TMI: An Officer, not a Gentleman

The eagle tattooed on his muscular back flexed as NavyBoy lit his thin, black cigarette, staring out over the water, watching the July sunset reflected in the still expanse. Inside the lake house, I watched him through the screen, warm water dripping down my legs as I washed away the last traces of my virginity. A Naval petty officer, NavyBoy was short—a requirement for his job on a submarine—and muscular like a boxer, with closely cropped black hair and bewitching brown eyes.

I stooped to grab my negligee, discarded on the floor, so I could join him on the porch. Though my house was the only one on this side of the lake, I didn’t want any sunset fisherman to catch more than he expected.

“Hey, baby,” NavyBoy drawled behind me. I stood up, thinking that he had snuck inside, and was surprised to see him still outside, a cell phone pressed against his ear. “Nothing much…Just at the Rec Hall with a bunch of the boys watching the NASCAR race…can I call you back later, baby?...love you too.”

“Who was that?” I was back in bed when he came back inside, the thick smell of his clove cigarettes lingering with him.

“On the phone? My sister.”

“Bullshit. I know you’re from the South, but I highly doubt you would call your sister ‘baby.’ Do you have a girlfriend, is that it?”

“Nope,” he smirked like he had just said the punch line to a joke he hadn’t asked.

“Your wife?” He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but those Navy boys were tricky—they usually left their wedding rings and fidelity back on base.

“Don’t got one of those yet.”

“Then who the fuck was she?!” I asked angrily. He sighed as if to answer, and it suddenly became clear “What do you mean, you’re getting married?”

I sat up on the faded sheets, pulling the coverlet to my chest. The stiff blue polyester scratched against nipples still swollen from earlier.

Standing above me, torso bare in the waning candlelight, NavyBoy shrugged once, casually, his dog tags clinking together gently.

“You never asked.” There was no trace of guilt in the deep Lousianan drawl that had seduced me here. He may as well have been accusing me of not asking his middle name.

“I certainly did ask you the first night I met you.”

“You only asked if I was married or had a girlfriend. I’ve got neither—she’s my fiancée.” He shrugged again. I struggled to my feet, trying to keep the blanket firmly wrapped around my body as I searched for my lingerie and clothes. My bra was still missing—NavyBoy bemusedly retrieved it where it lay flung over a lampshade.

“Dawlin’ I done told you I was only passin’ through here. I thought you and me wer just passin’ a good time,” He lounged on the bed, wrapping a strong arm about my waist to pull me back, jeans halfway up my legs, onto the bed with him.

“I thought we were more than that,” I sniffed, defeated. I couldn’t even blame him; I hadn’t asked if he had a fiancee. “I wouldn’t have just given you my virginity if I had known that.”

“Dawlin’, I’m getting stationed in Jacksonville in a month. You know it ain’t gonna work out between you and me. So why don’t we just have a lil’ fun in the meantime,” He kissed me again, trapping my protests against my tongue.

For more Indecent Exposures, check out the other entries at TMI Thursday.