I stepped forward and she pushed my chest hard. I realised just how powerful her compact body was. “What do you say, Wills?”
“Uh, yes, Sergeant?”
“Oh, and you said it beautifully, Wills. Except you’re not asking a goddamned question! Say it like you mean it, boy!”
“Yes, Sergeant!” And I ran forward then dropped over my outstretched arms amidst more soft laughs.
SFC Beecham walked slowly around the formation. She pointed at one who had laughed. “Were you laughing, Private?”
“No, Sergeant!”
She rested her boot between my shoulder blades, and my arms started to tremble. “Is that how they do push-ups back in... where you from?”
“Montana, Sergeant.”
“Montana? Don’t you country boys know the right position for push-ups?”
“I’m not a country - ”
She pushed harder and my arms began to tremble. “Excuse me?”
“No, ma’am! Sergeant!”
“Ma’am Sergeant. Is there a new rank the Army neglected to tell me about?”
My nervous smart-ass reflex choked at my oesophagus like churning bile; my trembling arms reminded me to swallow these words. “Not that I’m aware of, Sergeant!”
“Good boy. Hands closer together.” She tapped my elbow with the glossy tip of her boot.
I rocked back and forth to walk my palms closer together.
“Down!”
I lowered my chest toward the ground.
“You wanna get that thing shot off?” She pushed her boot to my butt and forced it down. “Now you’re swaying like a goddamned rope bridge!” Her boot curled under my thigh and lifted. “Pathetic. Can’t you get anything right, Wills?”
I was beginning to think it might be a bit harder than I planned to finesse this woman.
I got to know the brim of SFC Beecham’s hat quite well. I was sure I could see a dark spot where she regularly pressed it to my sweaty forehead. Then there was her boot on my helmet as I shot my M-16 from the prone position. “Thought you country boys knew how to shoot.”
“Varies from weapon to weapon, Sergeant.”
She snorted and gave my head a little shove. “Watch it, Wills.”
She didn’t say a word, just sneered when I brought up the rear after trembling up the tall towers on the obstacle course, and took four times as long as anyone else to traverse it. That was the first time I truly looked in her eyes. It was the only way I could think to apologise. It seemed an hour we stared. Probably more like ten seconds. I dropped my gaze to her left hand. Barely discernable on her ring finger was a slim line of pale, untanned skin.
“Eyes front, Private!”
“That’s where they are - yes, Sergeant!”
Sometimes I passed advice across the counter to the cooks that prepared our thrice-daily utilitarian Army meals in the aptly-named mess hall. It wouldn’t have been so hard to breathe a little life into it, I figured. One soldier, who held an ominous glop of mashed potatoes that was apparently super-glued to the spoon, pointed it at me.
“You think you can do better, you come back here, soldier!”
“That’s not the point...” Sometimes I had to argue. All this camouflage, every schedule set for me, I needed to keep my sense of self. I caught SFC Beecham in my periphery. I turned my head, expecting to incite another chin to forehead confrontation. She rationed an almost-smile then she looked at the food on my tray. She spoke gently.
“Eat. Don’t argue, Wills. Move along.”
I obliged. Eating was one of my few moments of comfort in basic training. I could lose myself in familiar thoughts of food preparation. Of course I wondered if I shouldn’t have just toughed it out in restaurants, or gotten into construction. Anything but this.
I watched how people ate in the mess hall. Some were in heaven with Army food, the poor saps. At one dinner, I was positioned with an unobstructed view of SFC Beecham. She seemed to ponder each bite. I thought this was just her way of taking a break in the high speed, stressful environment.
She moistened her surprisingly pink lips, and accepted the food. She was oblivious to other discussions at the Drill Sergeants’ table. She tilted her head and looked at the tray, then the ceiling as she masticated. I knew she was wishing it was something better.
I had a hard-on that could jack up a deuce-and-a-half truck.
Recruits that have high scores on placement tests get occasional respites from the usual basic training activities: Do you want to be an Officer? Do you want to work in computers? Do you want to be a linguist? Oh, you already are. That last one put me back in the barracks early one afternoon. I found myself in a rare gap where I had the run of the place. I sat on my bunk and opened a Playboy I’d bought at the PX. Such luxury.
I heard something in the corridor, then silence. I went to the door and popped it wide.
She jumped like a rattler had just sounded off. “Fuck! Wills? What are you doing here?” She’d been away at the morning formation, leaving us in the hands of her assistant. Probably tending to a personal matter. From her expression, a serious one.
“Sorry, Sergeant. They sent me to take a placement test, but it’s for the Military Occupation Speciality I’m in.”
“Oh. As you were.” I started to turn. “Wills? What MOS is that?”
“Linguist.”
“That explains a lot. I’m glad to hear it. I’d hate to cut you loose on the battlefield.” She looked at me seriously. “Your big mouth would get you shot sooner or later.”
I shrugged.
“I appreciate your determination, but there’s a time and a place.” There was a melancholy twist to her mouth. “Sometimes it’s better to... let go.” Her right forefinger and thumb rubbed her nude ring finger hard. She cleared her throat.
“You holding up okay, Sergeant?”
Her pensive eyes looked glossy as she returned from some distant foray down the empty hall. “What are you talking about?”
“Tough morning?”
She lifted her brow.
“When my parents split, it was hell on them both.”
Her brow crushed. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just making repartee, Sergeant.”
SFC Beecham bit her lower lip. “Repartee? Linguist indeed. They still send you to Presidio for training?”
I nodded.
“You’ll be in your element, you and that sharp tongue.”
“Just like you, Sergeant.”
Again she lifted her brow.
“I’m not talking about your tongue, Sarge. I’m talking about your job. You... uh, seem to like it.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I like my job fine, but I’m really not looking forward to being between classes this time after - ” She grabbed her forehead like shielding against a bare bulb in an interrogation room. “Just get back to the platoon, Wills.”
“They’re on the range. I’m just biding my time, Sergeant.”
“Right. Well...” Her eyes quickly travelled me head to toe. “Enjoy, Wills.”
I went back to my bunk and studied Miss September. Nude. Sprawled. Athletic woman. It occurred to me that this was the last thing I needed. I turned to the interview.
What SFC Beecham said stuck with me. I’d learned to fight my smart-ass reflex to some extent during what I now call “The Push-Up Phase.” One who didn’t learn this was in for a hard ride, but sometimes it was just irresistible. I paid the price, but it seemed worth it.
Still, her words, “a time and a place,” took root.
I stayed my tongue completely for the rest of basic training. I missed SFC Beecham’s minty fresh breath berating me, the occasional feel of her boot. But there was something fresh in the way she looked at me when she said certain things. S
he seemed to know what triggered my dormant smart-ass reflex. Sometimes she even paused with a hinted grin, like a taunt.
Right after our graduation, I returned to the barracks and began gathering my stuff for the trip to San Francisco. I was so looking forward to sharpening my dulled tongue. The rest of the platoon was out with family, or celebrating. I, instead, tended to one last load of laundry.
“Can I share a little secret, Wills?” I jumped a little. She stood in the doorway to the laundry room, her glossy boot tapping lightly.
“Please do. I’m very discreet.”
She laughed, then eyed me with her critical Drill Sergeant’s eye. Her pink lips verged on a plump red. “I came to miss your smart-assed remarks.”
“Well, your point was well made. A time and a place for everything.”
Her brow rose. “Lesson learned, Lingua Acutus?”
My jaw went slack.
“You’re not the only one who likes languages.” We stared a long time.
“Sometimes a sharp tongue needs a sheath.” My words were deliberate, my dick got heavy. The Latin word for sheath? Vagina.
Beautiful white teeth glistened like a snarling Rottweiler. She then acted as if the last sentence had evaporated before they reached her ears. “Better finish that laundry, Wills. You’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Actually, I have two days before I have to report in San Francisco.” I winked.
“I’m still your Drill Sergeant. You are aptly named. You have a helluva will, Wills.” She winked back. I’d have never believed it.
I went for broke. “Sergeant Beecham? You strike me as the sort of woman... soldier, who could appreciate, maybe even needs, a good meal. I’m going to be at Presidio for a long time. You’re between training cycles. I could use a little break, to kick it off. Cook a good meal. Share a meal, with a new friend.”
She shook her head.
“Just thought I’d offer.”
She remained at the door, her body puffed to nearly fill it. I approached. She did not yield, so I squeezed in. Her breasts squished to my chest. Our faces were inches apart.
“You’re a good cook, Lingua Acutus?”
“Three years professionally.”
“Is that so?” She eased back to let me pass. I remained for a few more fast heartbeats.
We had our last formation the next morning. We were all in our dress uniforms, ready to travel to our new destinations, all across the USA. The other platoons nearby were formed up and released quickly for breakfast, but SFC Beecham kept us in place. She walked along the entire platoon and measured up each recruit. She rationed out a compliment to each.
To me, she simply said. “You’re very tall, Wills.”
“Coming from a short thang like you, I take that as a high compliment, ma’am.” I couldn’t resist.
A tiny curl of a smile. She tipped her Drill Sergeant’s hat to my forehead. Ah, old times. I allowed my eyes to stay in hers as she berated me with words that would have made that Drill Sergeant across the way that first day blush. Minty.
She eased back, and turned her eyes ever so slightly toward my pocket.
When I was alone, I fished a card from my pocket. Sergeant First Class Valerie Beecham, US Army Drill Instructor. I turned the card over. There was an off post address in pretty, round, soft cursive letters along with, “6:00 p.m. Don’t be late.”
She didn’t use the military 1800 hours.
I changed into my civilian clothes before I went. I knocked gently on the door.
She wore tight faded jeans and a sleeveless top that exposed her strong, smooth arms and a strip of her muscular midriff. Her black hair was released from its customary bun. It was wavy, shiny, surprisingly long, and smelled like a botanical garden. Her feet were bare, a golden ring on the longest toe. Somehow, this detail sticks with me.
I took straight to the kitchen. We talked music, talked about foreign languages. She eyed the béchamel sauce.
“May I?”
“Of course, Sergeant.” I extended the spoon to her.
“Valerie.” She took a taste. “Nice.” She licked her lips and smoothed her hair behind her large, shapely ears.
I eyed her glossy mouth. “May I, Valerie?”
“Of course, Wills.”
“Marcus.” I leaned in and kissed her. Just a simple, closed-lipped kiss. Her lips sealed to mine. So very soft. We lingered, then I eased away and finished cooking.
After we ate homemade brownies, I kissed her without restraint. I entered her mouth and our tongues swirled softly. She gripped under my arms and I realised just how small she was. Her fingers traced my belt.
“It’s been a long time, Marcus.”
“I’ll be gentle.”
“Like hell.” She grabbed my chin in her palm. She opened my mouth and thrust her tongue in and tasted every corner of me. Her fingers draped down my fly to measure the progress of my growing boner. She opened my belt and trousers, and I zinged out like a Pop Tart on a winter morning.
She pulled my shirt over my head. I removed hers. I paused to study after each garment was removed. The edges formed by her ribs against her muscular stomach. Her dark brown areolas; tiny buds surrounded long, thick nipples. Powerful, shapely legs.
The obsidian curls between her parted legs glazed in copious moisture.
She opened a fresh box of condoms, knelt and started to sheath me with her mouth and fingers. Strangely, I’ve never been that comfortable with blow jobs, and she must have detected this, so she finished the job with her hands. She stripped the covers and opened her body on the bed. My dog tags sang out as I pumped into her. I hadn’t had sex since before I left for the Army, and it showed. Her warm stare and powerful body pushed me straight to the edge of orgasm. She gripped my face before I could come, like grabbing the attention of a disobedient child.
“Sheath that tongue, Priv - Marcus.”
“Oh, yes... Valerie.” I did love cunnilingus. She swayed her hips rhythmically at my tongue’s assault, but I wanted - no I needed, to wrest control from her. I eased in my fingers and found a spot an older woman had shown me. Just inside a few inches, up toward the front.
Press.
I reserved it for women I felt really comfortable with.
Her eyes widened. I released, pressed harder, released, then pushed above her pubic bone with the other palm. There was a wonderful look of shock on Valerie’s face. She rolled her head from side to side.
“Oh my - my fuck!” Her hands splayed and hovered at my head like she’d push me away, but her legs went as wide as a gymnast. “Oh, oh, fuck, yes. More!”
I worked my tongue up and down, around my probing fingers, flicked at her stiff clit relentlessly as her tremble grew. She released as loud a yell as she had ever levelled upon me for my most smart-assed remark. She also released a splatter of sweet fluid.
Delicious.
She covered her eyes with one hand as her hips continued to quiver through a long, wet, piquant orgasm.
She fought to get control of her body. Before she could I kissed her and guided inside her again. She embraced my chest, rested her ankles between my thighs and matched my thrusts. My orgasm came back with a vengeance. Suddenly she gripped my cock tightly in her pussy.
“Not yet. Get on your back.” God, she was strong. I nodded and she released my rod.
I don’t know if it was the intensity of the sensation, or the attitudes of the women who gave blow jobs before. Mostly, it had seemed like they were doing me a favour. Like they were granting something. Not Valerie. She pulled off the rubber, and her lips enveloped my head. Her tongue curled to it like she was trying to spin a bottle cap off. She traced the base of the head, then pressed at the tiny hole like she was holding the semen in. One hand squeezed my balls perfectly, and read each twitch. She d
enied, then led me closer. Her free hand descended between my outstretched legs and pushed at my anus. I jumped, so she played other parts of me, licked up and down the shaft, then nibbled at the sides like she was taking corn from a cob, and squeezed my balls, stroked my hips and thighs.
That forbidden finger pushed at my entrance again. I got even harder. Now I anticipated the next intrusion. I wanted it deeper. I combed her hair with my fingers and thrust to her mouth.
“I need to let go, Valerie.”
“Hold on.” Her tongue swirled my head, she squeezed my balls together, and her middle finger, soaked with her spit, squeezed deep in my asshole. I saw stars and my limbs were like sparklers as I shot deep into her mouth. I writhed like a fish pulled from the water as she devoured my last.
We changed the sheets together in the nude. In the darkness we held each other tight. She whispered, “My husband left me. Divorce became final... well, I think you know when.” Her fingers combed the hairs on my chest. “I was crazy for him. Just crazy.” Her eyes welled up. She tried to resist; she gripped my chest, curled her nude body tightly to mine and sobbed into me. “He was all I ever wanted. All I ever wanted.”
She turned away and snuffed up her tears. I cupped to her back and held her like a harness. In time, her breaths became a soft snore and I let myself doze.
My hands were above my head, the blankets stripped away. Morning sun streamed into the room, and cast her shadow over me. Her left hand held my wrists and I pushed. She held fast. Her right eased a fresh rubber down my cock. A red piss boner. An ambush. She squeezed my tip to her pussy lips. “Please, don’t make me regret last night.”
So much I could say. I realised this was one of those times where my silence said more than words could. She studied my eyes and face. She pushed her hips down and took me in. I relaxed and she released my hands. I gripped her chest as she flowed like breaking waves. I let my arms fall to my side and stretched my neck open over the pillow. Complete surrender.
She consumed my throat like a leg of lamb, her saliva cooling as she thrust her hips hard into me. I remained silent though I came hard. Her grunts, by contrast, were punctuated by a long, loud orgasm.
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