by Selena Kitt
“Mine?”
“This lad is high profile. He’s sporting a medal pinned on him by the president himself and all that implies, although I understand he was unconscious at the time. The hero, I mean. The president appeared as conscious as he ever does. At any rate, the returning vet, now emerging from medical repair to medical rehab, is anxious to return to active duty once the medical doctors are happy with his condition. The brass, however, also want to know what we, you, think of that idea before they agree. They frown on the idea of putting him back on active duty and then having something go wrong because he isn’t stable. The memo isn’t clear, of course, but I think we, you, are supposed to fix the bits we can on the fly, see what bits can’t be fixed and then tell the brass what the fuck that all means. They want to know if he is, well I think looney tunes is the technical term. Can he function with the rest of us soldier types after all he’s seen and felt? Will he stand in line with pressed uniform and shined shoes, content with his lot, or will he turn on his masters when he is under stress?”
“As if we ever knew the answer to that one.”
He held a finger to his lips. “Hush. It isn’t ethical or smart to give away trade secrets to the uninitiated or let them see we live among smoke and mirrors. Our very jobs and existence are at stake.”
“So don’t they want the senior officer on staff to make the evaluation? I think its a fool named Paul Hastings. You’ll know him because he has a thing for birds and wears one on his collar.”
“I know it is unfathomable, but they’ve led me to believe that they’d prefer someone at the helm who knew what she was doing. The Army is well aware of the Peter Principle, even if they continue promoting us well beyond that level so entropy is maintained. But in this case they want what they call ‘the best person’ and even your monumental modesty can’t ignore that you have the most experience with this kind of stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Well, if you insist on resorting to the high-altitude technical terminology, then I’ll say, with this kind of brain fuckedupness.”
She laughed. “Much better, Paul. Yes, I majored in brain fuckupness and have paid it careful attention over the years, especially as it applies to administrators. I couldn’t convince my school to put that on my credential, unfortunately. That would look good on the wall—certainly it would impress the patients.”
“Fortunately, brilliant paper pushers like yours truly can read between the lines, even better than cryptologists and get to that underlying truth. You are the patron saint of the truly fucked up. I’ve made a note of that in your file, so future coworkers and bosses will know who they are dealing with. You are stuck with the label for ever and ever. It’s all part of my demonic nature to play such tricks on the unwary.”
She laughed, feeling better than she had all day. “You know, attending this anal retentive celebrity worship bash was worth it, just to have a chance to hear your bullshit, Paul. It’s always the best quality bullshit.”
“It’s nice to be appreciated for something society values above all else. Who needs wealth, or even peace in our time, so long as there is an adequate supply of high-quality bullshit.”
Behind him she saw the hero talking to the General, who slapped him on the shoulder with an obvious attempt at camaraderie. “I understand, Captain.” He sounded far more hearty than he looked.
She smiled at Paul. “Looks like the scrum is breaking up.”
A captain she didn’t know walked by with a woman on his arm muttering. “What kind of war hero is he? I mean he gets shot twice and still pulls other men to safety, but has to leave a party because he has a headache? A fucking headache puts him out of action before a fella can shake his hand.”
The woman had her arm around his waist. “It wasn’t the headache, Fred. You saw the girls around him. You could smell their heat. Probably one of those women gave him a signal and they are eager to sneak off and fuck.” She looked wistful.
The man turned toward her. “Did you see…”
“No, I couldn’t tell which one.”
They’d both overheard and Paul looked at Diane and smiled. “I wonder if that woman is looking for a job as a therapist. I’m impressed with the way she read that.”
Diane poked him in the ribs. “Paul, every woman in the room saw those women offering themselves to him, and I’m sure even the men noted that he was more than moderately interested in surveying the offerings.”
“It was that obvious? Really?”
“It was a bit more subtle than I made it out, but not much. I do think she got it slightly wrong though.”
“About what?”
“The headache. I think he just got tired of the game. I can see the stress in his body language from here. I didn’t notice him respond in any significant way to any particular woman other than Dallas Meredith. There seemed to be some attraction there, but as he is probably desperate for someone he can talk to who sees through his role, I wouldn’t read much into that.”
“You can see all that?” He shrugged. “I guess we need to hire more women.”
“If that’s the excuse you need.”
“Well, it’s not my fault the personnel requisition forms don’t have a category for building a harem.”
“Another bureaucratic failure. What a shame. If they won’t let you hire more women, you can give me a raise.”
Paul finished his drink and watched people saying their goodbyes to the general. “As the party is thankfully breaking up, can I interest you in having another drink with me? Some place with a quiet corner.”
“I was going to go home to Celine.”
“Oh him. Give him a call and tell him you got a better offer. Tell him to go to bed and sleep it off.”
“He isn’t drunk.”
“He should be. Everyone should be drunk.”
“Are those Doctor’s orders?”
“Absolutely. Tell Celine it’s over, and you no longer care for him.”
“I haven’t even started the book.”
“And you shouldn’t. It’s evil tripe.”
“It’s classic literature.”
“Worse. Besides, how unkind would that be, abandoning me, condemning me to a night alone in front of the television in favor of classic literature? Do you realize how terrifyingly, appalling bad television programming is this time of the year?”
“Therapist, heal thyself. Get yourself a woman. Or a dog.”
“I’m allergic to dogs. How about a compromise? We can go to your place for a drink and you read to me. Even that Celine.”
Behind the teasing, Paul was seriously pursuing her. She saw it in his eyes and it touched something. Probably her loneliness. He had always attracted her. The momentary stab of desire she’d felt when seeing the hero had to be related to that. She hadn’t been with a man, hadn’t felt a caress since she’d started this job and she’d suppressed it, but now it was asserting itself. She’d ignored his flirting before because Paul was her boss. That made things awkward, but it didn’t have to be an insurmountable problem. They were both adults, professionals.
She smiled at him. “I don’t have a great reading voice.”
“I don’t give a shit. It isn’t like I actually intend to listen. I have more important things in mind.” He pressed up against her and she knew she wanted him, wanted him to make love to her. She’d been alone too long.
She put her lips to his ear. “Give me a head start.”
“Don’t run fast.”
Trevor came out the front door of the O Club and spoke to the MPs that guarded the entrance, realizing why people could find this celebrity shit addictive. These guys seemed tickled that he noticed them as people. You could do people a favor, make their day, just by not acting like a complete asshole. Being friendly was appreciated more than he could imagine.
He asked the MPs their names and learned they’d both been in combat zones, but not seen any fighting. “Consider yourselves a couple of lucky bastards,” he told them, smiling. �
��Getting shot sucks, and having idiot politicians pinning crap on your chest is almost more painful.”
They laughed and he went down the steps. Dallas stood in the shadows, smoking a cigarette. She looked in his direction and smiled. “I got away for a fix, but you seem to be escaping.” He walked toward her, down the steps, looking as causal as he could manage.
“Somewhere out here a driver is waiting for me to take me to my new apartment.”
Dallas nodded across the street. “She’s over there, parked behind the General’s limo. Is that cute little corporal your type, Ulysses, or just what was available on short notice?”
“Ulysses?”
“The archetypical war hero.”
“You are making fun of me.”
“Absolutely. I find you completely absurd, Captain Foster.”
That pleased him. “Back in grade school the little girls teased me. I was big for my age, and an athlete. They made jokes about cave men and it hurt. Later, much too much later, I found out it was because they secretly liked me.”
“Did they now?”
“Yes.”
“What does that tell you?”
“That you like me.”
“I’m the general’s wife. Officially, I like everyone. Privately not so much. I’ll admit that you amuse me. You get under my husband’s skin. You aren’t what he expected, or wanted. Its good theater and there’s damn little of that.”
“I see. I also see that the general’s wife is careful.”
“And smart. And as absurd as Ulysses. But not foolish.”
“Very smart. What does a smart person do next?”
She touched his arm. “If he expects to get his overdue promotion, he walks to his car and has his corporal drive him home.”
“That isn’t a very exciting option.”
“But safe. Maybe the corporal will spice things up for you if you ask—run a red light or something.”
“I think she’s too careful for that. I seem to be meeting careful women.”
Dallas tossed her cigarette butt in the gutter. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find a careless one or other ways to enjoy yourself.”
As she walked up the steps and into the O Club, Trevor crossed the street. The petite corporal hopped out, and opened his door for him. She had a plain, but not unattractive face. He rather liked what he saw. The wine and whiskey had fogged his memory, so he glanced at her name tag. Evans.
“Have a nice time, sir?”
“Not particularly.” He thought wistfully of Dallas and what might have been, and then of the woman he’d seen across the room briefly. That had been weird. She was attractive enough to catch his eye, but for one moment he’d thought she was inside his head. Nothing like that had happened to him before. Dallas hadn’t known who she was, and he’d probably never see her again, but somehow he had the feeling he’d never forget her face.” He grinned at his driver. “I don’t think this kind of event is about having a good time, Corporal.”
“That’s a shame, sir.”
“If you were of a mind to, we could correct that. I’m allowed to have a good time now that I’ve taken off my cape and retired my super powers for the evening.”
“Sir, I’m on duty for several hours yet.”
“And not allowed to have a good time. It was just a thought, Evans.”
“Thank you sir. Although I’m flattered, it’s appropriate to keep a little respectful distance between us, sir.”
The woman had put him neatly in his place, and advised him of the boundaries. “You’re absolutely right, Corporal. I mean that at a respectful distance. I’m a little drunk and behaving badly. I hope you will accept my apology for overstepping.”
She smiled. “Thank you sir.”
During the drive back he sank into the seat letting himself feel mellow. All the attention was quite heady and while he wasn’t drunk, he did have a bit of a buzz on. Replaying the night, he recalled several women he might have gotten into bed under other circumstances, maybe even sassy Dallas. Of course he was helpless as the center of attention. The only one he could cut out of the herd wanted him to give her some respectful distance. He admired Evans for saying that, even if she didn’t run a single red light.
When she dropped him off, he thanked her and went into his dark apartment. Going through the door triggered a long sigh.
“I take it you didn’t have a good time?”
He turned and saw Frieda on his couch lying under a blanket and drinking his Scotch. “Not particularly. As I was telling the delightful young lady who drove me home, while keeping a respectful distance, I don’t think that these things are intended for anyone to have a good time.”
She held out her glass. “I see. A stupid waste of time then. Well be a good boy and top this up, would you?”
He took the glass and went to the bar. “I thought you said this stuff kills performance?”
“Just in men. But it lowers inhibitions too, which can be useful, although I don’t think either of us has any significant inhibitions. In fact, you don’t seem to have any. Perhaps you are devoid of inhibitions, Captain Hero. I’d like to think so. Speaking of which, did you meet any hot women at the party?”
He handed her the drink. “A couple, but none that was conveniently alone.”
Frieda smiled and rolled onto her back, letting the blanket slip off onto the floor. Her pale flesh reflected the dim light making the pose incredibly erotic. She was quite the courtesan. “Then I’m glad I waited for you.”
“You never went home?”
“No. I was hoping we hadn’t finished.”
“You must’ve been bored.”
“Not really. I took a hot bath then came out here and thought for a time about how this place could be made more homey.” She sat up and sipped her drink, then put the glass on the coffee table. “Of course, it didn’t take long for me to realize that you don’t give a shit about that. We’re alike that way. All the decorations in my apartment are Dot’s.”
“What does that mean to you?”
“That we are both just in the moment. Pleasure seekers don’t need knickknacks. Anyway, after that epiphany I lay here and played a game.”
“Did you win?”
“I did.”
“Do I know the game?”
“I don’t know.” She squirmed on the couch. “After reminding myself of the true nature of our relationship, that it is the joy of fucking, I replayed our earlier encounter. I lay here naked and tried to remember every touch of your body on mine and how it felt on my skin and how that translated as it rippled through me.”
“Was that good?”
She laughed. “Not really. It just got me so horny that it’s a damn good thing you are the first male animal to walk in the door.”
“And now I’m here.”
“I have another idea for a game. I want you to make me feel like a virgin in the citadel as the barbarians storm the gates.”
He took off his jacket and tossed it aside, watching Frieda run her hands down her thighs. “There’s nothing I’d enjoy more than storming your gates.”
Her hands ran back up along the inside of her thighs as she spread her legs wide. “Get that battering ram over here, then.”
Frieda was a hot woman. Powerful in her own right, she was the kind who wanted to be taken, not courted. She’d seen the bad boy, the rebel, in him right from the start, and encouraged him to go on the offensive. Best of all, it was all about sex. She didn’t love him. She wanted to fuck in the same lusty way he did. It flattered him that she saw him as a sex object and there was no bullshit to live up to. Frieda saw a man with a hard cock who wanted to ravish her.
And there she lay, waiting for him. He tore off his uniform as he went to her. He wanted her desperately now. Naked, his clothing strewn across the floor, he grabbed her legs, raising them, pushing them back. Her hands gripped her thighs and he brought his hard cock to the swollen pussy lips, wetting the head of his cock in her moist flesh. His instinct was to
ease it into her, but she had told him what she want, and it had excited him. He let the lust flow through him and rammed his cock deep, enjoying the way she cried out. He leaned forward, using his weight to impale her, and she whimpered, exciting him even more. He looked between her legs, saw the dilated eyes, the conflicting passions that filled her and it fired him up even more. The roar of his pulse pounded in his head; every sense focused on the warm embrace of her cunt around his cock, the way her flesh bent to his will as he plundered her.