I am one.
I suppose that is where my great respect for the members of our armed forces comes from.
I lived on a total of seven different miltary installations in five different countries.
The bases were self-sufficient.
You had no need to go off base unless it was to break away from the rigid rules of military life and absorb local culture and customs. something my Mom was big on.
Check out this shorty about a few members of our Air Force:
The Steam Room
Randy got to the gym at four o’clock and already the machines were filling up with weekend warriors and the serious gym rats and weight freaks, all of whom Randy envied. At least they had some purpose in their lives. They had a direction, misguided or not was not the question; they at least had a direction they were headed.
Randy did too, only his direction never changed: it was always headed for trouble and the next available place to lay prone with the nicest woman he met on each day for the rest of his life. It was almost a formula.
“Hi, have a great workout!” The tight little attendant cheered as she swiped the Member ID badge.
Black finger polish.
When am I going to stop looking at every single woman on the planet and not think of sleeping with them? What age? Randy got no answer from himself and headed to the locker room.
It was not the same locker room he had been hanging his clothes in and taking his showers in for the past three years. There were large blocks of concrete and tile dug up all through what was once the men’s locker room. The sinks and urinals had been removed, leaving a stained sheet of once-white porcelain to lend its unique fragrance to the room. Holes in the floor and wall marked where the sink pipes had been removed. Over the exposed plaster ceiling was a hand-painted sign with an arrow that said “Steam.” He grabbed a towel and headed down the narrow passageway.
Randy glimpsed through the glass and saw that the steam had just started a new cycle. He liked it because this gym had nice long fifteen minute cycles in the steam room. The steam room got real hot and stayed that way for a long time, so it was not for the faint of heart. Randy figured any day now some old fart would complain, and they’d overcompensate and go back to the five-minute cycles.
Randy hung up his towel on the stainless-steel hook and slipped through the door like a ninja. It is common steam room etiquette to enter and leave a “live” steam room so as to allow as little as possible of the fat-melting steam to escape. Randy climbed up to the third row of tiled seating and strained to make out the other figures in the room. As the room filled with steam, it became impossible to see six inches through the dense fog. After the entire room completely filled with hot steam, the shut-off valve kicked in and the room went silent.
He heard four others enter the room and find seats. He could hear snippets of their exchanges, something like aviators might discuss: lift, cruising altitude, ordinance. Ordinance.
“Excuse me, I can’t see you, but I overheard you talking. Are you pilots?” Randy broke the silence with his query.
“Gentlemen! Sound off! The command came from the voice in the corner of the room.
“Briggs, Jack, Naval Aviator, sir!” A rather deep voice boomed.
“Natson, Richard, Naval Aviator, sir!”
“Bryce, Shannon, Flight Surgeon, sir!” The doctor spoke in a much higher voice, almost tinny.
“And I am Sam Kelly, Commanding Officer,” the deepest voice from the corner boomed. “This is my flight crew. At ease gentlemen” Sam barked. The other three pilots chuckled at the impromptu roll call.
“And you sir?”
“My name is Randy Ball. I didn’t mean to impose; I’ve always been interested in flight and flying. Are you stationed at Pensacola?”
“Negative. We are here on TDY from Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas. We are participating in some “war games” training on the new F-35 Lightning II.
We’re only here for a month.”
The steam was still dense preventing any line of sight. Randy knew TDY was an acronym for temporary duty, but didn’t know a Lightning II from Adam.
Jack Briggs was first to rise and stepped right by Randy. He could see Jack was a stout, well-muscled guy with a short military haircut. He was naked as a jaybird and no matter how hard he strained to see, Randy could not see one pound of extra flesh on his frame.
“See you on the B-Ball court,” he said to his mates as he slipped out the door.
“Did you see the body on that new nurse? What’s her name Doc? Oh yeah, Maggie. Smokin’ hot!” Rick Natson was all riled up, speaking loudly now.
Dr. Cannon replied “Yes, she is quite an attractive young lady.”
Randy held the theory if he was not in the room the flight crew would be using much more descriptive and colorful adjectives to describe this nurse.
Dr. Cannon rose and walked around a puddle on the floor, taking him within a foot of Randy’s face. “For clarification, she is the hottest piece of ass we have ever seen in the hospital.
“Take care sir,” he winked as he shook Randy’s hand and left.
So much for Randy’s theory.
Randy could not get over how young this doctor looked. Of course, at sixty-five, he could not believe how young everybody looked.
He sat back, a little more comfortable now. He saw an opportunity to join the convo.
“So, you say this nurse is smokin’ hot?” He turned toward the general vicinity of Rick Natson’s voice.
“Sir, would you care to elaborate?” Rick looked to his commanding officer.
Sam thought about it and then replied.
“Affirmative on Aviator Natson’s observations. This girl is about six foot tall, a fine body including an ass you could crack walnuts with. She has a rack that I could well, let’s just say I would welcome the chance to make her curl up her toes and scream my name in the dark. I certainly would NOT kick her out of the sack!”
“Smokin’ hot,” Rick said as he rose to leave.
“Sounds awesome Sam. Is it ok if I call you Sam?”
Sam Kelly stood, extending a hand to shake.
“Sam or Samantha. Either or.”
As Naval Aviator Commanding Officer Samantha Kelly slid out the door, the steam had cleared just enough for Randy to make out her near-perfect body.