My second experience with a guy – actually a man – would be completely different and a lot less innocent! It occurred when I was 18. At that time, we lived overseas. My father was an Army Major. He and my mother had divorced two years earlier. She returned to the states with her then lover, while my brother and I stayed in Germany with our dad. My dad had caught my mother cheating on him with a guy she worked with at the Post Exchange, which resulted in their nasty split and bitter divorce. Because my brother and I were old enough to decide who we wanted to stay with, we both elected to live with our father, while our mom went on to eventually marry (and then divorce) the guy with whom she had the affair.
At the time, I was in my senior year of high school. I regularly smoked hash and drank alcohol, although to everyone except one or two of my closest friends, I appeared to be a straight-laced, all-American straight-A student, who played on the varsity football and baseball teams and somehow managed to have a steady relationship with one of the prettiest girls in school. Looking back, that was really when I started living somewhat of a double life.
Having spent my entire life moving from base to base, I was a typical Army brat. By the time my senior year rolled around, we had been stationed overseas for seven years which included a tour in Italy and Germany. We were scheduled to rotate back to the states in June, right after my graduation. I had been fortunate to have traveled and experienced so much; however, I was really looking forward to getting back to the states and starting college and planting some roots. What I didn't know at the time was that I had one more extreme life lesson to learn before I would move on.
The day before my deflowering was a day like almost every other. I had just gotten home from school. Football practice for that afternoon had been cancelled, which was a rare, but much appreciated event. My brother, who was two years older than me, worked at the base commissary stocking shelves and bagging groceries. My dad would swing by and pick my brother up on the nights when he worked, so the two wouldn't get home until around 6, which meant I had the place all to myself for a few hours on those nights.
That particular afternoon, I decided to go downstairs for a "smoke" before everyone got home. We lived in one of the top flats of our four-story apartment building. My usual smoking place was in the outside stairwell that led to our building's basement. I could sit there out of site from everyone at ground level and get high without being observed. What I failed to take into consideration was that, on windless days, the smell of my hash drifted straight up to the neighbor's window above.
Just as I stood to go up the stairwell, one of our downstairs neighbors opened the basement door and grabbed my jacket from behind. Needless to say, it scared the shit out of me.
"Michael! Is that you?" he said as he spun me around.
"Lt. Simms," I said. "Yeah, I was just on my way over to my friend's house," I said. "What's up?"
"You need to come with me," he said. "Right now. Let's go."
Clearly, I had been busted. I tried to play it off like I was in a hurry, but he wasn't buying it. "Um, I really need to go," I said, knowing that I had been pretty much caught red-handed.
"I don't think you want to go anywhere except up to my apartment unless you want me to have a talk with your dad when he gets home," he said. "Or better yet," maybe I should just call the MPs?"
Even though I was pretty buzzed, he had my full attention. I still had my pipe, lighter and about four grams of hash in my coat pocket. The very last thing I wanted was to get arrested. In those days, the military was extremely strict when it came to drugs. If a dependent was caught with illegal drugs, it meant almost immediate deportation for the entire family and certain disciplinary action for the parent sponsor. And since I was already 18, it would have possibly resulted in jail time for me as well.
"Um, ok," I stammered. "What do you want to talk about?"
"You'll see," he said. "Now, let's go."
He turned and I followed behind him as we made our way along the basement corridor and up the stairs to his first-floor apartment.
Lt. Simms was in his mid-30s and married. He and his wife didn't have any kids, although his wife had been pregnant when they first moved into the building. We heard that she miscarried about half way through the pregnancy. Like her husband, she was also in the Air Force, serving as a nurse at the base hospital where he worked as one of the administrators.
When we got to his apartment, he opened the door and told me to go in and have a seat on the couch. He followed behind me and sat in one of the two stuffed chairs that were separated by a thin coffee table.
"So," he began. "You're the one who has been smoking dope under our bedroom window all of this time?"
Before I could answer, he held up his hand.
"I know what you're thinking..." he continued. "Don't try to deny it. You just need to listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you before you say anything else. Understood?"
I nodded affirmatively.
"Now, the way I see it, you have only a couple of options here. You seem like a good kid – aside from smoking dope. I would hate to have to tell your dad what I found you doing, and I would surely hate to go to the MPs. Neither of those things seem like they would be pleasant for you, especially the latter. Instead of going that route, I thought we could do something else that you might find a little more – shall we say agreeable? Surely, it will be less embarrassing than getting hauled down to the police station or having to confront your dad and explain that you are using drugs. Now, do I have your full attention?"
Again I nodded.
"Before I tell you what I have in mind, I'm going to go change out of this uniform and pour myself a drink. Would you like something?" he asked.
"Um, no," I said. "How long do you think this will take because I told my friends I'd be coming over to hang out for a while before my dad gets home." I was hoping he would get to the point quickly and let me go.
"It shouldn't take too long," was his reply. "Well... maybe a little while. That kinda of depends on you," he said as he turned and walked toward his bedroom.
I couldn't help but wonder what he was talking about. What was the other option? I naively assumed it must be some type of chore or work. Before I could even shift in my seat, he re-appeared and handed me a couple of folded magazines.
"Here, you can glance through these while I change," he said.
