Rusty Russo

"Back off, Skippy," Rusty barked, "This area here" she drew an imaginary semi-circle with a knife-hand, "is grown up land. No kiddies allowed!"

The troop backed off and wandered somewhere else to smoke during one of our rare breaks. Rusty, aka Private-Trained Russo had that effect on people. We had been on a military training course together for many weeks at this point, and while tempers were generally short, Rusty's had never been that long to begin with!

Personally I was just as glad. Rusty and I were the 'old people' on the course, having joined the military later in life. After weeks of life in tents with people ten to fifteen years our juniors, we were getting very tired of dick and fart jokes and a general lack of discipline. When they fucked up we all paid, and Rusty and I were very done paying for the poor judgment of our mates.

"Maybe you should swing into town, if we get a leave pass this weekend," I suggested, "Blow off some steam,"

Rusty snorted. "Love to, man, but I am broke. And remember, that's IF we get a leave pass,". She was not wrong to be skeptical. Staff had a game they liked: tear up the leave pass. They would have us fill out the pass for approval, and even send it up for approval. We would get them returned on a Friday morning, and then by the afternoon we all had to hold our passes out front at arm's length. Staff would walk up and down the ranks and yell "RIP!" and you watched your plans of beer and a real bed torn up like so much paper.

In fact, staff was always playing those kinds of morale games with us. That's how Private Russo became Rusty to her course mates: "How do you plan...?" the Corporal marched up and down ranks, "To fight ze Huns..." about turn and back up the line, "With RUST! On your bayonet? RIP!" Real original, Corporal...

And that had been weeks prior. I mean, deep down Rusty and I knew the game. You can't win on a combat arms training course, but neither can you stop trying to win. That was how to get through. Fail over and over and never give up. However, I knew Rusty was close. She had gotten bad news from home, between a burned out freezer to the illness and death of her dog, all while she was a thousand miles away.

"How about this," the idea popped into my head while thinking Rusty might quit or blow her top, "If we get passes I was planning to get a room in town. Since we are both adults and professionals, how about I get a double room and you can pay the difference over what a single would cost?"

She stuck out her chin and frowned in thought for a moment. "I could probably swing it. You sure you'd be okay with that? IF we get leave passes?"

"Yeah man, it's cool," it felt good to maybe be able to help out a fellow troop.

Friday afternoon came. The staff marched us out into a gravel parking lot.

"Time to push the planet down," staff yelled. They had gotten tired of having us do push-ups and started us pushing the planet down. We cranked out an easy thirty and were back up at attention.

"Adopt the leave pass tearing position," someone yelled from behind us. Resigned, my fellows and I brought out our carefully folded passes.

The Sargent came down the line muttering to each troop, "Threads,", "Haircut,". He walked by me and looked me up and down. "Dusty boots," he finally settled on and moved down the line. I was resigned to my fate.

As the Officer gave the mandatory weekend safety brief our shoulders started to ache. Sure it's just a little piece of paper straight out in front of you, but we were always tired, always running. Never enough sleep, it all added up. I waited for him to finish and leave so staff could yell RIP and march us back to our tents.

"That is all, Troops," the Officer collected his high-five from the File Leader and crisply marched off. Everyone braced themselves.

"Whythefuckareyoustillhere? DISMISSED!" Staff started yelling and they didn't need to tell Rusty and I twice. Across the lot out eyes met: get the fuck out of Dodge!

We broke into the most enthusiastic run of the week. My long legs easily caught up to Rusty. "How long do you need?"

"Five mikes," she puffed.

"You don't want to hit the head first, clean up?" I heard girls like that sort of thing.

"Fuck that, I want a goddamned bath! I'll get a cab here right away!"

And that's how I found myself on my way to town with Russo.

The old joke in the combat trades is that they attract three kinds of women: Those who want a man, those who are running from a man, and those who want to be a man. I honestly took Rusty for the last one. She was not too tall, maybe 5'6", and she was solidly built. I don't mean fat or anything. She had muscle. It's not like the uniforms gave any hint of shape or figure to a woman, but it was obvious from the work she was able to do on the course. She kept up to most of the guys day in and day out.

She had short dirty blonde hair. Easier to take care of than the braid or bun most females went with. It was usually plastered to her head with sweat, like anyone else with hair. Rusty wasn't a girlie girl by any stretch. She was the first to rip on a guy if he wasn't carrying their share.

In adult-land we had spoken about why we had joined. I was the old 'My father and my father's father before him...' and Rusty's grandfather had apparently at one time been a crusty old sergeant major or some such, and she wanted him to be proud of her. All this to say I never really thought of Rusty as female. She was one of the boys, for the most part.

I didn't want to go to the el-cheap-o place that I knew the young'uns would be going. This was supposed to be a relaxing weekend away from the immature folks on our course. We hopped out of the cab in front of one of the nice places in town. We were dressed in civies, but with the strange tan lines that come from hours in ballistic goggles, helmet, and gloves. Not to mention dried dirt on our faces and a certain earthy scent. We dropped our kit in front of the desk and I asked for a double room. The older woman looked us up and down from above her glasses, clearly unimpressed.

"You two army?" she drawled. I nodded. "We don't serve army. Too many problems," she went on. The closest large center to a major base, the locals no doubt had lots of run-ins with rowdy troops. Rusty made an sound in her throat, like an angry cat. I just fished out my wallet and tossed a card in front of the clerk.

"Mr. Platinum here says you do," I growled. I was a grown-assed man and was not about to be refused service while serving my damned country!

Thankfully the clerk agreed that MR. Platinum was right, and we were on our way to our room!

I passed Rusty her key-card and slid mine into the lock. Green flash and we were in. It was cool and dark inside. Curtains! Air conditioning! BEDS!

I slammed my bag down and threw myself onto the fluffy white comforter with a huge sigh. Rusty was right behind me on the second bed, her joyful sounds echoed my own. Not quite forty-eight hours all to ourselves!

After a few moments Rusty started "Can I have the first-"

"Go for it, Pal!" I interrupted, "I don't even want to stand up yet," I burrowed into actual pillows!

Vaguely I heard her rummaging around in her kit and then the bathroom fan went on. I drifted out of consciousness to the sound of the bathtub filling with water.

My eyes cracked open at the light from the bathroom spilled out into the room. Steam billowed out as Rusty came out. She had a bath sheet wrapped around her body, and a smaller towel wrapped turban style around her head. And! She smelled like a giiiiiiirrrrl!

After weeks of sweat and rain and mud and dust and night raids to actually smell a girl! I closed my eyes and just breathed in the soft scented soap. I could hear Rusty move to her bed and begin rummaging around in her kit. I cracked my eyes open and really saw her for the first time. The towel covered her, but I could see a little cleavage, and a little thigh as she pawed through her stuff. I even saw a pretty pink thong raked over as she looked in her bag. Everyone wore the same sad green boxers on tent lines, and all these sites and smells drove an alarming shock through my system!

"You done in the head?" the old terms driven into me! "I mean bathroom?" I asked, suddenly nervous.

"Yep," from her side of the room. She was bent over her bag, the towel stretched across her bottom, the side of her breast showing slightly above the fluffy white towel. I had seen her legs in shorts on morning PT, but suddenly they took on an uncomfortable significance! This was Rusty Russo! She'd probably take a swing at me if she caught me looking! I snatched my toiletries up and practically dove into the bathroom!

Once inside with my back safely against the closed door I took a deep calming breath. The perfumed air was thick and moist with steam from Rusty's bath. The large mirrors were slick with running condensation. I looked into the tub. Near the drain I was sure I could see short blonde hairs. Thicker and darker than Rusty's head. I swallowed hard as I stared at them. Maybe it was leg hair? Hell maybe she had shaved her pits. I was not so far gone as to want her armpit hair! I gave my head a shake as I rinsed the hairs the rest of the way down the drain.

I thought for half a second about showering like a manly man would do, but fuck that! I had not had access to a tub in weeks and weeks! I poured a deep, hot bath. I noticed a little bottle on the vanity top: bubble bath. "Fuck yeah," I muttered as I dumped half of it into the stream of water. A thick blanket of bubbles formed on water and I eased myself in.

I sunk my head into the water, leaving only my nose. I had to be careful not to get my under-carriage too close to the scalding stream of water from the tap. The hotel bath was big, but not when you are over six feet! The world went quiet when I turned off the water with my feet and just lay in luxury.

Eventually I slid slowly up to a seated position and began to wash with a brilliant white washcloth and a ridiculously small bar of hotel soap. Behind the ears, inside the ears. Between the toes. I had a flash of guilt for the dirt staining the cloth, but fuck it. For what I am paying?

My mind wandered back to Rusty. I looked around and sure enough saw a disposable ladies razor on a small shelf in the tub. I picked it up, examining it as if we were on inspection. "Got to shave, but can't have any hair or cream left," I muttered to myself. I thought about Rusty the girl laying right where I was. Rusty drawing that razor across her skin. Was it her armpits? I am not a fetish guy, but I could picture a breast cresting the water as her arm raised. Was it her legs? I imagined a muscular calf with soap running along it. Or was she shaving someplace else, I wondered. My hardening penis rose slowly out of the bubbles.

When you live in tents with 10-12 other dudes for extended periods there is not a lot of private time. It was a problem for all of us, but it was especially problematic for the younger guys. You didn't want staff to catch you jerking off in the head, that was for sure. Couldn't do it in the tent. Some guys snuck into the woods at night, carefully avoiding the fire picket. Others would use the porta-johns they had set up at the end of the rows: fucking nasty!

I just held it. It was no more comfortable for me than it was for the younger men, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Consequently I had a pretty large build up. My cock was practically vibrating as I soaped it up. I reached for my own razor to clean up a bit downstairs. I learned early in my military carrier to keep it pretty trim downstairs. Easier for rapid baby-wipe clean ups. My cock was just so grateful to be in my hand! Haha! I rinsed the blade and took a slow, firm grip on myself. I had just began the slow, slippery journey down when I heard THUMP THUMP THUMP on the door! I jumped! Thank fuck the razor was out of my hands!

"Quit jerking off in there, Loser!" Rusty's voice through the door, "I am fucking hungry!"

The water sloshed around noisily and I figured Rusty probably knew she had caught me dick-handed as it were. I allowed my mind to leave the sensations of my penis and move to my stomach. I was pretty hungry too, and eager for something other than the "fresh" rations (read cooked at least 12 hours before and brought out to the field in portable steam trays).

"Drop your cocks and grab your socks," she yelled into the door, startling me again.

"Bitch," I muttered, "I am coooommminggg!" I called in a sing song like I was answering a parent.

I popped the drain with a toe and grabbed a towel. My cock was used to disappointment by now, and I knew I would be giving up privacy when I invited Rusty along anyways. He stayed semi hard as I rinsed the tub, making sure there none of my own hairs remained. I wrapped the towel around my waist and swiped a strip of condensation off the mirror to get a look at myself.

"Not bad," I muttered. The weeks of bad food, no beer and constant PT were paying off. I am pretty tall, and will never be bulky. Two hundred pounds on my frame and I still look lean. I was doing pretty alright, anyway. I looked at the robes stacked in the bathroom, and realized Rusty either hadn't seen them or opted not to use them.

"Well fuck it," I thought. If she can come out in a towel, so can I! See how she likes it. I smirked. "Oh yeah, I am a professional all right,".

Cool air greeted me as I swing the door open. I could hear the air-conditioning going at full bore. I came around the corner and struck a bit of a pose. I didn't want to be too obvious, because like I said, I wasn't sure Rusty even liked boys. I purposefully did not look at her. From the corner of my eye, I imagined she stopped for a second. Was she looking at me?

"Get dressed and think about where we are going to go," Rusty ordered as she slipped back into the bathroom, closing the door.

"Well that went about as expected," I laughed to myself as I dropped the towel. I was still at half mast and had some work to press myself into my underwear and a nice pair of jeans. I didn't have much for civy clothing, but I had brought a button up shirt with a collar, just in case. It felt a little tight across the shoulders as I shrugged into it.

Despite being in such a hurry, Rusty stayed in the can for quite a while. I flipped through the local phone book looking for someplace to eat. Not really wanting to run into our course mates I settled on suggesting we eat in the hotel restaurant.

"Plan is good," was Rusty's reply through the bathroom door.

I was sitting on my bed ready to go when Rusty finally emerged. She was transformed! Her slicked back dirty blond hair was loose, damp waves framed her face. She had put on make-up! I was shocked. I didn't even know she owned make-up. It wasn't a lot. Some eyeliner, some lip gloss, I don't know. When you've been on course for weeks and weeks it doesn't take much to be very special. I swallowed hard, the sound echoing in my no-doubt burning ears.

"Lookin good, Troop," I muttered, turning away to find my shoes. Rusty settled small bare feet into delicate flats.

We stepped out into the hallway, feeling damned near human!

"Mon-sewer," Rusty intoned, holding out her elbow. Laughing I hooked my arm in hers and we silly-walked down the hall to find the restaurant.

Dinner was decimated as I leaned back from my plate. We had ordered pints, and their second cheapest bottle of wine, Rusty's exact request. We hadn't actually spoken much for the last 45 minutes as we just hunkered down to our food. Rusty shoved her plate back too and fished out a small mirror. She dabbed at her face with a cloth napkin before bringing out her lip gloss. It was a tube with a small stick for an applicator. She was clearly not expert in the application, but the job got done. She snapped the mirror shut and bared her teeth at me like a predator. We both laughed.

I took a moment to look at Rusty as she poured her wine. She was a surprise all right. I had not noticed these last weeks, but she had high, wide cheekbones. Her eyes were a startlingly bright grey, almost silver. And she had thick, firm lips, now a glossy shade of pink. Things you don't notice through cam-paint and dirt I guess. She caught me studying her and I quickly whipped away holding up my beer glass, scanning for the server.

Inside I scolded myself. Don't look at her like that! She is your course mate, a soldier, and most likely a lesbian. Give your head a shake!

My beer came, the plates got cleared, and we settled into a soldier's second favorite pass time: bitching. Staff, course material, retarded candidates. It wasn't long before the drinks were gone and we were both yawning a mile wide.

Rusty fished out her phone. "Ohh! Almost twenty one hundred," she warned.

"All I want is some rack," I muttered.

"Me too. We can rip it up tomorrow night," she pulled out a card.

"I got this," I told her. I knew she was broke, but also proud, so I said, "You can get breakfast," which would no doubt be cheaper without drinks.

She was satisfied with that. She looked at me, "Thanks Man. This really saved my ass, you know?"

"I got yer six," and offered her my fist. It was the gentlest pound she'd ever given me, and we headed back to the room. I trailed behind her, just a little. Rusty had worn a sleeveless spaghetti strapped top. Her back was wide, and muscular, for a woman, and her shoulders were rounded and defined. Not everyone's cup of tea, perhaps, but I certainly appreciated it.

She also wore slim fitting, dark blue jeans. It turns out Rusty did have a waste, and while her bottom did not flare out widely, it was shapely and looked firm.

She turned back and caught me looking at her ass. She laughed, "Keep the pace, Troop," she growled like one of the marching NCO's.

We got to the room and she dipped into the bathroom and I got undressed for bed. I hadn't thought of any sort of pajamas, so boxers and a tank would have to do. I crawled into bed, groaning as I felt an actual mattress, blankets, a pillow!

I was more than half asleep when Rusty came out. She had found the robes, it seemed. She wandered to the far side of her bed. In the dim light from the street I saw as she dropped her robe. The spaghetti strap top, with no sign of the bra, and some light blue boy-cut panties. She looked tight! I would have spent more time with my imagination, but unconsciousness crashed into me and I was out.

I was on my cot in the tent. Bug net over my face. Someone hissed, "Hey, you awake?"

Fuck me, was it time for my shift on fire picket? I sat bolt upright ready to dive into my uniform and get to work.

"Relax," I heard in the darkness, a gentle hand on my shoulder. Realization dawned incredibly slowly. This isn't my tent. This isn't my cot. My vision slowly resolved.

Rusty was sitting on my bed. Her hand slid to my chest and began to press me back down into the bed. I looked at her "What's going on?"

"Shhh," she murmured. She got off the sheets for a moment and pushed them back. She sat her blue panty-ed butt on the mattress. "I wanted to thank you," she whispered.

Still out of it, I shrugged, "S'no problem. Anybody would do it,"

"I don't think that's true. I hear the other guys talk about what they do with a leave pass: Drink a ton of beer and jerk off as much as they can in forty eight hours," I had to admit, that was what I usually did. "So I wanted to thank you," her hand slid under the covers, bumped my hip and slid smoothly to grasp the front of my shorts. I jerked half upright again, but she pressed me down.

"You don't have to," I stared, "Besides I thought you were a-"

"Just shut the fuck up, Soldier, and let me do this," she squeezed me again, and we both knew I was done arguing. She shifted on the bed and slid the thick comforter down my body. Her fingers deftly hooked on my boxers and I slightly lifted my hips. She slid my underwear down quickly, and my cock caught on the band bending down and slapping back onto my belly with a wet smack!