“Rollin’ with My Homies”
Nathan
It was a fairly ridiculous turn of events for a Wednesday, but I was assured by everyone from the LPA to Coach that the first hump day of each month was reserved for after-work beers at a place renowned for having the coldest and cheapest beer on this side of town. As it happened, that place was a strip joint. And not just any strip joint, but Captain Bob’s Showboat Lounge.
Captain Bob’s was unexplainable in the way of so many establishments dedicated to male entertainment. It was—and there’s no other way to describe it—a boat, constructed of stucco, concrete block, and sheer willpower right on the side of a divided highway directly outside the main gate of the base. It sat between a gas station and a self-storage warehouse. The glare of the late afternoon sun rendered it an even more stark addition to the suburban landscape than it was already.
But inside? Captain Bob’s was an arctic-chilly oasis from the Arizona heat and served two-dollar drafts—and an all-you-can-eat buffet for the truly adventurous. I didn’t have the stomach for a strip joint buffet, but the beers would slide down easily enough. I was more than grateful to escape the punishing heat Tucson served up from May until October.
The Scorpions filtered in individually and in pairs as the workday drew to its conclusion. A singular stripper hanging on the pole seemed disinterested in us; she spun listlessly from time to time, but it could hardly be called dancing. She occasionally drew an old iPhone from her G-string and stared at it. The fact that Captain Bob’s was a gentleman’s emporium was incidental. If the local tire store or pet shop had served beer this cheap and this cold, we would likely have gathered there on Wednesdays.
Miles and Boo were already seated, cold beers in hand, when I arrived. Both greeted me somewhat halfheartedly, but I didn’t expect better. Coach indicated an empty chair on his side of the table and signaled the waitress for an additional beer.
“How goes it, boss?” He sent me an easy smile.
“All good, Coach.” I indicated our unenthusiastic entertainment, still staring at her phone. “I take it she’s ‘filling in for the vacationing El Sleezo dancing girls?’”
Boo perked up immediately. “No way. A quote from The Muppet Movie? Kickin’ it old school, Happy—right on.” He stood for a high five, which I returned with a grin.
Coach turned to me. “Officially downhill to the weekend now. Are you prepped up for the Salt float on Saturday?”
I accepted an icy draft from the waitress with mumbled thanks and turned back to Coach. “Salt float? Not up to speed, I’m sorry to say. Even for a fighter squadron, this is a damned social group. Pretty hard for the FNG to keep up.” I returned his smile and slugged back enough icy beer to bring on a wicked ice cream headache. Pressing both palms to my aching temples, I continued, “Is this a Salt River thing, Coach?”
The Salt was a lazy river through the scenic desert just due east of Phoenix. It was a popular destination for groups looking to spend a long afternoon drinking and floating in inner tubes in the cool, mountain stream-fed waters. Little to no skill was required beyond the ability to load a cooler and make a playlist. I’d enjoyed the trip in the past during my days at the Schoolhouse.
“We’re making a road trip of it this time, Happy,” Bashful chimed in, digging in his pockets for singles. “Everyone meets up at the ranch outside of Mesa on the river. We’ll cook out Friday night and meet late Saturday morning for the float trip. Anyone who wants to stay Saturday night is welcome.” The group was smiling, and heads nodded in agreement. He continued, “We’ve done this annually for the past several years—lots of good times. Bring a lady along, if you have one. The river and the scenery’s a leg-spreader, boss. I’d lay odds that plenty of us will get lucky on the river.”
Deliverance’s head snapped up from the conversation he was engaged in. “Who said ‘Luckie’?” His easygoing tone and smiling demeanor shifted in a heartbeat. “Who?”
“Relax, D.” Bashful punched him playfully on the shoulder. “I thought you said nothing was going on.” Foster sent him an icy glare. “And anyway,” Bashful continued, “who’s this Luckie? Does this have anything to do with the locked coat closet last Friday night at the Club?”
Deliverance leaned back in his chair and cut his eyes to his friend. “None of your fuckin’ business, Jacob.” He emphasized the name Bashful answered to only when his mother used it. “Lucinda and I are just getting to know each other.”
Miles piled on. “In the coat closet? D, really? Couldn’t even make it to a flat surface?”
An evil little smile played around Deliverance’s lips, and he studied his icy beer mug. “Extraordinary opportunity requires exceptional creativity.”
“And flexibility is the key to airpower,” I added with a smile. Turning to Coach, I said, “I’m a go for the river this weekend. Who’s the PROJO for this soiree?”
“Talk to Rock, Happy.” Coach indicated the tall, dark lieutenant seated with Miles. Shit, they were making pilots younger every year. “He’s got the details on lodging, and you give him bucks for stocking the communal cooler for the river.”
Rock stood, leaning across a couple of seats, and offered his hand. “Hayes Hudson, Happy, but everybody calls me Rock. I haven’t had the chance to shake your hand. Welcome, sir.” He had dark, serious eyes that warmed when he smiled. “I’ll get you info on the lodging. Be sure you call today and get a room. I’ll make sure we have the biggest damn cooler on the river filled to the top with the coldest damn beer on the river.” He ticked off items on his fingers as I dug into my wallet for cash. “We’ll be cooking out Friday night. I’ll bring everything we’ll need. Nothing fancy, just burgers and brats—and make sure to show up early enough to man a grill. There’ll be breakfast before the float, and you’re on your own for everything else.”
It sure was great to have someone else in charge of the fun. I shot the breeze with the group while drinking a second beer, and Rock briefed me on a few additional details. I pressed some cash into his palm and turned to the group. “I’ll see you gents—and you, Miles,” I added with a friendly smile, “bright and early. If I don’t get home soon, Mayze’s gonna be in an even worse mood than usual. And that’s saying something.”
Goodbyes were exchanged, and I turned the truck toward home. It would still be a stretch to call it that, except that Mayze and her particular brand of malcontent resided there with me. It was early in the game, but I hoped that Camille might consider a weekend away. In the light of what she’d shared with me, I fought the urge to press ahead too quickly. We both brought a truckload of history to the table, and I had the distinct impression that she hadn’t told me everything yet. No matter. I was more than hooked enough to stick around for what was to come after intermission.
Inviting a woman out of town for the weekend, especially this early in the game, was a minefield. A myriad of assumptions existed, but I couldn’t see any other possibility. I wanted the time away to learn about her. For one thing, I had some real concerns. I’d treated it as casually as I could the other night, fingers buried deep in her hot little pussy, but she was tiny. And untried for—what did she say—five years? Biology made pretty much everything possible, and I’d be lying if I denied that my cock ached at the thought; but I had concerns about our “physical compatibility,” for lack of a better term.
Turning into my driveway, I shook it off. Of all the worries accompanying a new relationship? That was one I could handle. I would relish the opportunity to worship her tight cunt and worry her clit with orgasm after orgasm. After that, taking the length of my cock, inch by inch, would be a challenge she’d beg for.
Mayze greeted me at the door, dour expression firmly in place, and led me to her food bowl. I cleaned and filled it, along with her water dish, before arranging it all on the back patio, scratching her ears. She busily drained her water bowl, which I dutifully refilled, and I prepared to return inside. Suddenly, a face appeared from the top of the fence separating my yard from the one next door.
“Hey, Colonel! It’s me, Adam—remember me?”
I had to laugh. Who could forget this kid? “Hey there, Adam. How’s the leg mending?” I moved closer to the fence.
With great effort, Adam worked his heavily bandaged leg over the top of the five-foot privacy fence. “It’s awesome, Colonel, see?” He gestured wildly with one hand, indicating the offending limb. “I can ride my skateboard, but Mom won’t let me go to the pool yet. It’s too hot not to go to the pool, but Mom says I have five more days. Maybe it’s four…” His voice trailed off as he hung from the fence, oblivious to the possibility of further injury.
Boys. Did I put my mother through this?
I said my goodbyes and pulled my phone out of my flight suit pocket. Hesitating for only a moment, I dialed. The silky alto of her voice as she answered had my cock reacting without delay. “Hello, Nathan. How are you?”
I grinned and shook my head at how the mere sound of her voice rearranged the pieces of my day, dropping everything into place. Leaning against the door frame, I sighed and twisted the top on a bottle of water I’d retrieved from the fridge. “Hello, Camille. Much better now that I hear your voice.” There was a brief pause, and I wondered if she felt uncomfortable in light of the intimate way our date had ended. “How are you, angel?”
This earned me a giggle. “Well, to be frank, today sucked, Nate. But that’s the life of a nurse. The emergency department is an accident going somewhere to happen. Actually, it’s where the accidents come after they’ve happened. It’s not like any nurse is ever going to tell you everything went well at work—at least not two days in a row.” There was a pause, and I could tell she was taking a drink. “Wine helps, but not always enough.” Another giggle, then the requisite snort. “I hope your day was better?”
Mine was improving with each passing minute. “Glad to hear wine is helping. That’s the job of wine, right? I’m surviving the week, and I’ve just this afternoon discovered something that may make everything even better. At least I’m hoping you’ll think so.” The possibilities were great. “The Scorpions are floating the Salt this weekend and making a road trip of it. Any chance you’re available to join the fun starting Friday?”
Her hesitation was only slight. “I love floating the Salt…but the whole squadron? And the whole weekend?” Her tone was enthusiastic, but I sensed she needed a little reassurance.
“A couple of nights at a rustic guesthouse on the banks of the river, grilling out with everyone on Friday—sounds like fun, right?” I swallowed and continued, “I’d really like the chance to get out of town with you for a couple of days, Camille. What do you say?”
“I’d like that too, Nate.” Then a deep breath. “Is this too much too soon?” She almost seemed to be talking to herself. “No, I’d really like that. Anyway, I’m already in overtime after today. It’s been that kind of week.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “So where do I sign up?”
“It’s all taken care of, Camille. Casual clothes, swimsuits, and nothing much to sleep in, okay?” My cock hardened at the thought. “I’ll pick you up at your house after lunch on Friday. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect, Nathan. I’ll see you then.”
There was a pregnant moment between us. Then, “Camille?”
“Yes?”
“I can’t wait, babe. I really can’t wait.”
PROJO—Project Officer. An officer tasked with supervising a specific project, an additional duty.