Sexual History of a Man Pt. 05 Ch. 01

It has been a while since I visited with you, dear readers. I have argued with myself as to whether I should continue with the tale of Grant and Crystal, or if I should follow the chronology more accurately and introduce Grant's first experimentation outside of his marriage. Since I have titled this as a "history", I suppose we should take things as they come, so to speak.

I don't know whether it has been made clear in the earlier chapters of this saga, but Grant was a member of the Army Military Police. His friends were assigned to other jobs in the military, Bill being a Company Clerk in an infantry outfit, Timmy a Radioman, and Rick serving in an Artillery Battalion. The day came when Grant's outfit was scheduled to participate in a "war game" exercise in North and South Carolina. All three of the others remained behind and promised to keep Crystal company, while Grant defended America against make-believe enemies. Somehow, Grant was not reassured, since keeping Crystal company was not the same as keeping her out of trouble. So, let's let Grant tell his story.

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Riding in the back of an Army "deuce and a half" is no fun on the best of days. Bouncing along East Georgia roads, keeping an eye out for snipers and other make believe bad guys certainly didn't make it any better. As members of the Military Police, my buddies and I were scheduled to be dropped off at key intersections along the convoy route to provide traffic control.

Several members of the platoon had already been posted at major highways in the corridor north of Macon and east of Atlanta, to expedite the movement of infantry and airborne units to the "war zones" in the Carolinas. But now, the two and a half ton vehicle was winding its way along a washed out backroad that did not seem likely to entertain much traffic other than mules and cattle. Our platoon sergeant was leaning out the window of the "shotgun" side of the truck, squinting into the blazing sunlight, searching for markings. Suddenly as the truck rounded a curve there was a T intersection ahead, as the cowpath we were navigating crossed with an even less promising roadway. At this unlikely junction of two dirt paths, the sergeant ordered the driver to stop.

"Hey, Grant," the sergeant yelled. "I sure as hell don't know what the fuckin' Army is thinking, but I swear this is where they want a TCP."

"That's ridiculous, Sarge. There can't possibly be enough traffic here to warrant a traffic control point."

Even as I spoke, I knew it was a losing argument. The men in B platoon called the sergeant "No-Balls" for a reason. If there was any possibility the higher-ups wanted a TCP here, this sergeant would put one here, regardless of common sense.

"Sorry, man", the sergeant said with an ingratiating smirk, "I don't make these decisions. I just carry them out."

"Fine Sarge, How long will I be here?"

"No way to know for sure, but I'll check with the Looey in case there's been some mistake."

"Oh sure," I thought. "Old No-balls is really likely to bother the Lieutenant with this."

So, as the large truck rumbled away, I stowed my gear on the side of the road and assumed a position in the middle of the intersection. After about forty-five minutes of no more activity that that provided by blue jays and the occasional squirrel, I decided to just sit on a stump and wait for...whatever.

Another two hours went by uneventfully, and I had taken to watching the gathering storm clouds as a diversion. As they darkened and became more angry-looking, I began to plan for a very unpleasant afternoon. I started clearing a small area off the roadway where I could possibly pitch a tent, in case the bottom fell out of the sky above me.

As I was digging the mandatory trench around the tent, without which the tent would provide no protection from ground water, I thought I heard something larger than a squirrel moving through the brush. I had taken off my shirt and tee shirt, due to the heat of the day and the exertion of the digging, so wearing only my fatigue trousers and boots, I crouched behind some shrubs and waited. I didn't know what I expected- "friendly forces" or the "aggressor enemy"- but certainly not what walked into the clearing.

She looked about twelve at first glance, slim and not very tall. She carried a wicker basket, and was obviously looking for someone. I decided to gamble that she was not the "aggressor enemy" of the war games. "Hi," I said. "Are you lost?"

"Hey, soldier," she said, staring at my bare chest as though she had never seen a shirtless man. "No, I ain't lost. Figured you might be though, standin' out here in "plumb nearly" all afternoon."

"Plum-what?" I asked. You mean this place has a name?"

"Naw, it's a saying we have. Plumb-nearly. Plumb out of the county and nearly out of the state. It means way out in the boondocks."

As she spoke, she finally stopped examining my torso and looked into my eyes. She was pretty, in a no-makeup, freshly scrubbed sort of way. And she was clearly a good bit older than I had taken her for, possibly in her early twenties. Her colloquialism and her engaging manner made me smile, and she said, "You've got a great smile, soldier boy. And your body ain't so bad either."

"Your gonna embarrass me and make me get dressed," I joked.

"Well, you need to dress for dinner anyway – that's how we do things around here." She smiled and, setting her wicker basket.on a stump, she opened it, and took out a tablecloth, which she spread on the ground next to my tent. A gallon jug of iced tea followed and an amazing number of dishes and bowls came cascading out.

"Uh, dinner?" I asked. "Do I need a white tie, and to what do I owe this honor?"

"No. We'll skip the tie; you can use this napkin like a bib if you want. And, as for the honor, just chalk it up to patriotism and loneliness. I almost never see a presentable male around here that's not a cousin or closer kin, and we do respect our servicemen, so when I saw you down here, I told Momma I was gonna fix you a snack and come talk to you."

"This is a snack?" I asked incredulously, gazing at all the containers of food.

My hostess laughed then, a sweet, unrestrained, honest laugh - the laugh of a young woman with self-assuredness and no need to pretend. "No, this is just my momma and her typical over-reaction. It's a man. So feed him like there's no tomorrow."

Thunder clapped then, causing us both to look up at the ever- darkening sky. "Aren't you afraid of getting caught in the storm?" I asked.

"Unless I need to be afraid of you, I can handle the storm just fine. Figure we ought to plan on eating in your tent, just in case?" It was said matter-of-factly, no flirting, no innuendo, and I took it that way.

"Might be a good idea, actually. My instincts tell me the weather will hit within the next few minutes," I guessed.

She was already moving fried chicken, potato salad, and all the fixings into my two-man tent when the rain started in full fury. I grabbed the basket and she started scooping up the smaller dishes. Of course, my rifle was the first thing into the tent, (basic instinct of a soldier), and she and I were soaked by the time we got into the dry interior. I lit a lantern and looked over at her. As our eyes met, we both started laughing.

"Well, you seem to have saved my life with all this food. What's your name, Florence Nightingale?"

"I'm Charlotte, and I'll just call you my soldier boy. I see you are wearing a wedding band, so I guess you'll just be my soldier boy for a little while, but that's okay."

Her observation set a quieter tone, and we both started eating. Charlotte ate like she laughed, with gusto. She packed food away like a soldier, and as we drank the sweet iced tea typical of the South, she offered a toast. "To my soldier boy. May our time together be fun and may we have no regrets when we part."

With this thought-provoking suggestion winding its way through my mind, I took a much closer look at Charlotte. Her shirt was light cotton, suitable for the warm weather, but had been soaked in the rainstorm, and was now virtually transparent. Beneath the sodden fabric, her very respectable and bra-less breasts were quite visible. Her face, as I have said, was pretty, oval-shaped with large inquiring eyes and a full honest mouth. Her hair, now plastered to her head, was blonde and medium length just touching her shoulders. While she was small, she appeared to be perfectly proportioned and quite alluring.

"So, General, do I pass inspection?" There was no sarcasm in her voice, but it did make me realize how rudely I had been examining her,

"Honestly, Charlotte, you are absolutely beautiful. I can't believe this is really happening. Can I offer you a dry shirt or something? You must be cold in those wet things."

"Soldier, the way you were looking at my chest warmed me right up, I do declare. But I would slip into one of those fatigue jackets if you have one handy."

I handed her the jacket and she looked at me for just a moment before slipping her shirt off, and putting it into the basket with the leftover food. Sitting there with her lovely body exposed, she smiled and asked, "You like?"

I just held my arms out wordlessly, and Charlotte filled them with her beauty and charm. I pulled a sleeping bag around us and the body heat quickly warmed us up. At this point, it seemed pointless for her to put on the fatigue jacket and, in fact, I took mine off. Her soft warm breasts pressed against my chest, and my hands caressed her back and the gentle swelling of her hips. Feeling my temperature and my libido rising, I decided to try to head this situation off.

"Charlotte, I could really...uh...like you an awful lot , but, as you mentioned, I am married, and...well..."

"I also mentioned no regrets, soldier boy, I know what I'm doing. I'm nineteen years old and I have never wanted to be with a man as much as I want to be with you. But I am a realist and I know all we have is now. So, shut up and kiss me, please!"

I did. I did exactly as I was told, and I did it over and over again, until I felt that I would burst. I held this lovely woman/girl and I caressed her beautiful body, and she responded with warmth and passion. I finally used my hands to bring her to a crashing orgasm, and later her lovely lips brought me to fulfillment. How magical the night could have been, I can only imagine, but I know that, as the sun rose over my slowly drying tent, she dressed and with sweet smiles and bountiful kisses, made her way out of my life and back into her own world. A few hours later, the rumble of a deuce and a half snapped me out of my reverie. As I had suspected, my sergeant had dropped me about ten miles from where I was supposed to be, but, for once, I wasn't really angry at all. As the truck bounced from pot hole to pot hole, I caught a fleeting glimpse of my lovely Charlotte, smiling from the crossroads.