Dagger

Normally, I’d exhausted myself enough by bedtime that I had no problems sleeping whatsoever. In the military, sleep was precious and you learned to turn it on and off at will. That ability had gradually faded away, or so I learned that night.

She was under the same roof with me. Whitney; the enigma, as I’d come to think of her. It had been total overkill to send movers with a truck. I think we could have transferred her possessions with a bicycle basket.

I’d helped her upstairs and stood back to see what she thought of her mini-apartment. For some reason, it was important to me that she was happy. I’d never let myself care about anyone before. Beginning with the loss of my parents, followed by my buddy, Tim, I’d learned that people come and go. Sometimes just out of your life, and sometimes out of their own. When I’d seen her emerge from that taxi, it had been as though someone had hit me in the gut with a battering ram. I’d felt an instant attachment and momentarily wondered if I already knew her from somewhere. But no. Her, I would have remembered.

I think the greatest effect she had upon me was in trusting me. I could tell that the entire prospect made her uncomfortable, and for the life of me, I didn’t understand why that bothered me so. My training had driven into me that people were disposable—it was the mission, the goal, that could never be surrendered. There was irony in that lesson, for if you sacrificed a hundred lives to save a precious few, it was still lives lost. That sort of doubt wasn’t permitted, though. That’s why they grabbed us while we were young and gullible. Our brains hadn’t matured enough to fully understand the consequence of our actions. We were easily persuaded and controlled.

That was behind me now. I’d hated that part of the service. Now, I was able to call my own shots and only answered for my own mistakes. Maybe that was why this girl was so important. I wanted her, and I didn’t want to fuck this up.

She’d seemed to really love the apartment. I’d had a designer in to make sure the appointments were first quality and stylish. Not knowing who would be living there, but assuming it would be my female trainer, I’d gone for a lighter, feminine look, and by her reaction, I’d say the designer had done a very good job.

Boy, I’d done a damned fine job, too. I’d managed to put the most desirable female I’d ever come across into the apartment of my building and then made it conveniently and politely permissible that she not yet really do her job—which included letting me have her body.

Oh, I’d been all over this in my head already. I told myself that the body, in this case, was a tool. Just as Hooters used boobs to sell booze, I was selling the human body as a tool of enjoyment to people who willingly participated, even begged to take a role. My female counterpart would have to be equally comfortable in doing this. Furthermore, she couldn’t mind my particular touch, as she would be subjected it during any couples’ demonstrations. Everything was aboveboard and should be considered medical as opposed to erotic, in theory. Despite that, there I was, setting myself up to have the greatest issue with the whole idea. I’d paired myself off with someone I wanted to fuck. God help me. I did. It wasn’t like other women I’d known and soon forgotten. This one had some undeniable connection for me. I tried to ignore it, but there was no getting around it. She was meant to walk through that door, and more than that, I knew she was meant to be in my bed. The idea of holding and molding all the parts of her body to my personal liking was enough to make me lose control, right there between my clean designer sheets.

Unable to sleep, I rolled out of the bed and left my apartment, heading down the hallway. The building was very quiet, and that suited me just fine. I entered the pool area, where the same scene I’d set for Whitney was still in evidence. All I had to do was hit a switch to light the sconces. I watched as each one flamed and then settled into a steady glow, giving the water a golden tint that flickered. It was highly erotic, I had to admit. With a clean dive, I submerged and swam a couple of lengths beneath the surface.

The pool concept had been one of the last things I’d come up with. I’d reasoned that if clients wanted to cool down, they could linger and I could run a small concession. The better acquainted they became with one another, the more likely they’d remain members and the more comfortable they’d be when it came to the group exercises. It was just a fortunate accident that the water might act as a midway environment between street clothes and total nudity. It had obviously worked well for Whitney.

I felt her before I saw her from the corner of my eye. She must have descended with feather-light steps down the staircase and into the pool area. Perhaps she couldn’t sleep either; perhaps she had another reason. Diving beneath the water allowed me to observe her without her realizing it—to her I was blinded while submerged.

She’d secreted herself in a corner near the door. The sconce light shadowed it, and she was crouched into a small ball. Obviously, she didn’t want me to know she was there. Perhaps she’d come down to use the pool herself—to practice some moves or to tire herself out so she could sleep. I didn’t let on that I knew she was there.

Instead, I decided to let her watch me. I wanted her to know my body and how I moved. Half the cure to reluctance about being nude was to observe your partner’s body without being obvious. I wanted her to feel comfortable with me.

The first thing, of course, was to let her see my scarred back. It had been badly burned in the fire when I’d pulled in Tim. After it healed, the doctors said there was little more they could do to improve its appearance. My solution had been to get a massive tattoo, covering the scarred tissue. It was an eagle rising from the water; one talon holding the scale of justice and the second the diving dagger for which I was known.

One day I would find redemption for Tim’s death. I would get to the bottom of what had happened and who had been responsible. It was no accident. The Navy had known it, as had I, and most likely others. The Navy couldn’t spend time and money on a mystery whose solution had no possible upside. We were, after all, disposable.

I dove deeply and surfaced, my back fully displayed, in the shallow end where I could stand and let her study it a bit. I did some arm extensions over my head, bending at the waist. Eventually, I worked my way to lifting my leg and bringing it up to my shoulder, exposing my penis. I thought I heard a faint gasp from her corner, but that may have been my hopeful imagination. Regardless, there was no part of my body that I kept hidden—and no reason for her to think that I knew she was there. In fact, I extended my limbs often, exaggerating many of the moves that would involve touching her, so she would have a better sense of what was going to be expected.

I admit it. I was also trying to turn her on. She waited until I dove below the surface again before she pushed open the door and quietly retreated to her room.

I wondered whether she’d ever get any sleep that night. I know I didn’t.