Stick It Out No Matter What

My birth name is almost a cliché; John Jones. So that you can understand how really screwed up I am, as will be clear from the following story, I came from a broken home. It was broken in many ways, not just because my biological parents divorced. My father left when I was five and my stepfather left when I was 13. I don't know why my father left, but my stepfather left because he couldn't stop my mother from sleeping around.

After my stepfather left one of the guys that my mother brought into the house tried to attack my sister, who was 16 at the time. I filled his ass with birdshot so we didn't see him again, although I personally lived in constant fear of retaliation. That is I lived in fear of retaliation when I had time to think about it. Usually I did not have much time, though, because I was the responsible one in our family and I was taking care of my sister, three years older than me, and my brother, four years older.

Despite the fact that my father's and stepfather's losses were hard on me, they were much harder on my sister and older brother. Both of them got into drugs. My older brother committed suicide when I just turned 18, and by then my sister was a prostitute. I left my family at that time and I haven't been in communication with them since.

Fortunately, I did have a couple of things going for me; these things were not acquired skills or traits, but rather I guess I got most the good genes in our family relating to intelligence and endurance. While I was not particularly academic, I always did extremely well on aptitude and IQ tests. Since I only had a high school education despite my "aptitude" I wasn't able to qualify for many good jobs. But when I took both intelligence and aptitude tests, followed by a physical test, with the Army I was given the opportunity to join a clandestine government organization having a budget that is nowhere a line item in any agency's request for appropriations. I found that this agency, which I will not identify but simply refer to as "SCA," did the dirty work for the CIA, NSA, and the military.

Apparently based upon how I scored on the aptitude test I first took with the Army, and subsequent aptitude tests which were written, oral, and hands-on, it was determined that I would make the perfect explosives expert. I worked for almost three years training for just that. I learned to improvise explosives from almost anything, and how to use every detonator and military grade explosive known to mankind. I even invented a new type of device that SCA quickly incorporated into its arsenal but kept secret from everyone else, including the military and CIA.

By the time that I was twenty one I'd been sent to Iraq to work on a six person team doing all sorts of shit that no one else would be willing to do; most was likely illegal under International Law. Every member of the team had a particular specialty. Since SCA "didn't really exist" contrary to what you've probably heard we did have female operatives -- two in fact -- on the team.

One female operative, Cheryl, was a communications expert. I have no idea how many languages she spoke, but I never saw her meet anyone who she could not communicate with in their native tongue. She also was a whiz at handling electronic communications equipment.

The second female on the team, June, we called the "navigator." I do believe that you could drop her anywhere in the world and within a few days she could find her way to any other place in the world. While she did use a sophisticated GPS system, she didn't actually need it; it was almost like she was a carrier pigeon and had her own unique internal system that was tuned into the Earth's magnetic field, or some such shit. Whenever we couldn't get a GPS signal, or the one we got conflicted with her instincts, we followed her instincts.

Both June and Cheryl also had kick-ass personalities and could handle rifles and grenades as well as the average male combat soldier. They were both about 5'8" tall and 140 pounds. Neither was what most men would consider beautiful, but if you like a hard body they definitely were sexy. They did occasionally grumble that their tits were too big for crawling on the ground or comfortably fitting their backpacks, but none of the four guys on the team ever complained.

The other three male members of the team, Tom, Jack, and Rock, were the toughest SOB's I've ever seen in my entire life, before or since. None of them was particularly big -- but for what we had to do size was more a disadvantage than an advantage. They were all about 5'10" tall and 180 pounds. I'm 5'11", 190, but any one of them could kick the shit out of me with one hand behind his back; I did get much tougher by interacting with these guys, however, and they all taught me "dirty" fighting techniques. All three were also expert marksmen; they could hit a quarter at 100 meters. They also could assemble, disassemble, and use any hand held weapon known to mankind.

I spent two years in Iraq doing all sorts of either amazing, or horrible, shit depending upon your outlook on things. This included blowing up an entire Iranian platoon that was trying to cause some sort of trouble in Iraq. Neither the Iranian government nor the U. S. government ever acknowledged their existence so I guess I didn't really kill twenty five people in that encounter after all.

The only thing that kept me sane my two years in Iraq was that the communications expert, Cheryl, and I got along famously. We hit it off from the first minute that we met. Cheryl was two years older and more sexually experienced than I was, but a very willing teacher. We violated about every SCA regulation possible regarding "fraternization" but considering the success we had in our operations no one seemed to care. Also, since our navigator, June, was as sexually liberated as a woman could be, she was happy to fuck any one of Tom, Jack, or Rock if they needed to get their rocks off. Thus, our team had one advantage that most soldiers or agents in Iraq didn't have -- a great sex life.

While every sexual experience with Cheryl was memorable, the most memorable was the night before what ultimately was our second hardest assignment. She crawled into my sleeping bag in the middle of the night stark naked -- just like I was. A sixty-nine is not easy in a sleeping bag, but we pulled it off. By then I knew exactly how she liked her pussy eaten but I had a little surprise for her. After sucking and licking her clit sufficiently to occasion a first orgasm I gave her a "shocker;" that is two fingers in her "stash" and one in her "trash," at the same time that I was sucking on her clit. Given the effect that it had on her if we had been on a bed instead of in the confines of a sleeping bag we either would have been catapulted off of it, or she would have shattered the headboard -- maybe both.

Cheryl had the mother of all orgasms, and before she came completely down from it I got face-to-face with her and buried my sword in her scabbard. She was almost lifeless -- except for her moans -- for the first dozen thrusts, but after that she apparently decided that she needed to fuck me harder than I was fucking her. It resulted in a sexual wrestling match which ultimately landed the sleeping bag in a spot a good twenty feet from where we had started. When I came it was like Roman Candles exploding and god damn if she didn't come -- and squirt -- at the same exact instant. She later told me that it was the only time in her life that she had ever squirted.

I remember gaining consciousness sometime later with my softening cock still inside Cheryl and her comatose and moaning on top of me. I rolled her to the side and she slept on my shoulder until morning. The other four members of the team simply chortled when she dragged her ass back to her own sleeping bag and clothes just as dawn was breaking. My sleeping bag was still wet from her squirting but I vowed never to wash it.

My last operation in Iraq defined my life as much as my family life did. We were to recon an Al Qaeda group. When the mission was described to us all six members of our team thought that it was a suicide mission, and we wondered why a drone couldn't do it. We complained vehemently and at one point refused to go. After a few changes were made and we were promised a discharge from SCA and a bonus after we were debriefed we decided to give the mission a try.

When we made contact with the Al Qaeda group it was apparent that the intelligence that we had been given was way off. The end result was that Tom, Jack, and Rock were killed in fire fights, and June and I were wounded, although still completely functional. I did blow up a hillside that rained heavy debris on the Al Qaeda camp sufficient to kill, or allow we three survivors to safely approach and kill, what ended up to be (counting those that Tom, Jack, and Rock had killed) roughly 100 terrorists.

We got a big surprise in the terrorist camp. As anyone who followed the activities in Iraq knows, hundreds of millions of dollars of U. S. currency just "disappeared." Roughly fifteen million dollars of it was in the Al Qaeda camp.

The three in our team still alive were beyond furious about the mission. We thought that SCA knew that it was a suicide mission and sent us anyway, and got our friends killed. We talked for most of the night about what we were going to do, and came to a unanimous conclusion.

Since we had a fully functional decent sized vehicle, and between the three of us all the skills that we thought we would need, we decided to fake our deaths, take the money, and get new identities. Cheryl made a perfect distress call indicating that the other five members of her team were killed and that she was next, while June and I fired weapons in the background. Then Cheryl pretended she was shot and destroyed the communications equipment.

We decided to return to the States, through Turkey, with the money. We would split $12 million, four each. The other $3 million we would divide between Tom's, Jack's and Rock's families.

How we got back is a complete adventure novel in itself, but not relevant to this story. In the end it worked out almost perfectly. We each had to spend about $120,000 to accomplish it but we ended up in New York City with the best new identities money could buy and roughly $3,900,000 each. My new name was Austen Browne.

Since the U. S. government disavowed that our team ever existed, Tom's, Jack's and Rock's families learned about their deaths from us, although we obviously did not identify who we were and swore them to secrecy. The $1,000,000 in tax-free cash each family got obviously didn't make up for their loss, but it did help tremendously.

Our last night together, Cheryl, June and I had a threesome. While we had had a few during our sojourn back to the U. S. this one was special because it was in ideal surroundings; a luxury suite in a Four Star NYC hotel. Also, the women shaved their pussies and all of us had gotten stimulating and relaxing massages that afternoon.

I popped several little blue pills during the night and was so super-charged that I kept up with the two erotic women. I fucked each once while simultaneously eating the other one; Cheryl and I did The Wheelbarrow; and I fucked June's ass, the only ass fuck of my life. I also ate both of them numerous other times, and used a vibrator on each of them too.

By the next morning we had gotten virtually no sleep but we were really happy worn-out campers. We all had different things we wanted to do, and places we wanted to go, so despite how well we got along -- especially how sexually simpatico Cheryl and I were -- we went our different ways. We provided each other with an email address, which we wouldn't use for anyone else, in case there was a reason to communicate.

Now, at twenty four, with no really marketable skills unless I wanted to work in demolishing buildings, mountain road construction, or in mining, but with $3.9 million in cash, I moved to a small combined urban-rural county of about 75,000 people in the southern half of the U. S. I set up numerous accounts of less than $10,000 each (so no report to the IRS was necessary), and kept the rest of the money in cash in a safe deposit box.

I tried as best I could to get different bills from what we had found to open up the accounts with. This was most easily accomplished by going to casinos, buying chips, not really gambling, and then cashing the chips in. Another technique was to buy bearer bonds and then resell them shortly afterward.

I enrolled in a community college, studied computer science -- which I found out I was almost as good at as explosives -- and took other practical courses after getting an Associates' degree. I simultaneously worked as an unpaid intern. I ended up, by the time that I was twenty six, with the equivalent of an advanced degree in computers.

I dated quite a bit since community college left a fair amount of free time and I didn't need to work for a living. When I had just turned twenty five I met someone who knocked my socks off. She was also twenty five, worked as a retail store clerk, and lived about two miles from the apartment I rented. Her name was Denise Richards -- no, not Charlie Sheen's ex-wife, but someone who was just as sexy and good-looking; she could have been the other Denise Richards' twin.

Denise and I hit it off right away. I think that she liked the fact that I was very attentive, always complimentary, and acted like a gentleman. I liked her because she seemed like the perfect person to start a family with. Having had the disastrous situation that I had with my family, I dreamt of having a classic all-American family; two loving parents, two or three kids, and a home with a two-car garage.

I was not naïve enough to believe that I was the only one seeking Denise's attention. Whenever I saw her, whether I was on a date with her not, it was clear that she garnered much male attention and she seemed to enjoy it. This was not a situation like it was in Iraq where Cheryl and I didn't have many other options -- although we were so simpatico that probably wouldn't have made much of difference anyway.

By the time that I had gotten my Associates' degree from community college, completed my internship, and had started my own computer consulting business, Denise and I had been dating about sixteen months. We had been having sex for fifteen and one-half of those months; she was not the hardest woman in the world to get into the sack. While I did not have sex with anyone besides Denise, except for two one-night stands, during that period I'm sure that that was not the case for Denise. I did, however, get the distinct impression from how she acted and what she said that I was special to her.

After having dated her for sixteen months I asked Denise to become exclusive. "If we get married" was her response, with a big smile. I took her to a fancy restaurant and hotel in the closest big city the weekend after that and proposed with the most expensive ring than she had ever seen before in her life. She accepted with a caveat; but she wouldn't tell me the caveat until the next morning, after we had had absolutely mind blowing sex that night.

Denise was a completely awesome sex partner. While she did not have Cheryl's hard-body, hers was absolutely Aphrodite-like, with conical soft tits topped by extremely sensitive large nipples, a shapely pelvis, and a beyond-fabulous vagina. She also had extremely strong PC muscles, so if she was revved up properly she could milk every milliliter of cum out of my cock. That night she was revved up. While normally Denise could not handle more than three orgasms in one session (typically two oral and one cock-induced), that night she had five. The second time that we fucked that night she was on top and did all of the work. She groaned, swore, swung her long auburn hair to and fro, pinched my nipples, ground her pelvis, and undulated her PC muscles. Not only was the physical aspect of her intercourse virtually perfect emotionally it was spectacular too because I loved her.

That special night was followed by a not-as-special morning.

"Austen, I really do love you, and I want to marry you. However I need to be perfectly honest with you about something," Denise said while holding my hands. One quality I admired in her was that she was always honest. If she did not want to answer a question or talk about a particular subject she would tell you that outright; she would never lie.

"Is this the caveat you talked about last night Denise?" I asked.

"Yes. I need to tell you that I've had sex with lots of guys, most of whom still live in the area, and guys hit on me all the time. I want a marriage where I stay faithful and where we have children that grow up in a loving two parent house, but I am not sure that I can avoid temptation. As you know, you got me into the sack after we had actually probably only talked, in the times that we came into contact with each other, for only eight or nine hours. That's happened to me before, and I'm not sure that I'm a strong enough person to prevent it from happening again," Denise said with an expression somewhere between sincere and fearful.

"Wow!" I responded. "Let's stay in this hotel another day and night, and let me think about it. I've learned to process information very quickly, and while you go get a massage I'll get ready to ask you some more questions, and hopefully come up with an answer. How's that?"

"I think that's a great idea, Austen," Denise responded with a big smile on her face.

Although Denise and I did have a great time that day, what she had confessed to me was obviously always in the forefront of my mind. The ninety minutes that she was gone for a massage I took a long run; my stint with SCA had only increased my stamina so that I could easily run for two hours at two thirds speed.

After dinner that night I had some more questions for Denise. "When you say that you may not be strong enough to resist, does that mean that you don't want to resist?"

"No. I really want to remain true only to you. It's just that in some situations I may not be able to follow through. I guarantee you that I will always WANT to be monogamous, it's just that based on my past history I worry that I cannot be. You understand that?" Denise responded with a tear in.

"Would you get angry if I were very proactive in assuring that you did not get into uncomfortable situations, or if I provided an intimidating presence so that the probability of you getting into such a situation was small?" I inquired.

Denise then got a blank expression on her face. I think the main reason was that she didn't even consider the possibility that I might be an intimidating presence as far as other guys hitting on her was concerned. Of course she knew nothing about my time with SCA, that I was an explosives expert, or that I had even been in Iraq. I had a carefully crafted life story that I had told her which included the problems with my family, but between the time that I was eighteen and when I met her included complete fabrications about leading a normal life in a rural area in Montana, something that she would not know anything about or could identify with.

Finally, the blank expression left her face and Denise said "I would love for you to be as proactive -- even jealous -- as possible to help me out. Also, while it's hard for me to believe that you could be intimidating since you're one of the kindest most gentle people I've ever met, if that works I'd be happy with that too," she said with a big smile.

I couldn't help think to myself "Gentle? I don't think that the several hundred enemies I was primarily responsible for killing in Iraq would agree with that characterization!" Of course in my dealings with her and with almost everyone else I came across in the United States, I was at least temperate, if not gentle.