He tried very hard to act straight around me and other soldiers, but the awkwardness behind it actually made it more obvious. I felt he needed to expel this demon, so as an obligation to help him come out of the closet, I boldly asked his sexual orientation in true Annica fashion. “Steven, you’re gay, aren’t you?”
“Aren’t you?” he said as he pulled out my iron from a wall locker and plugged it in.
“I like girls, yes.” We set up the board so he could press his uniform in my room and talk.
Steven instantly changed the pitch in his voice and began to swirl in my computer chair as he waited for the iron to heat. Suddenly the letter S became elongated and a snap of his fingers was added for emphasis to the main point.
“Girl, mossst people can’t tell, but I am tired of not being able to be myssself. *snaps* I haven’t been able to find anyone like me to chill with. These boys around here are slick. They play games and I am not down with that hiding bullshit; that’s why I am going back to civilian life so I can be myssself. It’s hard being me. *snaps*”
It was the beginning of a wonderful friendship. He welcomed my questions about coming out of the closet and going back in it for the military. His mother was very accepting, and he spoke very fondly of her. She was one of those quiet, passive women, sweet as apple pie when I met her. Steven cut out the super fag twists and turns as he talked to her. He became a typical adult man speaking to his mother without all the cursing and extensions of the letter S. Every now and then one would slip, but he tried amicably to respect his mother and held back the flaming characteristics I was used to seeing.
Annica already knew of his sexuality but didn’t say a word to me. Funny how a chatterbox could hold secrets like that; no wonder they were friends.
When Steven was comfortable enough, he invited Annica and myself to Jet Ski with his red-headed local Provost Marshal boyfriend. The boyfriend was not out and was very pissed off that Steven invited us; however, we went and had a blast. He was pleasant and seemingly had no problem showing affection around Annica and me, but weeks later, after much arguing, Steven confessed that it was the day their relationship went downhill.
“He is hiding, girl. I can’t be with a man who will make love to me at night and turn around and pretend he doesn’t know me in public. He’s just a ssscared little bitch is what he is” Then he asked who I was interested in, but I didn’t have a name to give him. Relationships with women were not my priority. Lynn knew of my bisexuality and always flirted, but there were too many boys on the weekends. Chasing women didn’t cross my mind and, besides, there wasn’t enough time outside of the one-night stand drama and screwing no-name privates.
Additionally, I had a steady something going with Franklin. He was my fuck buddy of seven months, and that’s literally all we did. He was twenty-five and nearly bald, weighing in at 140 pounds with three percent body fat. Hardly the guy anyone would suspect me of sleeping with, he was perfect.
We didn’t want anyone to know about our little setup, so we asked in code if the other wanted sex and tried to maintain secrecy. I’d walk to his room, where his roommate always answered the door in his tighty whities.
“Hey, is Franklin in? Could you ask him if he wants to play cards, please?” I’d peer into the room that they had painted a deep purple to see if he was, in fact, in. I could see his shirtless pink flesh sitting on his bed through the crack of the door in contrast to the purple paint. And that was it, the unbreakable code we made to boldly ask the other for sex—ingenious really. Sometimes we could yell it down the hallway through the loud music, and no one thought anything of it. Franklin didn’t even bother to get up from doing whatever he was doing on his bed.
He simply instructed his roommate. “Ask her if she wants me to bring my deck!” This was code for “do you have condoms or should I bring some?” We had it choreographed very well.
“Bring his deck; tell him I’ll be in my room and put some goddamn pants on.” I walked to my room, which was several doors down the hall, to wait for his knock in less than four minutes.
As soon as the door to my room shut behind him, we attacked each other as if we were lovers in an affair with limited time to share. The tension was high and no foreplay was needed; just take the clothes off, stick it in and pump, that’s the mission. It was always exciting and arousing to have desire like that, no matter where it came from, and the clothes never seemed to come off fast enough before he entered me. Sometimes he had the condom on already so it would be much less awkward.
He was a small man with a small penis. There is no polite way to put it, but he was my choice for a fuck buddy because a good poke before going to the club usually helped me leave the other boys alone. That’s also what it was, a poke. It took longer for us to rip each other’s clothes off than it did for him to orgasm. Poor Franklin was a two-pump chump; however, ladies and straight gentlemen, that’s what I liked about him. Our beneficial relationship worked because we gave each other what we needed, no strings attached. Get in, get out, and take the fucking deck with you when you leave.
Around the time of Franklin and his inability to last longer than three minutes, I was still bringing boys home on the weekends and crying about it to Annica. One particular weekend Annica gathered all of our friends up for a big night out, figuring the more people to socialize with, the less chances of a quick guilty hookup.
Everyone went and the plan to keep my vagina in my pants worked. Annica still had her infamous wingman make-out sessions. Lynn had some new recruit finger her in a dark corner. My neighbor, Rick, who looked like a living, breathing Ken doll, hung out with Lynn’s friend, Melanie, at the bar. Steven brought along a straight friend and played pool all night. We danced so long our blisters had blisters. Eventually the bartender announced it was last call, and the final hour was spent trying to convince each person to stay in one spot so we could leave as a group.
Barely sober enough to drive, we piled into my Geo Metro and made the three-block trek back to the barracks. Annica, by surrounding me with buddies, kept me away from the pussy-hungry boys. Now it was time to finish up the night with that last beer among friends.
We tried to use our best drunken whispers to talk in the hallways until we all filled into Rick’s room, where he played Prince CDs and cracked windows for the smoke to filter out. As far as we were all concerned, the after party had begun.
We joked and screamed at the girl getting laid in the other building. She was so loud that we could hear her through our music. This became our new form of entertainment. We all gathered at the windows, squirming for positions to get as many heads out of it as possible and loudly yelled out orgasmic sounds of our own. The chorus of the fake orgy drove the barracks guard outside to investigate and pissed him off enough to threaten us with calling our first sergeants. We settled a bit and it was a bunch of friends partying, very innocently, just soldiers relieving some stress—until somebody started kissing.
One of those goddamn horny soldiers started French kissing the other and eventually taunted me into the slobber frenzy. There was no thinking involved, just a psychedelic dance of mouths where tongues licked other random tongues in a four-way kissing freak show. Annica and the straight friend of Steven’s shared that face people get when the joke isn’t funny anymore. Lynn stood laughing and mocking Annika’s embarrassment. Soon the lighthearted shouts of initial shock turned into yeah it’s time to leave.