Jarhead on the Loose: Temp Duty 02

I slouched in the open doorway of my temporary home, a BEQ room at Vandenberg Air Force Base -- what some folks would call a barracks, the locals a dormitory, but we Marines would call a luxury hotel -- and looked out at the night vista of the cooling base. Dense traffic was oozing along the main road, going in and out of the scattered pools of light lining the curbside. I could see a few people walking streetside, sometimes alone, more often in small groups of two or three. An occasional voice was raised, then fell, joyous not angry. All in all, it was a very calming, cool, Friday night. As punishments went -- I had been sent here for various minor indiscretions to which my company commander had objected, and he wanted to screw me out of the fun of Fleet Week in San Diego -- this was pretty alright. I would miss the grateful tourists, but I wasn't suffering yet.

I stepped back into my room to escape the chill for a moment. I could still smell Maddie even though she had left a good fifteen minutes ago. Not just her light perfume, but the odor of sex still lingered. While reporting for temporary duty I was lucky enough to find a woman who gave off the right vibes and, after she assigned me to a room, we had spent an hour or so physically enjoying the pleasure of each other's company. Eventually, she begged off, claiming she had personal matters to take care of, slipped back into her blue-on-blue uniform, and left. We agreed to get together again later for more of the same. Neither of us were confused about what was going on. There was no hand-holding romance brewing, it was nothing more than good, raw sex -- just how I liked it.

Now I had time to kill. I had showered, stowed the rest of my gear, and changed into some comfortable California leisure wear with a Marine accent, and wondered where I could grab something to eat as well as a beer or three. The room had a working refrigerator, rare in the Corps, so I also wanted to bring back a sixpack, or two, to chill. I returned to the doorway of my third-floor room and considered my one option: back in my truck and reconnoiter the area. The scrape of shoe leather on concrete caught my attention and I turned. Maybe Maddie had come back early. My cock twitched in anticipation.

A slender young woman -- decidedly not Madeline, in the same Air Force uniform down to the sweater, was walking down the catwalk in my direction. Check that -- she had her eyes set on me, so it was more like walking directly at me. She had green logbook from the duty desk in one hand and I realized I was looking at the person for whom Michele had claimed she was doing a favor when we first met. So, this was the woman who was officially assigned to the post of Charge of Quarters, what we Marines called Duty NCO, and had expected Madeline to cover for her. I watched her close the final few yards thinking this could be ugly, depending on if the absence of both women had caused problems.

"You are," she said as she came, paused to check the log, "Sergeant Kernig?"

"Until they bust me or promote me, I am that guy," I answered as she came to a halt a pace away. "May I help you, ma'am?" It always pays to be polite with people in authority, even if temporary, especially as you know good and well you had just committed yet another indiscretion.

"You don't have to 'ma'am' me, I'm just a Senior Airman," as if I knew where that was in their rank structure. She said this as she gave me the once over. Fair is fair, I did the same. Black low quarter shoes, nylons hugging nicely toned legs, dark blue skirt, a matching sweater buttoned over a light blue pleated uniform shirt pushed out well enough, a uniform cap and a brassard proclaiming CQ on her left arm. She was attractive in that healthy, young woman kind of way. Not as sexy as Michelle, and not nearly as tall, about 5'5", or as enticingly curved. Yet her heart-shaped face, dishwater blonde hair pulled into a braid, nicely turned lips and high cheeks all combined to make her easy on the eyes. I doubt she lacked for male attention, and I wondered if the Air Force had any outright unattractive women.

"Did you get settled in alright?" She continued, eyebrows lifting inquiringly.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for following up," I said. "The other girl got me squared away quite nicely."

"Did she?" Her eyes were shadowed, so I couldn't read them very well, but her body was more tense than I would have expected.

"Yup. I got no complaints," I said.

"Glad to hear it." The senior airman nodded. "I'd hate to think Parker messed up. She does things right when she decides they're worth doing, but sometimes..." She didn't finish. Something was in her attitude, so I decided to push a bit.

"Well, I'm happy that she thought I was worth doing," I said, looking right into her eyes. "Do you think she missed anything?"

"I don't know," she smiled, relaxing a bit. "Did she?"

"Not so far as I know, Senior Airman..." I let the sentence dangle.

"Martine," She supplied.

"No first name?" I inquired.

"Let's keep it professional, okay?" she said with a small smile.

"Senior Airman Martine," I picked up again. "Do you want to come in and check things out?" I stepped aside, clearing the entry. "Find out for yourself?"

She hesitated. "I should. Just for a second," she said, stepping inside.

"Just to be sure," I confirmed, following her inside.

"Leave the door open," she said off-handedly as she looked around.

"You got it," I replied, taking my hand from the hand knob.

"Huh," she softly grunted.

"What?" I asked.

"When I saw her at the desk," Martine turned to look at me. "Parker apologized for taking so long, but she needed the extra time."

Now in the well-lighted room I couldn't miss her green eyes and skeptical expression. "I'm not seeing it," she finished. "There's nothing special here that needed extra time."

"I'm offended, Senior Airman," I said, "I'm here."

Her eyebrows rose and fell.

"Are you special?" she asked playfully.

"My momma always told me I was," I smiled.

"Well," she said, again giving me a once over. "Has anyone else ever said you were special?"

I let the conversation lag but kept eye contact. "Maybe you should ask Maddie," I said after a couple of silent seconds.

"Really?" Her voice lost its playful tone. She turned her face away but looked at me from the corner of her eye. "Why is that?"

Instead of answering, I took the conversation in a different direction. "Would she be in any trouble for... checking me in?"

She shook her head. "No, don't worry about that. She was covering for me while I took care of something, so she did what I would have done." She looked at me again in that do-I-want-to-buy-this-car way.

"Had you been here," I offered, wondering how much of that was true.

"We help each other out. We're room-mates." Her smile was perfunctory. "She didn't say much before she took off, so I'm just curious."

"Partners in crime, so to speak?" I offered.

"Kinda," she nodded.

I gave the 'I get it now' "Ohhhh... How well do you know her?"

"Pretty well," she shrugged, "we've shared the house for a little over six months."

A house? I thought. Fuckin' Air Force gives out houses?. Okay, time to push a little.

"Maybe you can clear something up for me." I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against a wall. "Is she a slut?"

Martine's eyes snapped wide.

"What!?" she gasped.

"Come on, Martine," I growled at her. "You know what a slut is. Does she fuck a lot? Does she have a string of guys who get into her pants all the time? Drop by the house to party? Is she a regular stop for the pussy-patrol?"

"Jesus, no," Martine stammered. "She's just a girl. Sometimes she dates..."

"Yeah," I said thoughtfully, looking up. "She didn't seem like a slut." I returned my gaze to Martine. "Would it come as a surprise that she fucked my lights out while you were having dinner?"

Wide-eyed silence was her answer.

I continued, "You're saying, then, that you wouldn't have expected her to strip naked, lay on that couch," I pointed to the object of concern, and she turned to look "and have hot, sweaty sex with a guy she just met?"

"Uh, n-n-no," she managed.

"She's enthusiastic, and she likes dick," I said. "I'll give her that. Not all that experienced though."

She turned back to look at me, eyes now narrowed.

I continued. "That's why I didn't think she was a slut, but I figured there was no harm in asking."

"No way," she said, shaking her head, "Not Maddie."

I leaned into her space. "She loves getting her pussy licked." Her eyes widened again. "Most girls do, if it's done right," I continued. I breathed deep, pulling in her perfume and soap scents. Air Force girls smelled so damned good! "I bet you do, too."

Her lips parted in a gasp and her fingertips darted to cover her mouth.

"I got her good and wet, ready for my cock, before I fucked her," I nodded toward the couch. "Right there. She came pretty hard. Damn, I love watching a woman cum on my cock!"

Martine's breathing was getting a little fast and her eyes locked on the couch.

I moved so my lips were near her ear. Martine seemed not to notice. "She wanted to suck my cock first," I whispered, "but I wouldn't let her. Not at right away. I made her earn it."

Martine took a step back and snatched her fingers from her mouth.

"Take a whiff," I said softly, passing my open hand through the space between us. "You can still smell her."

I saw her nostrils flair and her face lost a bit of color.

I kept my eyes locked on hers, enjoying her discomfort for long seconds.

"Knock, knock," came a vaguely familiar voice from the open doorway.

Martine spun about and I twisted my head around. It was the woman from the administration center, the one with the many chevrons. Her eyes moved back and forth between the two of us.

Christ, I thought, how long has she been there?

"Everything okay in here?" she asked as she walked in, eyes sweeping the room. She moved with authority, like she owned the joint. Unlike the women with whom I had dealt, she wore slacks with her uniform which set off her slightly wide hips nicely, and no sweater. I could see good muscle tone in her arms, and where the other two had the energy of youth, she gave off the vibe of a gym-rat.

"Yes, Master Sergeant," blurted Martine, obviously shaken.

"How about you, Sergeant Kernig? All squared away?" Her look said nothing, her tone was normal. "Ship shape?" she added in what might have been a playful tone, but I took to be sarcasm.

"Better than I had expected," I answered, "but you know what they say."

"No, I don't know what they say," she responded, "Enlighten me." Ah, the voice of authority I have heard from other folks wearing more stripes than me, but their shirts did not bulge as enticingly.

I gave a lop-sided smile, "Maybe it's a Marine thing. 'When in a static position, always work to improve that position.'"

Her head bobbed slightly in a nod. "Improve your position. I see." She pursed her lips, then relaxed. Senior Airman Martine," the senior NCO said, "I think you are done here. You may resume your post." Leave us alone, you mean. Yup, authority.

Martine shot me a worried look and skedaddled, leaving me with the older woman. She must have noticed my reflexive glance at Marine's trim ass in passing. Master Sergeant I-don't-know-who crossed to sit on the couch.

I successfully fought down a smirk.

If she only knew.

"Sergeant Kernig," she sighed, "what are we going to do with you?" Her hands smoothed out the cushions on either side of her. "You and your 'Marine things.'"

Odd choice of words, I thought.

"I wasn't aware you were responsible for me, Master Sergeant..." as with Martine I left a fill-in-the-blank ending.

"Townsend," she supplied. "Alicia Townsend. Base HQ admin chief."

"Huh, I thought, that's more than I got from Martine.

She continued. "I wouldn't say we are completely responsible for you. You are a grown up, possess free will, allowed to vote, and all that, but you are our guest so I feel a certain... onus, shall we say, to see your time here is well spent, productive so as not to waste the taxpayer's money, and..." her eyes narrowed in concentration for a split second. "You don't 'foul your anchor'. Another Marine thing, yes?" she cocked her head in query.

"Ah." I nodded. "You talked to my First Sergeant." She smiled. Great, I have a baby-sitter. "I'm curious: did you call him, or did he call you?

"Oh, come now, Sergeant Kernig." I half expected to hear 'tut-tut'. "I am sure he has all the trust in the world in your ability and fidelity." She looked at the cushions, once more running her hands over them. She's fidgety. Her gaze returned to me. "Me, he. He was pleased to hear you had arrived safe, sound, and surprisingly early." She laid her arms over the tops of the cushions and leaned back which accentuated her bosom. "Perhaps he thought you would be spending your time with God-knows-who in the Jungle Rock room of the Madonna Inn?"

"Oh, so you talked about me?"

She blew out a tiny gust of air, a non-verbal exclamation point.

"Of course we did. And the reasons you are here."

"Oh, yeah, that new radio thingy ya'll got and we might get," I said.

"Reasonssss," she stressed through her smile.

I nodded without reply, wondering how much she knew about me as seen through the filter of my First Sergeant

"Anyway," she said as she stood. "That's why I dropped in." She frowned and looked at the fingers of one hand, before looking back to me. "To make sure you got off on the right foot." Her fingers were moving against each other ever so slightly.

"Thank you for your concern, Master Sergeant Townsend," I responded. "So far so good."

"So I gathered," she said, her fingers still rubbing. Her hand started to rise but then dropped.

"Well," she began, and paused to take a deep breath and let it out, almost as if she was getting ready for something. "I think I'm done here, Sergeant Kernig." She repeated the deep breath cycle and headed for the open door. I could see her fingers weren't rubbing but were now pressing together and then pulling apart.

"Oh, hey, before you go," I hurriedly said, "can you clear something up for me?"

She paused in the doorway, the formerly busy hand now resting on the jamb, back to me. "If I can."

"Just what, in terms of pay-grade, is an Air Force Master Sergeant?"

"E-7 to your E-5." She said with her back to me, speaking the outside world. She then turned her face toward me. She smiled coolly. "Didn't you do some research before you left?"

"Like I had time?" I laughed. "And a Senior Airman is?" I added nonchalantly.

"You mean like Martine?" Her smile was even cooler. "E-4. Somewhat junior. To both of us."

She started to go. "Wait!" I called. She paused.

"And what if there were," I paused, remembering. I held up four fingers "stripes?"

"That's a staff sergeant." She grinned wickedly. "Aren't staff sergeants E-6s in the Marines?"

Oh, shit I had fucked someone senior to me! My cock twitched in fond remembrance.

"And if that's all," she said and once more she made to leave.

"Actually," I dragged out the word.

"Christ," she laughed, "you're worse than a three-year-old!" She leaned against the jamb. "What now?"

"Last one, I swear," I replied trying to match her good humor, "and I understand if you don't answer."

"Are you going to get personal, Sergeant Kernig?"

"You could say so, but not intimately, Master Sergeant."

"Bring it on, Marine." She made the gesture to match the words.

"You look kind of young to be an E-7 -- " I began.

"Thank you, I guess?" she said with a wrinkled brow.

"No, no, that's a compliment!" I blundered ahead. "How long did it take for you to pin it on?"

She didn't lose her smile as she gazed at me, considering.

"I was a bit quicker than most. I pinned it on in minimum time. Eight years, I am pleased to say." Her face had a triumphant glow.

"Wow, bravo zulu, Master Sergeant Townsend! I'm impressed." I really was. Most Gunnies I knew had at least 12 years in, six as a Staff Sergeant, before seeing their second rocker. "And you have how much time in grade?"

"If you want to know how old I am, Kernig, quit trying to be sly." She rolled her eyes, "Just ask me."

I shrugged. "Okay, how o--"

"Twenty-nine. Are we done now?" she straightened in the doorway. "Cuz I'm gonna go, even if we aren't."

She stepped outside and pull up short. I heard a soft, "Awww, fuck it," from her. She turned back to face me yet again.

I didn't say anything, just raised my eyebrows in question.

"What's 'bravo zulu' mean," she asked with a bit of chagrin. "Is that another of your Marine things?"

"Oh, that! Navy, actually," I responded. "It comes from Navy ship-to-ship flag talk. When a superior officer flies the B and Z flags to a subordinate, it means 'well done', but we all use it. So -- bravo zulu on your fast track to Master Sergeant."

Her smile was genuine.

"Thanks, Kernig," she responded, "I appreciate that."

"You're welcome, Master Sergeant Townsend. You earned it."

She hesitated and I could see her thinking, considering. Her features settled and she said, "The Air Force isn't completely hung up on rank like the Corps seems to be."

Huh?

"If you ever catch me out of uniform," she went on, "You can call me Alicia."

"Excellent!" I exclaimed. "Stan," I supplied in reciprocity.

"Yeah, I know," she said pointedly and then finally walked away.

I watched her go and just before she moved out of sight, I saw her raise her fingers to her nose.

Man, that girl is nothing but mixed signals, I thought.

I had just turned back into the room when I again heard her voice.

"Why, Staff Sergeant Parker, I do believe you are all turned around. I just sent your buddy back to her post, you two must have just missed each other. Tell you what, let us both go find her."

I heard Maddie's protest fade away as she was walked away.

Sumbitch, does she know she's cock-blocking me? Coincidence or did she hear me with Martine?

I shrugged into a light jacket, grabbed my keys, wallet, and phone, gave the room a once over, and -- out of habit -- gave the door handle a shake and yank before heading downstairs.

By the time I had reached the CQ desk, Townsend was nowhere to be seen, but Maddie, wearing colorful motorcycle leathers, her dark hair down and loose, leaned over the desk talking to Martine.

"Christ," I heard her say. "He told you?"

Martine's looked past her to me, and Maddie's look followed. She straightened and turned, her cheeks pink.

"Hey, you," she smiled.

"Damn, girl, where you been?" I answered.

"Oh," she shot back, "So you are happy to see me!" Her smile widened.

"More than you know," I said. She brightened considerably. "I've been so lonely," I added plaintively.

Martine guffawed and looked down with pen in hand.

"Whadja do while I was gone?" Maddie asked, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Tell you about it over dinner," I walked past the desk, snagging her arm. "Come on, I'm starved. I'll drive, you navigate."

"Oh, okay," she stuttered as I guided her to my truck. "Bye, Chrissie," she called over her shoulder.

No answer came from the CQ. I glanced back and found her watching us. I grinned at her. She flipped me off and I laughed.

Oh, this is going to be fun, I thought.