Highrider had brown hair, and it was thick and coarse. As she was still in uniform, it was pulled back and clipped, but there was a lot of it. She was skinny and reasonably tall, five feet seven, maybe. Her most prominent feature was her breasts. They were large, and even in cammies, a person could see their mass, which was definitely saying something.
Her face was cute. Green eyes, baby fat cheeks with scattered freckles. She wore the standard issue BCGs—maybe this meant "basic combat glasses" or something; we just called them Birth Control Glasses because, believe me, they did nothing to enhance beauty. In fact, Highrider reminded me of the smart girl in class: never beautiful, yet never ugly, either. I wondered how that might change without the BCGs.
Apart from her breasts, what struck me about her was her energy. She seemed frantic with it, always moving. Even standing at attention, I could see eagerness in her eyes and tiny movements in her feet and fingers.
"At ease, Highrider."
"Permission to speak, sir?"
"Wait. Do you know who I am and why I'm here?"
"Yes, sir." she responded quickly, and then she said, "She lied to you, sir. Whatever she said, it's a lie."
"What are you talking about, Highrider?"
"Glashing, sir. You talked to her."
"What makes you think that?"
"You didn't, sir?"
"I've been working, Highrider, and I decided that I wanted to start with you now." It was a total lie, but camouflaged in truth with the word "now." I didn't want Highrider to know anything.
"Oh."
I walked over and shook her hand, and then I asked her to sit down and relax. She did, and her left knee began pumping up and down like she was keeping the beat to R.E.M.'s feverish "It's the End of the World as We Know It, and I Feel Fine."
I sat across from her on the empty rack and put my tape recorder on the floor. I pressed record, stating the time, date, and location. I identified myself and asked Highrider to do the same. Then, I said, "I know you lied to First Sergeant Wolverton in your incident report. I know the sexual liaison between you and Lance Corporal Glashing was consensual."
"Sir! I..."
I raised my palm at her. "Let me finish."
"But..."
"Shut the fuck up, Highrider."
Her zealous expression deflated to bitterness. "Yes, sir."
"That was an order, not a question."
"Aye, aye, sir," she mumbled, looking down at the deck.
I watched her face intently as I restarted. "I know the two of you spoke about masturbation. I know you asked her to talk about erotic sexual experiences with her old boyfriend."
Her eyes didn't lie. As she listened, they darted left and right, then to the head, then to the door, then to me, and then to the floor, all in rapid succession.
"I know everything," I continued, and then I launched into my submarine bluff. I didn't use the corpsman this time. That I knew what happened from Glashing's tale was enough. Her knee quit pumping when I held up the dummy cassette.
"So, you need to understand, Highrider, that I'm only here out of courtesy to you. I'll be seeing Glashing only as a courtesy. I don't need either of your statements to fully brief the General on what happened and make my recommendations. A falsified statement to cover up an illegal homosexual act? Falsely accusing a fellow Marine? You're going to the brig, and when you eventually get out, you're going to be dishonorably discharged."
I said it flatly and decisively. I wanted to subdue her. The moment I walked in, I sensed she was going to battle me; I had to completely neutralize her will to fight.
I had. Perhaps too well.
Highrider covered her face in her hands. The bit of skin I could see on her face turned bright pink. Her shoulders shook, but I couldn't hear her breathing. Then she drew in a huge gasp and crossed her arms on her belly. Tears were streaming down her face and she looked up at the ceiling and unleashed a crying wail. It began almost like a siren's rising pitch, and at it's crescendo, one might have mistaken Highrider's cry for a high-pitched belly laugh.
I stood up, walked to the head, fetched some tissue paper, and handed it to her. She pulled off her glasses and wiped her eyes as I sat back down beside her.
"Alright, Highrider, that's enough. Settle down and get control. You're a Marine, for fuck's sake." It may have sounded harsh, but I said it gently. I put my hand on her back, rubbed side to side a few times, and then patted her. "Come on," I said.
When she began getting control, I continued. "You haven't let me finish. I'm here to give you the chance to make this right, for you and for Glashing. Tell the whole truth. Be a Marine again by destroying the lies you told. If you can do that, then I can make a very, very different recommendation to General Buck."
Highrider looked over at me, hope in her red eyes.
"Maybe we can avoid the brig, avoid the dishonorable discharge. Maybe, just maybe, we can get you transferred. Give you a fresh start somewhere, like Quantico or Pendleton. What do you say?"
She nodded, wiping her eyes again. Without the glasses, she might really be something. I could see that.
"Only don't tell me any more lies," I finished.
Her voice cracked when she uttered, "Aye, aye, sir."
"Are you ready?"
She nodded.
I invited her to tell the story, and I got my second version. She must have been speaking for about a minute when I sighed deeply.
She stopped. "Is something wrong, sir?"
I shook my head. "No. Continue."
I must have been the biggest fucking idiot in the Corps. Here I was, listening to the same story, knowing what it had done to me the last time I heard it. I had every opportunity to prepare myself—change my uniform, adjust my skivvies, have something better to cover myself—and I didn't do it. I just came right over to Highrider's room. Fuckhead!
The hell with it. I stood up and walked around the room. I'll either walk it off or I'll sport an erection. I didn't give a fuck. Tell me a sexy story? Fuck you, deal with my hard on.
Broadly, Highrider's account matched Glashing's. One chief difference was in the style. Glashing had told the story almost matter-of-factly. When Highrider told it, she tried to sound contrite, but there were parts that clearly excited her. Her tempo would increase and her voice would fill with energy. And then, almost like she noticed her own excitement, she'd switch back to telling it with shame. Highrider did not strike me as intelligent.
The other chief difference was in the details. Like before, I pushed for specifics under the guise of needing accuracy for my investigation. As an example of these unique details, Highrider described a moment when she and Glashing, in bed naked together and masturbating one another, had spoken about the things they like men to do to them and the things they liked to do to men. I pushed for details, and I got them.
Glashing, she explained, loved giving blowjobs and how powerful she felt controlling a man that way. Highrider informed me that Glashing could deep throat a cock, but she, herself, couldn't. Glashing's favorite was fucking with a rock hard cock. She liked being on top and doggystyle.
Upon hearing this, my cock was like a 9mm pistol. It jabbed against the fabric of my pants, angling up and under one of my pockets. My back was to her as she went on.
Highrider loved how men fawned over her breasts. She liked men to suck on her tits while they fingered or fucked her pussy. She said she came real fast when they did that. She was too scared to swallow cum, but she didn't mind sucking dick.
