Girls on the Turps

"Okay!" They had him slung between them again, like a bag of grain, and were swinging him toward the bed. In horror I realized they were about to heave him right onto the mattress, and that he'd probably land on top of me. "Let's go, girls!" I scrambled out of bed as they counted down loudly from three, and then Casey's naked pink body was sailing onto the bed to sprawl there on its belly in a faint cloudy smell of sweat, tequila, and vomit.

"There you are, then." The leader winked at me as her friends turned to go. "We'd take you with us too, love, but we've got practice first thing tomorrow." She eyed me boldly, her gaze lingering on my crotch through my PT shorts. "Gotta make hay while the sun shines, y'know? Dingo's breakfast tomorrow; got another game, anyway. Tell yer friend thanks, and ta!" I could tell she was swaying her hips as she sauntered away, advertising herself, but she passed out of the room without a backward glance.

Just as the room phone rang. Ah yes. The front desk.

* * *

I was up early Saturday morning, figuring I'd work in a quick run; the sooner I got myself used to the shitty humidity, the better. We'd be running constantly at Airborne School starting Monday. Casey still lay stripped and passed out where I'd shoved him under the covers, and I was just starting to brush my teeth when I heard a jaunty knock on the door.

The red numbers on the clock read 6:20. What the fuck?

It could, I reflected as I ran my toothbrush under the faucet, be the front desk. Again. They'd been pissed last night, but once I told them the noisy Aussies had already left they just sighed and wished me a good night. I got the definite impression the hotel was as sick of dealing with them as I already was, and I'd only known of their existence for 24 hours.

I put down the toothbrush and went to get the door, figuring there was no problem showing myself in grey Army PTs in an army town. I peered through the peephole before I opened the door, but saw nothing; as I swung the door open, I guess I shouldn't have been shocked to see a pair of Australian women grinning at me, one of them with her thumb over the peephole lens.

"G'day!" said the taller of the two; she looked vaguely familiar from last night, even in jean shorts and a t-shirt. She seemed fresh as a daisy, too, far removed from a night celebrating an Olympic win with booze and sex. Her hair was still wet; I smelled shampoo as she passed me. "Sleep well?"

"Uhh, yeah." I looked at her companion, and was unsurprised to find my petite companion from the day before. She seemed to own nothing but striped tanktops, but this morning's sly bra strap was black instead of peach. "You guys?"

"Just ace!" The first girl strode across the room and grinned wider as she saw Casey, still huddled under the blankets. "Get out from under the duvet," she ordered, that chocolatey accent of hers spiced with amused contempt. "Show us your donger." My eyes narrowed in recognition; this was the malevolent woman from last night, the hissing one from the back. The one who'd stared so darkly at me.

"Under the what?" Casey was blinking in the sunlight, absolutely confused. I leaned against the bathroom counter and brushed my teeth. The second Aussie, the thinner one, was looking at me thoughtfully, a gardener deciding whether I was worth pruning. I stared back, my toothbrush busy; she had gorgeous eyes, I noticed. This was the first time I'd seen her without her shades, which she'd replaced with a pair of huge glasses. Her friend reached down and swatted the comforter where Casey's skinny ass humped it like a flowered polyester sand dune.

"The duvet, you little ratbag." Dark and Hissy finally deigned to look back at me. "Hiya."

I spluttered a "Hi" along with some bubbled toothpaste. I could tell she wasn't impressed. She glanced over at the thin girl.

"You can have that one," she shrugged. "I won't dob you in. We all know you haven't been rooted in weeks." The thin girl nodded coolly, with a glance over at me, and I noticed huge sea-colored eyes, greenish with a hint of gold. She flicked her gaze up and down my body, and I just looked back at her. "Come on, boy," laughed Dark and Hissy, prodding at Casey. "Let's document this before you take a shower."

I looked over at the other girl, her big eyes dancing. "Document?"

She smiled, quickly and radiantly, and then moved closer to me. She had a hand on my back before I could react; her fingers were warm through the thin PT shirt I slept in. "Just watch," she advised quietly, and laughter was on the edge of her voice once more. "The girls had some fun with him."

He sat there like one of those POWs you see in old movies from the Korean War, just sitting slumped on the bed while he glared sullenly up at the camera through mistrustful eyes. "Relax," cooed the softball player. "Only take a moment." She was laughing as she lined up the shot. "Here, lean back. And move your doodle to the right."

Casey blinked. "Doodle."

"God save me from American dills," she exclaimed, still laughing. "Your penis, love. Move your penis sideways. To the right."

The other one was leaning her head on my shoulder. I watched the whole thing, speechless. "We wrote on his knackers," she explained to me helpfully, her voice very close to my ear. I felt obscurely like I was watching a crime.

"There we go." Casey, looking a bit more engaged now, was holding his junk over to the side, and I could see now that he had things written all over it in black magic marker. I squinted; some of it looked like Fucking My Way To Collingwood. What the fuck? "Now. Hold still," Dark and Hissy rasped, staring intently through a little silver camera, but when the flash went I didn't hear the familiar clicking whir. Instead, the camera beeped.

"What kind of camera is that?" I whispered, intrigued now.

"It's digital," the tattooed one murmured back. I felt her breath against my cheek.

"What?"

"Digital." It came out as dee-jid-ul, and I'd never heard of one, so I just nodded as though I new what the fuck she was talking about. "There's only one on the whole team, or she'd have done this last night. We wanted to make sure it was documented properly." The flash was constant now, with Casey meekly following the richly accented commands: lie back now, mate. Okay. Show me yer knackers. Right. Okay Now. Your arse. No, spread 'em out; that's the way... "For the scrapbook," she added, helpfully.

"Oi! Better call the other girls," Dark and Hissy tossed over her shoulder between beeps. "Looks like he's up for more fun."

"Fuck," I muttered, feeling disgusted. Indeed, Casey wasn't looking so reluctant now, and the softball player was noticing.

"Well," she cried at one point, "I'm thinking I might need to jump into the shower too, love!"

"I'm off," I said abruptly to the girls. I had no intention of seeing my buddy get triple-teamed by a pack of Australian infielders. "I'm going for a run," I added lamely.

"Surely." Her eyes were very wide as she grinned up at me. "I'll see you later. Hey, what's your name?"

"I'm Webb."

"Webb."

"Well, Kyle I guess." It had been awhile since I'd bothered using my first name. She cocked her head sideways, then nodded once.

"Webb. All right. I'm Trini."

I tied my shoes and left around the time they started putting Casey on all fours.

* * *

Walker, Wilson, and I were strolling back from the restaurants by the mall when a trio of buses came rumbling past, trailed by a line of pickups and a single police cruiser with its siren off. The slow, syrupy Southern night had just fallen, and we were hurrying to escape the mosquitoes near the offramp. Two of the buses were dark and quiet, but the other one had open windows; that same "coo-ee!" war whoop I'd heard in my hotel room the night before went Dopplering past as the bus flew by.

The women of Australia had apparently won again.

I caught a glimpse of Trini driving one of the pickups, and I saw her eyes widen as she recognized me. But then the whole line was gone, signaling a left turn into the hotel parking lot.

"Fuck me." Wilson swatted at his neck. "They never shut up. I could hear them all last night, getting wasted in the halls."

"I think Cheech hooked up with one of the teams last night," Walker observed. The sweat was making his glasses fall down his nose. "The Canadians? The Dutch? Whatever. I got the bed, though."

"Yeah, the Australians kidnapped Casey." I shrugged. I hadn't seen him all day; he and the girls had been gone when I got back from my run, and other than a few of the Canadians by the pool earlier in the afternoon, the Olympic softball tournament hadn't been apparent at the Columbus Holiday Inn. "I hope he survived."

Walker sniffed. "Well. We're supposed to report after lunchtime tomorrow," he shrugged. "If he's not good to go, Sergeant Cordero is going to have his ass." I nodded; these guys were all from the infantry unit I was attached to. So I knew them, but I didn't really technically work for any of them. It was hard for me to imagine the affable Puerto Rican having anybody's ass, but then I didn't know him like Walker did.

We were planning to meet up in Wilson's room later for beer, but I had to take a dump first. So I was fumbling in my pocket for my key when I became aware of the girl leaning up against the wall outside my room door. I slowed to a stop a few steps away, feeling the grin start even as she beat me to it. Those really were amazing eyes. "Hi, Trini."

"Hi yourself, digger." I had no clue what that meant, but she was still smiling, so I didn't suppose it mattered. She wore a pair of tight jean shorts and yet another striped tanktop. "Figured I'd stop by and see how you were doing without your friend Scott." Two paper grocery bags waited at her feet.

"Who?" Her grin broadened; she plainly thought I was flirting, but no. I really had no idea who Scott was. "Oh. Casey. Well, as you see." I gestured around the empty hallway. "I'm swamped with work."

"I do see!" She laughed, her mobile face beguiling, and all at once I wasn't thinking of beer in Wilson's room anymore; I wasn't used to women like this. She winked again. "Hey, you fancy coming along with me? I might have something interesting to show you."

I swallowed, but I'd already decided. "Sure." The key went back into my pocket.

"Good." She tossed her head toward the lobby. "You can see how Aussies celebrate, maybe. Help me carry these?" I picked up the bags, which proved both heavy and clinky.

"Celebrate?" I fell into step beside her, feeling oddly normal. Trini had a way of making me feel at ease. "What, did you guys win a medal or something?"

"No," she giggled, "or at least not yet. But we're in the semifinal now, so we've three chances in four." She glanced up at me. "Looked like you and your friends had a nice dinner. Was it the Chili's, or the Red Lobster?"

"Red Lobster," I admitted.

"Ah." She sniffed. "I've had it before. It's not very good seafood, but then I'm from Sydney. So I'm spoilt." She steered me toward the little breakfast area. "I like a proper lobster."

"Eww. I don't like shellfish."

She looked at me oddly. "Me neither, mate."

"What?" I blinked. She made no sense. "But, like, you just said you liked lobster..."

She punched my arm. "Yeah, well, that's a crustacean, isn't it? Shellfish are the kind that don't move? You know, with shells?" She laughed again as she led me past the tables. "Here we are."

I looked around. "What? You mean Australians celebrate wins by eating shitty breakfast food?"

"Not my team." She sounded excited, impatient, as she nodded toward a door at the end of the room. "My girls fancy a bit of a show."

I followed her toward the door. "When they have us reserve a hotel, they specify a conference space," she explained. "That's part of my job." I could hear muted applause now on the other side of the door, plus occasional whoops. "What they use the conference space for after hours, once the coaches have gone to bed..." She smirked. "Well. That's part of the team's job." I looked doubtfully at her. As they had been since yesterday's breakfast, curtains were drawn over the windowed double doors. "I'll take the bags back now, thank you very much."

I glanced down as I handed them over, seeing bottle caps. Cheap ones. "Vodka?"

"And gin." She shrugged, her arms now weighed down by the bags. "Not my pick, mate. Now listen," she urged, leaning closer. I forced myself to look at her eyes, and not at where the tattoos were disappearing into her tanktop. "So just go along into the service corridor there, on the left. There's a door there, and I'll let you in. Right?" I nodded dumbly. "Good." She winked again. "Might see something you can laugh about later, with your friend Scott." She made a kissy-face, nodded up at me, and then kicked hard at the base of the double doors. "Go."

I crept around the corner into a hallway marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. Just as I rounded the bend, I heard a sudden burst of noise behind me as someone let Trini in. She didn't wait for me long; no sooner had I reached a pair of normal, bar-push metal doors at the end of the hall than one of them cracked itself open, to show those big sea-green eyes in her sharp face, peering out at me. "Come on, then!" Her mouth wide with excitement, she reached out and pulled me in by the arm. "Keep to the shadows and shut yer gob!"

The room was a typical banqueting space, the kind of place you'd set up for, say, a 150-person wedding reception. Now it had a series of tables and chairs set up in front of a big standing projector screen, presumably so that the team could watch film on opposing batters. Big, sturdy travel bins along the walls overflowed with the kind of crap that international sports teams need to haul around, but that nobody thinks about: projectors, cords, lip balm, PA systems, breath mints, souvenir water bottles for handing out to kids, markers, flashlights, and the rest.

It was onto one of these big travel bins that Trini shoved me, deep in a corner away from anyone's notice. "Comfy?" she purred, settling beside me; I'd have been wise to pay attention to her tone, but frankly I was too busy focusing on the dance floor.

The softball team was assembled in a wide, loose circle, most of them sitting on the parquet. A few were standing, though, and one of these was the Amazon from the pool, once more in the same Celine Dion shirt. She was waiting, now, for a burst of laughter to die down before she addressed my buddy Specialist Casey.

Who was standing alone in the center of the circle, stark naked.

I could see the partially faded marks all over his body where these same women had graffitti'd him the night before; the morning's shower had not done much to remove any of it, probably by design. He was turned away from me, facing the gloating Celine Dion fan, and I could make out a big arrow drawn across his ass with the bold black caption PLACE COCK HERE. He had a cartoon map of Australia scrawled across his skinny back. I could see he had his hands covering his junk.

"All right then!" Celine Dion called loudly, and the other women all lapsed into amused silence. "Scott, right? Now, the whole team don't know you yet the way a few if us do, so why don't you uncover yourself and give us a little pirouette?" Casey did absolutely nothing, probably because she said geez a little peerwit. "Come on, then. Spin for me."

Casey let his hands fall, to murmurs and titters from the girls on that side of the circle. I leaned over to Trini and whispered in her ear. "He's hung like a mule," I explained.

She stirred against me, and when she turned to answer the brush of her hair across my face left behind a smell of lavender. I bent my head to listen. "I know. I saw him last night," she whispered back. I could hear the smile in her voice. "And this morning." She giggled. "And this arvo..."

"Okay." I could figure out from context what an arvo was. "Forget I mentioned it."

"Sure." She reached across and patted my thigh, but by then somebody was clapping again and both of us were staring back at the dance floor.

"So then, Scotty," purred Celine, with a glint in her eye, "in honor of us giving your girls a right thrashing on the diamond this evening, I think it might be nice to share with you some impressions of the life and culture of our great nation."

"Sure." Casey was no pussy, that was for sure. He stood casually, easily, now with his arms crossed over his skinny chest. "What do y'all want to do?"

"Ever hear of Vegemite?" Nods and chuckles from all the other players, and beside me Trini sighed.

"This is going to get nasty," she announced quietly. "I saw this in Thailand last month, with a Malaysian boy." She shrugged, and I started to realize her hand hadn't left my thigh. "They get vicious when they win. Vicious and horny."

I felt my cock give a lurch. Leaning over, I found her ear in the dark. "And their equipment managers?" Trini's answering squeeze gratified me, and when she laughed I felt her breath against my ear.

"Nah. The equipment manager usually just goes to bed early. It's the assistant equipment manager you'd need to watch out for."

"No ma'am," Casey was saying, still sounding more amused than anything else. "I've never had it."

"Never had Vegemite." Celine let that sink in a moment, and I could see her shake her head in mock disgust. "Well. You should taste it, if you're going to rage on with us."

"I don't think we've got any, though," murmured another girl on the left, staring straight at Casey's cock. Ah. My old friend, Pink Bra. "Pity. I'd let him eat it out of my cunt."

The low rumble of laughter didn't sound altogether friendly. Trini was pressed tightly against my shoulder.

"That might be the only way to make it taste good," Celine mused softly. She was grinning. She winked and addressed Casey. "I think Vegemite tastes like a sweaty arsehole." The laughter swelled as I listened, and I realized I was looking at a game these women had played before.

"Well," Dark and Hissy said with a certain relish from the other side of the circle, "if we can't find any Vegemite, I'll bet we could find a sweaty arsehole."

"Bet we can," Celine agreed, nodding, and the circle broke into a scattered wave of jeers and applause as she eyed Casey. "What do you reckon, Scotty?"

"Uh, reckon about what?" He was keeping his confidence, that was for sure. A real credit to the US Army. The players were all grinning widely now, and their leader toyed with the hem of her long Celine Dion shirt. She nodded once, decisively.

"Sit down, Scott," she purred, and the applause grew into a steady patter punctuated now by whoops and cheers. I saw Casey look left, then right, then shrug as he took a seat on the cold, hard dance floor. He had to know what was coming as the concert t-shirt came up and over its owner's head, and just like that she was as naked as he was.

I felt my mouth fall open. Seeing her by the pool hadn't done this woman justice. She was tall and muscular and altogether sexy, and she knew it as she stood there over the waiting Casey. I saw a thick, dark bush and a large pair of nipples before she spun around and set her feet on both sides of his body. Trini no longer had to lean over to speak to me.

"This is going to turn into one of those stories your friend will never, ever live down," she announced. She sounded not at all unhappy about it, either. "You'll be able to remind him, later, about the time he ate out an Aussie bird's arse."

"Holy shit," was about the only thing I could think to say as she lowered her gym-sculpted ass down to Casey's face. I could hear the snick of the disposable cameras they'd given out at the opening ceremonies, then the rising tide of applause, and over it all the gloating laughter of Celine sinking down over the waiting Casey. "No way."