Sorry for the wait, I've finally updated! Sorry for the inconvenience but this is a long a** chapter. Warning: I rip on Sobel pretty hard in the chapter, so remember that this is all based on the mini-series and NOT THE REAL PEOPLE. That would just be downright mean. Haha, anyway, enjoy and please review!
All George could think about was being in hell when he heard the 'Reveille' blast his fucking ears off at six in the morning. When you die and you've been a bad boy God doesn't send you to hell, he sends you to Camp Toccoa to run Currahee every fucking day, George thought as he ripped his sheets off, feeling the dewey morning on his legs that were only clothed with boxers. As if he volunteered for this shit. He groaned, as he used all the force he had to pull himself out of his bunk; every muscle in his body ached. Normally around the guys he tried to keep a positive attitude, but within his own thoughts he could let go and complain all he fucking wanted.
Easy Company had been under the reign of Captain Dickweed Sobel for the past two months. Had it been two months? George couldn't tell, running Currahee with no water canteen every day might have made him a little crazy. It wasn't true, what that guy in the mess hall said two months ago about Sobel. He had called him an asshole. No, Sobel wasn't an asshole, that was an understatement. He wasn't an asshole, he was like the fucking devil reincarnated. For all George knew, he was the spawn of Satan.
He remembered his first impression of Sobel. He had hated him from the start, just like every other guy in Easy did.
"You people are at the position of attention!" Sobel yelled, as he marched along the rows of troops. He walks like a fucking chicken with a giant erection and a pickle up his asshole, thought George watching him. He strutted to the other end of the line and stopped in front of Perco.
"Private Perconte," he spat. He probably had semen breath. "Have you been blousing your trousers over your boots like a paratrooper should?"
"No Sir," answered Frank, staring blankly at him.
"Then explain the creases at the bottom."
Frank hesitated. "No excuse Sir."
Wow, George thought. There's fucking creases on his pants, so what? It's not like he can't kill a bunch of Krauts with creases in his pants! He could kill them naked if he wanted to, Sobel would probably like that.
"Volunteering for the parachute infantry is one thing Perconte, but you've got a long way to prove that you belong here," Sobel said, sneering. "Your weekend pass is revoked."
He turned away. Oh shit, he was coming for George. Shit, no, go away! Sobel marched right up to George and looked him right in the eyes.
"Name?" He said menacingly. His breath didn't smell like semen to George's dismay, instead it was like moldy crackers.
"Luz, George," is what George attempted to say in proper English, instead it came out all jumbled and sounded like: 'Lug, judge.'
Sobel then prompted to take George's weapon for inspection.
"Dirt in the rear sight-aperture, pass revoked," he said, before shoving the gun back at George.
This man was officially the most giant asshole in the world. He couldn't fucking parade around taking people's weekend passes because they had dirt on their guns. George looked at him with vengeance. He was completely tempted to turn his gun around and shoot Sobel in the nuts. It's not like he would ever need them or has needed them before. He was probably still a fucking virgin.
Sobel then continued to go around taking other people's passes, like Lipton because he didn't sew his chevrons on properly, or Malarkey, just because well… George thought it was because he didn't like him. The final straw was Liebgott's rusty bayonet. Sobel went to the front of the line.
"I would not take this rusty piece of shit to war," he shouted, holding up Lieb's bayonet. "And I wont take you in your condition!" He tossed the bayonet at the ground.
"Now thanks to these men and their infractions, every man in the company with a weekend pass has lost it!"
George heard Floyd sigh nervously behind him.
Sobel sent them the dirtiest look George could ever imagine someone could make.
"Change into your PT gear, we're running Currahee."
That was the first of hundreds of times that George ran Currahee. Three miles up and three miles down, Currahee was famous for being an agonizing way to train troops. Every time a soldier-to-be ran it their legs ached like a bitch, stomach churned, lungs dried out, and most of all thought they might die of heat stroke.
George swore as he pulled himself out of bed and thought of running up Currahee today. He quickly grabbed his gear from his foot locker and pulled it on with haste. He could see Malarkey still lying in bed out of the corner of his eye. Skip was gently prodding his armpit.
"Get up Don," he whispered nervously, "C'mon, before Winters sees."
"Go away," Don grumbled, hugging his pillow tighter.
"I'm being serious!" Skip cried, whom George thought didn't have a mean bone in his body to intimidate anyone with.
"Take a wiz on him, that outta wake him up," said George, tugging on his dungarees.
Skip laughed, and punched Malark softly in the arm.
"Fine…" Donald said, and rolled out of his bunk so his feet touched the floor.
"Atta boy," said George grinning. He was in gear, so he started towards to exit of the cabin to get in the assembly line and wait for Sobel.
Five minutes later the rest of George's Airborne platoon had lined up with him, just as Sobel strutted over to them. God, he was a dick. George couldn't even stand to look at his face. He needed to picture something to make him feel better, like a dog humping Sobel's face while George was being humped by Rita Hayworth. What a beautiful sight.
"Easy Company," spat Sobel. Not even a good morning, huh?
"You have been running Currahee every day for the past two months."
Yeah, no shit Sherlock.
"I have decided that you have earned a change of routine for today…" he continued, giving the stink eye to every soldier. George suddenly hoped it was a day of lecture. Even though lecture was boring as fuck it was better then Currahee.
"Instead of running Currahee this morning," he said, and George felt a giant internal sigh of relief.
"You will be running around the perimeter of the Camp Toccoa and the neighbouring Camp Fairchild. It's nearly fifteen miles of steady terrain, I expect you to do it in 110 minutes, if you slack off you're running it again. You now have two minutes to change into your PT gear, and I will be watching."
The relief inside George instantly vanished, and was replaced with dread. What the fuck? In George's mind, Sobel was officially the lovechild of Hitler and Satan. Why the hell did Easy have to run fifteen fucking miles, while Fox and Dog did simple PT courses? It's not like Easy is gonna have to fucking run everywhere in Europe, there's trucks and shit! And what's with this 'I will be watching' shit? Whatta perv, he probably does like watching young men with nothing but boxers on! George knew Sobel meant it in a different context, but still he liked to think he was a miserable homo for his own entertainment.
Sobel stared them down with his seedy little black eyes.
"What are you waiting for, Lieutenant Winters, you lead these scumbags around the camp."
"Yes sir," said Winters, and George could hear the annoyance in his voice. Sobel had his head shoved too far up his ass to notice, George reckoned.
By three minutes, Easy was changed and well on their way.
"Make sure to pace yourselves, we have a long way to go," George heard Winters say from the front. Boy, Winters really did care about his men. Even though it was hard for him to show, working through Sobel, George and the rest of the boys knew he really did. George expected he would make a fantastic combat leader, he had the uncommon ability to stay calm and collected in the most retarded of situations put on them by Sobel.
George was already starting to sweat. The morning Georgia air was humid as ever, not like the crisp and chilly mornings he was used to in Rhode Island. After a mile, with aching legs and dry lungs, George started to dread the rest of their journey. Damn, he was going to sleep like a dog tonight.
Oh God, thought George. Make it stop. They were almost halfway done now, just entering the Medical training part of the grounds, Camp Fairchild. George's legs felt like somebody had hammered a wooden stake in them, and he felt as if his lungs had shriveled up into nothing (maybe he should lay off the cigarettes for a while). His throat burned like he had been living in the desert without water for a year and it was like someone had jabbed their bayonet into his side. And there was still halfway to go.
"Good job Easy," he heard Winters try to yell, before sputtering out in coughs. "You're doing great, we can do this boys! Keep it up!"
George tried to speak, but found his voice had been swallowed by the dryness of his throat. He tried again, and then once more and found himself successful.
"Just imagine some naked Sheba's waiting for us at the finish line!"
His voice sounded awful. He had hoped for some laughs, but only heard one or two, everyone was either too focused or too in pain to appreciate his humor.
The buildings of Camp Fairchild were starting to blur together, so George closed his eyes for a few moments. When he opened them his eyes were immediately attracted to a body of girls wearing white uniforms standing exiting a grey building. He tried to check them out, but ended up flat-tiring Shifty.
"Hey Luz, keep your eyes on the road, not the dames," Malark said between heavy breaths.
"George!"
It was a female voice who called his name. George recognized it immediately.
He then turned his head to the left to see Josie, bounding towards him. She was wearing the same white uniform as the rest of the girls, short sleeved, pleated, complete with a red cross on the arm. Her blond hair that usually was left down was tied up behind her head, with a white nurses visor holding it back.
What the fuck was she doing? Couldn't she see that George was a little busy? He couldn't stop, that would wreck him. The nerve of that one. She kept running until she was beside him.
"Georgie I've missed you!" she cried.
Oh my God. As much as George loved her he wanted her to go the fuck away at that moment.
"Fuck off tiger, I'm trying to run fifteen miles here! I'll talk to you later!" he grumbled between breaths.
Her face screamed hurt at that moment, and he suddenly felt like a dick. She was probably just excited to see him and he told her to fuck off. Nevertheless, Josie quickly shifted her facial expression to the feisty one that usually inhabited her face. She was never one to show her feelings, not even to George.
"Sorry," she said, with slight attitude. She stopped running.
"My cabin is 4c George!" she called from behind him, cupping her hands to form a megaphone. George then felt a grin creeping up on his face.
"You," Malarkey started, struggling between breaths. "You know her?"
"No, we're strangers," huffed George, trying to inject as much sarcasm into his weakened voice as he could.
"She your girlfriend?" Malarkey asked, his shoulders bobbing up and down. George shook his head and Malark's face lit up. "Well then, if you don't mind me sayin' that broad is smokin'!"
"Hey, watch it pal," George hissed, and Malarkey suddenly looked shocked. There was a long pause of their feet thumping on the dirt path and the rhythm of their loud and shallow breathing.
"Is she your sister?"
"Oh God," started little Perco, stuffing his mouth with mashed potatoes, which was the equivalent of cardboard mushed up with water in taste. "I can't tell you how much I miss my Mamma's cookin' right now."
George removed his face from his potatoes for only a moment to speak. "I hear ya, Perco."
Boy, this cooking was the shittiest of shit that he had ever tasted (he meant this in a metaphorical way, he had never eaten shit before, that's just fucked up). However, after he had been running, jumping, climbing, and crawling for nearly sixteen hours a day, everyday, the shitty food started to actually taste good. Maybe it was that his incredibly overworked body was in need of as much fuel as possible in order to keep him going and do a sufficient job at it, or that he simply forgot what good cooking tasted like. Nevertheless, Satan Sobel had robbed them of every weekend pass in their nearly five month stay so far. Every time a Friday came up, Sobel would hunt like a hungry badger to find even the smallest of a technicality in Easy. Even if he couldn't find one, he would find some dumb excuse, even if he made it up himself.
For what reason? George thought. Sobel was trying to prepare Easy for war, yet he didn't know what the war was like. He hadn't gone overseas to see what it was like in Europe. Though Sobel's vision of the European front may have been a blood-soaked hellhole, George liked the idea of dropping into the Swiss Alps, with ten beautiful, naked blondes feeding him chocolate and beer.
A humming chatter filled the mess hall as the members of E, I and D Company started to shuffle out of the building. George wondered what hell awaited them when they rejoined Sobel. Easy then stood at attention outside the mess hall, and surprisingly, George couldn't see asscracker Sobel marching towards him. Maybe the ground would start splitting in front of them, and Sobel would rise out from the licking flames, clad with a triton and horns. Yes, that sounds completely accurate.
It was Winters who got their attention. "At ease, Easy Company," he said, and had a look on his face George rarely saw, and couldn't decipher what it was.
"I think you'll be pleased to know," Winters continued, "That Sobel will be in board meetings with Colonel Sink for the remainder of today and tonight."
Easy then stirred with grins and small expressions of happiness and triumph. George felt an elbow nudge him in the ribs that came from Bull, who was smiling like crazy.
"On the insistence of Colonel Sink, Easy Company has their weekend passes granted. You're free to go gentlemen."
The murmurs transferred into full-blown cheers. High fives were thrown everywhere, as well as friendly punches in the shoulders, or slaps on the back. Even as reserved as Winters was, George could tell he was trying his hardest to compose himself, a smile forming on the corners of his small lipped mouth.
"However," Winter's calm voice stopped them from moving from their positions. "I wouldn't over indulge too much tonight if I were you, I'm going to assume that Sobel will have us make up lost time by running Currahee twice as hard early tomorrow. Have fun, just keep that in mind."
But even Winter's words of wisdom could not stop George's determination of taking the first bus into town that he could, going to the best bar there, and getting plastered with his boys.
"Alright, alright," Bill's Philly accent cut in the noise. "Who's gonna get down to the Information office to find us the first bus in town we can get?"
It was Lipton who spoke. "I will boys."
This freaked George out a little. Their Sargent was humble, good mannered guy who also happened to be married. Didn't really seem the drinking and darts type. Whatever, everyone needs a break once in a while, especially after the wrath of Sobel.
"You comin' out with us eh, Sarg?" said George happily, affectionately slapping Lip on the shoulder.
Lip smiled. "I'd rather be doin' somethin' then nothing with my free time."
"All I want to do is nothin'," said Talbert, sighing. "We don't stop moving, ever, and now that we get a chance to go have a good time all I want to do is sleep."
"Well while you're sleeping," started Liebgott, with a grin creeping up his mouth that slightly made him resemble a rat. "I'm gonna get on active duty, if you know what I mean," he finished with a wink to follow his wicked grin.
Out of all of Easy, Joseph Liebgott was the biggest perv. Sure, they all got horny sometimes, George included. But Liebgott was a billion times hornier then George all the time. For instance, he had been trying to get his scrawny little hands on some cheesecake porno magazine since the second week of Toccoa, and was always going on about his dream girl and how big her jugs were. George couldn't lie, after a while of hearing about it he wanted to shoot himself in the head because it got so annoying. George could feel the annoyingness that tonight would bring on for Liebgott. It would be his first time mingling with the female population for quite some time, and George knew if he got dirty tonight, Easy wouldn't hear the end of it until they jumped into Europe.
"Sexually transmitted diseases are not a joke, Joe," said George. "Why just take a look at Mr. Gonorrhea over there, why do you think he's so miserable?"
He gestured to the headstrong nineteen year old, who spun around furiously.
"Shut the fuck up, Luz" he said forcefully, although George knew he had tickled the unfunny-funny bone of Guarnere.
The men in first platoon had finally made it back to their cabin. Because of their morning Currahee run and obstacle courses, the cabin had the odour of sweaty socks and rotten onions.
"I don't know about you cheeseheads, but I'm showering up before we head out. Don't wanna repel the ladies ya know?" said Perco, grabbing his towel.
"You repel the ladies anyway Perc," George said, grinning.
Most men then ventured off to shower, and others who felt their cleanliness was acceptable sat on the cabin floor and started a game of craps.
"Luz, you gonna join us?" asked Hoobler from the floor.
"Nah man, I'm pretty sweaty myself, I think I might rinse up."
George very well knew he wasn't going to shower; he was heading right for Camp Fairchild (which was fairly close to the men's showers) and into cabin 4C, to meet the person he was missing out on for the past thirteen weeks.
He then ventured out of the cabin, and began what seemed like a treacherous journey into Medic-land. There were no guards, so sneaking into the camp would be easy, the hard part would be getting into Josie's cabin.
He had now entered Camp Fairchild. Shit, he looked out of place with his brown paratrooper's uniform. Every person he saw wore a white armband with a red cross on it. Try to act like you belong, George told himself, and straightened his back out with confidence. His eyes scanned the cabins, 2A was closest to him at the moment. Damn, that meant walk further. Why did her cabin have to be so fucking far down the path? 3C, 3D, 3E, 4A. Okay, he was getting closer. When 4C came into view, a grin started to form on George's face, at the thought of Josie and him reuniting, like Batman and Robin.
George then found himself walking up the stocky wooden stairs that lead to the pale grey door of the narrow building with white siding. He first craned his neck to have a peek in the window, and to his surprise the room has empty. Making sure there were no men of authority there to catch him, he slipped inside.
Wow, what the fuck? He thought when he got inside the building. These cabins were a million times nicer then theirs. The beds were dressed with faded blue linens that looked much warmer and softer then the shitty sheets in First Platoon's cabin. The floor didn't creak when he walked on it. Hell, it even smelt nice in there.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps pounding up the stairs of the building. Shit, what was he going to do? He was so fucked, if he was caught in here, it would look bad and stalker-like on his part. His eyes frantically darted for a good hiding spot. The best he could make out was under the bed, and before he could dive under it the door swung open.
George froze in fear, his heart pounding. Shit, shit, he was fucked. Why did he even come here in the first place?
"GEORGE!" squealed a familiar voice, and George looked up to see Josie. He didn't get a good look at her, because in seconds her petite frame had managed to tackle him onto the bed beside him.
"That's the enthusiasm I like, Tiger," George managed to choke out, as he was being smothered by a hug. Josie had wrapped her arms around him and was holding him like she was trying to rescue him from drowning or something.
He looked up at her. To George she hadn't changed in the past three months since he last saw her. Her saucer-like green eyes were as childlike and bright as he had always remembered, and her straw colored hair was tucked back into a bun, yet pieces of her untamed waves wished to escape and hung around her face frantically. Her skin that was reminiscent of a china doll was a shade or few darker, the Georgian sun had done its part. Josie had always been attractive, in George's eyes. Even in the third grade, when the two nearly looked the same. Josie's mom had gotten her a dreadful short haircut, and with scabby knees, a skinny frame and a fiery attitude to match, she could have been very well mistaken for a little boy in a dress. Well, maybe not. Josie always had a certain type of poise that made her very feminine. Even when she fist fought boys as a little girl, she did it as a lady.
"Finally got a weekend pass, eh?" she said, punching him in the ribs.
"You betcha," said George. "Shit head Sobel finally let us off because he was in a meeting."
"Who's Sobel?" she asked, tilting her head with curiosity.
"Damn, I sure have a lot to tell you, kid," said George, scratching the back of his neck. "Sobel's our Captain, and he's a complete asshole-dingy-chicken-fuck."
Josie raised her eyebrows. "That's quite some description."
"I swear to God he's the antichrist. Every weekend he takes away our weekend passes, and he nearly runs us to death every day. I feel like I'm in prison rather then boot camp."
"Remember that you were the one who signed up for this shit," Josie said, smirking.
"Hey!" George exclaimed with a frown, and slapped her on the arm. "Give a little sympathy, huh?"
She chuckled. "I'm just saying."
"How's your training going?" George asked.
She sighed. "It's alright, the first few months were spent learning about the anatomy and how it works, especially important arteries and shit like that. Now they're teaching us proper procedure and everything to patch guys up. We just finished a test on the anatomy."
"Sounds better then jump school," said George, who pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and placed it in his mouth. While he reached for his lighter, Josie's hands stopped him.
"You can't smoke in here!" she said with distress, and yanked the cig out of his mouth.
"Ey, why not?" said George, with outrage apparent in his tone. He tried to reach back for the smoke but Josie pulled it behind her. "Give it back Jos, it's not funny!"
"We're not allowed to smoke in here, if we're caught we get in shit!"
George stared at her blankly for a moment, then erupted with laughter.
"Wait… You're telling me there's no smoking? No smoking?" he asked, with his expression that was mixture of both disbelief and hilarity.
"Well yeah, they kinda teach us that smoking is bad for you… Plus our Sergeant is a total fucking nun who would tattle on us right away."
George's expression remained the same. "You gotta get outta here, no fucking smoking? What kind of a place is this?"
The room was filled with the pair's impassioned laughter, then suddenly fell silent due to the quiet sounds of women's chatter that came from outside the door.
George froze, and looked at Josie in shock.
"Shit! They're back already!" Josie cried in panic. "Quick!" she snapped her fingers frantically, "Get under my bed!"
In one swift movement, George hit the floor and had army crawled under Josie's bunk. "Shit!" he growled as his elbow hit something hard, like a box or something. He then pulled himself to the position where he was unseen by the women in the cabin yet had a clear view of them.
The women of the 301st division of Women's Nurse Corps slowly started to file in the building. They weren't as George expected- young and attractive like Josie. Actually, the number of middle-aged, plump women seemed to outweigh the amount of pretty little girls in the cabin.
"You're a fast walker Josephine," said a woman with a loud voice. She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties, with faun colored hair with flecks of grey. Her skin looked wrinkled and weather-beaten, with sunken black eyes that had a seedy sensation similar to Sobel's.
Josie laughed uncomfortably. "Finished our anatomy exam early, Missus."
The woman smiled, in a way George found kind of creepy. He had never taken a likening to older ladies, they always were yelling at him for being on their lawns and whatnot as a kid.
"Smart cookie," she said.
A young girl started to cross the cabin towards Josie's bunk. Damn, what a looker! Thought George. She was Hispanic looking; she had a stunning heart shaped face with big brown eyes and cupid bow's lips. Her skin was toasted to perfection and her jet-black hair shone with beauty. George couldn't help but notice her rather big jugs too. She stopped in front of the bunk beside Josie.
"How'd you find the exam?" Josie asked.
At this point, George couldn't help but notice all the girls started stripping down to their undergarments in the room. His eyes darted to a redhead in the corner, who had a pretty face, but her body was a bit too thin for his likening. He tried to block the images of all the old ladies out of his vision. Oh dear God have some mercy, he thought. He caught an middle aged woman in her bra, with all her wrinkles and lard hanging out. Fuck, put that away! That's nasty!
"I thought it was difficult," the Latino girl's softly accented voice drew him back to her. Oh thank God. Yes! Thought George as she started to take her uniform off. This must be his lucky day. One by one, she slipped articles of clothing off herself. Oh fuck he was getting lucky, she better be at the bar tonight. Once she was down to her bra, her curves and tits pierced George's mind like first discovering a book of dirty pictures in his Pop's toolbox when he was thirteen. Without realizing it, he let out a small moan of delight, "Oh baby".
Upon hearing George's groan, Josie thrust her heel into his hand, in which he whimpered in pain. What the fuck, bitch? Cut your best friend a break huh?
George could feel sadness enter him once the girls started to pull on their dress uniforms, however was delighted that the old hags throughout the room were putting some fucking clothes on. Slowly, they all started to file out of the cabin, however the Latino girl stayed.
"Everyone is heading to the mess hall for dinner, then some of us are heading out to town," said the Hispanic girl. "You are coming, right?"
"Yeah, I'll meet you there," said Josie happily.
"I hope there are good looking boys from the Airbourne out tonight," the girl said, sighing.
Josie laughed. "Can't say I know any yet."
George frowned, knowing that was directed at him. Bitch.
"I heard there's this Lieutenant from Dog Company who is absolutely gorgeous," the Latino girl was saying, and George racked his brain to try to figure out who it was.
"Although he's very stern and serious. We would never have a chance with him, but at least its something nice to look at. Apparently he's better looking then any film star!"
Josie laughed once again. "I'll have to see for myself."
The girl then started towards the exit of the cabin. "See you Josie!"
"Bye," Josie mumbled. Once George heard the door click shut, he scrambled out from under the bed.
"Damn, she's one fucking good lookin' broad!"
Josie looked annoyed. "Gloria?"
"That her name?" George said, taking a seat on the bed next to Josie. "Think I'd have a shot with her in the sack tonight?"
Josie scoffed. "Good luck. Gloria Rodriguez knows she's beautiful, so her standards are pretty high."
George scowled. Sometimes Josie was so loving, and other times she could be such a bitch. "You sayin' I'm not a good looking guy?"
Josie grinned. "I think you're good looking. She might not."
Well, at least Josie thought he was good looking. It always boggled George that he had always thought Josie carried a torch for him, yet whenever he asked she always refused him. Women are fucking confusing creatures.
"I have a present for you, by the way," said Josie, who leaned over the bed and pulled out a small, square, wooden box from under it. That must have been what George banged his elbow on. Josie then started to rifle through the things in the box, which appeared to mostly be un-regulation clothing, and pulled out a bright orange ball and tossed it into George's hands. Once it landed George realized it was an orange.
"Stole it from our mess hall. You'd better eat it fast, so there's no evidence."
George quickly started peeling back the orange as quickly as he could, and when he got to the edible part took a big bite. The juices of the citrus penetrated his taste buds with delight, and he savored the delicious fruit for as long as he could. He hadn't had an orange in fucking forever. Ever since everyone went broke in Rhode Island, he thought that imported fruits might have been swept off the planet forever.
"Love you, Jos," he managed to spit out with a full mouth.
"You better," she said, and pulled out her dress uniform.
"Ugh God, I don't want to wear this out tonight, it's hideous," she said, holding it out in front of her. "Maybe I'll just change into the blue dress once we get there."
Oh God, the blue dress. In George's eyes, whoever made that blue dress was an angel, because it made Josie look like a fucking pin-up girl. No, sexier then a pinup girl. It showed off all the right things, her curves, her breasts and her ass.
"Oh yeah," George moaned, still digging into the orange.
Josie smirked. "Shut up you pig. Now turn around, I have to get changed."
"C'mon Jos, you can't make me turn around, that's just cruel! That's like waving a million bucks in front of a hobo's face then not letting him have it!"
"Aw, poor wittle Georgie. Turn around, for me to be somewhat decent, kid."
George sighed and rolled his eyes, then repositioned himself on the bed. He could hear her uniform start to come off, as well as see her clothes drop to the floor out of the corner of his eye.
"C'mon Jos, just one little peek. I never get to see your tits, only in a bathing suit," he begged.
"But Jesus wouldn't like that George," she said, in a voice that mocked the nuns who used to teach them in school.
George couldn't take it anymore. He spun around to find her already fully dressed. The uniform wasn't much of a boner-killer as Josie had expressed, the white skirt and blazer hugged her curves snugly, yet the dress shirt underneath really cut off all the booby action George was hoping for.
"See? It's ugly!" she said, throwing her arms up and spinning around.
George looked her up and down. "It makes your ass look nice."
She slapped him gently. "C'mon, let's get on the bus, asshole."