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JACK AND THE BOAT TRIP

My submission for the ‘Summer Lovin’ event. Just a fun one, although a bit of a build-up.

All characters engaged in extra-curricular activities are over 18.

No editors were harmed in the writing, review, or submission of this story.

>was following him, and eventually he got his head around the idea. “Damn crayon eater,” I heard him mumbling, more than once. “Just coz you Aren’t Ready to be a Marine Yet,” I would retaliate.

My birth mother? That’s a subject I don’t like to talk about. Being married to a soldier was hard, especially with the assignments my dad was on early in his career, and my mother couldn’t handle it. I was about five when she up and left. Dad said she went back to her hometown and married her high-school sweetheart, but as far as he knew, I didn’t have any half-siblings running around. Not that it mattered, I barely heard from her. A card for my birthday, and something at Christmas.

I did go to see her once, well, I tried, between graduation and boot camp. Dad had kept track and knew her address. He was like that. “Can’t ever have too much intel,” he would say. Anyway, when I told him what I wanted to do, he just nodded and wrote down the address for me.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” was all the advice he gave me on that subject.

It’s funny how your parents get smarter as you get older, and he turned out to be right. Again.

I showed up at her house, and no one was home. It was about 4 o’clock, so I figured if she was working, she’d be home soon, so I sat on the front step and waited. Sure enough, about a half-hour later, a relatively new Chevy pulled into the driveway.

I could see her, sitting in the driver’s seat, looking at me. At first, she looked puzzled, and then, as I stood up, dawning recognition came over her. I never did take after my father, at least not physically, and now I could see where my genes came from. I had seen her put the car in Park, and now I watched in disbelief as she reached for the shifter, backed down the driveway, and drove away. I waited for another hour, but she never came back. Before I left, I jammed a note into the doorframe with my number on it and two lines of scribbled text. I was shaking kinda hard and had trouble writing. “Don’t worry, I won’t be coming back. Leaving this in case you ever want to know who your son is.”

“Why, Dad?” I asked when I got home the next day.

“I wish I knew, son. She never gave me any kind of reason either.”

After that, I tried to get on with my life. I spent a lot of time with Georgia, which helped. She was a happy kid, always smiling, and who could resist that? But we knew what was coming. When I got on that bus at MEPS to head down to South Carolina, I think all of us were crying. Well, not Dad.

I really liked Michelle, Dad’s new wife. Afghanistan made her a widow when she was still pregnant with Georgia – that’s where her birth father was from – and she married Dad four years later. I think at first, she was escort şişli worried – afraid, really – about getting involved with another soldier, but Dad’s MOS was in Intelligence, and his duties had become safer and more regular than when he was married to my mother.

Anyway, she treated me with nothing but kindness and affection, and it didn’t take long for me to realize what I’d missed out on, growing up. She cried a little when I told her, and hugged me. From then on, she was ‘Mom’.

Michelle told me later, that when she and Georgia came down for my boot camp graduation, it was a near thing keeping Georgia from running out onto the parade ground to get to me. I had won the Iron Man award for a perfect score on my fitness tests, and so had the privilege of marching up front to receive it. Georgia saw me, and Michelle said she made it halfway to me, her mop of red-gold curls bouncing, yelling, “Jack! Jack!” before Michelle could catch her. I thought I heard some laughter and commotion, but with the Colonel in front of me, I wasn’t about to look. When I got back into formation, even my DI had a grin on his face.

Once the ceremony was over, and the spectators were allowed onto the Parade Grounds, she came running again, and I snatched her up. She wrapped her little arms around my neck and kissed me on the cheek, and Michelle and I both had tears in our eyes. Dad couldn’t make the trip; he was off on an assignment, but I was used to that, and had gotten over taking those things personally. He did call to congratulate me later that evening. “Damn jarhead,” he said, but I could tell he was proud.

After PI was the Marine Combat Training Battalion, or MCT. You may have heard the saying, “Every Marine is a rifleman,” and this was the school where non-combat Marines learn those skills. Then after THAT, I went to my MOS school at Camp Johnson, North Carolina. I guess the ‘needs of the Corps’ won out, and I became a 3521, Automotive Maintenance Technician.

I didn’t mind; I liked working with my hands, and I learned how to troubleshoot and fix all kinds of vehicles. I also did some cross-training with the drivers. I was fortunate to be stationed at Camp Lejeune, so I wasn’t too far from home – Dad, Michelle, and Georgia were at Fort Bragg, about 2 1/2 hours away.

I settled into a routine of work, going home on free weekends, rinse, and repeat. Until the day I found out we were deploying. How was I going to explain this to Georgia?

Poor kid. She didn’t understand, and I hugged her and said that I’d miss her this much, holding my arms as wide as I could. When she mimicked me, throwing her arms out, I did lose it for a minute. I just picked her up and hugged her again so she wouldn’t see me cry. Once I had myself back under control, I promised I would call, and that I would miss her, and I would come home as soon as I could.

Michelle cried on me, and Dad put his left hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, and told me to stay safe. We shook, escort taksim and it wasn’t long before I was on my way to the sandbox.

It’s everything you’ve heard. Well, for those of us who spent most of our time on the base, anyway. Hot, dusty, boring. Except when it’s not. I guess I’d been there about three months, when one night I woke up to the sound of explosions and yelling and gunfire. I learned later that we were under a rocket attack, but at the time, I was just trying to keep my head down and look out for my buddies.

I don’t think I was being particularly brave when I saw Keith – PFC Johnson – go down. I just reacted, grabbing him under the arms and dragging him behind a Humvee. I saw blood coming from his leg, so I tore off my T-shirt and wrapped it around the wound. I stuck my head out to yell for a medic, and when I turned back around, it happened. I remember feeling like my back was on fire, and then nothing.

A rocket had exploded not too far away, and I got pretty badly cut up by the shrapnel. I woke up in a field hospital, lying on my stomach.

>> We’re here!

> Be right up!

I was excited to see them. I jogged up the dock and saw them standing beside a small Mercedes sedan which was parked beside my old truck. Had to be Julie’s car. We had a nice group hug, and I told them how much I’d missed them and how great they looked. They both blushed prettily and said they’d missed me too.

They really did look great. Julie was tall, about 5’8′, which put her about six inches shorter than I was. She was the curvier of the two, but wasn’t fat by any means; just some extra padding on an athletic body. Probably a C-cup if I had to guess. Her skin had a beautiful golden hue that she got from her Italian mother, and wavy chestnut hair that fell past her shoulders. She had big hazel eyes, and a slightly Roman nose that added character and strength to her face. Full lips and a wide smile completed the picture. Julie, for all that she was my sister’s friend, was frankly, sex on a stick. But she didn’t act like it. She was genuinely nice, which just made her that much more special.

Amy was a couple of inches shorter and more slender than her friend. She must have been hitting the gym since last I saw her, because I didn’t remember seeing that much definition in her arms and legs before, but it was obvious now in her shorts and T-shirt. As were her perky B-cups. She had a several-shades-lighter complexion, and blonde-highlighted caramel-colored hair that was as long as Julie’s, but straight, and almost always up in a ponytail, as it was now. My eyes wandered over her face, taking in her sparkling blue eyes, a little turned-up nose, and a slight overbite. She was ‘cute’ personified.

She caught me looking and said, “What? Do I have something on me?”

“No, just missed you. Both of you.”

They beamed.

When Julie popped the trunk, I eyed them skeptically. “I thought this was just for the weekend?” I asked, escort nişantaşı then groaned, hefting their bags.

They looked at each other and shrugged. “You never know,” Amy said.

I led them back down the dock, and when we got to my boat, their eyes widened.

“Holy crap, Jack!” Julie exclaimed. “Amy, what the hell?”

“Sorry! I just assumed it would be smaller!” They both stared at me.

I shrugged, grinning.

Rocín is the trawler that I inherited from my Uncle Robbie. She’s almost 60 feet long from stem to stern, and very sturdy. She’ll never win any races, but she’s ocean-capable, and I would feel safe taking her just about anywhere. Robbie had outfitted her with every upgrade and improvement he could think of to make her as safe and self-sufficient as possible.

“What’s… Ro-SEEN?” Amy asked, sounding it out.

“It’s Spanish for ‘nag’,” I answered, “Kind of a funny story. Uncle Robbie had this girlfriend. She was something! She was this stereotypical Irish redhead. Gorgeous, but a temper like nothing you’ve ever seen. Anyway, her name was Róisín, (I pronounced it for them; ro-SHEEN) and Uncle Robbie thought it was the greatest pun on her name, and it made him laugh even harder that she never got it. Personally, I’m certain she did get it, and played dumb to let him have his little joke.”

“Your family is weird,” Amy declared, and headed aboard. Well, she wasn’t wrong.

Julie and I followed, and I showed them where to stow their gear.

“So, you want to get moving, or just hang here at the marina?”

Both girls were excited to go for a boat ride, so I showed them what to do to get us un-moored and then we got tied back up at the fuel dock. I asked the attendant to top up the fuel and water, and pump the gray and black water tanks. That took a little while, and I used the opportunity to show the girls around the boat.

Finally, we were all topped off and headed down toward the Potomac. The yacht had two main conning stations – an enclosed wheelhouse, also called a pilothouse, and an open flybridge above it. It was a nice day, so we were up on the flybridge. I was explaining the controls and had just made the turn to head south down the river, when my cell phone rang.

“Hey Jack, it’s Ben up at the marina. Thought I should let you know, just a few minutes ago, some ass-hat came in asking about a woman who sounded a lot like one of your lady friends. Before I had a chance to shut him down, a couple of teenagers blabbed that they’d seen these really hot chicks get on a big trawler and head out. He was asking what the boat’s name was, but fortunately, those two idiots were too busy staring and her and her friend. He tried to pump me and Sandy for information, even tried to bribe us, but we just played dumb, and told him it must have been someone just passing through.”

“Ok, thanks, Ben. I appreciate it. Hey, could I ask you to do me a favor? We’ll probably be gone a while, so could you keep an eye out for that guy? If you see him maybe get a license plate or something, but only if you can do it without him noticing. He sounds like he might be dangerous.”

I told Amy what Ben had just said, and she paled. I hugged her and said, “Hey, I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen. That’s a promise.” Julie came over and hugged her from the other side.

>

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