Tuesday, June 1, 2010

War stories.

I'm reminded that, back home in the United States, this has been the Memorial Day weekend. While I'm hardly a conservative, I generally do support the work of soldiers themselves, and sometimes see a poignant beauty in the nature of sacrifice, duty, and perseverence in the face of struggle within it. Mythologist Michael Meade has spoken of how "the soul must be exposed to do the work of war," and this idea impresses me. I see something similar when I watch boxing.

There was a time when I came within a breath of enlisting in the United States Navy, and have considered taking the oath to Her Majesty The Queen and signing up for Canada Reserve Forces duty. My father was a military policeman and medic in the United States Army, my grandfather was in the Navy, two uncles served in the European and Pacific theaters, respectively, during the Second World War. Another served in Viet Nam.

And yet, I support neither the current wars in Iraq or Afganistan. It seems to me that in both theaters, soldiers are being used to carve and secure territory for Western corporate business opportunities in the Middle East rather than achieve any definable goals against terrorism or despotism.

But I digress. This is a sexblog. Hands down, my personal favourite soldiers have been those two past lovers who have taken up arms for flag and country.

Diva is a former PFC in the United States Marines, and I remember the stories she told me of how she was seduced by a commanding officer in the storage warehouse where she once worked as a supply clerk. Sometimes, when I hovered above her and fucked her steadily and deeply in her muscular ass, I fantasized about some brawny gunnery sergeant taking her then barely-legal, tight and willing ass as she bent over a case of whipped cream near the mess. (Diva, you see, was into whippits.) It was also during her stint in the Corps where, in the showers, she told of how a very butch fellow soldier roughly introduced her to her first womynsex. Now there's some D/S fantasy material.

When she was stationed in Hawaii, she moonlighted as a stripper until she received a drumming when it was "discovered." She was charged with conduct unbecoming, which was pretty ironic in that it was some of her male comrades who "discovered" her in the club. US Marines can go to strip clubs, but they certainly can't dance in them.

Although she once told me that many female Marines had actually enlisted "to meet men." Yeah, I thought that sounded incredible too, but such apparently was the barracks discussion at Camp Lejeune in the early 80s.

The Tomboy is a corporal in the Canadian Reserve Forces. Unlike gung-go Diva, she approaches her military career quietly. Apart from the occasional dress parade, most of the time when I was with her during a Forces activity was when we hung in the mess hall of the local reservist base, tossing back $2.50 beers with some guys who were going back to day jobs and other who were about to leave for Kandahar. I always thought she looked amazingly hot in her "cadpat."

Janelle, my first Canadian lover, was a civilian employee with the Canadian Forces intelligence branch. I hadn't even really known this until after one of my first visits to this country, when after a week of being with her in her high-rise apartment and fucking her senseless, she gave me a Tshirt from the branch she was employed with. I remember the dark purple hue of her bedroom. I remember the rich dark green of her sheets. I remember how she blushed when she told me how she wanted me to pull out, stroke my cock in front of her face, and burst my cum all over her round and sexsweaty tits. Just watching me do that for her sent her into spasms.

But perhaps my favourite "war story" came from my mother. The uncle who had served in Viet Nam was present during the Tet offensive, and to this day rarely discusses his experiences. But my mother once told me of how, in a letter sent to him during his tour, she quite innocently asked him "what the women were like over there."

"About five dollars," was his reply. I'm certain he wasn't referring to the women who fired the mortar shells in his base's direction.

But apart from stories about cheap Saigon prostitutes and women Marines supposedly enlisting to meet eligible jarheads, I do think there's a lot to be said for the presence of women in the military. During her enlistment, Diva dearly wished to be a combat fighter pilot, but the regulations of the time kept her in the kitchens and the supply depots.

While Hollywood films such as G.I. Jane has raised important questions such as the nature of combat and gender, it seems to me that in the last twenty years, the foundation for women's empowerment has broadened greatly with the enhanced inclusion of the previously-so-called "weaker sex" in armed forces. I should that that, regardless of one's position on the subject of war and global unrest, this is another territory where Western culture is reawakening to circumstances that our ancient forebears already understood as a given.

And me, I'm totally turned on by empowered women. What the Grrl would refer to as "chicks who kick ass."

There is archeaological evidence of female gladiators and charioteers in both ancient Rome and Britain. Semiramis ruled ancient Assyria as a warrior queen. The Trung sisters, members of the Hung royal house, led an insurrection against the ancient Chinese. Women can do it.

And should any man, soldier or otherwise, question the logic and historic facts thereof, then I invite him to at least remember Jack Nicholson's scandalously delicious line from A Few Good Men:

"There is nothing on this earth sexier, believe me, gentlemen, than a woman you have to salute in the morning. Promote 'em all, I say. 'Cause this is true: if you haven't gotten a blowjob from a superior officer, well, you're just letting the best in life pass you by."

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