A Soldier's Story (8 page)

       He held back on his orgasm, because he wanted to make her come, then she'd be the trick. So he slowed down and did everything he could to arouse her. Her nipples hardened and so did her clit. It was only a matter of time now.

       "Move your ass, you know you want to," he whispered. And with a long cry, somewhere between a moan and a protest, she finally yielded to him.

       "That's a good girl," he patted her bottom, as she fucked him furiously. He had humiliated her by touching every part of her, right in a public place, though she'd protested his every move. Now she was heaving around on top of him desperate for release.

       "You bastard," she muttered. "You bastard."

       He placed a finger on her anus to increase her excitement. Felt it twitch against it and try to draw it in. "Naughty, naughty," he whispered, and finger fucked her ass. When the orgasm came it was a whopper…for both of them!

       "Now you're the trick." He laughed. "What was that you said about lap dancing being just simulated intercourse?" He helped pull up her panties and patted her bottom when they were in place. "You're a nice little piece of ass, Cindy." He winked. "I wouldn't mind a blow job sometime."

       She disappeared after that. Perhaps called it a night? Jay glanced around. Nobody was showing any interest. Too caught up in their own erotic adventures to care. He washed up in the men's room and left.

       "I'm gonna kill you." The hooded figure lunged out of nowhere as he reached his car. He spun around, and easily disabled it. Hell, he was trained in combat. A knife clattered to the sidewalk. He tore of its hood. Cindy!

       "Attempted murder is a crime," he said. "I think it's about time we had a little chat with the police."

"So is rape," she screamed.

       Jay laughed. "Don't flatter yourself, darling. You were hot to trot and panting for it." He kept a hold of her as she struggled to get free. "Who do you think the cops will believe?" he demanded, "a tramp who "lap dances" in a sleazy bar, or an army officer?"

       "You bastard," she spat.

       He smacked her face. "Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind."

       You're out of control, Jay, the little voice prodded at him. You only started drinking this heavily and hating women after you fucked with Darren. He's a bad influence.

       I do not hate women. I just dislike sluts who try to dictate to me what I can and cannot do, as they're half naked and bouncing up and down against my cock. Besides it wasn't rape, she could have left at any time. We were in a crowded bar, for crying out loud, one scream would have put a stop to all the action, pronto. Bottom line is I didn't hurt her she bloody well loved it.

       Who are you trying to convince, you or me?

       Stuff it, I'm going home.

       You degraded and humiliated her, Jay. Left her not a shred of dignity. I was there remember. I saw first hand what happened. No wonder she tried to slice off your gonads.

       Fuck off. She loved it, I tell you. Her orgasm thumped against my cock for ages, super strong contractions. If anyone humiliated her, betrayed her––if you will––it was her own body and desires. My ability to turn her on was greater than her will to resist.

       Bastard!

       Not you as well, pulease, gimme a break.

       He drove back to the base. He didn't feel like going home, and facing Kerry. He had to get a grip. He rummaged through the glove box for the whiskey flask, while keeping one eye on the road. Swallowed down what was left, and tossed it on the floor, then lit a cigarette. He had to stop drinking.

       Fog socked in the exit ramp. He slowed down suddenly, he'd almost missed it, and bang…Christ, he'd been rear-ended. Fuck! He struggled for control of the vehicle as it spun around in a circle and then careened onto the shoulder, eventually slamming against a barbed wire fence. The engine cut out.

       Oh my God, the blood pounded in his temples, that was a close call. He tried to start it up again, but it wouldn't turn over. Fuck! He was trapped. And when the police arrived they would breathalyse him and he'd be in deep shit. The driver's door was jammed, damaged by the collision, but he managed to exit by the passenger's side. He felt dizzy, unwell, and jarred by the impact, but he struggled on through the snow, still lying thick in places, to a truck stop. He called for a taxi and drank copious amounts of black coffee while he waited. When he arrived back at the base he stuck his head under the cold water tap to clear it, and then phoned for a tow truck.

       "Someone rear ended me and my car left the road," he explained. He gave its location. "I need it towed to a garage."

       "You're not supposed to leave the scene of an accident," the dispatcher said.

       "I know that." Jay gritted his teeth. "But it's freezing cold and the car wouldn't start." He drew a ragged breath. "Besides, it wasn't my fault. It was a very minor collision. I can fill out an accident report later…for the insurance company." He lit a cigarette. No easy task with trembling hands. "I'm Captain Sutherland. I can be contacted at the military base." That did the trick. They went for it. Jay smiled. Rank impressed. He exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

       Let that be a lesson to you, warned the little voice. If you keep on drinking and whoring you won't be so lucky next time. You'll end up in jail.

       It was right. He had to stop drinking, then everything else would correct itself. His life could get back on track. The affair with Darren had sent him spinning into a downward spiral. It went against the grain of everything he'd ever valued or respected. Heck, it broke every Commandment on the spot. Then there was the bloody missing patrol drama, tied up as it was with Darren that just wouldn't quit. He had to put it behind him, too. Frankly, the way he felt now, he didn't give a fuck if they'd found a dozen Bin Ladens and let them all go. He plugged in the coffee pot, lit another cigarette and stared out at the frozen Fraser River.

       The next morning a new platoon arrived. "They're from Camp Borden," said a sergeant. Jay edged his way through the noise and chaos in the administration building. He felt hung-over, very rough. When he got to the end of the corridor he speeded up to round the corner, and almost collided with someone coming out of one of the offices. Time stood still. His heart leaped into his mouth.

       Darren

       Freeway traffic belted past the Starlight Motel, double-glazed windows blocked out the racket. Jay turned on the radio, and lay down on the bed. He expected Darren at any minute.

       They'd been super cautious about their intimate encounters, choosing a motel far out of the city and both arriving separately. They even parked their cars several blocks away. But even so…Jay realised he was playing with fire.

       His two separate worlds were veering precariously close together. This wasn't Afghanistan, or even the Regina Airport Inn, thousands of miles from home. The regimental dance had demonstrated this, dramatically.

       Kerry had looked stunning in a midnight blue sheath, and introducing her to Darren, who looked equally edible in his dress uniform––the lieutenant's insignia suited him––made Jay squirm with the inappropriateness of it all.

       He felt as if he were careening along in a runaway train–– unable to get off, helpless––and bracing himself for the inevitable crash.

       "Sorry I'm late," Darren's arrival burst in on his thoughts. "The traffic is murder."

       As always, his presence chased away the fears, which simply overwhelmed Jay, when he brooded, alone. Something that felt this right, he told himself for the umpteenth time, could not be wrong.

       Then why are you so damned unhappy and scared shitless of getting caught? The little voice got busy on its self-appointed mission to torment him. Your double life is tearing you apart Jay. I think from now on I'll call you Solomon's child!

       He ignored it and grasped Darren in his arms. They kissed for ages. Kept their lovemaking slow and measured. Now that

       they were seeing each other, regularly, the insane couplings that had threatened to devour them had ceased. The excitement was just as intense, Jay noted, but tempered by less urgency.

       Darren rolled onto his back and held up his legs. Jay mounted him. We're getting like an old married couple, he thought with a snicker, fucking in the missionary. The sex was exquisite, red-hot desire that soared higher and higher until it scorched his very soul and erupted like molten lava.

       "We can't go on like this." Darren sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his socks. "It's dynamite. You know that. Sooner or later someone's going to see us." He had put into words what Jay had been thinking. What he already knew for some time. He had to either leave Kerry and the army, and move in with Darren, thereby acknowledging the nature of their liaison to the world, or cut Darren out of his life.

       "I'd have no problem leaving the army," Darren said. "We could move to Toronto or somewhere, where we're not known."

       The idea was tempting Jay had to admit. To chuck the army wouldn't cause him any grief, either. He could get a job in horticulture, possibly at a government agency. And Darren there in his bed every night…

       Cut the crap, the little voice jumped in. What about your family? Can you imagine what it would do to your parents, their son a raging homo? It sure wouldn't do your dad's political career any good.

       Jay would like to have strangled it with his bare hands. I hate you, he told it silently.

       Then you hate yourself, dumbass. Who the fuck do you think I am?

       "I don't think I could bear seeing you every day at the base and never meeting like this." Jay stroked Darren's shoulder.

       "I know, it would be equally impossible for me. That's why I put in for a transfer."

       "You did what?"

       "It's the only way." Darren looked ready to weep.

       Jay put his arms around him. "I love you, man," he said. But that wasn't always enough, he reflected miserably. Life got in the way.

       Coward. You want to have your cake and eat it too, Darren's cock and the myth of respectability. You're a stinker, Jay. You lack the courage of your convictions. Kerry deserves better. So, for that matter, does Darren.

       Jay willed it to be silent. He felt exhausted, totally spent. Christ, he was arguing with himself.

       Watching Darren leave was purgatory. The feeling of being left behind, scary as witches. He dressed quickly, and got out of there. He needed a drink so bad he could taste it. Scotch on the rocks and then another and another…He stopped by a bar and drank himself into oblivion.

       He woke up in a police holding cell.

~ * ~

        "What happened to you, Jay, you look terrible?" Kerry greeted him at the door. "I thought you'd never get home. I've been trying to contact you all night."

       "Sorry, I forgot to charge my phone," he lied and sank down wearily on the couch with a cigarette. "A friend of mine just got killed in Afghanistan." Another lie. It was becoming a habit. "When I heard, I went to pieces."

       "Oh you poor darling." She cradled him in her arms. "Let me get you something to eat. It'll make you feel better."

       You skunk, the little voice sounded disgusted. You're worth less than a wooden nickel.

       Jay covered his ears with his hands. Save your self-righteous recriminations for someone who gives a fuck and leave me the fuck alone.

       "What was that you said, honey?"

       It caught him by surprise. He hadn't realised that he'd spoken aloud. He was losing it more and more, it seemed. "Nothing…" He poured himself a whiskey to calm his nerves. Changed his mind, and with every ounce of willpower he possessed––not something you have a surplus of––the little voice taunted, poured it down the sink. Oh God, how could he go on without Darren?

       Your sins will find you out.

       The fuck they will, Jay retorted. He'd walk away from this brief flirtation with debauchery, relatively unscathed. It had not caught him out, at all. Nothing, except the torch he still carried for Darren, had jumped up to bite him on the ass.

       There had been a time though, he admitted, when he imagined he saw Cindy, the lap dancing whore from Razor's, following him. Just a fleeting impression born out of booze-shattered nerves, he supposed, and his old nemesis, guilt. He recalled how she'd attacked and tried to stab him in the parking lot. Crazy bitch! She needed a dose of his belt across her bare ass. Or better still a razor strop. Ouch! The idea sparked an unexpected reaction in his crotch. He grinned.

       But how could Cindy find out who you are––where you work and where you live? Never had the little voice sounded so innocent.

       You know bloody well how. Jay grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured what remained in the toilet. She had seen his vehicle and could have jotted down the license number. He'd also been foolish enough to tell her he was an army officer.

       You dumb bastard! Why not just hand her your resume? Stupidity like that should be a criminal offence.

~ * ~

       Stanley Park in spring. On impulse, Jay stopped on his way home from the base, watched ducks sailing in circles and an osprey poised in a sycamore tree. He remembered coming here as a child on family picnics, serene Sundays full of laughter, ball games, and blind man's buff. He sat down on a bench and lit a cigarette. Ah, the innocence of childhood…if they only knew what lay ahead.

       The withdrawal from alcohol left him shaky. He hadn't had a drink in days. But sanity, of a sort had been restored. The night spent in the cells had been the wake up call that scared him sober.