Shot of Whiskey - Sex Stories

Shot of Whiskey

... Generals. They seemed to be true believers.

With the threat ever present, and victory impossible -- at least victory as we defined it for years, to stabilize and civilize a place that did not want to be civilized in any way we might recognize -- we found ourselves looking for meaning elsewhere, hoping that we could make the time somehow not seem like a complete waste. We did this by investing in one another. In our jokes, in card games, in sports and video game competitions and in rejoicing when one of us got to visit home. The last thing, the only thing that was left, our victory rendered impossible by the people we were ostensibly there to help, was our devotion and determination to make one another be and feel better, stronger, preserved enough in body and spirit to return home and resume normal life.

Still, in the day to day, we were busy, very busy, then we sat and waited. Then we were busy, incredibly busy, then we sat and waited. I could have hated the waiting, but I was usually waiting with Sam and Ryan and I grew to love those men like my own brothers. It was not hard to love them, far from it, it was practically compulsory. They smiled at everything, laughed at everything, they were so beautiful in their youth. Every hope we might each have had for our own future was still true and possible for them, and it was easy to laugh. Their aggressive, masculine optimism, the firm belief that something could be done, something could be achieved, something could be ...

... injected if not with purpose, with joy and fun, this made them both irresistible.

We grew close in those long mornings spent in the shade of an MRAP, a massive vehicle built to help distribute the force of land mines and improvised explosives buried in roads by our most determined enemies, so that passengers could be shook but not killed. We actually hit a couple of buried explosives while I was on convoys, I was never in the target vehicle, but those who were said it felt like being put inside a metal box and then jumbled like a bunch of die inside a Yahtzee cup, and then tossed unceremoniously on the ground. A few suffered concussions but were able to return to duty within days of the attacks.

Given the rhythm and the need to unwind, most nights, we did not have sex. I traveled to Kabul often, about twice a month, and I was well stocked with booze. We would drink one or two shots at most. None of us wanted the boys to get in trouble. But the drinking was never about the drinking. Ryan had said it from the beginning. It turned out we liked one another or perhaps being in a barracks forced us to become friends in ways that would have been difficult to imagine outside. But inside, it was impossible to imagine my time in Afghanistan without these men. We talked about girls, sometimes while we were naked and stroking each other off, sometimes while we were clothed and playing UNO. We talked about family, we talked about pets, we shared our lives in ways that I had not expected ...