"Give Me The Remote" Pt. 03

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

*.*.*

In boot camp, Hunter had been handed a sheet of paper that listed his choices of assignments in the US Marine Corps. Hunter had the wherewithal to notice, as Drill sergeant Mickelson roused the sleep-deprived recruits and screamed them through a series of excercizes, drills, runs, and other grueling tasks, there was a group of people that had already been awake for hours, preparing their food. And after the recruits had shoveled the unappetizing slop down, that same group of people cleaned those massive pots and pans, cleaned the trays and utensils, then prepared their mid-day meal. After the mid-day meal was choked down, those same people cleaned everything and prepared the evening meal. Then they cleaned everything. Only to do the same thing again the next day.

So Hunter did not check 'Food Preparation' as one of his choices. He knew how to look up pornography, even if James Conway High School supposedly had a block on access to such sites, so checked 'Computers' as one choice. Driving was also something he'd learned so checked that box as well. Inventory Control sounded fairly easy, so Hunter also checked that box.

Someone in the office obviously knew that Hunter was only kidding when he neglected to check 'Food Preparation' as his top choice of assignments. Electing not to leave base after completing boot camp, Hunter was rotated directly from boot camp to basics training, where he was taught the finer art of military cuisine.

After completing Basics, Hunter and Patrick Fowler, a fellow Marine that had also been rotated to Food Prep, even though Patrick had not checked the box, took leave and went down to Bender, Florida. Hunter and Patrick did their best to fuck every woman that smiled at them, did their best to drink every bar dry, then congratulated one another on a successful leave. Hell, it must have been successful; they couldn't remember a thing they'd done.

From base, they were given battle gear and shipped into the very bowels of Hell. Iraq was as inhospitable a place as had ever existed. The people were hostile. Their interpreters were hostile; half the time they couldn't be trusted and their translations were often suspect. Their fellow Marines, nerves frazzled by constant hours of boredom interrupted by hellish firefights were prone to lash out at one another. Jokesters and pranksters very quickly learned, no one had a sense of humor.

Even the location and the climate was hostile. Hunter learned to shave everything; insects seemed to love a hairy armpit or hairy crotch to burrow into. Sand got into everything, even the food.

"Middle east, my ass," Hunter complained, scrubbing out yet another pot. "Middle Hell, more like."

"You know, Davis, you been bitching ever since you got here," Sergeant Buddy Greene said. "Hell, I didn't know better, I'd think you wasn't happy to be here, Davis."

"Now, what the fuck gave you such a crazy idea?" Hunter asked, grabbing another pot.

Hunter had kept up with his family through emails. Donald and Donna Davis did not have computers, and would not pay for Chantilly, Swan, Forrest or Fawn to have cell phones. But Willow and Chance Brown denied Soleil nothing and Soleil had a computer in her bedroom. Soleil and Swan emailed Hunter daily and kept him abreast of everything in Lowenburg, Arkansas.

Violet Meynard had indeed been pregnant and Tricky Rick Hill had been the rifle that hit the magic duck. After being bailed out on the aggravated battery complaint filed by Violet, Rick had skipped town for parts unknown. At present, there was a warrant out for his arrest.

Chantilly worked at the Lowen Bag Factory, worked alongside her father in packing. Lacy Adams, their cousin, also worked at the factory, worked in the office with Milton Evans.

"Chantilly says Lacy's fucking Milton," Swan disclosed.

"She is her mother's child," Hunter muttered as he thought of their red headed cousin.

Quincy Adams was serving out a twenty four month sentence in Pendleton, the medium security penitentiary in Lowen County. What his crime was became more and more convoluted depending on who told the story. But Aunt Vicky, Aunt Linda and Donna all seemed to believe that Quincy's arrest, trial, and sentencing were all racially motivated.

"Oh, I'm sure it's not," Hunter smirked. "Ass hole's been a bully all his life and Mommy let him get away with it all his life. Welcome to the real world, cousin. People won't put up with your shit."

Soleil had let Fawn use the computer and Hunter felt the sting of tears as his thirteen year old sister told him she loved him. Fawn typed that she prayed every night that God's angels protect Hunter, and every morning, when she got up, she told God's angels 'thank you' for keeping Hunter safe. She had looked it up and she knew that Hunter was seven hours ahead, so when she was going to sleep, he was probably getting up and when she got up, he was probably going to sleep.

Soleil sent Hunter a solo email, declaring her undying love for him. Hunter smirked; he knew the beautiful girl had a bit of a crush on him. He chalked it up to teenaged infatuation.

Soleil's next email continued the message of undying love for Hunter, and also included attachments. The attached photos showed that Chantilly was looking more and more like her father each day. Swan and Soleil's school pictures showed that both girls were beautiful. Actually, both girls were stunning. Their pale features and long strawberry blonde hair and startling blue gray eyes were just part of the beauty. Their wide smiles also displayed their inner beauty as well. Poor Fawn suffered the curse of many red heads; her pale face was covered by numerous orange freckles, but her smile was a beautiful, happy smile. Forrest looked the same, just a little heavier.

"The Marines is like a blow job," Buddy Greene quipped a few days before he was set to rotate out. "The closer you are to discharge? The happier you get."

"Fuck you, Greene," Hunter said, shaking his head. "Since you've never had a blow job, oh, at least, not from a girl, you probably just heard that somewhere."

"What the fuck ever, Davis," Buddy laughed and the two men slapped each other affectionately.

"Seriously, you get out? Need to come see me," Buddy said. "I mean, ain't shit to do in Gratchley, unless you work at the brewery, but man! Myndee's only couple minutes away. All that college pussy? Aw. Yeah!"

"College pussy?" Hunter mock-goggled. "They any better than my five sisters and nine cousins?"

"I just ate, Davis," another Marine laughed. "Thought of you doing anyone is enough make me sick."

Buddy extended the invitation to Patrick Fowler as well. Patrick put an arm around Hunter's waist, leaned his head on Hunter's shoulder and lisped that he and 'Baby' would be happy to come see Buddy.

"Fuck, get off me, homo," Hunter said and he and Patrick laughed.

"I'm being serious; y'all got come see me," Buddy said and lay down on his bunk.

Soleil and Swan emailed Hunter their Prom pictures. Hunter thought both girls looked incredible, even though he was sure Swan's dress had been made by Aunt Vickie. The dresses were in the colors of James Conway High School colors; navy blue and Kelly green.

Hunter hated both smirking boys that stood with his sister and her twin. The almost mocking looks the two boys wore and their arrogant postures seemed to suggest that both boys expected those beautiful dresses to be hiked up to just under the throats of the two girls as they fucked Swan and Soleil in the rear of the limousine.

Hunter smirked at the two preening Lotharios; Swan and Soleil were holding each other's hands, ignoring the two boys. He hoped the two boys had spent a lot of money on the tuxedos, the restaurant, the limousine, the flowers. He hoped they spent their entire savings, only to wind up with blue balls.

Hunter sent the girls a quick reply; telling them they looked beautiful in their dresses; he wished he could have been there. Then he signed out of his email account, shook his head trying to ward off the incredible loneliness that engulfed him and hustled to start his duties.

"Which hand you use to jerk off?" Sergeant Kelly asked. "Whatever hand it is? Use the other hand to stir them beans. Don't want none your jizz in my food, Davis."

"Uh huh," Hunter said.

The man was new to this post and seemed hell-bent on making each and every person in his unit hate him. He was off to a good start, in the eyes of Hunter and Patrick.

"Heard me, Davis?" Todd Kelly snapped, seeming to want a fight with Hunter.

"I heard you; but since I used Jimmy's hand, it's all good," Hunter said.

"Aw, fuck you, Davis," Jimmy called out from his position at the sink.

"Well, that's how we usually start," Hunter said and Jimmy shook his head, laughing.

"You just pissed 'cause I'm 'bout to rotate out of here," Jimmy said.

"We all are," Lance Corporal Finnegan called out.

Soleil responded to Hunter's email; she had wished for Hunter to be the one that had taken her and Swan to their prom. She wrote, as nice as Mikey had been, he wasn't Hunter Donald Davis.

Swan echoed Soleil's sentiments; Nickie had been nice; she'd even kissed him on the lips at the end of the date. But, Nickie wasn't Hunter Donald Davis.

And then it was Hunter's turn to be targeted by his peers. He took the good natured jabs and jibes with grace. After all, he had dished out his fair share of those words to the ones up for rotation.

"Going see Greene?" Patrick asked as Davis checked his gear again.

"Yeah," Hunter sighed. "Ain't shit for me back in Lowenburg. You?"

"Yeah. Innewda ain't but about ten minutes away from Gratchley anyway," Patrick said.

"Lowenburg? Lowenburg? Where pumpkin is not just a gourd but a sport?" Sergeant Todd Kelly hooted.

"Rochester, New York. Where men are tough, the women are tougher, and sheep are nervous," Hunter said.

"Good old Rochester," Patrick agreed. "Say Sergeant, it true that your first girlfriend's name was VBaa-etty?"

The Greyhound bus ground to a halt outside of the Pak N Sak in Lowenburg. Checking their tickets and their schedule, Hunter and Patrick saw that they had almost three hours before the bus that would take them to Gratchley was scheduled to arrive. Hunter looked at his wrist watch; one of the few indulgences he'd allowed himself, and sighed heavily. By the time he made it to his family's trailer, Chantilly and Donald, and possibly even Donna would be arriving home from another day of work. As much as he wanted to see Swan and Soleil, see his younger sister Fawn, and meet Wisteria, his baby sister, Hunter could not, or would not stomach seeing Donald or Donna.

Hunter did a double take when he and Patrick entered the convenience store. A haggard looking Violet Meynard was stocking the pretzels onto the shelf in front of the counter. She gave a tired smile to the two service men that entered.

"Holy fuck; that's my old girlfriend," Hunter hissed to Patrick as they grabbed a couple of bottles of juice.

"Damn, like them older, huh?" Patrick asked, looking over his shoulder at the woman.

"Nope. Sad thing is, she's only 'bout a year older than me," Hunter said.

"Life's been a little hard on her then," Patrick agreed and grabbed three of his one big vice in life, the Twix candy bars.

Hunter walked up and down the candy aisle, then finally shrugged in defeat. There was nothing he wanted among the sweets. But he did grab a few spicy beef jerkeys and a large bag of pretzels.

"How far this Gratchley's anyway?" Hunter asked as he and Patrick stood behind a large woman that was buying two microwave burritos and a twenty ounce Diet Coke.

"If we were driving? 'Bout three hours," Patrick said. "By bus? More like seven hours."

"Damn," Hunter said and grabbed a second bag of pretzels.

Violet gave Patrick a smile and thanked him for his service. Patrick responded that he was just doing his job.

"Well, soldier, some of us really appreciate you doing your job," Violet said.

"Same here, just doing my job," Hunter said.

He studied Violet's eyes. Her formerly cute face wrinkled in confusion as she glanced from his purchases to his face. She recited the cost of the three bottles of apple juice, the two bags of pretzels and the two strips of jerky. She continued to look at him as he paid for his purchase.

"That is just fucking her all kind of up," Hunter laughed as he and Patrick sat in the shade of the store's awning, waiting on the bus.

Buddy had not been exaggerating; there was nothing to do in Gratchley, Arkansas. There was even less to do in his single wide trailer. But Myndee, Arkansas was thirty minutes away and Myndee University had several young coeds that were more than willing to show three good looking Marines how much they appreciated Buddy, Patrick, and Hunter keeping them safe.

"Damn, man!" Buddy whooped as they got into his mother's mini-van. "Damn! I just had me my first black kootch! Aw. Yeah!"

Patrick and Hunter both looked at the handsome black man, then at each other. Then the three friends whooped out and collapsed in laughter.

A week into their stay, Patrick took his two friends to his home town of Innewda, Arkansas. The reception the three young men received from Patrick's mother and step-father was underwhelming. They weren't even offered water to drink. Clarence Moore, Patrick's step-father did want to know how long they planned to stay.

"Wow. I uh," Hunter said as the three men left the small wooden home.

"Think the insurgents was happier see us?" Patrick supplied.

"Wonder why you didn't re-up," Hunter agreed.

"Okay, what y'all want do now?" Buddy asked, climbing into the driver's seat.

"I, know what I haven't had in forever?" Hunter asked, getting into the rear of the van.

"An education?" Buddy guessed.

"Breath that don't smell like shit?" Patrick guessed.

"Friends?" Buddy continued.

"A sober woman that would fuck you?" Patrick guessed.

"Barbeque," Hunter laughed, slapping both men in the backs of their heads. "Good old barbeque."

"And I know just the place," Buddy agreed, putting the van in gear.

"Yeah, we can get you that," Patrick agreed, rubbing the back of his head. "That other shit? You going have work on that yourself."

Hunter's Cabin was in unincorporated Clarkston County, just south of Myndee. Entering the dilapidated building, the smells of pork sizzling and beef roasting assailed the nostrils. A tired looking waitress told the three newcomers to have a seat anywhere.

"Sorry 'bout that; we a little short-handed," the woman explained when she finally made her way to their table.

"Merline, I asked you get me another beer ten minutes ago," a man yelled out.

"I'll take the pulled pork," Buddy said, getting to his feet. "Mm, potato salad and hmm, the fried pickles."

"That brisket looks too good," Hunter agreed, getting to his feet. "Beans and tater salad."

"Pork, how fresh them greens?" Patrick asked, standing.

"Come in other day," Merline said, watching as Buddy poured a draft beer for the complaining customer and Hunter began clearing away a table's dirty dishes.

"The greens and what the hell, give me the beans," Patrick said, walking to another table to take their drink orders. "If Davis's getting the beans, least I could do is pay him back."

"What the hell are you doing?" the loud customer spluttered when Buddy set the foaming beer down in front of him.

"What you should have done," Buddy said. "Y'all can tell that woman's here by herself. Y'all do anything help? Nope. Just sit on your fat ass and complain. Anyone else ready for a refill?"

"Which one's the unsweetened?" Patrick asked, hefting two pitchers of iced tea.

"Green one," Merline said, giving their food order to Cedric.

"Who you?" Cedric asked as Hunter carried in the dirty dishes.

"United States Marine Corps sent us," Hunter smiled and loaded the dishwasher. "Need turn down the heat on them beans there."

"Boys, food's up," Merline called out and Hunter, Buddy and Patrick finished their assignments and sat to eat.

"Davis, this what you was wanting?" Buddy asked as they dug in.

"Aw. Yeah!" Hunter agreed, happily chewing the tender brisket.

"Ma'am, where's the ticket?" Buddy asked as Hunter took their empty plates and glasses to the kitchen.

"Curtis and Skinny paid for y'all," Merline said.

"You mean, they don't work here?" a middle aged woman asked, looking up from her two meat platter. "Then why that boy brung me my food?"

"They're Marines," Merline smiled.

"Thank you, ma'am; that was some the best brisket I ever had," Hunter smiled as he set a rack of clean glasses onto the bar.

"Tell Cedric his pork's all right," Patrick smiled.

"You are such a butt head," Hunter laughed.

"Ma'am, when Fowler says something's all right, he means it is fan damn tastic," Buddy smiled and the three men left the shack.

After another week, Buddy's mother asked her son, out of earshot of the other two boys, when he planned to get shed of them two white boys, settle down and get himself a job. She wasn't as out of earshot as she thought and both Hunter and Patrick packed their duffels.

"Man, shit," Buddy said.

"Man, shit nothing," Hunter smiled. "Your momma's right. We been here raising hell and carrying on. She's just wanting her place back."

"And you do need to grow the fuck up, pussy," Patrick agreed. "Would think, eight years in the Corps, you'd be a little more adult."

"A little, huh?" Hunter agreed.

"Aw, y'all. Kiss my naturally black ass," Buddy laughed, hugging his two friends. "But come on. Let's go get some barbeque before y'all skip."

Again, Merline was running the place on her own. There were a few less patrons than the last time. Hunter, Buddy and Patrick again stepped up and began assisting.

"Hey, Marines," Cedric smiled, slicing the brisket as Hunter brought in the bin of dirty dishes.

"You 'bout burn that cornbread," Hunter responded.

Curtis and Skinny weren't there; Buddy, Patrick and Hunter shrugged and paid for their own meals. Then after finishing their meals, they continued to work until the mild lunch rush died down.

"Miss Merline, you know where the nearest Greyhound station is?" Hunter asked.

"Where you going?" Patrick asked.

"Shit. Don't know," Hunter admitted. "I mean, you home. Buddy's home. Me? I guess, I guess I need to find out where home is."

"We got a room right up them stairs," Cedric interjected, pointing toward a door.

"And as you can see, we in bad need of help," Merline said.

Hunter agreed to stay in the room upstairs; in exchange for room and meals, he would help out during the lunch and dinner hours. He grabbed his duffel bag out the rear of Buddy's mother's minivan and the three friends said their goodbyes.

The room was actually a suite; there was a small kitchenette, a bathroom of shower and toilet and pedestal sink and a twelve by fourteen room and closet and stackable washer and dryer. Hunter had spent very little of his income in the service; figuring if the military didn't provide it, he didn't need it. Now he spent some of his money on a bed, a desk, a laptop computer and a cable service. The room was clean and comfortable.

Word of the improved service had some of their regular customers returning to Hunter's Cabin. Overall, though, even with excellent food, months of tired service had driven customers to seek out other barbeque joints, other restaurants.

"Telling you, Merline, just need to take a match and burn the whole place down," Cedric said as they tallied up another week's receipts.