Howdy all, I’m Lance Corporal Bradley (Brad) Jessop United States Marine Corps. I’ve been in the Corps for two years now and finally climbed up the ladder to my present rank. Deployed in Afghanistan for a tour along with Skip. We’ve been through some shit together but came out on the other side in one piece. Thank you, Jesus.
Lance Corporal Frank (Skip) Skipper, he’s my best pal, we survived Parris Island boot camp together, that’s where we became bros. He’s more like family than family. Hell, he’d take a bullet for me and I’d do the same for him.
He’s my wingman when we go on the prowl in Jacksonville, NC., the small town outside of the gates of Camp Lejeune. He’s 6’2” 190 lbs. with blond hair and blue eyes. Country looking stud. Fucker’s got big Goddamned hands and feet with a nose to match. He’s a man’s man type of dude. Doesn’t give a rat’s ass how he looks, sorta scruffy if you ask me. Except in uniform, then he’s sharp as fuck. Pussy seems to like his looks, you know big hands, feet, big dick.
Yeah, the dude’s hung decent but I got him beat in the meat department. Nine inches of cut prime steak, that’s what I got. That trumps a big nose anytime.
I’m 5’10”, 170 lbs., I have dark Mediterranean features, black hair, brown eyes and I have the charisma of a rattle snake, so I’ve been told. At least I give a warning before I strike. I’m a Jew boy, the first family member to serve in the Armed Forces, which sort of separates me from my brothers and cousins. All of them are either lawyers, doctors, or stock brokers. My Dad has a seat on the Stock Exchange and he’s rich as fuck.
Dad’s my bank and I’m his favorite son, at least that’s what he tells me whenever he sends a big check my way, which he does once a month.
It’s Friday, a couple of hours before forty-eight-hour Liberty begins and I’m tired as fuck. Skip and I are roommates. He’s lying on his back stretched out on his rack thumbing through some pussy app on his phone, massaging his trouser snake sticking out of his Cammie trousers.
I just came out of the shower so I have a towel wrapped around my middle and shower flip flops on my feet. I unwrapped the towel to dry my hair, and naked as the day I was born, stand in front of the mirror over my dresser brushing my fresh high n tight haircut. I can see Skip’s reflection in the mirror, he’s across the room behind me lying on his rack still jerking off to that pussy app on his phone.
“Hey dude, save that for the club.” I tell him.
“No worries I’m fully loaded.” He laughs out loud, still handling his piece.
“How about doing that when I ain’t looking.”
“Shit Marine – look the other way, I’m just priming the old pump.”
“Whatever.” I shoot back.
“Say dude, did your old man come through?”
“Yep, coins in the keeper.” I respond.
“Great, because the last dry-cleaning tab cleaned me out.”
My mouth is hanging open, “You telling me that bailing your shit outa the cleaners wiped your ass out?”
“Fuck yes, it did.” He says stashing his phone in his back pocket.
He leaps from his rack propelling himself at me. Picks me up and throws me on my rack, on my back, then sits on my stomach facing me, knuckles the top of my high n tight.
He starts tickling me relentlessly with those big fucking paws of his -- at my pits then all the way down to the sides of my ass.
I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe, trying to catch my breath when Skip suddenly stops and sits back on his haunches, stands up puts out his hand to help me up.
In my naked state, it’s impossible to hide the hard-on his attack created. We look down at the same time. He smiles and slaps the swollen head causing my cock to bounce against my abs.
“Fucking OUCH bro!” I yelp.
“Fuck dude – that’s a whopper!” He hoots to me.
“Hell, Skip, you’ve seen it up close and personal before, when we did that bitch we picked up at The Eagle Globe and Anchor – remember that night bro?”
I can see Skip running through the events of that evening his mind. A big smile crinkles his cheeks.
“I do seem to remember some of that eventful night.” He ducks his chin down and continues, “Some of it anyway. Ha, ha, ha.”
“Never fucking mind bro – doesn’t matter.”
Skip sheds his MARPAT desert camouflage uniform and hangs it in the closet. Unlaces his light brown Rugged AI Terrain (RAT) combat boots and places them side-by-side at the foot of his rack. Pulls his brown t-shirt over his head, sniffs the pits, then tosses it on his rack together with his white boxers.
I get into my Wrangler jeans with my tooled black leather belt with a silver rodeo buckle. No boxers, plain white cowboy shirt with pearl snaps, no undershirt, old brown Tecova cowboy boots with my boot socks stuffed down inside, put everything on. Grab my black Stetson Skyline 6X cowboy hat. I’m ready for an evening of prowling the clubs.
Skip, fishes out a stonewashed black t-shirt from his dresser drawer, grabs his faded 501 button fly Levi’s hanging in the close. His seen-better-days black leather motorcycle jacket. He bends down and snatches his polished black combats and wool socks from the closet floor, suits up and grabs his beat-up New York Yankee baseball cap, turns the bill backward. Smiles at me and puts the palm of his right hand out for me to slap.
“So.” Skip asks: “Do we need to swing by the ATM?”
“No pal.” I say, reaching for my wallet on top of the dresser and draw out two fifties, fold them over and hand them to him.
“Damn man, a hundred bucks?” He takes the bills from my hand and salts them away in the front right pocket of his faded Levi’s.
“Your old man’s rich, dude – he’s my angel.”
“Yeah, till the well runs dry. Ha, ha, ha.”
“You and your Dad are bro’s. That well ain’t never gonna run dry.” Skip, says with that big smile of his going from ear to ear.
“Yeah, maybe?”
“Dude”, Skip murmurs. “Remember when your Dad came to PI for our graduation? He was driving that Aston Martin Valour, shit man, that baby set him back a couple million. That’s when I fucking fell in love with you bro.” He almost doubled over laughing.
I grab his shoulders and push him back, landing him on his rack on his back, my knees on both sides of his hips, lean in nose to nose and hum into his face:
“Your just my fucking gold-digging slut ain’t ya?”
“Yes, daddy.” He replies, “I’m your gold-digging slut Marine!”
“OK, slut puppy – let’s go pussy shopping!”
Skip grabbed his crotch nearly roaring, “FUCK YEAH BRO, let’s get the fuck outta Dodge!”
We bolted out the door to the parking lot where my Dodge Ram truck was waiting and headed for the main gate and into town.
We agreed that we should stop and get a couple fifths of Jack Daniel and a six pack of Coke and two six packs of Budweiser and find a motel.
I’ve stayed at the Hilton Garden Inn in Orange Park a few times and liked it. Large rooms, king-size beds, wide screen television and Wi-Fi, also a decent restaurant. Cost only a couple hundred bucks a night.
We purchased the JD and Coke and the beer and headed to the motel. Checked in, stretched out fully clothed on the king-sized bed, boots crossed, big pillows behind our heads and watched some mindless music video crap.
Skip played bartender keeping my glass full of JD and Coke with beer chasers. The beer and JD sat on the nightstand and he kept them coming. If I didn’t know better I’d think he was trying to get me drunk. He knows I have a fairly low tolerance for alcohol, he on the other hand was practically raised on moon shine, nothing ever gets him drunk.
After an hour of drinking, I’m getting stoned and trying not to slur my words. I was on the debate team in high school and took elocution classes, so I’m making a concerted effort to pronounce every word and syllable, not to appear that I was not getting wiped out, which I was.
We’re watching the music videos, propped up on pillows against the head board, drinks close by. We’re talking like two bros do, gabbing about nothing in particular when Skip reminiscing about our evening with the blond hooker.
“You know, funny how you can remember something right out of the blue, something that just comes back out of nowhere.” Skip said.
“Yeah, I think I know what you’re talking about, something, a memory that just reappears.” I said looking sideways at Skip.
“Hey, I’m fucking stoned dude, can’t drive bro.” I say to Skip, reaching for my JD.
“I’ll take care of you Marine – remember those dark nights in Afghanistan when we were both scared shitless and I just put my arms around your shoulders and squeezed. I told about my life on the farm, how I had to chase those pigs and get ‘em back inside the gate. Remember how we both laughed our asses off?”
“Yeah, I remember those stories – they got me through some rough times, and you were always right there beside me, protecting me like a brother, but better.”
Skip puts his empty bourbon glass down. He moves closer to me, shoulder to shoulder and drops a hand down to my thigh and squeezes.
“Keep this in mind Marine – I will never let you down or betray you in any way. We’re family and I love you bro, I love you.” Skip whispers.
I lower my head down to Skip’s shoulder. My eyes are closed. I’m off in another world, a world devoid of strife, a world at peace and that calm is slowly invading my interior, a warmth slowly seeping into every fiber and every muscle. In my mind, my body is levitating magically, hoovering.
I’m aware of the heat of Skip’s hand as it massages the muscle under his palm. The feeling of strength and understanding traveling into me by osmosis. I’m experiencing a connection I never knew existed.
I open my eyes and look up at Skip. I can feel the beard stubble on his cheek, smell the after-shave he used earlier, the heady pit aroma devoid of deodorant coming from Skip’s underarms and it’s intoxicating.
Skip is grinning that big country boy ear-to-ear smile and I feel one of his hands snake to the back of my neck. The heat coming from his palm is soothing. He finds my chin, lifts it up and bends his head down, our foreheads touch and his lips caress mine in a soft gentle touch, not demanding or urgent, but patient and waiting.
My eyes are drawn deeply into his baby blues. All of my resistance, if there ever was any, evaporated. I can feel both of his hands encircle my head in a swift capture, not violent or exigent, but calm and soothing.
“You ok?” He says, his words, warm and calming.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“You are so fucking beautiful man – it takes my breath away – I want to make love to you.” Skip murmurs.
“What?” I say, blinking my eyes a couple of times trying to clear away the alcohol fog.
“You want to do what? Skip, I’m not gay, man. Not gay.”
“Neither am I Brad – but when you were fucking that blond bitch and I tasted your crack something clicked in my head. I don’t know what or why, it just happened and I can’t get it out of my mind.”
I sober up fast, but my brain is spinning around in my head trying to make sense of what I just heard coming from my best friend.
“Do you want to suck my cock, man?” I almost can’t put it into words.
Skip says turning away, not looking at me. “I don’t know man – I have never had a thought like this before. Maybe it’s the booze, just don’t know.”
I get up from the bed and walk into the bathroom, just stand there, both hands on top of the sink, studying my face in the mirror for few minutes, then go back and say to Skip:
“We need to head back to the Base. I need to think about what just happened bro – get my head clear.”
I can see the pain in my best friend’s face – looks blank, far away.
I feel the tightness in my guts waiting for his answer, then it comes: “Yeah, that’s what we should do, get back to familiar ground.”
End of Chapter 2
This short chapter is just the beginning of a new reality for our two Marines.
