CHAPTER 1
Sean
There’s no way that’s her.
Not in a million years is that Brittney. I carefully readjust my white barracks cover on my head, bringing it lower to block the glare from the late morning sun. Unbelievable, that is her. What is she doing here? A girl dressed up like that at the Veterans Day Parade is going to attract too much attention, but from what I can make out from here she’s hardly a girl anymore.
I haven’t seen her in years…five at the least, maybe six. I still bump into her dad once in awhile when we’re stationed close, or when we take leave together. We’ve been best friends for years. Hell, we even joined the Marines together on the buddy program. Did the drill instructors at recruit training ever have a field day with us for that one.
But she’s another story altogether. Last I saw her she was just a pimple-faced kid. Through the awkwardness and acne you could tell there was a pretty girl underneath it all, but damn. I had no idea she was going to grow up to look like this.
I do the mental math and realize she must be about college age now. Her mom and dad always pushed her when it came to studying so she’s probably studying somewhere nearby. But why would she be at the parade? And why is she wearing that tight skirt, and that even tighter blouse? She looks like a television reporter, but better than any television reporter I’ve ever seen.
Is she studying journalism? It doesn’t make sense. She’s the shy type who prefers to be out of the spotlight. That and it doesn’t look like she’s out today practicing her journalism skills. All the TV trucks are on the other side of the parade route, and the news crews that came in them are lined up along that side too.
But she’s dressed up for something. She looks professional, but she’s also out to get someone’s attention. No doubt about that. I know because she’s definitely got mine, and probably a lot of the other guys here today.
These dress blue trousers are supposedly wrinkle-resistant, but I don’t think they had in mind the kind of wrinkle I’m putting into the pair I’ve got on right now. It’s not a wrinkle, it’s a big freakin’ crease judging by the pain I’m feeling in my groin right now.
If one of the news crews picks this up, my unit is going to be on my case forever. And that’s just the beginning. Conduct unbecoming a Marine is a real charge. Sporting wood at America’s biggest Veterans Day Parade may not qualify for that kind of punishment, but when you’re packin’ a full ten inches anything’s possible.
But speaking of conduct unbecoming…there are definitely some unbecoming things I’d like to do to her right now. I’d start by punishing her for the punishment she’s putting on these trousers. I’m in some serious pain. But I wouldn’t punish her for real, just bend her over my knee for some light spanking and let her know who her daddy is.
Damn, I’ve got to get these thoughts out of my mind. I know who her daddy is, and if he only knew what I was thinking right now.
But these dirty thoughts aren’t answering my question. What is she doing here, and why is she dressed like that?
I’ve got to stay focused on the mission at hand. I’m working hand and hand with NCIS on a few terrorist leads. We’ve got the area locked down like Fort Knox, and while we don’t think they’re going to try anything today, you never know.
We’ve intercepted some chatter on the dark web, and we know this parade is a top target. Killing American service members on live TV in front of a national television audience, plus all the troops watching overseas, would be a huge victory for these scumbags.
No way that’s happening.
But now I’ve got two missions. Keep my eyes open for bad guys, and keep my eyes on her…at least until the parade starts moving. If some crazy guy does show up and tries something, protecting her is my first priority.
“Howdy, soldier.”
I feel a hand run across the shoulder of my coat. Who in the hell is crazy enough to touch my uniform, and my dress blues at that?
I look to my side and see one of those blonde Barbie doll types has slid into the parade procession staging area. Security’s not doing their job, and I hadn’t even noticed her. My eyes were totally locked on Brittney.
“Ma’am. This is a secure area. You need to leave immediately.”
“This is New York City, sailor. Don’t you want to re-enact that famous kiss?”
The Marines may be a branch of the Navy, but I’m far from a sailor.
The lady runs her fingertips across the back of my freshly barbered haircut, as she presses her breasts into the side of my uniform. She’s a python and she’s moving in for the squeeze play. I’ve seen it before. A military man can’t believe his luck. Then he lets his guard down and then any number of bad things can happen.
Not me. This isn’t my first assignment. I’ve got over twenty years in the Corps. I’m not about to fall for some rookie moves at my age, plus now that I’ve seen Brittney looking as good as she is I have no interest in any other girls.
If I were off duty I’d already be taking her home. She’d be face down on my mattress getting the fuck of a lifetime. She’d want to wear my uniform while I do things to her that no man has ever done to her before, or ever will. The next morning she’d tell me to call, as I’d almost have to force her out the door. She’d wait days for the call that never comes. I never mean to hurt anybody. It’s not only who I am, it’s just part of the life I chose. Here today, gone tomorrow.
I motion to the security guard who realizes he blew it. He jumps the rope and gently grabs the woman with both hands, escorting her out of the restricted area where we’re lined up for the parade.
If security is this lax then we’ve got a problem already, and the day has barely begun.
I have to stay focused on the list of suspected targets. I scan the area. Nothing, except her again. My eyes fixate on that skirt. I can’t believe how much Brittney’s changed. Her dad would have never let her out of the house looking like that. Not in a million years. That Ferrari red lipstick covering those big, soft, subtle, pouty lips. The tightness of that white blouse, which is unbuttoned just a little too far. Her ample cleavage is visible from way over here. All I can think about is marching my ass right over there and burying my face in it so deep a crowbar couldn’t free me.
She looks so focused, but on what? She stands out in the sea of people who are either taking pictures with their cell phones or gobbling down snacks. She even stands out when compared to all those TV girls. I thought the weather girls were supposed to be the best looking ones. Those tarts they get all dolled up and then they bend over on live TV to point towards some Antarctic storm heading north, when it’s really just a ploy to get a little T&A on television. Sex up the weather? Ratings sell, and the more those TV girls bend the plumper their ass and the more you can see down their blouses.
I don’t fall for that. I’ve had my fun in the past, but these days I’m interested in someone who’s real…someone with substance. And she definitely has it. I can remember how hard she studied and how she had dreams of doing big things. She was too young to know exactly what, but she always had that drive. Her dad told her to always do her best and the opportunities would come. Right now I’m the one who’s been presented an opportunity. Get her attention and see what she’s been up to since we last saw each other.
But I can’t right now. It’s way too unprofessional. Marines don’t wave like little girls on their first day of school. Even if we march right by she might not recognize me. They select us for parade details like this based on height, so we look uniform from head to toe. I’ve got to figure out a way to get her attention. Damn, this girl is wrecking my focus right now.
“Autograph request from the twins in bright blue at your nine o’clock,” the security detail gentleman says to me as he hands me a pen and what appears to be a Polaroid. They still make those?
I look up and see two girls waving at me. They look Russian. The Kremlin’s still exporting models our way I see. No doubt they’ll be all the rage during fashion week in the city.
I sign the picture of myself, a bit freaked out, but it all comes with the territory. Part of what I do is public interaction. PR events let the public know we’re here for them and we appreciate them, and I do. Their tax money pays for me to travel around the world and blow stuff up, so I definitely appreciate them just as much as they appreciate me.
But the celebrity angle is too much. I learned that when I was part of the Silent Drill Platoon. These days I’m all about stealth. Get in. Do my job. Get out.
I hand the photograph back to the security gentleman.
“They want you to look at the back, sir.”
I wonder when this charade will end. I flip it over anyways. On the reverse side is the name of a hotel and a room number. So, they’re looking for a ménage I see. No thanks. No time and no interest. The only young woman I’ve got my eye on is the one standing on the other side of the parade procession, or should I say was standing there.
Brittney’s knifing through the crowd. I can see her body more clearly now. She has really filled out since she went off to college. She’s definitely not a girl anymore. She’s a damn fine woman. The finest I can ever remember seeing, and that’s no lie. As she moves that butt of hers shakes and I just imagine slapping that bootylicious thing and leaving my hand right on it, squeezing it, and then slapping it again. She’ll love it, and she’ll be ordering me to giver her more.
But I need to stow away this boner right now. This is not a good look. I’ll figure out how to get in touch with her after. She’s in the city. I know that much. I can always think up some reason to call her dad if I need too. Damn, I can hardly wait to see her face to face.
I scan the area just in front of her to try and figure out where she’s heading. Something up there looks off. My eyes dart back to her. She’s walking right that way.
I zero in my focus on that dodgy zone. Fuck! It’s the target and she’s headed right towards him!
“Tango!” I yell into the tiny mic planted into my uniform, behind my medals. I break ranks, the ultimate no-no in my profession.
“What the hell, Marine?” I hear someone yell.
I feel adrenaline shoot through my body as I take off down the street, weaving through the other parade participants who are waiting for the signal to start the parade. I don’t care what anyone things. I look like a shit show right now, and I’m being called everything in the book, but none of it matters. My protective instinct is on autopilot. I’ve got to protect her.
A few seconds seem like hours knowing what I know. The distance in-between us is too great. I’m closing it as fast as I can, but I know I don’t have time.
Fuck! This has gone from bad to worse. I hear the engine of the truck rev to life. This place is full of civilians here to celebrate exactly what I do.
They’re here for service members like me who they rightfully expect to protect them, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do right fucking now!