Sex for America: Politically Inspired Erotica by Stephen Elliott Read Free Book Online Page B

remember. Marines were dropping from heat exhaus- tion, some of the units having hiked fifteen or more miles for the morale boost, guys trying to stand on tip-toes and locking their knees, and that’s when they’d drop. The corpsmen had a heat ex- haustion tent set up, thirty cots with IV drips, and half a dozen exam rooms. I always carried my jar of ether and a skivvy shirt in my ass-pack, and I hadn’t planned it, but in all the mess of bodies and the sweaty movement of troops out of the area after the show, I slipped into the medical tent and one of the exam rooms where a young marine lay dizzy and confused on a cot, maybe hallucinat- ing. I rubbed his shoulder and told him he’d be okay, in a few hours he’d be up and around, and I covered his pretty face with the ether rag and he was out quickly. I could hear from the other side of the curtain corpsmen and doctors shouting orders and marines on cots moaning and bitching. I turned him on his side, still hooked up to his IV, and pulled myself out. I pulled his trousers down past his knees. I spit on the end of my dick and started slowly in. I wanted to spank him, I wanted to make noise, but I couldn’t. I en- tered him slowly and the blood began and that helped with getting in and then I was in all the way. When I finished I wiped myself off with the ether shirt and I left the young, pretty marine’s trousers down at his knees and a bloody mess covering his ass and the olive drab cot. I kissed his hip. Let them have their guns.
     
SERGEANT SAVINE
We assumed the Ether Bandit had left the building. But we broke up into teams and searched every room on every floor, looking for a clue. I went down to the basement. The pogues and line grunts
had broken up their party, and Thomas and his girls cleaned the mess of broken bottles and cigarette butts and used condoms. It struck me as funny how no matter where we were in the world, the Marine Corps handed out condoms. Always cheap condoms, Shank usually, or sometimes Splendor, but they handed them out even in the middle of the desert, which meant to me they knew the whorehouse existed. Thomas had to be kicking down to someone, either whores or money or both. Probably he was dealing drugs as well, but he never brought us in on that. He must’ve figured not to with the snipers, we were all hard motherfuckers, hard, crazy motherfuckers with the cinema of war going on in our eyes, and he must’ve known we wouldn’t touch his shit. In Vietnam the fight- ers were all fucked up on dope, and they did very little good for the battle plan. Sure, it’s glamorous, shooting smack or smoking stick before going into the shit, it’s all glamour in those bullshit movies, but let me see a sniper put a bullet in an enemy officer’s skull from a grand out while he’s high as fuck on any kind of dope. Won’t fucking happen. Sure, before we joined The Suck we all daydreamed of getting high in the bush and taking out an entire enemy patrol, but the fighter doesn’t need movies. The civilian and the pogue need movies.
Professor screamed, I found something, I found a skivvy shirt! He ran down the third-floor corridor with an olive drab skivvy shirt balled up in his right fist. He shoved it in my face, and I smelled the faint sweet scent of ether, and also the muddy stench of blood and shit and come. We had the same thought at the same time—look in the neckband for a name neatly stamped in black, half-inch block letters. BROCKNER BF. No one we knew. A pogue of course, a fucking pogue running around ass-raping for fun.
Esmeralda went home to her husband. A corpsman stitched Cash up and gave him some pills for the pain. Nothing could be done for the mind fucking he’d received, worse than a boot camp mind fuck, worse than all of the fuck fuck games ever thrown his way. A damn good thing it happened at Thomas’s. With medical supplies and a corpsman nearby, the word wouldn’t spread. And with the word not getting out, we could complete our