Scenes From A Shattered Life


Here I was, Parris Island. Thirteen weeks of hell that would grind the esprit de corps into you. I had graduated high school and had enough credits so that I would be entering as an E2, a private first class. The first day of intake is a blur that washes past you. Shouted off the bus, you stand on the yellow footprints that countless before you have stood. Some have gone off to all sorts of life, others made the ultimate sacrifice.A brief description of how to stand at attention was given. Instructors barked out the difference between civilian law and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. The mood for the first night was intense and set the bar for the remainder of the training.We were brought from station to station, having to make a call to someone first. If you had no one, and I now had no one, you would call your recruiter and repeat the words listed above the phone like everyone else, including shouting an awkward “I love you” before hanging up the phone. We were separated into sexes, and the haircuts began.“Any cuts, moles, or lumps I should be aware of,” the old barber repeated just as he had to everyone before.“No, sir!”I had allowed my hair to grow out over the last summer and the guardless blade dragged across my head. It was sharp, but my hair was thick. Some hairs were ripped rather than cut. My head was now much lighter and colder than it had been before I stood in line waiting to receive all the shots I would be required to have. At the end of the line, my arm felt like a football team had walked past me at the end of the game, each punching me on the upper arm in a show of sportsmanship.We were sat down and greeted by what would be our drill instructors for the next thirteen weeks. They shouted out their responsibilities to turn us from recruits into Marines. Each of us stared up at them, intimidated by what was to come, but in admiration too of what we would become.The weeks went by and the instructors drilled into us the USMC mindset, discipline, and intensive physical training. Recruits received letters from home and would read over them during the little free time we would be given at the end of the day. I had no letters as I had told no one where I was going. By now someone had likely filed a police report that I was missing. I hoped that the voicemail I had left would keep the trail cold if anyone was questioned following the report being filed. You were one of the last people I had spoken to, and I realized now what the signs looked like.The day of graduation came, and I scanned the crowd to make sure no one had somehow tracked me down and would be waiting to ambush me. No one was there. The ceremonies and drills commenced. At the end of it all, I packed up my belongings. Since I had entered as an E2, I was eligible to be promoted to E3 a lance corporal. This was not common, but possible if you had college credits and finished boot camp as a platoon guide which I had fulfilled. My mind was set only on what I was becoming, undistracted by thoughts of home or family.We were required to take ten days off after graduating from boot camp. Wanting my new life to be completely severed I did not return home. I found a KOA campground not far from where my training school was going to be and stayed there enjoying the stars, the campfire, and the food I was forbidden to eat during training. I had managed to obtain some Moxie, and a package of red hotdogs, something no one outside of New England would even believe exists.I arrived at the school of infantry. All Marines are first and foremost, Riflemen. If you had signed a contract for something other than infantry, you would spend twenty-eight days here gathering proficiency and accuracy with firearms. If you had signed an infantry contract, you would remain here for fifty-nine days. I had easily passed the ASVAB with a score that my recruiter shook his head at.“You can do whatever you want, provided it’s available.”I had gone over all the different jobs. I was already smart but that bored me. I wanted excitement, and I didn’t want to go home, so in my tradition, I thought to myself fuck it and signed a contract to become an 0331, a machine gunner.The training was as grueling as boot camp however lacking the respect, I thought I would get as a newly minted Marine. They quickly reminded us that we were at the very bottom of the totem pole and lessons in true respect were learned early.After graduation, I was assigned to my first platoon. We would train constantly and do workups for an upcoming deployment. I was foolish and, in my mind, I was excited looking forward to “being there, man” and “seeing some things.” These were inappropriate motivations, the worst, however, being the morbid thought that maybe I wouldn’t have to come home. I wouldn’t have to face the consequences of running away. Like Peter Pan, perhaps, I would never grow old.My first deployment came and went. It was a boring one, fortunately. However, the stories that I had heard from the older and more experienced men quickly dispelled my folly. Returning home, I held onto my leave for as long as possible, having no family to return to.At the base, my roommate was droning on about his conquests. This was the military, and we were Marines. The ugliest square-jawed farm boy all dressed up would seem the catch to any girl, especially around the local towns. I had tuned out while he was in the middle of some story regarding his latest pickup.“And then I realized I was in the wrong hole… the front one!”I had worked on a isvecbahis few fake laughs and pulled out one I thought was appropriate.“Hey, let’s get out of here and hit the town,” he said.It was Friday and we had been granted permission to leave the base. My roommate had a girlfriend on the side and decided to pick her up first, provided I keep things hush about his experiences.She was a pretty little thing. Short but with long black hair. A lot of girls had been taking to shorter haircuts and in an act of rebellion, she had grown hers out even longer. She wore shorts and converse and one of those long shirts with cutoff arms.“Hey, boys!”“Hey,” we each said back.We decided to make our way to the local club. The E4 mafia worked their connections for all the younger Marines. Many of them had skills in various areas throughout the corps. Some had access to some machines that would allow us to get into whatever trouble we wanted.With our fake IDs, we headed to the bar. These were no fake IDs we had bought from craigslist when I was seventeen trying to get into bars. This was something made by a military professional. Someone who was in administration and worked on these kinds of things.John passed them around and we got in line, eventually making it in after revealing we were in the military. So many people liked to bend over backward and who were we not to take advantage? In the club, John’s eyes kept wandering to various girls. His girlfriend Janet would notice this and after an hour was fuming mad. She stomped out and John hadn’t noticed.I hadn’t buried all my feelings at this point yet and felt bad for her. I knew cheating and it was an awful thing.“Hey, are you alright?”“Yeah, he’s just an idiot. I know he has girls on the side, I’m not stupid. I don’t know, maybe I am stupid.”“You’re not stupid, you’re young just like we are. This is the time to make some mistakes.” I steadied myself. I was going to be assertive and do whatever it was I wanted. “We can make a mistake right now in fact…”I leaned in and kissed her. She pulled back, shocked at my behavior, and slapped me on the cheek.“Is that a no?” I stared at her, pulling off my best Marlon Brando. I was pushing things as far as I could.The bullshit seemed to work because her eyes softened.“You know what. Fuck it, he’s cheating. Why can’t I?”She leaned back, wrapping her arms around my neck and flicked her tongue into my mouth. Her left hand ran up and down through the back of my hair, her fingers playfully wiggling through what little I could have due to uniform regulations. I could hear the slight scratching noise it made. Her right hand slid off the back of my shoulder and slid it’s way down my chest. Her hand planted itself firmly and proudly to the front of my pants. She squeezed it, pumping it in her hands every few seconds.We made out against a streetlight. I think she was hoping he would come out. After a solid twenty minutes of him not wondering where his girlfriend was, I got a cab and we made our way back to her house. The door opened and she started throwing her clothes everywhere.I threw her onto the couch. I wasn’t going to bother with a bed with her. I looked at her, undoing my belt and thought to myself if I was going to be something new. I was going to be whatever I wanted.“This isn’t going anywhere. I’ll fuck you, but after that, I’m leaving, and we aren’t a thing. You understand?”She smirked and nodded her head.“Hey, at least I’ll know I fucked his friend before breaking up with him.”My clothes now off, I joined her on the couch. I lined myself up, pushing into her roughly. She let out a gasp, as she wasn’t ready for this fast action. She dug into my back with her nails, drawing lines all over. I lifted her, making her grind herself against me. She came, and I was starting to get close and decided to again do what I wanted.I pulled out and took off my condom.“Get on your knees, slut.” I looked at her, hoping she would understand this was all for the fun of playing.She bit her lower lips and obeyed, placing her hands on my thighs and bracing herself. Her eyes were intense with thoughts of revenge on her mind. I knew I was clean, but for her, this must have been a thrill. I know it would be for me.I placed my hand on the top of her head, gripping her hair which she had put into a tight bun on top of her head. She followed my urging and tilted her head back. She opened her mouth as wide as her eyes and waited.I came, sending splashes of hot cum all over her face. I had been bottled up and this was my first time having sex since… No, I wasn’t even going to think about that life anymore. This was my first time having sex in a long time, that’s it.She leaned back and rested against the couch, her legs kicking out in front of her. I stepped back and gathered my clothes wordlessly. I put them on, turning to give her one more look. She had put on her panties and was sitting now on the couch posing her a selfie with the cum still on her face. She was going to break up with dynamite. He probably couldn’t care any less, but I also didn’t care if he cared. I turned and left as she finished her picture, wiping her face onto a towel and lighting a cigarette. It had now been two years. I had been promoted from E3 to E4 as soon as my time in service and grade requirements had been met. The same happened from E4 to E5. I was getting into the groove of things. The military had a pace to it, like clockwork. It was demanding but it kept me in straight. As time passed, I continued working my isveçbahis giriş way through the locals and the various members of other branches of the service that were on base. I avoided the Marines as much as possible. I didn’t need that kind of drama in my life.I was now able to live off base and had chosen an apartment. I was given money for housing and was able to place every penny of it into savings thanks to the arrangement I had made with the landlords. Greg, the landlord was older. He wasn’t OLD by any means, being only fifty-two. His wife was thirteen years his junior. At thirty-nine, she was still gorgeous. She had a few lines on her face, and her skin was starting to show some weathering from her tanning, but beyond those minor flaws; she was perfection embodied.The arrangement was simple. Greg wanted help around the house, and with my ability to learn quickly, I was able to do whatever he requested generally. Installing cabinetry, fixing minor electrical issues, and working on the car. I took care of the lawn maintenance, shorts, and an A-shirt being my uniform the Pearson’s had selected. They liked to watch whenever I did manual labor for them. Greg would massage away at his wife Emily who would stare as the sweat popped from my pores.Greg had a personal issue. He had been stricken with impotence and with his blood pressure, medication was not a viable option. He was able to get there himself, but Emily was struggling which put their marriage into a bad place. They had worked through sexual therapy and a mutual deal was struck between the two. He would allow her partners so that she could get what she needed, and he would occasionally watch. He enjoyed playing with the power dynamic sometimes, which would grant him the occasional boner hard enough to join in on the games.Their emotional bond was beautiful. I could see they really had something with one another and was respectful of the situation. I was clean, something they were worried about. They were looking for a regular partner and through happenstance, I bumped into them at the right time.His wife was incredible. She would give you a show whenever you did well but was unafraid to give critique when the performance was subpar. She had a bit of a power kink herself, enjoying tying me up and going to town on me with her various pink tools that she kept stashed in a leather suitcase.On this evening, I was tied to the bed with satin ribbons attached to each post. I could have ripped free any second, choosing to play along with her. This new kink provided the fuel I needed to match her pace. She was nearing the end of her dirty thirties, but the hormones were still going strong.She reached into her bag, spreading her various tools out on a fold-out table that she kept stored in the closet. She moved her hand along on top of each, pausing to select any that I had flinched at. She playfully whipped me with a leather crop, leaving little pink marks all over my body marking her property. When these games were on that was what I was. Property of the Pearson’s.Her husband sat on a dining room chair down to his tighty whities. His feet and arms bound to the chair itself with soft white cord. In his mouth was a gag, and his eyes were trained on us. He would nod along to some of the tools she would select.For the first time, her thin fingers grasped around a long red candle that she had set aside special. She flicked her Bic and lit the wick, allowing the heat to melt the candle.I had been mostly silent through the game, this, however, snapped me out of it.“Pineapple!”Immediately her mood changed and she was back to the nice landlord’s wife that I had known her as.“What’s wrong,” she asked.“No fire play.”She looked at me. I had a small scar to the left of my eye that I had gotten on my second deployment. It was a stupid scar gotten from stupid shrapnel from a stupid IED. No one was killed, and I was fortunate that it grazed me rather than landing in the eye itself. Looking further down, she examined the other scars.A look spread across her face that made me sick. It was a look no one had given me for a few years. Pity.“Pity me, and I’ll rip out of these binds and spank you.”I was trying to lighten the mood. Sensing I didn’t want to talk about it, Emily morphed back into play mode.She walked over to her husband, cocking an eye at me with the candle. I nodded, thinking to myself that if it was him getting the hot wax and not me, that was fine by me.While she gave him the painful attention that he begged for, neither noticed me slip from my bonds. I slipped on the floor quietly, Greg spotting me but keeping quiet. I grabbed the crop and flicked it across Emily’s ass as hard as she would do for me. She let out a surprised, “oh,” as I quickly grabbed her hand pulling her head back as she looked at me with those bedroom eyes I craved. No pity, just punishment.I directed her to grab her husband. I maintained my grip on her hair as she untied him, feigning little painful gasps. I wanted everything sexually but the kitchen sink, but, by god, I was going to incorporate the sink. We formed a train, me the conductor dragging Emily playfully, Greg attached to her hand by the hair as well making our way to the kitchen. The windows were wide but it was bright outside and no one could see as far as I thought.Pushing Emily forward, I turned on the cold water, drops of condensation forming on the tap. She lifted her husband and put the top of his head under the icy water. He moaned at this new form isveçbahis yeni giriş of punishment as I pushed him as close to the counter as he could. I lined Emily up so that she was bending forward leaning over her husband. My vice grip tightened around Greg’s wrist as I placed them on the two taps and made him grip them while the water continued to pour. I grabbed Emily’s hands and placed them over Gregs. Lining myself behind Emily, I started to tease her slit from behind.”Whenever he gets comfy, or tenses up, change the temperature.”This was a new game that they both gleefully took to. I started to pound away at Emily, her breasts mushed into her husbands back, teasing the water back and forth alternating between hot and cold. I pounded away at her, willing myself to extend the time inside of her, her punishment for pitying me.I pulled out moving Emily to the right Greg gripping at the handles like a good boy as I jerked off, coming onto his ass cheeks.We finished the evening and I cleaned things up.“Want to talk about it?”“No,” I snapped back at her.“You… I know this is probably crossing a line here, but it took my husband a year to admit he needed help. It took him another seven months to finally go to a therapist. It’s okay to need help. I’ll leave you be.”She walked off. She was well-intentioned, but I didn’t need help.During this time, the stress was starting to have an impact on my body. I had taken up drinking and, doing research, found a way to consume alcohol that wouldn’t leave any smell on my breath. I carefully measured my doses like medicine, ensuring I would never be drunk, only warm and buzzing.During the weekends, I would not drink entirely, making sure my body didn’t grow too accustomed to the alcohol and stop working. This helped for a while, but the stress found it’s way back.I began to create a strict routine.Monday: I would go to a local bar and spend time with a few friends I had made. Some were other service branch members, some locals from the town. I could make up whatever story I wanted, and the story of how I got my eye scar was a legend to be sung in the halls of Valhalla as far as I had them convinced. The other service members I would whisper the real story to.Tuesday: A trip to one of the twelve strip clubs within driving distance. I was careful with my money and was able to go wild within reason every week. The girls slowly became used to seeing me, eventually greeting me by name. One told me her real name and we chatted about what she was doing after college.Wednesday: Sex club. I was a member of a few clubs. For Wednesday evenings, I would attend a themed sex club. They provided costumes, changing the theme from week to week. One day, you’d be lifting a roman skirt over an ass that was bent over for you, another day you’d be pirates. There was endless amounts of pussy here. Most sex clubs frowned upon bisexual or homosexual activity and this was one of those clubs. They made it clear that it was okay with them, but nothing they wanted in their club. Hypocritically, the bartenders were lovelies, drag beauties in risqué uniform, handing out drinks and towels. Such a tease.Thursdays: Get my ass handed to me in a BDSM dungeon. Bar with the guys after and occasionally some other activity out on the town subbing in.Fridays: A more accepting sex club. There was a buffet. Women with men, men with men, women with women, some in large piles just doing it all. Each club had strict testing policies, and everything was done to standard.Weekends: I would fill with my home duties, giving extra attention to Emily, more than I would during my weeknights after returning from my activities.I had been messaging back and forth with a gentleman on one of my apps deciding to use my alternate day instead of going to the club as usual. He was forty-four, recently divorced after coming out as gay. We chatted about his experience, what it was like growing up, how and when he knew. He had known he was gay when he was in college, never acting on it choosing to bury those feelings down eventually marrying a woman and having two children. They were each in their later teens, going through a private school. His wife had been pleasant about the entire thing, remaining friends as they had built a life together. He stayed in an apartment they had built onto the side of the house, converting the garage into a nice two-floor.He was bewitching. I had looked at his measurements and looking at his picture it was hard to reconcile. He was six foot nine, two hundred sixty-eight pounds. He had kept his head shaven, applying a butter to it that made him glisten. He had no wrinkles, the only age on his face being the softer skin around the thick vein on his temple. He looked like a djinn that had been born of primordial energy standing firm ready to grant my wishes. His umber skin stretched tight across his rippling muscles. He had his career already, and once he accepted his new life he took a job as a bouncer for something to do while he explored this side of himself. He looked the part, every bit of him intimidating. His arms and chest looked like steel cords, his belly, however, stuck out a little, the one sign of age he couldn’t shake from overindulging with the slower metabolism that comes with your forties.We messaged back and forth about what we were each interested in. I hadn’t had good rough sex in a long time and was craving the punishing experience. He mentioned his cock was something special and I teased that he would have to prove it. He laid out what his fantasy was. It was something he wanted to try once, being into some humiliation play and wanting to dom. I was unsure as I read the script that he had written but agreed to it after multiple reassurances.

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