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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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Jennifer drove her audi into CTC RM. There was a guard at the entrance and a soldier with a rifle. She slowed down and held the letter to the guard. He wrote her car registration onto the back of her letter and placed it into a tray inside a kiosk. He waved her through. She looked back and saw the soldier still gazing at her car. They probably don't get many women in make-up in here. She still was unsure about this job. She didn't know how she would feel working with a single gender of folk unlikely to be more than 23. At the age of 26 she wasn't that much older than the recruits she would be working with.
She parked her car next to a row of white vans, a couple of coaches and two tanks. Christ she thought, it's the real deal here.
As she walked over to reception she passed a bronze statue of 3 soldiers posturing in combat mode. She looked at a plaque underneath.
Officially presented by Margaret Thatcher in 1986.
On the left of reception she looked down onto a couple of fields. The bottom field seemed to be some type of assault course. Recruits were training. She watched them swing across the monkey bars and climb up ropes. They were wearing funny green pork pie hats instead of berets. She wished she was closer. She would have liked to see them grimace in pain, watched rivulets of sweat running down their face. She put her hand over her brow to shield her eyes from the sun. If she was closer she'd see their biceps bulging as they pushed their bodies to the limits. Muscular arses, solid firm thighs. Hairy legs, clothes saturated with sweat.
Just then a guy in camo appeared.
"That's the bottom field," he said. Those guys are practising for the four commando challenges. Once they pass they'll be able to swap those cap comforters for the green lid?"
"What's a green lid?" asked Jennifer.
The guy took his green beret off. "One of these, " he said. "Here, try it on."
Camo guy turned so he was directly facing her. He brushed up close to her and she was slightly unnerved, embarrassed. She wasn't wearing a coat and the wind was ruffling her cream silk blouse, every gust pulled the fabric tightly over her breasts and the man kept looking down as this happened. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Ma'am, where's your coat? You'll catch your death." Then he rubbed her sleeves up and down with each hand, hoping the friction would warm her, get her blood flowing. The third button of her blouse had popped open as he did this, exposing some cleavage and the lacy edge of her white bra. She fastened it up quickly, annoyed he didn't look away politely.
He placed the beret on top of her head. With his fingers he brushed her blonde bobbed hair behind her left ear and then stretched the beret towards the right of her head, tugging it down. He flattened it with his hands and his fingers brushed the back of her neck, lingering a while, feeling the warmth of her skin.
"Off you go, reception's that round building over there. Leave my lid with the receptionist when you're done with it."
He saluted her and she giggled. It was hard strutting across the yard with her briefcase banging into the side of her leg as she wobbled across the tarmac in a pencil skirt and high heels.
"This bloody green lid has probably wrecked my hairdo," she thought.
As she gave the receptionist her appt card she asked where the loos were. As soon as she got in she yanked off the beret and looked at herself in the mirror. She hoped she would be up to this job. They were offering her free accomodation and as many free drinks at the bar as she wanted. She'd be lodging at the Chaplains and attending parties in the officers' mess. Free use of the gym, free dentist, free physio, a clothing allowance and concessionary rate railpass. She'd feel awkward being one of the few women working there but she'd soon fit in wouldn't she? Let's see how the interview pans out... |
xx
