Azalea Court

I joined the Air Force after college to see the world; to get away from my suffocating mid-west existence.  My great physical condition, my 4.0 GPA and my Business Management degree easily qualified me to apply for officer candidacy, but I chose to enlist instead.  The other girls in college like me were happy to fuck me in secret, but would never give up their boyfriends or their sorority status.  I knew that officers would be the same; more concerned about their careers than being true to themselves and their orientation.  Enlisted girls on the other hand, were different.  They didn’t care.  They were drawn to military service because it’s a haven for girls who like girls.  I have to laugh when I think back to my basic training at Lackland AFB in San Antonio, TX. During our physical training exercises, the TI’s would shout at us, “There’s one thousand miles of dick on this base, and you’re not getting one inch of it until you get your shit together.”  Little did they know we were getting plenty of what we wanted from each other right in the barracks!

You can imagine my delight when I learned that my first base assignment was Tyndall AFB in Panama City, FL.  Well, as some of you know, Panama City is not exactly Florida.  It’s in the panhandle and it gets cold in the winter, but thank God it doesn’t snow like in the mid-west.  My other discover was that apartments are not cheap and an Airman’s salary doesn’t buy much.  I finally found Azalea Court, a 1940’s vintage motel court that had been turned into long-term rentals.  It’s a scruffy handful of moss-covered bungalows perched on St. Andrew’s Bay across from the airbase.  I wasn’t surprised to find out that, except for the owner’s granddaughter, all the bungalows were occupied by Air Force personnel.

My bungalow is steps away from the dismal beach.  Across from me are Brittany and Joe.  Brittany quit school at sixteen and married Joe when he joined the Air Force.  Now, two years later, she sunbathes or watches the soaps all day and watches more TV at night while Joe sits in his chair and gets drunk.  They’re from Alabama.  She’s short and cute in that soft southern way.  She confides in me that she and Joe, “hardly ever do it anymore”.  I file that away.

Next to Brittany and Joe are Ashley and Mike.  They’re from Raytown, one of the older suburbs of Kansas City.  She’s excited to learn that I’m from Columbia, not nearby, but from the same state.  They’ve been here three years.  Right now, Mike is gone TDY in the middle-east for six months. Ashley spends her time tidying up the bungalow and shopping for sexy underwear in anticipation of Mike’s return.  She confides that she is “so horny I can’t stand it”.  I file that away.

In the bungalow closer to the highway are Lisa and Billie.  They’re both Air Force lifers, unabashed lesbians, with lean, tough athletic bodies.  They’re in their mid-thirties and have been together since they met in basic training.  I work the same 11 p.m. – 7 a.m. shift and I often see them in the chow hall in the middle of our shift.  Lisa confides in me that they like to “spice things up” by inviting other girls to play with them.  I file that away.

Tina, the owner’s granddaughter, lives in the only two-bedroom bungalow across from Lisa and Billie with her three daughters, sixteen-year-old Crissy, fourteen-year -old Bobbie and twelve-year-old Tanya.  Tina got pregnant with Crissy when she was fifteen.  She confides that she “loves to fuck”, but right now she has sworn off men.  I file that away.

Although my shift ends at 7 a.m., I am often up by noon, sitting in front of my bungalow drinking coffee.  Today is Friday and I’m daydreaming, thinking about the weekend and driving over to Pensacola to visit a girlfriend of mine from basic training. I notice Brittany walking across the lot towards me wearing perhaps the smallest white bikini on record.  She already has a great tan.  I swear that I can see the points of her nipples stretching the fabric of her scanty top.  I’m sure if she turns around I’ll see that her bikini bottom is a thong.  When she reaches me, I see that she has a tube of suntan lotion in her hand.

“Hi Hannah.  I’m trying to work on my tan.  Would you mind rubbing some tanning lotion on my back?”  Then she turns around and her nearly bare bottom is only inches from my face!  “Brittany, why don’t we go inside where it is cooler and I can make sure I don’t miss any spots?”

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