Please read the beginning of this story as shown within the “Afghanistan Story” tab above.
Afghanistan, June 2010, Camp Delaram
As I walked back to my tent, I was furious and embarrassed. William followed me, completely at ease and almost sauntering.
I reached the door to my tent and started to open it, but William swung out his hand and stopped it from opening.
“I’ll see you when you wake up.”
I glanced at his face; his smile was a mixture of charm and complete belief in what he was doing.
“Uh, I guess. I have to work.”
“I know. I’ll be there.”
He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. I walked inside the tent and closed the door.
Throwing my rifle onto the white bunk bed, I sat down stunned and confused. What the fuck just happened? He seems… I glanced at the bed of the other girl to see if she was around. I hadn’t seen her for about a week. Am I just going to tell her I fucked some contractor in a combat zone? She doesn’t know me. And she’s a Lance. I bet she would tell everyone. I can’t tell anyone about this. Fuck. Okay, I need to take a shower.
I unbuttoned my blouse and slid it off of my body. The sweaty cammie material didn’t cling to the skin on my arms; it simply fell away. The boots were next, with sandy dust falling from the bootlaces as I loosened them. Before I could take my pants off, I had to unhook the giant metal boot bands that kept my cammie bottoms tightly against the tops of my boots. We wear boot bands to keep dust and things like giant camel spiders from crawling up your pants leg. Most Marines used soft green fabric boot bands that snapped easily or loosened over time. I had purchased metal boot bands because the return on investment was phenomenal. I would never have to buy new bands and the metal ones kept my cammie bottoms tight and looking sharp. The only drawback was the significant dent that the metal would leave on my shins. Unhooking the bands, I noticed a tingle in my shins as I rubbed the almost an inch wide divet, trying to get blood flowing in the skin and muscle.
The pants came off. Sitting in just my green silky shorts and green skivvy shirt, I collapsed backwards onto the white comforter. I stared at the black metal rods that held the empty mattress above me and reached out to lightly touch my rifle.
God, there’s almost no airflow in here during the day.
It was 0900. The sun had been out for over four hours and the side of the tent was radiating heat above 110. The sweat began to dry on my skin. I closed my eyes, almost drifting to sleep when I felt cum slide out of me.
No, seriously, take a shower.
I bolted upright and slid on my flip flops. Grabbing my small bag of toiletries, I tossed my rifle back over my body and headed for the bathrooms.
Although the area was deserted, the walk to the bathrooms felt like a walk across a stage. I was in shorts and every male who saw me stared unabashed as I walked by. I walked quickly, my rifle smashing into the back of my leg until I caught it with my hand and slowed its smacks. The walk was a quarter of a mile of hot sand filling my flip flops and a rifle smashing my very bare legs.
The showers were the best thing on the small base. They were held within white trailers that were placed high and could only be accessed through climbing a metal ladder about five feet in the air. The female shower was always spotless because there was only one other girl, the Lance, on the base and she was very organized and clean. When you shut the door, you could lock it. This was the only place on base that could be locked. The top of the door was the kind of glass that couldn’t be seen through. Once the door was shut, the place was empty of dust, with the best air conditioning on the base, and as clean as a hospital in comparison to the swirly, dusty world outside.
As I quickly scrubbed my body of the dust and sweat and grime and, yes, the sperm, I thought about how tired I was from only sleeping a few hours the day before. I needed to wake up in seven hours to make it to dinner before my shift at 1900. Calculating how much sleep I would get, I toweled myself dry with the microfiber towel I had. What I had saved in space with this purchase, I had lost in moisture absorption. I would towel myself over and over again only to remain damp. I grumbled at the dampness and daydreamed for a second about a giant fluffy towel that was dry and wrapped around me.
I combed my wet hair, yanking the tangles out and pulling it into a low pony tail for the walk back. As I opened the door and stepped out onto the ladder of the trailer, a hot gust of wind blew a giant cloud of dust over me. The dampness of my skin beckoned the dust and the dust acquiesced.
“ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS??”
I shook my rifle at the mini sandstorm as it swept past me.
Frustrated and brow furrowed, I stomped back to my tent for the quarter of a mile, rifle furiously smashing into my leg.