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Published January 13, 2012

She had joined the army to prove herself.  She had joined the army to serve her country after her dad had died in combat twelve years ago.  She had joined the army because she had expected to find a challenge, but what she never expected was to find an Adonis sleeping in just the next barracks over.

Private Sullivan was a man’s man by any sense of the word.  He was loud, brash, handsome, and cocky, and the only interaction she seemed to have with him usually took the form of coy comments about her figure in passing.  She had always shown a disdain for these comments, but in reality, she secretly loved them and let each phrase linger in her mind as if they were sandcastles in the surf, waiting to be washed out by the rising tide.

Late one night she was just finishing cleaning up the kitchen of the mess hall with her company.  Alone in the back of the kitchen she began to toy with the idea of taking the initiative and making a move on Private Sullivan.  However, after a few minutes of fantasizing, she dismissed the idea as foolish and unlikely to ever happen.

As she retreated into the walk-in storage closet she found Private Sullivan, standing in the back taking inventory.   Overcome with sensation and the notion of fate, she seized her opportunity and approached him as she flirtatiously whispered, “Here’s something I bet you weren’t counting on,” while she spun him around and began massaging he crotch.   In no time at all he was hard, standing at attention.

She pulled his fatigues down as she continued to stroked Private Sullivan’s private.   She had already raised his Iwo Jima and as she felt his body quiver and she worried that he might accidentally have a pre-emptive strike.  To counter-attack this she immediately wriggled out of her government-issued pants and guided his heat-seeking missile into her bunker.

She didn’t want a Détente; she wanted action.  She wanted Private Sullivan to conquer her like she was the beaches of Normandy.  She was basically looking for an all out Blitzkrieg on her lady parts.

Suddenly, in a Guerilla warfare-esque surprise, Private Sullivan let out a sickening fart.  It reeked of rancid Caesar salad, clearly worse than any chemical weapon could ever hope to be.

After a few minutes of charging and retreating into her Vietnamese jungle, Private Sullivan asked if she could “kamikaze” him for a bit, which was understood by all military personnel to mean going down on someone.   She obliged and knelt on the floor in front of him.

“Alright, I’ll do this for you, but I want to keep having sex so I don’t want you to finish,” she stated.  ”And I most certainly don’t want to end up with any of your shrapnel in my hair or mouth,” she giggled to him as she began.

After a minute or so, Private Sullivan emitted a low rebel yell.  Startled, she took his soldier out of her mouth just in time to end up with ‘friendly-fire’ all over her face.

Laughing, Private Sullivan pulled up his fatigues and returned to the mess hall, no doubt to inform his comrades of his conquest, while she was left there to clean her face off with nothing but the hard sponges and the steel wool found the storage closet.

Overall, she had to admit that it was a pretty dishonorable discharge.

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