Thrice Rescued - Sex Stories

Thrice Rescued

... time to drink myself into a stupor on a regular basis. I chose the latter.

When Vera had first disappeared, I'd been in daily contact with the Hopkins. As the time passed and there were no signs of what had happened to her, the contacts became less frequent. As I continued to spiral downwards, my contacts became sporadic. By the end of July that summer, I hadn't spoken to either Hopkins in almost a month. Mrs. H was concerned and so she did what she did best when she was concerned. She sent Gunny H over to find out how I was doing.

I'd gone through the better part of a bottle of Jack Daniels the preceding evening and was passed out on the couch when Gunny H arrived. Initially, he rang the doorbell, which I ignored. Then he knocked. When I didn't respond, he began banging on the door and shouting. "Goddammit Marine, open this fucking door right now!" I was astonished and more than a little afraid. In all the years I'd known him, I'd never heard him raise his voice or swear. I did the only possible thing. I opened the door.

Gunny H took one look around my living room and asked, "What in God's name happened here?" It was a reasonable question. The living room and the kitchen both wore a collection of dirty dishes, carryout food boxes (some still half full and rotting), and empty liquor bottles. I hadn't showered, shaved, or changed clothing for at least a week.

"You stink. Upstairs, now!" Gunny dragged me up the stairs and tossed me into the shower, still fully ...

... clothed. "Get that dirty crap off you and clean yourself up."

While I was showering, Gunny called Mrs. H. "He's drunk, filthy, let the place go to a pigsty and needs our help again. Can you get a couple of people over here to clean this mess up. I'll pack some clothes for him and drag him back to our place once he's done showering." Mrs. H agreed and Gunny H hung up and proceeded to pack my clothes in a duffle bag. The second rescue of Davie Derr by the Hopkins commenced.

When we got to the Hopkins house, Gunny H dropped my stuff in the bedroom I'd used when I was a foster kid and then glared at me. "You're better than this. We've put too much time and effort into you to let you fall apart. You've made way too much progress to crash and burn now. This shit stops right this minute. And reveille is at 0530 tomorrow. We're going to start over again with you." And then he shut the door.

The next morning was painful, to say the least. I hadn't run or done any exercise since Vera's disappearance. Gunny H set out on a five-mile run at a pace I'd have trouble matching on a good day and this was definitely not a good day. When we finished the run, he loaded me into his truck and took me over to the martial arts studio, where we lifted and stretched before sparring for an hour. By the time we were finished, I'd sweated all the booze out of my system and was totally wiped. This set the template for the remainder of the summer.

By the time the school year started again, I was back ...