...

  The image comes into my mind while my orgasm grows inside me, and I let my head fall forward, the water soaking into my hair as suddenly Cadet Lancaster comes into my mind. He's tall, and there's a strength to him, refined and cultured, but with a hint of inner passion that pulls at me. No man could ever be as good as he is without a strong wild side, one that I want to be able to see, to make him let loose.

  My body trembles, and then the waves all harmonize, my clit and g-spot coming together is a tsunami that leaves me smiling. My entire world stretches out and washes white and pure before my thighs tremble, the afterwash leaving me relaxed and happy.

  I finish up my shower, putting some conditioner in my hair while my fingers stop trembling, and I wait, thinking while the vitamins do their work. Cadet Lancaster? He's a Cow, but at least he's respectful. When he invited me to join the Sandhurst squad, he didn't hit on me, he was totally cool. And last semester, as squad leader, he certainly made my pulse race a little.

  Hell, he's not too bad a fantasy, a lot better than Cade Edwards. Even with that scar on his mouth and cheek, he's a lot more my type anyway. He's actually got his act together, and I don't sense any fakeness from him.

  I rinse out my hair and chuckle, drying off. Okay, so I've been denying myself pretty hard since Beast. Instead of a healthy sex life, I've lived like a nun. This sort of release is something I need, and now that the stress of first semester is over, maybe it's time that I reacquaint myself with my inner fantasies and with my body's needs. It'
s about all I've got right now.

  Simon

  Hayes Gym is the oldest part of the Arvin Gym complex, dating back to the early 1900s. There's still two floors of it left, the first floor which holds a pair of workout rooms, while the second floor is the gymnastics gym, where we are today. The room's totally dedicated to the gymnastics techniques that the Department of Physical Education calls “Military Movement.”

  “Okay team, last year the Ironside lost a lot of time on the one rope bridge. Half of it was the setup. But,” Mike Price says, looking around, “we lost a lot more time because we moved like sloths on the damn rope. So today it's all about bodyweight movements.”

  “So that's why we're in court shoes,” Betty Lawton jokes, looking down. I have to admit, ACU pants and tops with court shoes is pretty stupid looking, but we can't wear combat boots here. “Realism in training.”

  “Be glad we're not in helmets too,” I tell Betty, who rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue at me. “What?”

  “You're nuts, you know that?”

  Mike taps his foot, shutting us up, and looks around. “Okay, okay, enough of that. Simon, I want you to take Carlyle, Gilbert, Jones, and Hunt, you're going to be doing shelf, the bar walk, the balance beam and the monkey bars. Upperclassmen, are with me, we're going to work the two sets of ropes, vertical and horizontal. In a while we'll switch.”

  I take my people, the four Plebes on the team, over to the horizontal shelf. Carlyle looks at it with a bit of concern, while Gilbert, Jones, and Hunt, who have taken gymnastics, aren't so worried. “Okay you guys, review time. While there is no shelf on the Sandhurst course, you will need to maybe do this for the rock climbing, or getting on the rope. Now, to do it in pants is a little different from when you were in spazz-nastics, so watch.”

  I grab the edge of the shelf overhead and pull with my arms, swinging my heel up to the side just like DPE teaches us, then getting my knee and thigh on the shelf before rolling my body over the edge. Once up, I get to my knees and look down. “Try it this way. Carlyle, you're going to have to give me a bit of a jump to grab the edge of the shelf, so the pull's going to be different for you. Show me what you've got. Carlyle on my right side, Gilbert on the left.”

  Gilbert's over six feet tall, so for him the shelf is pretty easy, but Carlyle struggles at first. She's never done this before, even if she's heard about it from her family, and the sideways crunch you need to be able to do is totally unfamiliar. She tries a few times then drops off, wiping her hands on her pants. “Jones, Hunt, left side,” I command, shifting my attention to Carlyle. “Carlyle, give me your hand.”

  “No way. I can do it,” she grumbles, jumping and pulling again. She almost gets it, her heel gets into the little groove of the shelf, but she's not at the right angle and dangles helplessly for a minute before dropping back down again, muttering a curse under her breath.

  “Carlyle, come on. On the course helping your squadmate is normal and encouraged,” I tell her, offering my hand. “Come on.”

  Carlyle shakes her head, her auburn hair shaking back and forth and there's as much fire in her green eyes as her hair. “Fuck off, sir. Course is one thing, this is training.”

  I could yell at her, she did just tell an upperclassman to fuck off, but she's showing me the same heart that she did all of first semester, and I sit back, watching in anticipation as she tries it a third time. Besides, that fire is hot, and now that I’m not her squad leader, I’ve found myself looking at her a lot more. I’m going to keep myself professional, but maybe after recognition, I could see if she’s as hot inside as she is outside.

  But the shelf is a lot like drowning or boxing. You go down two times, there's a damn good chance you're going down for a third and last time too.

  Nobody's told that to Ashley Carlyle though, and she take a deep breath, jumping and pulling with an unladylike grunt that would impress anyone on the powerlifting team. She gets her heel up, and then pulls with her hamstring, just like you're supposed to, getting her hips closer to the shelf until she's able to get her knee and thigh in, and she rolls over the edge, on the shelf by herself. I give her a bit of silent applause, totally authentic. “You did it.”

  She looks at me, her eyes sparkling, and I notice again just how pretty she is. Maybe I do want to check her out, but I really need to make sure that I don't let her know about it. She's still got three months until Recognition. “Sorry about the fuck off, sir. But thanks.”

  I nod, and feel something unfamiliar on my face, a genuine smile, come out. I don't ever give Plebe girls my real smile, just my 'professional' smile. Carlyle though seems to get it out of me. “You keep performing, you can tell me to fuck off more often. Still... I've done this a few times now, don't ignore my advice, okay?”

  Her smile grows and she nods. “Huah, sir. So now what?”

  “Now,” I say, looking around at my Plebes, “it's time for the horizontal bar walk, then the shelf again. Trust me, all of you are going to get sick of this shelf before we switch up.”

  The bar walk goes easy, it's more of a confidence thing than anything else for people who have a problem with heights, and the next time we do the shelf, Carlyle does it right the first time, still slower than the guys but close enough that I don't have to have her run it by herself. We work for about fifteen minutes before I take them across the balance beam, letting them get their muscles back for the next hard challenge, the monkey bars.

  I look over at Mike, who's got the upperclassmen going across the horizontal rope, and they're doing an okay job. I can't help it, I check out how Betty Lawton's doing, but this is her sort of environment, a 'clean sweat' if that makes any sense, and she's flying across the rope nearly as fast as some of the guys.

  I know I'm playing favorites here. I invited Carlyle to join the team, and maybe I just want to be proven that I'm right. She's better than Lawton when it all comes down to it, either because I've worked with her for so long, or maybe it's her family thing. It for sure can't be that she and I are about two weeks apart in age and she's... get a fucking hold of yourself, Simon.

  “Okay, monkey bars!” I tell the Plebes, leading them over. I go down the ladder, hitting every bar with my hand for the training effect. “Down and walk back.”

  Again, Carlyle struggles compared to the guys, but she fights, hard. Her legs are pumping and her lip lifts in a little sneer as she looks up at the next bar and the next, dropping to the mat at the end and walking back without a single complaint. We’re here to make sure that the Ironside Team is fit all around, not just runners. Mike and I agree, we want a team of overall studs.

  “Last challenge,” I tell them, looking on as all the Plebes flex their tired hands. They're about to get a lot more tired, but I want them pushed to that point, so that the ropes have to come down to technique and heart, not hand strength. “Down, loop, and back. Watch.”

  It's hard even for me, the idea of turning around on the monkey bars is hard. When I get back, my shoulders are aching, and the Plebes look at me with a lot more respect than they even did before. “Jones, you're up. Hunt, you're next, then Gilbert, then Carlyle. Go.”

  Jones gets to the turn around but can't figure out it out and drops, cursing and shaking his hands. He's got potential, he wants to go again but I tell him to get some water instead. Next is Hunt, who disappoints me by giving up at the turn around. He could have made it, he had the hard part of the turn done, but instead he drops, and I bite back a comment. No need to bust their ass just yet.

  Gilbert's tougher, getting three quarters of the way back before his forearms just seize up and his fingers let go of the bar, hitting total failure. I pat him on the back and look over at Carlyle, nodding. “Go, Carlyle.”

  Carlyle, who's been watching with an intent look on her face that I know is the reason people think she's got an everpresent bitchy expression, grabs the first bar and starts. She's smart, skipping bars while she has the energy until she hits the turn around. Unlike what I did, twisting and
taking a lateral grip for two swings, she takes a parallel grip on two bars and starts pumping her legs, her face a mask of pain as she inches forward and across the small gap, then starting back the other way.

  I can't help it, I start cheering her on as she keeps fighting, bar by bar. “Come on Carlyle, do it. Ten more bars! Eight more!”

  She's working so hard that I can see either sweat or tears trickling from the corner of her eyes, but she gets there, jackknifing her body the last foot to put her feet on the steps and standing clear and triumphant. She sticks her fists into the air, and turns, looking at me with a clear smile that takes her from just pretty to beautiful. “YES!”

  I look over at Mike Price, who's stopped what the upperclassmen are doing to watch, and he gives me a little nod. He saw, and he knows.

  After dinner, I head down the hall, intent on getting some homework done. I've got military history this semester, and it's actually a lot of fun. I'm just turning the corner from the stairs when I hear soft cry of pain, and I stop, concerned. I follow the sound and see that it's Carlyle's room. The door's open, and I knock softly, not with the two knocks of an upperclassman, but the three knocks of a peer. “Carlyle?”

  She's holding her hands in front of her, hissing in pain as she cries, and I step in, concerned. She sees me move and sniffs quickly, tucking her hands under her desk. “Sir?”

  “Show me your hands,” I tell her, coming closer and kneeling down. “Come on.”

  She takes her hands out and I see that they're a mess. Huge blisters cover her palms, with one on her right hand near the base of her fingers already ruptured and bleeding a yellow-red mix of blood and fluid. “S... sir, it's okay.”

  “Bullshit, Carlyle,” I admonish her gently, taking her hand. “Why didn't you tell me or Mike Price?”

  “I didn't want you to think I'm weak,” she sniffs. “It didn't hurt until I tried to clean them. The... the alcohol stung a lot.”