~*9*~
For the remainder of the week of Reception Battalion I managed to avoid PFC Swan. Specialist Whitlock was getting them through their initial tasks; my time with them not due to start until the second week. Then I would have nine weeks of seeing Isabella on a daily basis. I'd not even survived a single evening with her two years ago, because of whatever it was that she'd tried to do in that courtyard. So how was I going to handle over two months?
She'd teased me, almost like she'd known what I wanted, but I'd run from her — again. My lips had been so close to claiming hers, but I'd known that closing the distance would've been my undoing. The sweet, innocent, Chief of Police's daughter couldn't possibly have known what fate she had tempted.
And if she had, well, my mind could very well explode with the insanity of it all.
By the third week of BCT, I was chain smoking.
Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to give the female cadets tiny running shorts and way too tight ARMY t-shirts? Morning drills were killing me as I stood behind Specialist Whitlock or walked the perimeter of the squad while they did their stretches, mountain climbers, push-ups, and the rest of their morning workout.
Because of her pre-enlistment efforts, PFC Swan was the highest ranked squad member, and as such was next in line to command the group after Specialist Whitlock. This meant more one-on-one time with her, and ensured Swan a spot front and center during drills.
Do I have to spell out that this meant she didn't blend into the squad?
No, she was right there in the open — tight and bouncing for my pleasure. Lewd visions of her naked and bouncing on my cock revived themselves from my high school days. Oh, but this time the images were so much more detailed than they'd once been.
Isabella couldn't have been just a smoking body, could she? If it were possible, her mind entranced me more than her well-toned figure, and that was saying something.