PART TWO h – The Townhouse

  "Wow. Are we staying for a doctorate? I'm never gonna wanna leave college, hun."

  "Hmm. You can't count your chickens before they hatch. But… I should graduate, oh, about 22? Masters. Team captain. Another two years. My st half a year would be working on my master's thesis, no csswork. Maybe a little longer. I would be 24 or so. Now, if the masters thesis has any relevancy in the field? Gets citations. You're allowed to apply for doctoral candidacy. I'm pretty sure, the coach would want another two years or so out of me. Team captain. Useful pyer. More experience than ever. Now, we all know that in reality, what's good for the sports programs, is what's good for the school, right?"

  "Oh yeah."

  "Right. It wouldn't hurt at all, if we just happened, to nd one championship year. Just one. Two more years undergrad, that's two chances. Another two years, for masters. We're in the pyoffs and finals every year. That's four more chances."

  "Four more chances to nd it. Your team. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride."

  "Uh huh. I think that added incentive, pressure, call it what you want. Yeah, I could probably use it all, to nd a doctoral candidacy position. That's assuming, my masters thesis was relevant and useful to the field at all. And if we could nd a championship one year. I would end up… what. 26, 27… getting my doctor tacked onto my name. Hmm. But a geek like you? You wouldn't want to be a doctor of computer science, would you?"

  "No. I'd hate that."

  "I know."

  "I spent four years in the service, dear. I'd be about 30, 31 by the time I got done."

  "Horrible. What woman even likes a guy, 4 years older."

  "Hmm. About all of them."

  "Yes. And what educated woman, would even want to introduce her boyfriend, as a doctor. I mean, come on now."

  "Hey. I ain't got it any easier. What guy wants to introduce his girlfriend, as a doctor."

  "Horrible. What town, would ever let us live there. Why, we'd be run out, wherever we went."

  "Hun? Having doctor on our names, is no guarantee of high pay, let alone fame and fortune. Its no guarantee we would get published."

  "No. There are no guarantees in life. I have other possible career options. If I had trouble nding a job in my field. Assistant coach. Or even coach. With a championship under my belt? As a coaching assistant, and a team captain? That's relevant experience."

  "Hmm. I could end up, with the high school soccer coach for a girlfriend? Interesting. I'd never worry about having a cow for a wife."

  "Honey. High school? Would be slumming it. Assistant coach, maybe even coach, at some big university. A winning coach retires or gets recruited away? The winning assistant coach now looks like an excellent option. Maybe even this one. The university is big enough, a lot of staff has come from here. Or? With a doctorate, I could teach at the college or university level."

  "Hmm. Little miss options aplenty. My options would be limited. Teaching, if I'm not wanted for anything special in my field."

  "You forget so soon. I'm not anything like other girls. I nd a decent career, would you hate having some free time to finish your work? Completing your own programming nguage, polishing it. Finish editing your textbook. A doctor could stand a better chance of being taken seriously, and getting published. And would you find it, let's say amusing, either way? As a girls soccer coach, mommy would almost certainly keep her body you seem to enjoy so much. The team respects a coach that can show them firsthand. And a teacher? Hmm. Teachers sometimes have to… discipline their students. You're living in my house, little boy. There's going to be some rules. Which means, there's going to be consequences when you break those rules."

  "That is hot. You left something out, dear."

  "What?"

  "You didn't pick a retirement date, or an old folks home. Try to be a little bit down to earth, and make some pns, would you? Gee. Like dating a barfly for me here."

  "Hmm. I can't believe you're making your own computer programming nguage. Writing and editing your own textbook for it, as you go. Its not my field, its all Greek to me, but… it looks impressive."

  "See? That's just it. It just has to look impressive, it doesn't have to actually be impressive. I just make it all up as I go along, you know."

  "Really. For what reason, I wonder."

  "Gets me id. Hell, what woman with a body like a comic book super heroine, wouldn't be impressed by that bullshit. Gee. Pretty easy too. I just cut and paste random impressive gobbledygook, off the internet, and voi. I only do it for the chicks."

  "I can see I'll need to keep you on a short leash then. But seriously. If you're behind me, helping me perform on the field. Which makes me perform for my schorship. Which pays for my degrees. I'd feel spoiled. The after game care. Having what I really want, instead of nothing. Or worse, what I don't want. No, I'd be very happy, for it to be your turn. Give you a chance to work on your projects. Pay you back in kind, for having shown me such loyalty. I keep telling you. If you show me loyalty, make me happy. There's nothing I won't do for you."

  "Wow. I've never even heard of a girl offering such a thing, let alone ever seen it. Most girls? They want the highest paid guy they can get. In return for… whatever they even feel like putting into it."

  "I know what guys hear. We all tell you we're different from all the other girls. And it always ends up being just words. Its another game. I told you, that I really am different. I told you, you'll see it. I learned from growing up hanging out with the guys riding dirt bikes, instead of hanging out with girly girls. Men expect promises to mean something. They expect the person to follow through on it. Its not just a bunch of words to me."

  "Wow."

  "Yeah. Wow. I told you, I don't want a guy to buy me things, or do things for me. I just want your time spent with me. We weren't poor growing up, I won't lie. It was a decent size farm. We didn't want for anything. But… growing up on a farm, and hanging out with boys pying tackle football? I don't want fine china and designer furniture. We were comfortable in a big old farmhouse, that daddy kept fixed up. Most of us lived like that. If we have a pce to live, and we have food to eat, that's all I want and all I need. I don't think being a teacher, or being a coach would be exactly working in the salt mines. If you made me happy, helping me get that? I'd be very happy, knowing you were in your study. Working on your project. If it made you happy, too? That's perfect, for us."

  "You say that now. What about when the other… girl-bosses, are bragging about how much their man makes, how important of a job he has. You'll get teased, by those other girl-bosses."

  I hugged him, and kissed his shoulder.

  "I made my choice, a long time ago. I grew up being with the boys. Then, I got a good long taste of what it was like, to hang out with the girls. I made my choice. I went back. And decided I was going to stay there. If you haven't noticed yet? I don't care what the other girls say, and what the other girls do. They can call me whatever they feel like, as long as they don't touch my dirt bike. And you, don't seem like you care very much what a lot of the other guys have to say about stuff like that. We, can have our own deal. I already know you're different from other guys. That's why I worked the chess board, and called mate in 3. I also know, that the ball's on my side of the field now. That its on me now, to show you. I mean to. So. Can we have our own deal?"

  "Yes."

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  "Hmm. Manners. Mommy's actually getting somewhere. Good night."

  "If it ends up like that, and you get us a little farmhouse somewhere? That would be wonderful."

  I kissed the back of his neck.

  "I know. You better hope I don't get a basement, or worse."

  "Worse?"

  I kissed the back of his neck again.

  "A little barn, with a little bit of privacy? Oh my. I thought I told you, what can happen when you take a little boy down to the barn. To correct misbehavior. Just like now. You know when bedtime is. You're not listening. You're bothering mommy, and staying up past bedtime. I know exactly how to handle that sort of thing, and you won't like it. You wanna stay up past bedtime? Fine. We'll stay up past bedtime. Take you down to the barn, and show you what bedtime means. You wanna stay up te? That's just fine. Now you did it. Now, you asked for it. We're gonna stay up nice and te now. You can cry your little eyes out. Then? I'll give you something to cry for. Oh, you wanna go to bed now, huh? No way. We're staying up te now. Real te. After you get something to cry for? Then I'll really give it to you. Now, you wanna go to bed, don't you? Now, you know what bedtime means, hmm? Uh uh. You wanted to stay up past bedtime. You dared me. Now we're gonna stay up a little ter yet. Now, it's time for the switch. I guarantee you, you're gonna learn what bedtime means, and what happens when you don't go to bed, when mommy says its bedtime. When we're finally all done? And believe me, it's going to take a while, trust me. You can sleep face down now, and cry yourself to sleep. And if you don't stop the crying? You'll get some more. I'll really give you something to cry for. Go on, test me. I dare you."

  I was kissing his neck, hugging him from behind in bed. Whispering in his ear, a very naughty bedtime story. It was the off season, it was summer break. We were falling asleep with some music pying softly, the Bluetooth speakers pying the collection of songs on repeat. I reached down the front of him and checked his interest meter. Interest was all the way up, and starting to leak. I rolled on top of him.

  "You're lucky its the off season, and you're lucky we're on summer break. Very lucky. I shouldn't spoil a little boy like this, but against my better judgment… mommy is going to be very nice to you. You get one more ride."

  I did it slow, and stopped and started, and teased the hell out of him with it. I went between wet, sloppy kisses and occasional doggy licks, to whispering in his ear, more naughty bedtime story. I finally stopped, and waited. Then a little flick to hear the noise from him, and waited again. I kept him like that for as long as I could. Stopping, waiting. Then a little flick, and back to waiting. Eventually, when cmping my hand over his mouth was barely enough to stop the noises, I gave a couple flicks and finished him off. He asked if I needed the mess cleaned up, and I told him he could handle it in the morning, but he was not to forget promising mommy that he would clean up his mess when we woke up. Or else.

  Then we finally fell asleep.

  In the morning, I at first thought I was having a good dream. A very good dream, if you can take my meaning and I'm sure you do. I wiggled and opened my eyes, to see it wasn't a dream. It was real life. My boyfriend had remembered his te night pledge to clean up his mess. I had woken up to his tongue licking the best part of me down there. No wonder I woke up wiggling. I smiled, and told him it was just something I said in the moment, part of his naughty bedtime story. It didn't stop him though. I blushed, and found myself wiggling around more. The music was still pying, too. Just soft enough to sleep to. Just loud enough to cover the occasional giggle, or the occasional noise. Like now, for instance.

  I closed my eyes and tried to y back and enjoy it, which wasn't hard. Keeping still though, proved impossible. The more I tried to keep myself still, the more I quickly lost my attempt at it, and the little explosion of wriggling around got worse. I asked for the music turned up by pointing, and he shook his head no. He obviously didn't care if anyone heard my morning fun. I tried putting my hand over my own mouth, when biting the edge of my hand didn't help. It barely worked but hey, I tried. I ended up feeding myself a mouthful of the corner of the bnket. I ended up retaining my mouthful of bnket as best I could, and pushing at his head, but he just grabbed my wrists and held them firmly at either side of my waist from below. Oh god. I now had no choice but to let it go on, and enjoying it was an understatement.

  When he was finally done with me, I id there breathing heavy, and still moving if much slower and softer now. When my little noises finally ended, he pulled the bnket out and smiled down at me. Content to watch and listen to my panting slow into heavy breathing, then eventually slow down to something passable for normal morning breath. The other girls weren't getting this. I would be hearing about it if they were. I asked if I was allowed to brag, and he nodded yes. My turn to just say wow.

  "I see you've had breakfast without me. Did you enjoy it?"

  "Oh yes."

  "And what did you have, if I may ask."

  "Bacon. Raw."

  "Ew. Sounds gross."

  "Its like sushi. Don't knock it till you tried it."

  "I don't like bacon. I'm more of a… sausage girl. Raw is okay? I heard it can give you something, to eat raw pork that wasn't thoroughly cooked."

  "Sushi. No one dies from it. Now, it is true, you have to have a better cut and grade of meat, to make sushi out of. You can trust it then, that it won't give you anything. Never, ever stick something in your mouth if you don't know where its been."

  "So. Can I have breakfast now?"

  "Actually. Don't you want me to watch your little movie you made for me? You said you expected your groupie, to put on a little show for you. I think we can have breakfast in peace, sounds like everyone's sleeping in. They were out te."

  I nodded yes, but suggested he wait.

  I'm in my own townhouse, and I have three girls for room mates. I just wear one of my extra supersized T shirts for a night shirt with panties underneath, and its fine. I'm ready for breakfast already. But him? Boxers might not exactly cut it. I don't mind at all showing him off a little, and lord knows the other girls will parade "whatever" they dragged home if they're the least bit proud of it to show off. Boxers would be fine, but I'm not showing off a case of morning wood if it comes. I expined my dilemma, and he reached for his jeans. I shook my head no, and compromised. I handed him a pair of my soccer shorts. Easy on, easy off. Also has my school colors. As well as a soccer ball on it, with my jersey number. I hugged him from behind when he took my suggestion and stepped into them.

  "There we go. I wanna show you off a little, just not too much. If I had some sausage for a quick breakfast, or you put your show on already? Boxers might be fine, but. We have that possibility… covered, now. Not to mention, if the other girls smell coffee and breakfast, they might come down because all the work's done, and they can just plop their zy asses down and eat. Which is their style. All that leg show, is just more risk for that. I know what you like. And any shows like that are for me, not them. Now? You look like a proper sports groupie, staying over to provide entertainment for the pyer that wants to have some fun with you for a while. You wear my number. You show it off. Shows you like being my pything. Is that alright?"

  He nodded.

  "Great. Let's sneak down and see if we can have breakfast, before the kids wake up, hmm?"

  I took him by the hand, and we padded down quietly to the kitchen. I started to ask him what he wanted for breakfast, and he shook his head.

  "If I'm going to be your little groupie this morning, you don't expect them to cook you breakfast to show some appreciation for getting picked to stay over, and entertain you? Sit."

  Another thing the other girls rarely if ever enjoyed. God, I'm going to be spoiled rotten. I'm getting really used to this, really quick. I'm hooked. I just sat down and watched. He made coffee, but he didn't use the drip coffee maker. I asked.

  "I spent four years in the service, remember? Coffee makers are for spoiled officers. Enlisted men? Some of us take a certain pride in doing things the old fashioned way. The way we would have to do them, if we were living in a tent for a while. I lived with all MPs. So, a lot of them didn't have coffee makers in our quarters. Not to mention, coffee makers drip 190 degree water down through coffee grinds. You boil a pot of water, and throw the coffee in it? You get stronger coffee. I thought I heard it said, that you were cranky sometimes till you got your coffee. A stronger cup of coffee will make you less cranky."

  "Sounds great. Am I being an insufferable cunt, if I don't want to spit out coffee grinds, like some Army guy eating in a tent in the bush?"

  "Well. That's how plebes do it. If you know what you're doing? When the boiling is done, and you've extracted all the coffee has to give? You simply top off the boiled water with some cold water. The boil stops, and the little grinds all fall down to the bottom. You pour carefully? The grinds stay at the bottom. A pinch, and I mean a little pinch? Of salt, takes the bitterness out of the boiled coffee. That's why coffee makers are set at 190. You want the coffee, not the oils that you bring out boiling. The oils are extra taste though, they're only bitter because the Ph is now slightly acidic. That pinch of salt? Is a base. It cancels out the acid, and you get stronger, more fvorful coffee."

  "By all means, I'll try it."

  He set it boiling, then got out eggs, bacon, and sausage, and bread and butter. We talked a little, and he added the coffee once it was boiling. He asked how I wanted my eggs, and I said over easy. One of the things athletes get on the "menu", is eggs out the ass. Eggs, the dietitian we had on staff said, has gobs of nutrients and minerals. And very little calories. We can have all the eggs we want, all the egg sandwiches we want, and boiled eggs for snacks. Low calorie protein. I watched him sizzle the bacon and sausage, then crack and make me four eggs over easy, not breaking a single yolk. He was able to flip them without breaking them either. Not bad at all for a guy.

  He made toast, and served my four easy eggs with each on their own piece of toast, then buttered four more before he pced the pte in front of me. Then he made his. Six eggs, scrambled. Buttered toast on the side. By the time he put his pte down, the coffee was done. He turned it down to the lowest simmer, and added cold water. Waited while he added a pinch of salt, then poured out two coffee mugs. He put the milk and sugar out for us. Then he sat down to eat. Again. Wow.

  We were eating, when one of the "kids" wandered down in her own nightshirt, and I hoped she had the good sense to wear panties. When she stretched and yawned, I caught the faintest sight of them. This wasn't the attention whore, this was one of the other two, the "good kids". I have three girls. Two are retively good, if a little zy. And one bad kid, that I'd love nothing more than to beat the ever loving shit out of, some days. There's more than a little irony to the coach calling me the adult. This good kid, gave another stretch and yawn, up on her tiptoes, before done and winging her arms around.

  We were eating, and while not ignoring her other than exchanging normal good morning's all around, she looked down at herself right before sitting down. She muttered softly.

  "Oh… shit. I'm sorry, do you want me to…"

  She was pointing back at the steps she had just come down. Like I said, this was one of the two good kids. The example I had just set st night was not lost on her, even though it wasn't directed at her.

  "Oh, you're fine. You don't pn on putting on a show, do you? Sit. You're not the bad one, trust me."

  I started to get up to get her a mug, and he looked at me, and I sat back down. He tossed her a mug, and poured her a cup of the strong coffee, without spilling any. He was practiced at this, he had obviously done this many times before. I doubted I could pour out of a pot without spilling some, and I cooked most of the time. There we go again, I'm the mom. I usually cook for the children.

  By the time she had milk and sugar in her coffee, and blew on it enough to sip it, she was eyeing up my pte of food. I knew what it was, she figured I made breakfast, like normal. I told her he made it, to ask him.

  "Can… I have a pte too?"

  "Sure. Scrambled work for you?"

  "Uhm… can I get it like hers?"

  "Sorry, no. She's very special to me, and she gets them any way she wants them. You, can have them any way you want them too, as long as you want them scrambled. Or, you can make your own, any way you please. Scrambled?"

  "Mm. Sure."

  "Excellent choice. Would you like the bacon and the sausage all through it like mine, or meat on the side."

  "Meat on the side."

  "Scrambled eggs dry, runny, or medium."

  "Oh. Medium, I guess."

  "Another excellent choice…"

  He did the bacon and sausage, then scrambled her eggs, and put it all on a pte in front of her, and toast on the side of the pte. Wow. He had his routine down pat. I was special, I got anything I wanted, just the way I wanted it. She could have scrambled, but still with choices. Or, she could be less zy and make her own. Laziness won out over any real desire to get exactly what she wanted, and being served was fine. Holy shit, she even said thank you. But this is one of the two good kids, so it wasn't earth shattering.

  The coffee and bacon and sausage smells must have dragged down the other one of the good kids. Another stretching and yawning, followed by some bending over and cracking her back by pulling on her ankles and down, before a final stretch and she came up for another round of good mornings exchanged. I was looking at her smiling, and the other kid filled her in.

  "No. You don't have to go put pants on. Just don't put on a show. You might wanna watch the bending over, you might be lucky you only showed the empty steps your butt."

  "Oops. Sorry."

  "You're fine. Last night's little floor show, was directed at number three, not you two. You know you're the good kids out of the bunch. She does it to you guys too, any chance she gets. I'm just losing my cool."

  The first one giggled, and expined she gets scrambled or she can make her own breakfast. I'm the only one that's "special". Scrambled was fine. She went with dry scrambled, but with the meat chopped up in it. She sat down. She got her pte, and her coffee poured for her. Another thank you, will wonders never cease.

  "I didn't know we had a chef here now. I thought he was just here to take out the garbage and take the dishes outta the dishwasher and back into the cupboard. I could get used to this. If it comes to a vote? I'm voting yes for now. You?"

  "Hey. Whoever cooks as long as its not me, is fine. I'll vote yes too."

  He chuckled.

  "Don't either of you two cook?"

  "We weren't hired for our ability to cook. Free college? Is for putting the ball in the net, not cooking."

  "Same here. After I graduate? I want a decent job so I don't have to cook."

  "As you can see? I'm the adult in the house. I end up doing most of the cooking, and picking up. Their clothes stay in their room, that's their problem. When they run out of clean clothes? They either wear dirty clothes to practice, or push a button and have the machine do the work for them."

  "Wow. Modern living? Is killing you crazy kids. If I eat too much with what little the GI bill leaves me for some of the finer things in life, like eating, if I don't save enough for a trip to the undromat? I do my own clothes where I was living. Five gallon bucket. A squirt of dish soap. You run a stick around, and soapy water magically washes the clothes. Takes about a whole minute. You throw them over a piece of string across the basement, after dumping out the soapy water and doing it with clean water once or twice? They're dry the next day. Amazing stuff."

  "Where the hell did you live, anyways?"

  "A basement, of all things. You see girls, I spent 4 years in the service, so I could get college money when I got out. I had a choice. Go to a smaller, shittier school. Where my GI bill money might actually cover a room in some house, like a normal human being. Or? I could try to get a much better degree, at a top of the line, big university like this one. I want the best degree I can get, and that means I had to get creative. I was pretty much the handyman, for a broken down, big old house. So I could live in the basement, in a little back room. Rent, was just the water bill. I shower at the gym every day, and I have to leave the house to go to the bathroom. Which obviously means, I'm paying the water bill, and fixing the old pipes, for water I don't even get to use. But? I can get my degree, from a famous name school. So, that's what I've been doing for the st two years. I'm just saying, you don't know how good you have it."

  "If you don't get to use the water, where did you get the water to wash your clothes?"

  "Excellent question, you obviously pay attention. Congratutions. Remember, I'm the handyman. When I was fixing a leaky pipe in the basement about a week after I got there? I fixed it, with a valve, like a hose faucet. So I can get a bucket of water. Because I'm obviously a thief as well as a handyman? I decided to fix the hot water pipe right next to it, to get hot water too. You will next ask why I didn't use that to shower, I'm sure. I lived in the back cubbyhole, with a dirt floor. I'd rather not live in mud, I prefer dry dirt, as it turns out."

  "What if you have a, you know… emergency to go to the bathroom?"

  "I'm pretty sure you don't want to know. Its a basement, I have a basement door. Number one is outside. Number two? Let's just say I try to pn number two bathroom trips. Two blocks to the convenience store, and I have to buy a pack of gum. So I'm technically a customer. So I'm allowed to use the customers only restroom. Can I interest you in a pack of gum? I have a whole jar upstairs, and I really don't chew gum."

  "Why don't you just use the bathroom and shower upstairs where you live?"

  "The basement door locks automatically, and you can only open it from upstairs. Because I don't pay rent, I'm not entitled to things like that, that the people paying rent get to have. I'm allowed to live in the little back cement room, with a dirt floor? So that paying renters, have someone they can go get any time of the day or night, if water or drains or electric switches don't do what they're supposed to. There's a big party three nights a week, as you can guess. I don't get much sleep those nights, and as the handyman? I hose out the basement, and sweep up the cans and butts, and take out the garbage. And if someone has an oops in the corner, drinking? I hose that out too. God forbid they could make it to the garbage can, god forbid they could use the back yard for the urinal, you know? On party nights, I'm lucky to get 3 or 4 hours by the time the party breaks up, and I get done cleaning up the mess. Any other questions, little one?"

  "You mean to tell me, the people that rent there, have the balls to wake you up at 4 in the morning, to unclog a drain or plunge a toilet? And won't even give you the common decency of letting you use the shower or the toilet? They need their ass kicked."

  "Be that as it may. The ndlord, who by the way owns the rooming house? Doesn't allow it. Or else I might feel more like a real human being. The only reason I get to live in the dirt floor cubbyhole in the basement? Is so I'm there to handle little handyman chores, and he doesn't get a phone call in the middle of the night. I originally tried living in my car. My car broke down, it was a piece of shit anyways. When my ptes and stickers ran out? The town towed it away. I answered an add for 'free room and board', in exchange for 'light handyman work, as needed'. Which led to my solution for my missing piece of shit car. This has been going on for the better part of two years here, I have two more to go. Things were on an even keel, and I had a way to live, while I get a good degree, like I want. Because I live in a dirt hole in the basement? My nickname was… wait for it… The Groundhog. Cute, huh? I've heard worse nicknames."

  The other one cut in.

  "You were in the Army or something, huh? I guess living in a tent, made it so you can get through that to finish school…"

  "Hmm. I was in the Air Force. We don't generally live in tents, unless we go overseas. You've seen one too many old war movies. Actually? My housing looked… well, more or less? Something like this. Four bedrooms per unit, shared tiny kitchen and living room and bathroom. Laundry room was in the basement. Not a nice pce like this, mind you, this is living high on the hog. Think cement block walls all over. All smaller rooms."

  "What was your job in the Air Force?"

  "I was a computer programmer."

  "So, you didn't have to shoot guns and fight and stuff, like on TV."

  "For the most part, the Air Force isn't like the Marines, like I'm sure you're thinking of. We do have guys like that, just not that many. Everyone has to pass basic qualifications with an M-16, and since we're not the Marines? Trust me it's a couple day thing and that's it. Now, I was a computer programmer. If things were bad enough they thought they had to pass out guns to the computer programmers? We'd all be in a lot bigger mess by that point. So no, my job wasn't to be some kind of… commando, like I'm sure you see in the movies. I wore a military uniform, I had to jog and do calisthenics every morning, then my job was to sit in front of a computer all day."

  "Doesn't sound too bad."

  "It's not. The Air Force? Has the highest ASVAB requirements, which means the guys they take are technically smarter. The Marines? Have the lowest ASVAB requirements, you can take that as you see fit. The Navy is less than us, the Army is slightly higher than the Marines, but less than the Navy. The Air Force's reputation, is that we're the smartest. The Marines? Have the reputation of being the toughest. If you were wondering, all the other three branches like to make fun of the Air Force, and call us the Chair Force. Feel free to make the joke, that's why I told it to you. Personally, I pride myself on having a brain, so I don't feel like I'm being made fun of. In basic training? The drill instructors told us they wanted our brains, not our biceps. That the other branches would provide all the gorils for that."

  "Do you have all the… jargon for everything?"

  "Oh. Yes. The apartment? Is called barracks, even though it's technically just housing. The kitchen? Was our mess. Appropriately named, if you can imagine four young men living together. The bathroom? The head. The living room? That's the day room. I also have quite a collection of acronyms. FUBAR for instance, is fucked up beyond all recognition. DITY, is do it yourself. FO? Is fuck off. We all make our own up, and they get around if they're cute. I like iggsy. I-G-S-Y. Stands for I'm gonna strangle you."

  "That is cute. Can… you do that… thing?"

  "Maybe, maybe not. It would entirely depend on exactly which thing you were referring to, little one. If you could be just a tad more specific."

  "You know. The… voice thing. Like in the movies…"

  "Oh. You probably mean the patented drill instructor voice. The Marines all do it, its kinda their thing. Most of the other branches? Only the actual drill instructors use it. Yes. Anyone in the service can give you a cute rendition of it. Would you like a sample? Me and the boys I lived with, you do it around the barracks and at work, as a joke. If you want."

  "Yeah."

  "Sure."

  "Here goes. Prepare yourself. I don't want to make a girl pee her pants. But if you insist."

  "Oh yeah."