A/N -- Thanks for the continued comments and feedback. Most are positive. The occasional criticism regarding decisions taken. Can handle that as I'm aware I can't please everyone. Happy if one person likes whatever the hell I write!
Keep the comments and feedback coming. I generally don't reply to comments, as it's an awkward system, but if you do email, I'll generally try and reply to anything you raise, even if it's just to say 'Good job' or 'You're shite'.
*****
I settled into my new role and I realised rather quickly that, when the United Kingdom wasn't in a major conflict, it was never boring, but compared to all the training I'd been up to for so many months, it was a change in pace. Each morning I'd rise, do all my exercises with the men, then we'd chow down for breakfast. There was usually plenty of paperwork and orders given to keep the men occupied, though Royal Marines don't need micro-managing, they know what's expected of them on a daily basis. After lunch, it would be more training or lessons. I made sure to remain sharp with my weapons, and took on further lessons, particularly interested in languages, as I figured they'd come in handy should shit hit the fan.
I remained in barracks despite Hannah moving down to Bristol. That delighted me, the fact she wasn't too far away. It resulted in me buying a car so I could drive there most weekends, enjoying the fact that it was a Monday to Friday job, at least for the time being. She rented a small apartment near the city centre, amused that it was full of students, and that we were still young enough that we could mix with them easily.
We never discussed the future too often, instead focusing on the next week or month at most. I think it was easier for both of us. I'd already received word I would be sent to Norway for cold-weather training by the end of the year, with further opportunities to head to the United States for further training and liaising with our American counterparts. There were also possible trips to Europe, training alongside our European NATO allies, in particular Special Forces battalions from France, the Netherlands and Germany. Then there were the usual exercises to keep us on our toes.
The men under my command were a brilliant bunch. There was the usual good natured ribbing of the wet behind the ears officer, but there was also immediate respect, as they knew I'd been through sixteen months of ball breaking training to get to my position. Becoming a Royal Marines Officer was a position well and truly earned. Even royalty couldn't just walk in and ask for a green beret. They earned it like everyone else.
Most of them were family men, with young families dotted around in the surrounding villages. Somerset was quite picturesque in general, Hannah and I taking opportunities during the weekend to get in the car and spend a Saturday night somewhere different. A little B&B or small family run hotel, not a big chain. Usually with a full English for breakfast the next morning. And after a day of something fun, we'd enjoy a Saturday night eating a fantastic meal at a small pub, a couple of drinks, before returning to our room to make love all evening.
During the evenings, I could always go to the officer's mess, but I did prefer hanging out with the men, and I wasn't the only one. When off duty, we were just Royal Marines, though they still called me 'sir' simply out of respect.
"So where do you disappear most weekends, sir?" Wilson wondered. He was a colour sergeant.
"Good question. You do return on a Sunday night, generally with a grin on your face, sir," Jones added, a lance-corporal.
"Got yourself a woman, sir?" Phillips asked bluntly, one of the privates of the troop.
Clearing my throat, I figured a little honesty wouldn't be wrong. I had their files. Knew most were in at least a relationship. Some of the older men were married with children. "I have a lady friend who lives in Bristol," I replied.
There was plenty of cheering at that. "How do you know her, sir? You're obviously not local. Meet her here?" Wilson asked, one of my warrant officers.
"Well, truth be told... er..."
There was more laughter. "She your sister or something, sir?" Thompson asked, the rest laughing away.
"No, not exactly. Fuck it, you'll already probably learn eventually. She's my cousin."
Someone immediately started the duelling banjo's music from the film
Deliverance
, but it led to a surprising conversation. "Cousin? Fuck, I've got a couple of beauties in my family, sir," Wilson admitted.
"Want to fuck 'em, eh Wilson?" Sanders teased.
"Hell yeah! Threesome, mate!"
More laughter. "Anyone remember hearing some of the shit that went down in their schools?" Jones wondered, "I remember the rumours about more than one pair of siblings."
"Seriously?" Thomas asked, but in addition to laughter, there were quite a few curious pairs of eyes around.
"Yeah, just at my school alone, there were rumours of at least three brothers and sisters sleeping together," Jones said.
"No shit?!" more than one person exclaimed.
"Nothing more than rumour, but I do know one pair ended up living together," Jones explained, "Bought a house and everything. Everyone pretty much assumes they're fucking but, without evidence, it's just rumours. Apparently the sister even ended up pregnant once but terminated. Guess they're willing to fuck but not have a child."
"Got that beat," Stevenson said, "Knew a kid at my school who was reportedly fucking not only his mother but also his aunt. What makes it even more sordid is that both husbands were still on the scene. Thing is, this kid was six foot something and fifteen stone at a young age. You just didn't fuck with him. No wonder his mum and aunt wanted to fuck him. Saw his package while changing more than once. He would have heard no complaints."
"Heard anything about him since?"
Stevenson laughed. "Apparently both women divorced their husbands and the three disappeared. Apparently living it up in the south of Spain."
I couldn't help chuckle. "And here I thought this type of thing was just... well, the stuff of wild imaginations."
"I reckon every school, in every year group, has at least one pair of siblings who are fooling around, and there are plenty of young men who love their mothers in a certain way," Wilson suggested.
Jones snorted. "Reckon there are far more men fucking their mothers than anyone would admit. Look at the divorce rates, the unhappy marriages. Women will then look at their sons, usually see someone they hope to have raised right... one thing leads to another, the son replaced the father in the marital bed."
"Would you fuck your mother, Jones?" I wondered.
