Duty(15)

I groan, my cock twitching in my shorts. It's like it finally realized its purpose again other than helping me piss in the toilet. And now that it's been inside Lindsey, it wants back there again, and as quickly as possible.

There’s a moment of silence, and Lindsey laughs softly. “Sorry. Okay, well, maybe you can give me a call tomorrow night. We can call it Friday phone date night.”

“A phone date night?” I repeat.

“Gimme a call about eight. We’ll talk then,” Lindsey says.



Marching down to Flirty Walk along with the rest of the work detail crew, I'm somewhat glad that I did get work detail this weekend. The sky overhead is gloomy, and it's already threatening to rain. It's no weather for bike riding with Lindsey. I hope it holds off, if for no other reason than I hate working in the rain. And besides, I know the firstie who is running the details. I had a few run-ins with him before. He'll run us into the ground in anything short of a nor'easter.

“So where are we starting out, anyway?” someone asks, and the firstie turns around, walking backward.

“We're covering the first half of Flirty, from the north arch to Sheridan's bench,” he says, earning some groans from the guys whom I take it are working off longer slugs than what I got. Hey, better for them to be doing this than the poor damn fools who got caught with DUI or some other sort of alcohol offense. The Supe not only puts a letter of reprimand in their permanent file that stays with them after they graduate, but he makes them march tours Old Corps style, dress uniform and rifle on the shoulder. Give me work details any day of the week.

“Shit, man, we covered that three weeks ago!” someone else says. “Seriously, I could f*ck a chick in the middle of that section and not even get dirty doing it!”

“That's because the only girl you f*ck is Rosy Palm,” someone replies, earning laughs. Okay, so cadets aren't exactly the most politically correct group of people, especially if it's an all-male group. Most of us are young, come from 'old fashioned' backgrounds, and there are more than a few good ol' boys in the Corps. I wouldn't trust my sister around most of the Corps. If I had a sister.

“Cut the chatter,” the detail leader says, and we quiet down some. “Either way, Sergeant Major wants that section done, so we'll work it for five hours.”

We get down to Flirtation Walk, officially the only point on post where cadets are allowed to engage in public displays of affection, a roughly half-mile dirt trail that gives you a view of the Hudson River, and make a quick ad-hoc formation around the arch at the trailhead. “Okay, groups of three or four, fan out and keep busy!” the leader says. “If Sergeant Major comes down here and sees us f*cking off, none of us are getting credit for these hours.”

Great idea, but after an hour, I'm understanding the earlier joker's comment about Flirty being clean. With only cadets and their guests allowed to use the trail, there isn't a lot of stuff around to police up. After about two or three attempts at just walking the trail and picking up trash or tossing sticks out of the way, the leader, feeling the threat of losing his credit, loses it. “Fine, f*ck it! Pick up the waste wood and pile it at the arch, along with any other trash!”

“How big of wood are you talking here?” someone asks, and he gives us the finger. “Ah, bigger than that. Gotcha.”

I wander back onto the trail, and soon enough, I find something worth venting my frustration on. A downed tree, obviously not waste wood, but a tree a good four inches around and maybe twenty feet long, lies in the bed of leaves that makes up the sides of the trail. I look around and see Will Washington, one of my classmates, and call him over. “Whaddya say, man?”

“Fuck it. He wants wood, I'll give him wood,” Will says, laughing. “Speaking of which, you should have seen the woodbringer that I saw yesterday.”

“Woodbringer?” I ask, and Will nods. “What's a woodbringer?”

“You know, hottie, piece of ass, get my drift?” he says, laughing. “Anyway, I was up by the PX after class, picking up some protein powder. And man, this PFC I saw . . . holy shit, the ass on this girl!”

“Nice?” I ask, thinking that there's no way that Will's PFC has anything on Lindsey.

“Fuck yea!” Will says. We take a grip on two of the bigger branches still sticking out from the trunk and lift, grunting a little. It's not that heavy, but it is awkward, the weight's just a bit off. “Tell you what, I'd think of giving up cadet status and enlisting if I thought I could have that honey blonde hair on my pillow at night.”

“So you got spank bank material?” I tease, and Will laughs as we start down the trail toward the arch. We both know the rule. The enlisted are off limits by the USCC rules, and all the officers are senior in rank to you. Either you play within the gray lines—there are some good looking female cadets—or you go outside the service. Just the way it is. “Well, she got a name?”

“Let me think . . .” Will says, his voice drifting off as he tries to find the answer. I can't help it, I laugh. “What?”

“You’re all hard up for this girl,” I say, setting the tree down and adjusting my grip before lifting again, “and you don't even have a name?”

“What the f*ck are you two doing?” the detail leader says. He's talking with the Sergeant Major, and I can tell he's pissed. He thinks he's going to get his bonus hours, and we maybe f*cked up his game. The Sergeant Major looks amused, and he raises an eyebrow behind his old-fashioned big ass rectangular glasses. “Seriously?”