Staff Sargent Smith was like a mother to me. She was my squad leader in the Army. The old woman had no business being in uniform but she entered the service late and reached her gold years still dressed in her Battle Dress Uniform. She was my immediate supervisor and five years away from retirement with benefits.
She was a good leader. I liked her more than the male authorities in my platoon. I was thankful that a woman was in charge of me although when it came to doing physical labor during military maneuvers, her abilities and motivation were limited.
While Specialist James Sterek and I set up tents and put up camouflage netting around our radio/ telecommunications rig, SSG Smith always had more important things to do like attending meetings with the Platoon Leader and draft war plans.
“You have to pay your dues in the Army,” she said. “One day you may be an NCO like me and then you can boss others around. Until then, set up my cot and unpack that duffle bag for me.”
She wouldn’t lift a finger and loved giving orders to the white men under her command. Despite her slave-master like approach to running things, both Sterek and I adored her and would do more than our share, just to stay in her squad.
We knew our chain of command. She made us memorize every person all the way up to President George Bush, starting with her black ass. Our boots had to be spit shined or she made us do push-ups in the cold Bavarian snow. When we spent months training in the woods during winter, she tended to every bruise and cut like a mother kissing a boo-boo.
I had a Black girlfriend in the platoon– a make-believe Black girlfriend and my time in the military was a lot of fun serving under Sargent Smith.
“I see you like Black girls, Taylor.”
“What do you mean Sargent Smith? Payne and I are just good friends.”
“Umm. Humm.–Taylor, your boots look real shinny today and that uniform is real crisp. Look at you Sterek. You are a rag- bag. Taylor, take the day off. Payne had C.Q. duty last night and she’s off today too.” She always made the art of discipline seem worth all the fuss.
Lisa Payne, a Black chick from Harlem was in a different squad, but in the same platoon. Payne was like Sargent’s Smith’s adoptive ghetto daughter. I could do no wrong in the eyes of our “momma” as long as I was ‘dating’ Payne.
Sargent Smith believed Payne and I made a cute couple and was going to do anything she could, using her military authority if necessary, to make sure we got together and lived happily ever after. She almost ordered us to fall in love.
I did have sex with Lisa even though I liked the men in the Barracks more. Lisa knew that I was a yet to be discovered queer. She licked my ass just to make me cum. My relationship with her was a part of my grand plan to keep life in order in the Army. I was a big sissy. Having a Black girlfriend with big tits and a big ass threw them all for a loop and it made the guys curious about what I must have under those baggy green Army pants.
The men saw me in the shower. They knew what Lisa saw in me and what I had. We shared showers like kids do in high school. I knew who had a big one and who was likely to never be able to invade properly. Despite the fact that I was a big queen, thanks to Lisa, no one ever questioned my sexuality.
Lisa and I spent our evenings shining boots, ironing uniforms and listening to Simply Red as boyfriend/ girlfriend. We read Anne Rice’s popular vampire novel while dipping cotton cloths in a lid of a Kiwi container and spinning our fingers in circles while turning pages with our mouths.
She liked when I ate her out and puckered my big, fat, juicy, red ‘nigger lips’ over her dark brown nipples after all those menial military tasks were out of the way each night.
Sure, I had her turned out. A woman loves it when a man knows how to read and work a tongue.
When I told Lisa I was gay, the first thing she did was report the bad news to Sargent Smith– threatening my military career.
“Taylor, I need to talk to you over here,” my section chief said, while pulling me away from Sterek and the camouflage netting.
“I heard a rumor,” she said.
“Did Lisa tell you something, Sargent?”
“Taylor, you know I know. It does not matter to me. Do you like men?”
I looked away and did not answer her.
“Soldier, loosen up a little. I like them too. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of that bitch, Payne ,” she said while standing at-ease and saluting me.
I ran back to the rig and helped Sterek finish putting up the camouflage.
“What was that all about.”
“Lisa told Sargent Smith I’m gay.”
“Who cares Taylor. Everyone knows you are gay,” my roommate and co-worker said while laughing and shoving a butter-fly pole real hard against the webbed netting.