Girls on the Turps

"Cool, sergeant." Casey plopped down into a chair next to me, scratching at the back of his neck. "What'd I miss?"

* * *

Army towns are not known for tourism, and soldiers who have two full days to kill before their airborne course starts usually just sit around and watch TV or, better, buy a bunch of Boone's and Pabst and hang out in someone's room, then call a cab and head out to any of the dozen or so strip clubs that always reliably line the main drags.

Casey and I decided to go hang out by the pool.

As I settled into a faded plastic chaise, it was hard for me to tell whether there was more water in the pool or in the air. "I'm sweating like a whore in church," I complained. I'd brought a few books to read; it was only a three-week course.

"You're such a pussy, Webb," Casey snapped, disgusted. "Seriously? You've never been down here?"

"Naw, man. I'm from California."

"Sure," he prodded, "but where'd you do your basic training at?" Most of the Army's big bases are in the South.

"I'm artillery," I pointed out. "I went to Ft Sill."

"Fuck, man. Oklahoma?" He shuddered. "Not for me, brother. Give me a long summer with a high dewpoint, and I'm happy as a pig in shit."

"As a what?" I frowned at him. "Did I just hear you say you'd be happy to roll around in shit?"

He blinked. "Well, you know. Like, when a pig does it."

I shook my head at him. "You're such a fucking hick, dude." I hid a grin. "I should tell Sergeant Cordero that you want to wallow in your own shit."

"Fuck you."

"No, really," I egged him on. "This is the Clinton era. The Army is embracing alternative lifestyles now. Don't ask, don't tell." I gave him a broad wink. "Your secret is safe with me, bro."

He scowled, extending his middle finger. "Sit and spin, motherfucker."

I arched my eyebrows. "Ah! You want to stick your finger in my ass?" I cackled and nodded. "I'm just adding all this to my mental catalogue, man. Actually," I frowned, "I might not want to share a bed with you the next couple of nights. I really should tell Sergeant Cordero."

"Fuck you."

"You'd have to pay me."

"Jesus." He rolled his eyes and sat up. "Fuck this. I'm going swimming."

I nodded. "I can take a dump in the water first, as a peace offering. Since you'd like it."

"Dammit." He shot to his feet and flounced off toward the pool. "Whatever, man." I laid my book aside on the dirty little glass table next to the chaise and reflected on how happy I was all of a sudden. The army is great for people who like pushing people's buttons. Largely because a lot of the people in it are not terribly smart.

Nice kids, though.

I leaned my head back and relaxed as I heard Casey smash into the water. A faint breeze was stirring the mass of vines that were taking over the whole eastern side of the hotel; I'd never seen kudzu before, but it had an insidiously spooky air about it. Like it would grow and grow until it choked your life out. I sighed and shut my eyes, wondering how sweaty I'd be if I took a nap out here.

"Seat taken, mate?" came a bright, chipper voice from above.

I was sitting up before I could stop myself. A cooler guy, someone like Sergeant Cordero, would probably have stayed nice and chill, adjusted his Ray-Bans, scooted over to imply she should just join him on the same chaise, and then had her give him a blowjob before dinner. Me?

My Ray-Bans were fakes.

"Uhhh, no!" I stuttered. I smiled gesturing at the chaise Casey had just abandoned, then blinked up into the sun to see which Australian softball chick I was talking to. "Be my guest."

"Thanks." She sank down onto the plastic slats in a flash of tanktop and high-waisted shorts. "Hot day."

"Yeah." It would be rude, of course, to ogle a woman like this, and the late '90s were a bad time for soldiers to get caught on sex complaints. Hell, I was only a dumbass junior-enlisted guy, but even I was vaguely aware that being accused of sexual harassment against an Australian Olympian would probably not be great for my budding military career.

Still. I'm only a guy. So I looked, as carefully as I could out of the side of my shades.

A wild mop of brown hair curled along the side of a long, sharp face, still hidden beneath the same big pair of sunglasses I'd already seen, for this was the girl I'd seen hauling the water at the end of the line of softball players that morning. She had thin, expressive lips and a pointed chin, and she held her face with the kind of mischievous twitchiness that suggested she smiled a lot. Long, thin neck; I could see a sprinkling of tattoos on her graceful arm, all of them complex.

They were the kind of tattoos that made me think she wanted you to study them. And the rest of her, too; she was altogether enchanting.

You could see the pearly glint of her bra strap peeking out from beneath her striped green tanktop; she'd chosen peach for the bra. It always gives me a thrill to see that hint of underwear showing itself to the world, and I like to think that women always know they're doing it. And the effect it has on us. She hardly needed the bra, in fairness; her breasts weren't tenting the tanktop very much, but they sat up high enough on her slender body to give her a subtle hint of cleavage.

She crossed her legs as I watched, then settled her head more firmly into the back of the chaise. I was so busy checking out her sandaled feet that I missed her quick smile. "I like them, too," came her voice, a lilting Australian one with laughter tucked in along its edges.

I snapped my eyes guiltily up. "What?"

She lifted an athletic leg and dangled her sandal off her long toes. "Real Birkenstocks! These are hard to find back home," she pointed out. "I found them today at the shops."

"Oh?" I had no clue what she was talking about. "Which shops?"

"You know. The one just up the road." I blinked. "Big building. Lots of shops."

"Oh!" We'd passed it in the cab, by the offramp. "The mall."

"The what?" I could see her eyes blinking through her shades.

"Mall." I wondered whether I should spell it out. "Across on the other side of the freeway."

"Freeway?" It came out as freewhy. I was captivated.

"The Interstate."

"Interstate?" Inte-styte. Her smile had grown, but I didn't sense she was making fun of me. She really hadn't heard these terms before, apparently, but she also didn't seem to care.

I tried a smile. "Is this your first time in the United States?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound like a creep. I can never tell, but when I listen to my voice on a video I cringe.

She nodded briskly. "Surely. Been all over Asia, but never on this side of the planet." She shrugged. "'Sa nice country, this, but I can't seem to find decent mangoes." I saw the shadow of a wink through her lenses. "Our team gets around, but I was only hired in March."

"Oh! Hired?" I scrambled to make something out of the scattered bits of conversation; I've never been good at small talk. "Um, I didn't think they paid you."

"Me?" She cocked her head, and I could almost hear the hamster in her head; I'd confused her. I wasn't the only one picking up conversational scraps. "Ah. No," she nodded, "I'm not one of the players. I'm the assistant equipment manager."

"Oh, I see." Made sense. The girls I'd seen filing through the breakfast area this morning had been big. Strong. The kinds of women that looked like they spent time in the weight room. This one didn't. "That's cool."

She winked again. "Glad you think so." So sexy. "Been years since I played any sort of sport, really. I've been in shipping and receiving for years now."

"Years?" She looked my age, or maybe a couple years older.

"Yes, since uni." She gazed complacently at the pool.

"You're not swimming?" I guessed. She shrugged.

"Nah. I just like to sunbake." And, as always happened when I tried to chat with people, that's as far as it went. The conversation died its chopped death, I picked up my book after a moment or two, and the Australian girl settled back onto her chaise once more. She closed her eyes behind the sunglasses, and the two of us sat there and listened while Casey splashed. It was a full two pages before she spoke again. "Fair warning, mate," she threw out, "some of the others will be along soon, once the team meeting ends."

"Others?" Again, though, fate took a hand; whatever goddess of drama cued up the sudden appearances of the Australian National Softball Team, she was clearly having a good day today. The pool gate clanged open, our heads pivoted toward the sound, and about seven or eight tall Amazons came through in various mixtures of swimsuits, long shirts, workout wear, bright white hotel towels, and brand-new Birkenstocks.

"Yes." The girl next to me pushed her shades further up her nose. "Others."

They didn't look the same, really, but they had that sense about them that they'd all shared the same experiences, had the same training, dealt with the same injuries, and shared the same goal; like soldiers, in a way, who all seem to act like cousins even when they're from different units. They were talking loudly, even brashly: snapping each other with the ends of their towels, stepping on each other's sandals, stuff like that. I felt myself sit up unconsciously.

"Well!" cried their leader. I realized immediately that she wasn't talking to me. They'd all slowed down and were now openly grinning at Casey in the pool; for his part, he was treading water and staring back with open curiosity, like he was a zoo exhibit. The woman who'd spoken was tall and ashy blonde, with short hair in a pair of pigtails. She wore a Celine Dion concert t-shirt hanging down to her mid-thigh. "Look at this, girls! A fish in the pond!"

"Hiya, spunky!" another one called, stepping up to the side of the pool. She was already swimsuited, a yellow one-piece that showed a stupendous body. I knew I was staring. "How's the water?"

Casey drew a hand across his face, squinting up. "It's great, y'all!" he shouted. I noticed immediately that he sounded more Mississippian than usual. Little fucker. "Better'n being out there, anyway."

"I'll bet," One-Piece winked, and with a shrug she simply took a step out over the water and disappeared into the pool, sliding in without much of a splash. Another of her teammates followed, out in the deep end, and I knew I was still staring as the blonde came over toward us, trailed by a couple of confident lackeys.

"Not much of a swimmer?" Her smile, directed my way, was wide and natural. "You're just whitepointing up here in the sun, eh?"

"I guess I am," I blinked. I had no idea what she was saying. "Just, you know, sunning."

"I see you're making friends," Celine replied coolly, nodding at the girl beside me. I couldn't tell who she was talking to, so I figured I should keep my mouth shut. "Fucking drippy here," she observed, flicking sweat off her forehead. I risked a glance at my companion, who just kept on smiling. The player threw her towel onto my little table, covering my book. "We're playing youse tonight," she pointed out carelessly, gathering her shirt.

"Well." I cleared my throat and smiled. "Good luck!"

"Yeah." The shirt hung up on her tits as she pulled it up, showing one of those bodies like you see on cable TV after dark. Wow. She dropped the shirt onto her towel; I could hear splashing getting louder from the pool, the loud braying of women having fun, and I willed myself to keep looking up at her eyes. She held me a moment, scratching at her navel, then nodded once. "We'll take youse." She spun without another word and walked straight into the water down the steps, and that was that; I got a glimpse of a shapely body and a strappy swimsuit, and then it was all splashing and laughter.

I heard a giggle from the other chaise. "We think we're going to beat your team this evening," she translated for me, sounding like she was trying to be helpful. "We think we're on a roll."

"I see," I smiled, watching the water; I was already beginning to worry about Casey. The surface looked like what you see on those nature documentaries, where the sharks are swarming around their prey: bubbles, an occasional body part, and no real sign of my buddy.

"He's not safe in there," she pointed out calmly. "They look like nice girls, our team, but no." She shrugged. "You should go rescue him."

I wasn't sure whether she was serious. "Should I?"

She smiled wide. "Come on. You're a soldier, yeah?" She jerked her head toward the water, her curls whipping. "Go save him from the depradations of my girls." It took awhile; I had to decide what a dee-pr'dysh'n was. "They're going to be out for blood tonight."

"I didn't know the softball was being played down here, instead of Atlanta." In fairness, I didn't really know shit about the Olympics; we were more of a football family.

"Me neither," the girl shrugged. "I'm iffy about it, to be honest. You think it's all exciting, going to the Olympic Games, and with us doing it in 2000 and all, but it's weird? Strange? I dunno. Not being at the Olympic Village, or with all the other athletes or whatever. It just seems not quite dinkum, you know?"

"I can see how," I replied politely, guessing at the context. "I'm not from around here, either, but I hope they're treating you good."

"Well," she shrugged, "it's a hotel. We're used to it by now; it's been weeks. It's apples."

"Oh," I said, struggling. "Good."

"Yup." I got the definite sense she was mocking me, but her smile stayed just as warm. "Watch out, though. The girls will be on the turps tonight after the game." She winked again; I could tell by her thin, high eyebrow. "Drinking, you know? Your friend ought to stay out of their road."

"I'll tell him." The water was boiling by now, the laughter growing. I was starting to worry about Casey, actually, but he'd kill me if I let anyone know. "He's pretty local. He'll be okay."

"Will he?" She giggled. "Don't underestimate the power of a horny sheila," she advised gravely, and then she was getting abruptly to her feet. I was surprised, once she got up there, to see how short she was. "It was nice meeting you. I've got to go get the ute packed."

"Okay." I watched her go, slender legs moving fast toward the gate, and wondered what a ute was.

* * *

I was up past midnight, reading my book, when I heard the scrabbling of the key at the door.

It had been an odd afternoon once the equipment manager left the pool. I'd felt, as I often did, like a fifth wheel; half the Australian National Softball Team was cavorting in the water with my increasingly giddy army buddy, and I was sitting on a chaise watching. I'd thought about getting in, but they seemed to be having so much fun... and then there was the specter of Getting Into Trouble with the army. Airborne slots didn't come up often in my battalion. I'd waited six months to get here, and I didn't want to fuck it up.

I was reading resolutely, trying to keep sweat off the pages, as Casey came swaggering out of the water. "Whoa," he marveled, his eyes wide. I surveyed him narrowly; his skinny body was streaming with water, his swim trunks clinging to him. His hard-on was painfully obvious.

"Dude!" I protested, glancing around. "This is a family hotel."

He looked down with a goofy grin, and shrugged. "Shit, bro. It's a bunch of horny Australian chicks! What do you expect?"

I looked away while he sank into the chaise. Casey was famous in our unit; he often jacked off in the field, the dirty little fucker. He was hardly alone in that, but he talked about it more than most. He was bubbling on now. "They invited me to the game, man! Like, as their guest!"

I did look at him then, appalled. "They're playing Team USA. You're seriously going to root against Team USA?"

He flapped his hands dismissively. "Calm down. It's softball. Our girls will whip these girls' asses. It's, like, almost baseball. Our national pastime, not theirs." He leaned back and stared happily at the women frolicking in the pool. "Besides, how often do you get a chance to go to the Olympics?"

But the newspaper had said the game should have ended long ago, and only now was I hearing the grate of the key in the lock. I glanced at the clock. Sergeant Cordero hadn't put us on a curfew, really, but midnight was definitely pushing it. If anything happened to any of us down here before the course started, it'd be Cordero's ass once we got back to Ft Lewis. I was rehearsing what I'd have to say to the dumbass when the door flew open, smacking against the bumper on the far wall, and my mouth fell open.

Four exhilarated Australians in smelly softball shorts and sports bras came charging into the room without asking, leaving the door wide open behind them. Between them, held by his arms and legs, swung a comatose Specialist Casey, dressed in someone's Australian Olympic Team workout suit.

It was way too large for him.

"Hiya, mate!" One of the women had caught sight of me and grinned fiendishly. She had eyeblack along her cheekbones, but sweat had reduced them to vague dark smears. She'd shoved her hair tightly beneath the green ballcap with its yellow A for the game, but her hair was falling out of its braids now and her red face showed me she'd either been very drunk or very exhilarated. Or both, more likely. "Where should we throw him?" I said nothing, for I was trying to come to grips with what I was seeing. Plus, I had no clue what she'd said; her accent was thicker than the equipment manager's. A bright pink sports bra barely contained her large chest.

"Here, I say," one of her friends declared from behind, and Casey's left foot hit the thinly carpeted floor. The other players followed suit immediately, and he lay there crumpled and silent like roadkill in his oversized sweatsuit. "We've hauled him far enough, surely."

I was gaping. I knew it, but there was no way I could stop; all I saw were bare, toned midriffs and grinning pink faces, and the smell of sweat was suddenly rich and sharp in the room. Pink Bra clamped her hands onto her hips and glared pugnaciously down at me. "You're sharing a bed with him, yeah?"

I swallowed. "Yup."

"Huh." She cackled and reached her foot back to give Casey a swift kick with her heel. "Well. He wasn't a poofter about an hour ago, that's for sure."

"Maybe he's a switch hitter," one of the others observed. She was looking at me closely and, I thought, a little darkly.

"Could be." Pink Bra grinned at me with her mouth wide open, then gave her pussy an exaggerated squeeze. "Got quite a fucking bat, I'll say." She laughed loudly. I could hear a door open, then close down the hall. "You soldier-boys are pretty good to have around sometimes."

"Um." I was rapidly piecing things together here. "You guys won?"

"Fuck yes," one of the girls in the back hissed, and then the four of them began some sort of weird war-cry, kicking grass off their cleats as they danced and shouting "coo-ee!" far too shrilly. It had been months since I'd seen tits bounce that way; I work with an infantry unit, and we don't see many bras. Casey remained motionless.

Another distant door opened, then closed. I knew the front desk would be calling any minute now. I had to get these girls to shut up, but there was no chance I'd figure out how.

Didn't matter. They were on their own schedule. "All right, girls!" proclaimed Pink Bra. "Get him into bed!" They all bent over, a little grove of sturdy legs and busy arms, and they soon had Casey stripped naked. I could see that they'd written all over him, but I couldn't make any of it out except a big, sloppy Australian flag they'd smeared onto his body in cheap Wal-Mart paint. I blinked as I realized they'd shaved his chest to do it.

I wondered suddenly whether they'd gotten him a tattoo. He could get into serious trouble for that.