My CODEL

Bangkok

An incredible woman slid her oiled, nude form over mine. I'd known that this brief diversion from my professional duties was likely to prove delightful but expectations were being greatly surpassed...

****************************

Only hours earlier, I'd told Mark, my "wingman," that I'd arranged a meeting with a counterpart at an agency across town - an agency roughly equivalent to the one I was representing on this trip.

I hadn't lied. I'd done the meeting. My slippery, expectations-surpassing interaction with the woman was merely a detour on the way back to the hotel.

Mark and I were on a CODEL, a congressional delegation, my first. These things - these CODELs - are way beyond mere good deals. We're talking full-on boondoggles. At taxpayer expense. As with any CODEL, the principals on this trip - meaning the eight Congressmen and one Congresswoman - required support staff, typically senior civilian functionaries and/or policy wonks. Mark and I were in that second group. Strap-hangers. Horse-holders. But happy to be there nonetheless.

Smaller nations like Thailand don't fuck around when it comes to hosting these junkets. And, of course by "junket" I mean these really important bilateral fact-finding exchanges intended to strengthen US ties with key allies abroad.

Which triggers me to digress. I do like to digress. That sort of bullshit-speak pervades the upper reaches of government - not just within the military. It's everywhere. And I've seen far worse.

Once you reach a certain seniority level and settle into a desk on some staff somewhere - leaving behind the cockpit (in my case) - the bullshit seems to slowly envelop you. And it'll seep into you if you don't fight it. If you aren't careful, one day you'll wake up and realize you're the bullshitter. It doesn't have to define you but there's no denying it's a learned "skill" that you can turn on at will.

Only a year into my retirement from active duty, I did miss a lot of things. But not the bullshit.

Anyways, back to the CODEL. Happy thoughts!

It's frankly a little disorienting, the deference displayed on this kinda trip. The first sign? The strictly red carpet treatment commences right after the plane touches down and it lasts the entire time.

Clearing customs upon arrival? Um, no. None of that nonsense. It just gets better from there. The entire schedule of events is intended to please, to impress, to diplomatically seduce. The food, the venues, everything is first class.

And it's easy. I'd written most of my after action report before ever heading to Andrews.

****************************

Her name was Anong - supposedly. I'd chosen her out in the lobby area where some 50 or so women sat on display in their bikinis and heels. They lounged on loveseats and perched on pillow topped stools as they waited. The sheer number of them was unexpected. There was a stillness to them - a doll-like stillness - as they waited. I thought, "One of these ladies is about to be my first interaction with a sex worker."

Throughout my career my male counterparts had routinely frequented places like this during deployment ports of call. Most of them, my fellow naval aviation brethren, were happily married if the wardroom banter was to be believed. None of them appeared to be struggling with any cognitive dissonance, with any moral confusion. Of course they (mostly) claimed, "It was just a massage." Uh, huh. But hey, that was none of my business.

No longer on active duty, and now unexpectedly here, I rationalized. "Why not? Why not my turn? And, yeah, it really will be 'just a massage.' When the moment comes, I'll decline the offer to take it any further."

I chose Anong because of her height.

I'm only 5'4". Tall enough to strap on an F/A-18, so you'd think 5'4" would be good enough, but I've always wanted to be taller.

She was my polar opposite. I'd guess perhaps 5'10", small breasted, her skin tone so rich and warm.

But she was no more fit than I, nor more beautiful. I work hard at staying in shape. I'm long on looks and I don't care what anyone thinks of me saying so. I can, and have, caught plenty of dick. But I've only ever been with two women and it'd been achingly long ago. Years. This felt overdue.

Out in that lobby, my eyes fixed upon the beautiful Anong and I thought, "CODELs truly do represent unique opportunities for gaining insights into partner-nation cultures as a means of reinforcing our commitment to shared strategic goals."

Yeah, they really do...

****************************

The Greater Washington DC Metro Area, Two Months Prior

My friend, Mark, called me from his office on the Hill. I work at an agency across town that frequently fields requests from Congress for, let's just say - "information." And that's as far as we're goin' with that. "If I told ya, I'd have to kill ya."

I've actually long hated that stupid joke. Works once and then withers. It's terminally lame but somehow never dies.

Yeah, so my shiny new post-military job involves congressional liaison within my agency's OLA, its Office of Legislative Affairs. Our shop of fewer than a dozen senior civil servants functions as a conduit between agency analysts /policy-makers/ leadership and Congress; the insatiable, ever-probing beast on the Hill.

I expected Mark was calling to suggest lunch. Which would mean talking shop, reminiscing about old times, swapping lies about our flying days, and disagreeing as to who was the better stick (me, clearly).

How about that time I got aboard on my first pass on a hellishly pitching deck at night and he boltered? Okay, yeah, I caught the 4 wire and the experience did, in fact, actually scare the shit outta me. And yeah, he somehow calmly executed an OK pass after that but that's not really the point, is it? One beats two, in this case. Scoreboard.

He may have a couple stories of his own about me, but that's not important. I mean, who hasn't power puked on the O-Club dance floor at Miramar?

I do look forward to our lunches.

Instead, he was calling to offer me a seat on an upcoming CODEL. This was pretty irregular, outside normal channels, an incredible hook-up. I had no idea how he was swinging it on his end. I didn't ask.

My answer was something like, "Shipmate, of course, sign me up! So when are we doing lunch?"

****************************

Bangkok

Anong had a routine, of course. She shed her bikini. As I disrobed, I got full body chills taking in the sight of her. A consummate professional, her face was unreadable as I openly checked her out from head to toe.

In the lobby I had settled upon her from a distance of 20 feet or so, but, like size, distance matters, just inversely so.

From three feet she was magnificent. From three feet I could smell her. Smell can be so intoxicating. I've no idea what she wore, but my brain registered cinnamon and jasmine and earthy musk. Who knows what it was, but it was doin' work on me.

Seemingly with each passing heartbeat I felt increasingly entranced, standing so close to her, both of us nude. I was conscious of my large areolas - untouched - tightening despite the warmth of the room.

And then she abruptly moved, shattering the spell, approaching to within inches of me. I stiffened awkwardly with the sudden proximity. Embarrassed by my reaction, my eyes, looking up at her, pleaded forgiveness. As if to say, "I'm so sorry, please go ahead."

She let me suffer for the merest moment before lowering her head to my left, bringing her lips into almost-contact with my neck, breathing warmly up and down its length. Delicious, delicious chills. Then, a bolt of electricity as her fingertips touched my back, teasingly tracing a downward arc to the top of my ass. She must be hearing my heart! Boom! Thump! Boom!

That was it. Color me seduced.

I'd calmly walked into this establishment as Ms. Fighter Chick, she of many hundreds of cats and traps, cocky and confident. That was me. Just here for a massage. No big deal.

But in a matter of moments, there I was, standing there exposed. My station in life - that which defines me, that which grounds me, just felt...gone.

I was hers just then and I felt like nothing much more.

She took my hand and led me to the oversized brightly tiled sunken bath in the corner of the room, sudsy and pleasantly hot. The room itself was spacious. In addition to the tub, there was a large bed and an open tile-floor area with an air mattress, the next step after the bath. Pretty sure the bed was for the third, optional phase, the one that would double the cost of this dalliance. I began to reconsider my options.

It's good to have options.

Anong washed every square inch of me and herself in preparation for the massage to follow. Nobody has ever touched me so completely, so fully. Her hands were gorgeous, her nails flawless. I was captivated watching them as she washed and caressed my boobs, my belly, my legs, my feet. I was fascinated by her hands, the sight of them, the sensations they brought forth. So soft and so strong. Lying back against her warm body, she washed my hair. Incredible.

I assumed that was it, that we were done with the bath at that point. Instead, she had me stand before her. Anong remained on her knees. She placed her hands on the tops of my small feet, exerting the slightest pressure, wordlessly saying, "Spread." I complied, widening my stance. She moved those graceful hands up my calves, up my thighs, arriving there with her fingertips. Chills! A primal, unspellable moan escaped me.

She began softly washing my pussy and between my ass cheeks. The washing became caressing. She stroked my lips, stroked within my folds. She moved her fingers backward and made little circles with gentle pressure on my asshole. I shifted in response, pushing back, my hands upon my lower thighs, flexing my tight hole, inviting her to enter me. But she didn't. You can't have everything, Victoria.

The backward motion of my ass made my breasts move lower and more forward, just above her face. She tilted her head up just so, considering them. Then came two little kisses - one upon each underboob - both kisses accompanied by a teasing punch of finger pressure on my asshole. My eyes rolled up into my head. Mmmmmmmmm. Damn.

Her gaze dropped to level as she moved her elegant fingers forward to my clit. I stood straight.

More petting, caressing. Just focusing on my clit. Circles and strokes and little taps and pressure, my hips thrust forward in response. My pussy soooo close to her lips. Is she gonna do this until I...???

Uh huh, oh my, yes, she suuure iiiiis. I trembled with a nice little orgasm and, surprisingly, a single messy shot of squirt. It arced toward her pretty, pretty face. She didn't flinch as it hit her. What a goddess...I mean, wow.

As I performed a controlled collapse back into the water, she smiled the faintest of smiles, clearly pleased with herself. Good for her! She let me recover a bit.

"We move here now..." she said, nodding toward the air mattress.

I murmured to her - well, not really to her - vaguely out into the room, "I just love CODELs."

****************************

The Greater Washington DC Metro Area

After giving Mark my 'hell yes' answer, I trotted myself into the boss's office to share the news and the details; the timing, the purpose, the names of the principals, all that. It wasn't a matter of asking permission. Nobody says 'no' to a CODEL slot.

About the boss. He's a good guy, if a bit stuffy and officious. Then again, he can display a savviness bordering on dangerous. I respect him. I like him, too. And I sense that the man gets me, his only ex-military subordinate.

I grew up professionally in a world of hyper-masculinity. That had its ups and downs - I have a lot of stories. But what matters is that I proved equal to it. And yes, I'm proud of that.

As sort of a side-effect though, some of the swagger, the wise-ass personas, rubbed off over time. I can and sometimes do turn that stuff on when it suits me, when it fits the moment.

Along those lines, there are times I simply can't resist 'tickling the tiger's tail' - which means fucking with my superiors. No, that's not a sexual thing at all. I just sometimes succumb to the urge to teasingly taunt my boss's professional facade.

My current boss tolerates it. I'm his token ex-fighter pilot, a female one at that. It's fine. It's not like I haven't been a token before. He enjoys introducing me to others within the agency. He makes his little jokes. He's clever and urbane - never offensive. But like me, I think he enjoys flirting with crossing life's little lines.

I established our understanding of one another - broke the ice, so to speak - pretty early in my tenure at OLA. I'd only been on the team a month or so. The two of us didn't really know one another to any real depth at that point. I remember it well, that breakthrough. It happened as we waited in line to order lunch one day. Hurrying back to the building from a meeting across town, we'd pulled into a fast food place.

We probably looked out of place, the boss in his impeccable suit and me in one of my new ensembles that telegraphed the very essence of "stupid expensive." As a civilian, I get to play dress up.

As it happens, there was a young woman in line ahead of us; attractive but with a bit of a trailer park aura. Hot but a little trashy. Not that I judge! She's just young. Good for her.

There came this little moment where the boss and I realized we'd each been silently checking her out. He was probably a touch embarrassed, feeling busted. His face actually flushed a little, the top of his ear turned red.

So I leaned over and said to him in a low, airy voice, "You know boss, she's got that certain slutty quality I find so appealing."

He burst out laughing, drawing looks from a dozen or so strangers. Sometimes a joke just lands. To this day, he still tells that story among friends at dinner parties.

So the boss gets me and gets my sense of humor. From that point on, I felt relatively free to be my wise-ass self around the office. Occasionally. Dependent upon the situation. I can read a room.

Ah, my digressions...

So anyway, the boss listened to my quick spiel about the CODEL, nodding. However, he surprised me by clouding up a bit. I could see something - some little concern - in his eyes. He didn't voice it though.

Huh.

Things became subtly weird in the office over the next work week. The boss and my fellow congressional liaison compadres seemed just a touch...off. More than a few hushed conversations seemed to end when I approached.

Huh.

Then I happened to catch a passing glimpse of Tom in quiet conversation with the boss in the big guy's office. Tom handles Southeast Asia accounts. We divide the world geographically so when Congress asks for a briefing, the request gets fielded on our end by whomever works that part of the world.

I work different accounts. As in, not Thailand.

So it was pretty clear where this was going. Sure, the right move would be to march back into the boss's office and clear it all up - dispel whatever misunderstanding was brewing. Cuz, hey, it's gonna be me going on this trip.

But, no.

My inner smartass called. I decided to wait. I knew how I was going to handle it.

When the push comes to shove moment comes, it'll just be me and the tiger.

****************************

Bangkok

As I lay face down on the air mattress, Anong generously coated herself and me with oil. It was coconut-scented. I really love the scent of coconut. Then began the full body massage. No hands, just breasts, arms, legs, belly, breath.

The strategy seemed to be centered around touching all of me with all of her. So exquisite. She took her time.

Eventually she repositioned, turning herself around, straddling me. Anong used her soft, muscular ass to work its magic on me - all over me.

All over me and everywhere. Even my face, turned sideways on the plastic mattress.

I desperately wanted to bury my face in that ass, in her pussy - to derail the massage right then and there. Derail it and whatever else she might have planned downstream.

But I resisted. All I could do was whimper when her sex got close enough to lick. I settled for kissing her ass.

And then she turned me over...

****************************

The Greater Washington DC Metro Area

Sure enough the day came when I arrived at work and our office manager informed me that I was on the hook to attend a mid-morning meeting with the boss.

Roger that. It's on. Finally!

Ordinarily, I would've asked about the meeting topic, so as to - you know - prep. Instead, I nodded an ok.

The appointed time came and I strode into the boss's big windowless office, only to find that he had company. Nope, it wasn't just him. He was flanked on one side by Tom and on the other by a middle-aged woman I didn't know.

No problem. A bigger audience to play to.

"Commander," he began, "thanks for joining us. Have you met Sally?"

"No, I haven't." I said to the boss. Looking at Sally, "Nice to meet you Sally." Our eye contact was strong as we firmly shook hands. Who is this??

The boss plowed on, "Sally leads [acronym for a certain office]..."

I managed to keep from blinking. They'd brought in a ringer. The acronym means Sally is in charge of all things Southeast Asia within a particular directorate within our agency. So Sally is a pretty senior somebody. She outranks my boss.

Then, more predictably, "...and as you know, Tom here is our OLA point man for that part of the world. With that, I'd like to discuss this CODEL you're scheduled for and here's what I'm thinking..."

Here we go.

I almost completely tuned out as the boss began extolling Sally's virtues, her distinguished career, her deep, deep experience with Thailand and Southeast Asia, the value she could provide to the entire CODEL team, her many trips to the Hill to testify in closed session regarding the most sensitive of topics. And on and on.

But I wasn't 100% tuned out. I made mental notes about her background and accomplishments, buffering them into short-term memory.

Then the boss turned to Tom and ran through all his experience and accomplishments. Tom's a solid guy. I almost felt bad for him.

I continued making my mental notes.

Finally, the boss wrapped it up, finishing after six or seven minutes straight, having droned through his carefully thought-through soliloquy.

Now on to the ask.

"So Commander, while I'm sure you'd do well on the trip, I think you take my meaning. Both Sally and Tom are better positioned to get the most value out of the experience. I think it'd be better for the agency and for the CODEL to pull one or both of them off the bench for this one. I'm sure you understand. But, of course, I wanted to get your thoughts..."

I made deliberate eye contact with each of the three before answering. I was thinking, "It's funny. They really expect me to roll over."

Ok, my turn. Time to 'humor-check' the tiger.

"Boss," I began, "I do see your point. After all, Sally has been with the agency for going on 30 years and has as impressive a record as anybody..." I then proceeded to parrot, damn near word-for-word, every amazing thing the boss had said about Sally. Like, I'm the one selling him on Sally.

Somewhere in there, the boss started to get a certain look. Wary. He senses that I'm up to something - Victoria's doing it again - but he doesn't know what. So far, so good.