The Week I Cheated – part 1

I didn’t really want to go out, but it was better than being alone and bored to death in the barracks that Friday night. Being the oldest guy in the platoon, and the only married one, I figured there wasn’t going to be much for me to do at the base club. If nothing else, I figured I would just grab a couple beers and play some pool while my buddies made their moves and tried to score some dirty dancing with the local ladies. At the very least, I’d get to see a decent bar fight – one of which was almost a certainty every weekend evening.

We were just reservists – having been shipped off to Camp Pendleton for our annual 2-week duty. Our platoon commander released us early, just after lunch, a four-hour gift for good performance. The taxi drivers were charging an arm and a leg to drive anywhere in town, so the “Eagle Globe & Anchor Club” was packed. Anybody with military credentials was allowed to bring a guest on base and it seemed like every available female in Oceanside was there – along with lots of horny, aggressive young men with Casanova complexes. I’m not sure I’ve ever been in a place with so much tension.

Our large group of 20 broke into smaller bunches as soon as we got in. Four of the guys decided they were going to hustle some pool money, a few headed straight to the bar to order an armful of drinks, the suave set danced their way over to the DJ and started making requests. Pretty soon it was just me and one 18-year-old private, a recent transplant from Iowa, sitting at a table nursing our beers. He told me he’d never been in a club like this, as he fidgeted in his seat like he was being sent to the principal’s office. I was encouraging him to relax and just enjoy the atmosphere when I saw the three ladies walk around the end of the bar.

This trio was obviously a tight-knit group. They wore similar low neckline, high cut dresses; none were wearing a bra and they finished each other’s sentences. They parked themselves just a few feet from us at the end of the bar, but were talking so loudly over the music that their entire conversation cascaded our way. I don’t believe the innocent Iowan knew women spoke such words – but despite his shock, he seemed to be enjoying himself. When the most bubbly of the three leaned over and asked him what time it was, I thought he might hurt himself from smiling too hard. I, too, was intrigued by their talk – and was perhaps being too obvious about it when I looked up to see why they stopped. All three of them were looking at us with sly smiles and a look of fake horror that they had been eavesdropped upon.

“Well,” said the brunette, “if you’re going to listen to us talk, you should at least buy us a drink.”

“Yeah, we’re thirsty.” The one without the watch added, grinning her cutesy grin right at Iowa.

I looked at him, nodded to vacate the table, and we joined them at the bar. They all had favorite drinks, and since the price of booze on a military base is ridiculously cheap, it was no problem keeping their glasses full. We’d been snared by two lonely wives and one divorcee. The ladies with husbands on duty in the Western Pacific (usually Okinawa), were known as West-Pac widows – young brides typically bored, lonely and horny. Their men were several thousand miles away and communication from them was sparse. Some managed to make it through the many months that their men were gone, but the stories about the ones who couldn’t were near-legend. I had my doubts about how true these tales were, but one thing was certain, our ladies had no problem talking about sexual matters in front of perfect strangers.

In the first 30 minutes I learned that Becky, the one who made the drink demand, was multi-orgasmic and only knew that due to her own self-help because her husband wouldn’t spend more than 2 minutes at a time on oral sex. Carla, the perky one with the curly blonde bob wasn’t sure if she had ever really had a real orgasm at all. And Jessy had a husband who wouldn’t let her perform oral sex on him because, as he said to her once, “a real lady would never put a dick in her mouth”. The more drinks we poured, the more explicit the details became. There was no question Carla had her sights set on Iowa, but he had no clue. I had yet to figure out if one of the others was angling for me or not despite the fact that I was the most sober of the bunch. Just as Jessy was describing the shape of her favorite bedside toy, Becky spoke up.

“I’ve got to dance, man. Come on, who’s gonna dance with me?”
Iowa hopped right up and took her hand, not noticing the pronounced pout on Carla’s face.

“What’s the matter, you don’t dance?” Jessy asked me with a disapproving look.

“I’m just not as quick as my buddy, I guess.”

“Well you have figured out that Becky is hot for you, right?” The alcohol in Jessy was eliminating any subtlety.

I did not respond, instead I took another swig of my beer and looked out there at the two of them. Becky was giving me the full-on stare down as she danced with Iowa. It was some kind of country-rock song and he was into it – she wasn’t. Carla was dancing right there at the bar as if she was dancing with Iowa, shaking her hips and pumping her fists energetically. Jessy gave me a grin and stood a little closer.

“Look, I’m not trying to be her pimp or anything, but the only reason we came all the way over here was ‘cause she wanted to get a better look at you. She thinks you’re cute. I think she’s right, but she saw you first and that’s our rule.” She sucked down the last of her fizzy drink and turned back towards her dancing friend.

I furrowed my brow at her a bit and smiled as I wondered if any man stood a chance with motivated women like these on the prowl. I was sure they had noticed the wedding ring on my finger, and even more sure that they didn’t care. It had been a rough several months for my marriage after I discovered my wife had a one-night fling behind my back. I guess I rationalized that this opportunity was a form of payback, even though I was still pretty unsure about what was going on. In any case, I was in a “what the fuck” kind of mood.

Carla danced her way out to Iowa and Becky near the end of the tune creating a perfect chance for the pairing-off to go the ways the girls wanted it to. Becky sashayed off the dance floor towards me flicking her chocolate brown hair off of her face as she took notice of the fresh drink waiting for her.

“Are you a gentleman or just trying to get me sloshed?” she asked.

“I might be both.” I told her as I let my eyes graze obviously over her. She sipped her drink and kept looking me square in the eyes.

She wasn’t ‘beautiful’ by any means – rather a plain face with large hazel eyes. She wore little makeup. Her body was firm, but round through the hips and ass. Her breasts were probably just barely C cups, the kind that came to distinct points with perpetually stiff nipples. When she turned her body quickly, they kept jiggling a bit after she stopped. Her legs were probably her best feature – very taut and lean.