A Second ChanceChapter 6
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It was the first day of school, and Terry was apprehensive. It should have been a no brainer. He was a senior this year. He was the star outfielder on the baseball team, but he had a black cloud hanging over his head. His aunt and uncle started as freshmen in his school today. He just knew that he was in trouble. It was always that way with them!
When they got to the parking lot, he parked in his old parking spot from last year. He could see most of his friends gathered around Chris's van, four spaces up from his. Chris was the team pitcher and very popular.
"May as well get it over with," Terry said to himself. He got out of his car and made sure that Robert and Rachel were with him as he walked up to the group.
"Hi guys," he said, "what's up?"
"Who are these nerds with you?" Chris demanded.
"They're Robert and Rachel. They start as freshmen today. They're also my aunt and uncle. So don't give them any shit," Terry said, getting defensive.
"Wait a minute," Chris said, "they're your aunt and uncle. Yet they are what - three years younger than you are. What gives?"
"It's a complicated story, guys. I don't want to go into it right now. There isn't time. I'll explain after school. We'll have more time then," Terry said. Just then the ten-minute bell rang, and they all headed into school.
After school, Terry found everyone was gathered at Chris's van again with their girlfriends. He approached, again with Robert and Rachel in tow.
"All right," Chris said without any preamble, "lets hear the story."
"This all started in 2008," Terry began. "That was the year that my dad's mother died. It was a year before I was born. I never got to meet her. She was my grandfather's first wife. They were married like forty years. She came down with some kind of cancer and died in a couple months. Granddad had her cremated. and took her ashes to her relatives in Thailand. By the time he got back, it was the end of August. It was early-September when he got a letter from the Army. It told him that he was being recalled to active duty, and to report to the local Army post for duty."
Rachel was no longer listening. She knew the story very well. Much better than Terry in fact, for she had gotten it directly from her father. She shared her mother's talent and had gotten it full blast. It went like this:
September 2008, a Friday
I pulled up to the check-point at the Main Gate to the Post. There was a line. I had to show my retired ID card and the letter from the Army to get on Post. They also searched my vehicle. Once on post, I headed for the Admin Section to report in. The letter returning me to active duty had arrived less than two weeks after my return from Thailand.
"This is sure one screwed-up mess," I thought to myself. "Recalling a 65 year-old man to active duty. WTF!"(Look it up)
I finally found a parking spot. Then I headed for Admin to find out what was what. It didn't do me much good. They were as confused as I was. The clerk, that I talked to, sent for his section chief. The section chief sent me to the G-1 (Personnel Officer). Nobody knew what was going on. The G-1, a Major, finally made a decision. Sign in — they would check with DA (Department of the Army), and find out what was up. They cut some temporary orders assigning me to the Post HQ Company. I was assigned a room in the Senior NCO BEQ (Bachelor Enlisted Quarters).
"Hang out till Monday, Top. Check with us then. We will try to get an answer out of DA (Department of the Army) by then," the Major said.
"What about uniforms? All of my stuff is 20+ years old. I can still get into it, but it's not the current uniform," I inquired.
"Just wear what you have on Monday. Civvies will do over the weekend. If this is for real, we'll get you an issue of clothes next week, also an active duty ID card," the Major said. "We'll also have to get your records from St Louis, if this is for real and not some kind of screw up," he added.
I went over to the BEQ. The room was OK. I dragged all of my stuff in from the SUV and got set up. I hadn't done this for a long time. I went over to the Headquarters Company and checked with the company clerk. He sent me to the First Sergeant, who was not happy to see me. It seems the Major had called him. I was just a pain in the ass to him.
"So, how long have you been an E-8," he asked.
"DOR of 1 Aug 81, First Sergeant," I answered.
"What? That's ... that's 27 years ago! What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, amazed.
"You have to ask DA about that." I said and showed him the letter and the temporary orders.
"Christ, you out rank every E-8 in the Army. If you go to the E-9 board, you'll make it on time-in-grade points alone," he said, still amazed. Then, changing the subject, he asked, "You need a meal card, or are you on separate rats. (Separate rations)"
"I'll just eat at the PX, the Club, or go into town for now. When we find out what is going on, I'll decide if I want to eat at the mess hall, the Club, or what."
I spent the rest of the day checking out things around post, so that I had a good idea of where everything was. I had dinner at the NCO club and went back to the room at around 2100 hrs.
It must have been around 2300 hrs when I heard the commotion coming from the rear of the building. I had been on my laptop when it started, reading a story on line. When I heard a girl scream, it definitely got my attention. I pulled the reproduction Model 97 trench gun from its carrying case, and slipped five shells into the tubular magazine. I headed out of my room and down the hall to the back door. I cut off the hall lights, slipped out, and went toward the heating plant on the back side of the building. That was where the sound appeared to be coming from.
I was about 25 feet from the door, when the girl ran directly into me. In the dark, it was difficult to tell her age or features, but the naked breasts and soft body, coupled with the smell of semen, were unmistakable. She screamed when she ran into me. There was a tingle between us like an electric shock.
As she screamed, three men came out the heating plant door, and looked in our direction. They were illuminated by the fire-light over the door and still buttoning their pants as they emerged.
"She went that way," one said pointing at us. The girl was hysterical and trying to get away from me. I pushed her behind me, and told her to stay there. Meanwhile the three were slowly advancing toward us.
"Give us the girl, pop, and everything will be cool," the one, who appeared to be the leader, said.
"I don't believe that will happen," I said, "if you want her, you'll have to take her." I pumped the action of the Model 97, chambering a round. It's a very distinct sound. The three stopped dead in their tracks.
"I have five rounds of double ought buckshot in this trench gun. Who wants to be the first to die?" I asked. They didn't answer. They simply fled.
Meanwhile, the girl had collapsed behind me. She was crying, her breathing was very ragged, and she was shaking violently. I carefully lowered the external hammer on the Model 97 and slung it over my shoulder by the sling. I would need both hands to get the girl up. When I touched her, she screamed again, and there was that dam tingle, again.
"Easy girl," I said, "I'm not here to hurt you. We should get inside before someone else comes to investigate the noise."
"Please, don't hurt me," she pleaded in a quavering voice, as apparently she hadn't heard me.
"I'm not going to hurt you, girl. We really need to move out of here though," I told her. I bent down, and helped her up. We slipped in the back door and got to my room without anyone seeing us. I didn't know how many people stayed here, or how many were in on a weekend.
Once we were back in the room, I locked the door: unloaded the Model 97; returned it to it's carrying case. The girl was sitting on the bed. She was naked. Her makeup had run with the tears she had shed. She looked a mess. There was cum running down her leg, and she was still crying. Her body was shaking and her breathing was still ragged.
I pulled out one of my OD T-shirts and told her to put it on. She was a really nice looking girl. About five feet tall with really nice large breasts, long red hair, oval face, green eyes, and freckles, not beautiful but really cute. I got out a large towel and told her to wrap it around her waist. She did and then sat back down on the bed.
"What's your name, Miss?" I asked, since I didn't like calling her girl.
"My name is Amber," she said in a quavering voice. "My father is LTC O' Day. Please don't call him! He already hates me, and this will make him hate me even more," she pleaded between sobs.
"All right," I acknowledged, "we won't call him for now. Tell me how you came to be out there in the heating plant?"
"Bobby, he's the guy who brought me there, he has been hanging out at the club where we go after school. A lot of the girls seem to know him. Anyway, he had been talking to me for a couple of weeks. Today, he asked if I had had any sex. I told him a little. He wanted to know if I had ever been eaten. I said, 'No'. He asked if I was interested. I said maybe. He said if I came with him tonight and gave him a blow-job, he would eat me afterward. He told me where to meet him. When I showed up, he brought me over there," she said.
"What happened when you got there?" I asked.
"Bobby had a key to the heating plant. He said he got it from the guy who took care of it. We went in. There was an air mattress on a cot along one wall, and a cooler. He asked if I wanted a beer. I told him no. He offered me a soda. I said sure, a cola. He opened one and handed it to me. I drank part of it. We sat on the cot and Bobby was playing with my tits and rubbing my thighs. He said to drink up, and we could get to the fun. I drank some more, but started to not feel well. I tried to tell him, but I couldn't talk very well. Then I was lying on my back. I didn't remember doing that and Bobby was pulling my clothes off," here she started to cry again. I gave her some toilet paper, and told her to blow her nose, and wipe her eyes. She did and then continued.
Alma
- 20.09.2022
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