Hard Dicks and Helicopters

Army Exploits Series

Even those who never served in the military are probably mindful of how unique the life of an enlisted person must be. As a veteran of seven years, I can certainly bear witness. Most could not imagine, though, that finding romance or even occasion for casual sex can, itself, be an exceptional challenge.

Without fail, every time I share any of my sordid tales of intimate congress while in the Army, people are overwhelmingly shocked and enthralled. Hopefully, with this series of short stories that I'm calling "Army Exploits," I can stir up a little amusement, curiosity and lust or possibly encourage others to write about their time in service.

My goal is to share authentic experiences, warts and all, as best as I can remember them. I'm not wanting to over embellish or try to make myself out to be a hero or gigolo. This won't be in chronological order, either. My expectation is to submit stories as inspiration dictates. I always welcome comments, criticism, feedback of any kind. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy.

* * * * *

It was a dream realized. For almost two years, I've endeavored to become an Army Flight Medic, and now I had arrived. Fort Rucker, Alabama was the home of the Army's warrant officer academy, helicopter pilot school and most pertinent, the U.S. Army School of Aviation Medicine. Finally, after all the hoops I had jumped through, asses I had to kiss I was here.

Not only was it highly competitive just to get into a class, but this was considered some of the most intense training I would ever experience. It wasn't the physical aspect, I mean, you were still expected to maintain a high standard of fitness, but the mental side was grueling. Those that I knew that had made it through the course described it as "trying to drink from a wide-open fire hydrant," because you were supposed to digest so much information in such a short amount of time.

* * * * *

On deployment back in 1999, Camp Doha, Kuwait, my then roommate and I were working as ambulance medics. While dropping off a patient at the hospital, we noticed a soldier in a flight suit outside, so we struck up a conversation. Rodriguez, I think was his name, and he informed us within about a minute of introducing himself that he was a Dust-off medic.

We had a myriad of questions, which he was happy to answer. He was cocky, not an asshole, but definitely sure of himself. The uniform was badass. We had to wear the same desert fatigues that every other chump was wearing. This guy stood out, looked important.

Most appealing was that he flew to work. We had a four-hour drive to get back to our base in a Humvee ambulance with no AC which had a proclivity for overheating. That's when I realized I had been wasting the best years of my life doing sick call at the aid station or bullshit transfers like today. Occasionally I got a trauma patient so I could employ my training, but for the most part I was a peon. I wanted to swoop in on a UH-60 Blackhawk looking like Tom Cruise and drag my dick through all the groupie trim that entitled me to. I wanted to do the hero shit.

"Ju gotta know yer chit." He boasted in a heavy Puerto Rican accent. "...but it's like more pay and it's laid back and the chicks dig it." He continued. We obviously were intrigued. He went on about how cool it was to go on random training flights just to go eat lunch, how in aviation units people weren't always jumping down your throat about this and that, and how heads would turn every time he walked into a room wearing his flight gear. "Yeah man, put in for it. It's wort a chot, man. Worse ting, dey say no. Plus, the chicks dig it." He kept on encouraging us. Almost every other phrase out of his mouth was, "chicks dig it."

He probably would have rattled on as long as we would let him. We hung onto his every word, but Brad pointed out that we would be expected back at our forward base soon. We had gotten just about enough information so that we could investigate it later. I didn't need any further convincing. This was my future.

* * * * *

The term for temporary duty which involved travel was TDY. Normally you were paid a per diem and issued a government credit card for incidentals. Sometimes barracks space or on post housing was available, but most times you got a hotel room nearby. Luckily, Fort Rucker had a four-star hotel just a short walk from the schoolhouse.

When I got to the installation, I went ahead and checked in. Accommodations on base were nice. Most of us got a spacious two bedroom. It had a full bath and while not brand new, was way better than most on post hotels. Settled in, I got some rest anticipating the next morning when we would report for duty.

Unlike most of the training I had experienced, there were not drill sergeants barking orders when I arrived. Instead, there were about five staff sergeants in flight suits greeting students, checking names off their roster. Once it was 0800, we were all supposed to be there, but they still waited around for stragglers. Never have in my military career have I seen such leniency from leadership. Rodriguez did mention it was laid back, but I was beginning to wonder if I was still in the Army.

It was a coed class with about a three to one male to female ratio. Most of the females were unimpressive, but there were a few lookers. There was this brunette, Dianne Wilson. She was about a six-footer with giant hooters. I remember her name was Dianne because she reminded me of Wonder Woman. There were some other cuties, but she really stood out. I already had in mind to find out what her situation was and how close her room was to mine.

With all the rush of the first day and the stress of trying to keep up with all the info the instructors were tossing at us, I didn't get a chance to talk to her. My hesitancy would leave me out in the cold, as two guys from Fort Bragg swooped in and started chatting up her and her blonde companion. Sergeants Tatum and Nelson, it's like it was their mission to find girlfriends as soon as they were away from their wives. It wasn't long before they were joined at the hip (among other things) for the duration of our stay.

My folly reminded me of one of the oldest Army proverbs, "What happens on TDY, stays on TDY." This meant things like power drinking, gambling and especially fucking around; you know, behavior your wife would not care for, were considered normal while you were out of town. If your wife were to find out about your misdeeds, it meant that someone ratted you out. The offended person, by law, could have you drawn and quartered.

Normally, if in this situation, I would have tried to woo her myself and leverage the fact that they were a couple of shitbags stepping out on their families to my advantage. The only problem is that the first corollary of the 'what happens on TDY' code forbade me to bust them out lest I be in violation warranting a fate similar to the above. The bond between a traveling soldier and his paramour was clearly a most sacred thing.

Generally, it's bad form to cut in on a fellow warfighter's side piece anyway. As a rule, getting on the wrong side of anybody that could be presumably asked to risk his neck for yours was not worth it. Plus, I really needed to buckle down. Getting in a squabble over some skirt, even one that hot, would be a huge distraction. I was so close to getting my dream job, no way I was going to fuck that up.

Vigorously, I took notes the whole first day trying not to miss a thing. They mentioned several times the need to have a battle buddy. Customarily that meant a peer that you could depend on and that could help keep you accountable. Here, that was true also, but they mostly wanted you to have a study buddy to help you keep you on pace academically.

When we broke for lunch, that was my objective. It didn't take long before I found that I was possibly the only person who travelled here alone. Most arrived in small groups or pairs and were already set for a partner. The ones that didn't seemed to find someone to pair up with quickly.

So right away, that's two strikes. No study buddy, no fuck buddy; I was seriously beginning to doubt myself. Ultimately, there with me at the bottom of the barrel was Sergeant Maureen Wulf. With my options waning, I proposed we be partners and she accepted. Little did I know what a stroke of luck this was to end up with her.

Wulf was an Army brat, her dad retiring at the rank of Lieutenant Colonial. She had spent her whole life bouncing around the world from one base to the next, so she was as well versed in the ways of the military. Considerably early in her career, she took a leadership role at a VIP clinic in D.C., which made her highly connected. On one occasion, she said she had to draw blood from Colon Powell, the former Chairman to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, because none of her soldiers were up to it. To top it all off, she turned out to be pretty much the smartest person in the class. If my goal was to do well here and earn my wings, this was the ideal teammate.

As for my other issue, I resolved that it was best to rely on cold showers and five on one sessions to keep myself sane. Besides, judging by first impression, I felt with this chick, I wouldn't be tempted into any monkey business. She was the tom-boy type and all in all, she really didn't have what I'd describe as classic good looks. Her legs made a bee line from her torso to the floor with little deviation. The acne scars and adult braces didn't help either.

Don't get me wrong, I've done way worse. Off the bat, she showed a keen wit and could make anybody laugh at will, which was appealing. I mean, if she made herself up, she did have some killer facial features, high cheek bones, full, thick dark red lips and fierce mocha colored eyes. I noticed she even had great hair even though she wore it in a bun most of the time, even out of uniform.

Not to bury the lead, but there was one other thing. My historically most immutable weakness was a nice set of tits and this bitch had it in spades. I remember the day we were issued our flight gear, as soon as we got our suits, we were filed into two dressing rooms, male and female and instructed to change into them. It was a loose-fitting uniform, but still, we needed to know right away if they were the right size, so we could exchange them. When she emerged from changing, it looked like a dead heat in the zeppelin race. They must have sent her back three times before they gave up and decided there was no way to hide her massive chesticles.

So, she had a few good attributes, but she was no Diana Prince. Besides, like I said, she was just not my type. By how butch she came off, at first, I thought I might not be hers either. All that said, I felt comfortable spending off time hitting the books with her without fearing that I'd be so preoccupied with giving her the one eye, that I'd fail out of the class.

By close of business on what they called zero day, we hadn't really done anything apart from clerical and admin stuff. The tone was made clear, though. You'd have to be on your toes, head on a swivel at all times. We were given so much information about the course and what was expected, that if you blinked or your attention drifted for a moment, you'd be behind with little chance to catch up. This only served to make me that much more nervous about when class started that I'd be one of the ones getting left behind.

They went at great lengths to make sure that we knew that they wanted us to do well. Sergeant First Class Guzman ended the day with some closing remarks "Ask questions. Stop us if you miss something. Most of all, get with your battle buddy after class and study. You will have to read ahead. We expect to be familiar with the material before we lecture on it. My goal is to pin a set of wings on every chest in this room, but before I do, you will be qualified, and you will know and respect what it means to wear them. You are dismissed for the day. See you here out front of the classroom for PT at 0630."

As informally as the day had begun, we were turned loose. Like a herd of farm animals, we collected our things and wandered toward the exit. All were shell shocked by the pace we would be expected to keep. Some were smart enough to promptly find their cohort and make plans to prep for Tuesday. Wulf and I were of the same mind, meeting right there in the class.

"Ok," She said, taking charge. "Let's take a few minutes, get out of this tree suit and eat something. I know we need to get crackin' but I'm starving."

"Could you do pizza? I'll order it to be delivered to the lobby. We could meet there and get started. Ya know? Kill two birds and what not." I proposed.

"Hell yeah, anything, I'll go halves." She offered.

"You like sausage?" I asked.

"Easy, killer. Let's see how dinner goes first." She quipped with a grin showing off her dental hardware.

I returned the smile signifying the ice was broken and we started back to the hotel. Along the way we exchanged basic information, both aware that we were strangers who would have to get familiar with each other in a hurry. We didn't have much in common. She had family in the upper Mid-west, and I hailed from the South. I was from a big family; she was an only child. Somehow, our differences didn't matter. We got along great from the jump.

The walk back was the first time she mentioned the jello wrestling thing. "Seriously," I asked.

"Yeah, it's this bar right outside the East gate. They have a sign that said, 'Jello Wrestling Friday night.' We're scheduled to have a big written test that day." She said with stars in her eyes. "I swear, if I smoke that test, I'm doing it."

When it came time to settle in the lobby to study, we found we were not alone. There were several small groups there also with take-out food. All had their books out, presuming they all had the same intentions as we did, but most were so busy socializing that they couldn't possibly be getting anything done. Very soon, we decided our classmates were too loud and distracting and not at all contributing to a suitable learning environment. Unless we wanted to study in our cars, we had one of two choices: my room or hers.

An impromptu rock, paper, scissors match, had us settled on her room. It was decided that I would host the next time. That set the precedent for our study sessions, alternating sites until graduation. We paid no mind to how it might have looked. After all, we weren't the only coeds spending time behind closed doors together. It just so happened that we were the only ones who were solely hitting the books and not swapping fluids.

Day one proved how much of a power couple we were. We had to get certified on Basic Life Support, Pediatric Life Support and Advanced Cardiac Life Support. Each of those were designed by the American Heart Association to take two days, but we were expected to knock them all out in under eight hours. Almost everybody struggled to get by. Some even failed and would have to retest the next day which would make them miss lectures. Wulf and I aced all three, no problem.

"So, what kind of jello you think they'll have?" I said gloating to Wulf in front of some of the others.

She glared at me and hissed, "quiet!" Apparently, I didn't get the memo that we were supposed to be keeping that secret. No harm was done, as nobody paid much mind, punch drunk from the day's rigors.

Not willing to let our guard down, that night we went right back to work prepping ourselves for the following day's material. She arrived wearing a sleeveless V-neck tee shirt which hung down to mid-thigh, grey PT shorts and flip-flops. I was perched on one of the beds and she was content to spread out her books and binders on the floor and sit cross-legged. At first, I didn't notice that she didn't have a bra on, but when she leaned down to pick up something, I got a good look down her shirt. From my vantage point, I could see the vast crease between her two splendid free-swinging sweater muffins.

They must have had me quite hypnotized, because by the time I snapped back to reality, she was giving me this blank stare. "Did you hear me?" She grumbled. "Airway management or altitude physiology, which one do you want to start with?"

"Oh, yeah." I said blinking and redirecting my gaze to her face. "Airway, I guess. That will probably be easier." She gave no indication whether she had busted me, but I'm sure she did. It was so obvious. I figured that she was accustomed to being ogled like that and just brushed it off.

"Try staying on earth for a little while. We really have to get this stuff down for tomorrow." She gouged pompously.

"Sorry, just zoned out a minute." I blurted, embarrassed.

Managing to keep it together wasn't that hard, though I did indulge in a glimpse occasionally when she looked away. The AC made her nipples erect and they made a distinct protrusion against the cotton fabric. When she left, I even tried checking out her ass as she walked out, though there wasn't much to look at.

Sleep did not come easy with the impression those magnificent knockers made on me. The image in my head of that deep canyon between her two fleshy peaks made my cock swell with excitement. I couldn't help but think how great it would be to bury my face in there and suck on those pert nipples. How awesome it would be to get to squeeze those soft collagenous mounds together against my rigid member. She could egg me on with dirty talk from those plump, red lips while I humped them until I popped right in her face.

So, yeah, not my proudest moment, but I jacked off thinking of my battle buddy. Honestly, it was my only option. I'd have been up all night thinking about it if I hadn't. With the poison safely out of my system, I was able to finally sleep.

All the work we did the night before paid off. Lectures were a breeze before we broke off into smaller groups to practice hands on skills that we would be tested on later. While at the airway station, I noticed that Wulf was unusually thrilled that they had OPA's out and still in sterile packaging.

Just to give a little background, an OPA or oropharyngeal airway is a rigid plastic device which is used in resuscitations to keep the patient's airway open during mechanical ventilation. For the purposes of this story, it's only important that you know it is never to be used on a patient who is conscious. Reason being, since it extends from the lips to well inside the opening of the throat there's a chance you could trigger the gag reflex. If you do, and your patient vomits, the airway is compromised.

"Hey Nunan, look. They have new OPA's in the package. I hardly ever find them like that." She said, excitedly, opening a large one and showing it to me.

"Um, yeah." I said sarcastically. "What's the big deal?"

By this time most everyone in our group had noticed how entranced she was, and she had their full attention. "Look what I can do," she quipped. Then, with all the aptitude of a seasoned medic, she properly inserted the device......on herself. Needless to say, her popularity soared after that. I'd be lying to say it had no effect on me.

Not only was her popularity on the rise, but we as a group were beginning to stand out as well. It was no secret that, while everyone else was struggling, we were excelling. That afternoon two pairs of buddies asked to join our study session, I guess to peek behind the curtain and see if we had some special insight.

We agreed and per our schedule, we met in Wulf's room. So, that made six of us. Five guys and Wulf. Something made me feel uneasy, but I couldn't quite tell what.

She and I almost robotically, unfurled our various and sundry books, notes, binders and writing utensils. Our gusts tried to play in harmony, but soon fell back into their bad habits. We started out right on track hitting on the major bullet points for the next day's lecture, but as soon as two of the guys started gossiping about sex, the whole group was done for.