Soon after I was issued my top secret clearance, Cpt. Tspralis, my new ‘section chief’, signed the paperwork to arrange for an additional $300 to be added to my monthly military pay-check as a food stipend. According to Cpt. Tspralis, a communications security custodian was always on the road and away from base during meal hours and the supplemental pay made it possible for me to buy my own meals either at the chow hall or at one of many fast food restaurants on base.
Prior to the raise in pay, I, along with all the other non-married, non-commissioned troops living in the barracks, was issued a meal card which guaranteed three hot squares a day. After the $300 kicked in, I was required to turn in the meal card. Fortunately, at Barton Barracks, the mess hall guards did not ask to see meal cards. We simply called out our numbers while waiting for our breakfasts, lunches and dinners in what was referred to as ‘at-ease’ position– standing with one’s feet shoulder- width apart with arms tucked in the small of the back like a roasted Thanksgiving turkey.
“R7659962473,” I shouted shamelessly three times a day and ate at the expense of Uncle Sam and still got that extra $300 each month.
Finally, I had extra spending cash and the money to buy my own car. Fellow soldiers who lived in the barracks were not as wealthy as I was.
The short, chunky officer also arranged for me to get my own room. Prior to the move to the top floor of Charlie Company barracks, I shared a room with three other soldiers who each had a unique taste in music.
Cpt. Tspralis was cool. He was the most grounded commissioned officer I’ve ever met in the military. Nothing was complicated with Cpt. Tspralis and he never raised his voice. He did not have a big ego and never made enlisted soldiers feel like second-class citizens. I appreciated the raise he got for me and I took my job as his right hand and eye very seriously.
The captain once confronted me about the rumors regarding my sexuality that floated around the barracks like my seeming endless supply of laundry detergent. I was like a mother to the men and few women who lived in the barracks. They could care less that I was gay. I always had everything they needed to make life easier– like it was back at home, with our real moms. “Taylor, do you have any laundry detergent?” The guys who lived downstairs asked on a routine basis. I felt sorry for them. They spent all their extra cash on booze. When they ran out of things like soap, shaving cream, shoe polish or coffee, I handed them what they wanted as I stood in my private room in fuzzy house slippers.
“What are you talking about Cpt. T?” I asked with a big smile on my face.
“Taylor. You are very bright. Do you know that?”
“Thank you sir,” I said. We have inspection next Wednesday. Can we get back to work?”
“I want to let you know that I personally am against that military policy.”
We were rarely away from base during chow hours. In fact, we were rarely away from the vault at all. Once a month we traveled to division headquarters to obtain a month’s worth of radio encryption codes and turn in our logs which indicated that we had properly destroyed the previous month’s radio scrambling secrets.
Those days were sometimes very long and boring, despite the company of the captain and his trainee replacement, 1st Lt. Bottomley.
I headed out to lunch for hours on end while the other two soldiers in my squad sat in the vault and read big thick books. I couldn’t stand reading down there when both of them were around– especially Lt. Bottomley. She constantly interrupted the absolute silence of the underground room with chuckles or moans caused by the things she was reading in her books. I couldn’t stand it sometimes, especially when I was locked deep within the trance that written words sometimes do to my cognitive reality.
One of my favorite places to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner was at a restaurant run by the Armed Forces Exchange Service. The joint was known as the ‘Burger Bar’. It was a total rip off of McDonald’s and Burger King, designed the military way and run by German civilians.
The Burger Bar had one of the world’s first video juke boxes. It played popular music videos for a mere quarter. Songs like Paula Abdul’s ‘Straight Up’ and George Michael’s ‘Monkey” were played in routine circulation at the popular off- hours hangout.
The men drank beer and ate pizza and I waited for them.
I sat in the far stall along the wall– the one with the big hole between the partitions and waited to make my attacks.
Some of them I grew tired of– but overall I was becoming an addict for the danger and sex. I savored the taste of almost every last soldier who fed me threw the ‘glory hole’ found right on base at a military installation in Deutchland. There were at least a hundred of them I got to know over the years. Some of them I loved, some of them were a bore and some made me spit.
I wasn’t the only Army cocksucker who felt safe and at home in the far fox hole at the end of a row of toilets in the Burger Bar bathroom. It was a real whore war sometimes trying to gain control of that last bunker. There were lots of cock sucking bottoms like myself who tried to maintain control of the coveted spot. We all wore uniforms and mine had unique patterns in the camouflaged fabric along the breast pocket where the name “Taylor” was advertised shamelessly.
My name was never hidden from those who came down my way. Most of my fellow soldiers put their hands over their hearts as I blew them but I knew who they were. Each one had a different taste to it.
I am an American hero!