confusion. He wondered if his ‘deviousness’ was out of control, but he needed to start accumulating ammunition.
In the second round of ten he fired eight bullets into the target. The corporal was even more impressed, unaware that James was rated ‘Marksman’ at the military academy where he’d trained, or that he was considered the best shot in the whole intake of three hundred men. James attributed his skill to the fact that he was raised on a farm and had used a rifle from the age of five.
He resisted the temptation to place twenty out of twenty in the ‘bull,’ although he would have loved to see John Gilmore's face. In the military, marksmen trained at up to five hundred yards with assault rifles and up to one thousand yards with sniper rifles, so a hundred yards was child’s play.
They all had fun despite John Gilmore’s attempts to over-regiment the event. One young woman in the party screamed when she first experienced the powerful recoil and loud percussion of the G3, but things soon settled into an effective weapons-handling session.
Once finished, they walked back to the security building for a question and answer meeting. All agreed it had been productive and fun and that they would return for regular refresher sessions.
After putting the weapons away, James had a steam bath at the gym, successfully removing the remains of the dirt and grime from the bulldozer exercise as well as the acrid smell of burnt cordite from the rifle drill.
He dressed in running shorts, khaki shirt, and sandals, and then went to the canteen hoping to see Shelly. She wasn’t there but Albert was sitting on the veranda playing cards with two girls James had recognized but didn’t know personally. There was no one else about; the canteen staff was having supper in the back.
“James, come and help me, pleeze,” Albert wailed in his heavy French accent. “I’m losing all my money to these lovely ladies.”
At first James resisted, keen to get to bed, but after considerable persuasion from the tall, willowy brunette in the skimpy two-piece, he sat down.
Albert playfully introduced him as the ‘chief computer scientist,’ apparently impressing Wendy and Carol, the brunette. Carol was a self-confessed ‘party-animal’; she always made sure she got the most out of life, and that included an uncomplicated view of sex: ‘get all you want and enjoy it’.
She sat opposite James, blatantly admiring his muscular shoulders and forearms. “You must spend a lot of time in the gym?” she purred, leaning over and squeezing his biceps shamelessly.
She leaned so close, he had nowhere to look but into her deep, inviting cleavage. Carol spent a lot of time at the pool maintaining her tan that contrasted exquisitely with her tiny, white blouse.
Albert dealt a hand, smiling at Carol’s uninhibited enthusiasm.
James picked up his cards, trying to extricate himself from her grip. “How much are we playing for?”
Carol winked at Wendy, an impish little blonde with turquoise eyes. “Let's play strip-poker; it’s so dull winning money when there’s nowhere to spend it.”
Albert didn’t know what ‘strip-poker’ meant, but was keen to create a good impression with the ladies so he agreed. All had four items of clothing so it was an even game.
Carol, Wendy, and Albert had already had three drinks so, when Wendy lost the first and second rounds in a row, she wasn’t at all concerned about taking off her sandals and blouse. Her ample breasts filled her bra, threatening to pop out when she leaned forward for her cards.
Carol and Wendy both worked in ‘administration’ and for the last nine months had been assigned to the hospital. They both knew Alison and Clive.
Albert was really beginning to enjoy the game which he thought was called ‘shit-poker.’ The others roared with laughter each time he said it, not bothering to enlighten him. He just assumed he was a natural comic.
James bought a bottle of ice cold white wine for the others and a grape juice for himself. They didn’t even notice his advantage. Albert, Carol and he had each lost a hand before Wendy lost another.
By now she’d had another two glasses of wine and wasn’t at all worried about taking off her skirt, revealing tiny white panties.
James wondered what the Director would think about their behavior. “Probably not much,” he thought, especially since the veranda was deserted.
Just as he took a long sip of grape juice, Carol’s inquisitive toes crept up his bare leg and into his loose trunks. She was concentrating on her cards with such credibility that he at first wondered if it was Wendy but she was too far away.
At this point Carol, who hadn't even caught his eye, lost the hand and promptly took off her top, completely uninhibited; she had nothing on underneath. Albert’s jaw dropped at the size of her magnificent breasts brushing the table as she leaned forward for the new hand.
Wendy cried out, laughing. “You bad girl. Where's your bra?”
“Yes, you bad girl,” James joined in, his eyes twinkling.
Carol, totally unconcerned, giggled uninhibited, “Come on, deal! I want to see what James’s got.”
They played for another hour, in which time James was left with just his briefs. Albert hung onto his shorts and briefs, suspiciously managing to win most hands. Wendy had lost again and sat close to the table, her smooth, firm breasts distracting James and Albert to the point where the game was almost forgotten. Carol, the first loser, had nothing on at all and was effectively 'out of chips.’
“Let’s all go to my room for a night-cap,” she suggested, her eyes aglow.
Wendy declined, keen to get home; Albert volunteered to walk her.
James suggested Carol get dressed before she was arrested by John Gilmore’s men. At first she refused, enjoying the reckless abandonment. James reluctantly agreed to escort her home if she got dressed. She managed to put on her top and panties, carrying the rest of her clothes in her hand.
They walked quietly along the warm scented avenues, arms around each other’s waists. Carol, although five-foot-ten, was much shorter than James. It wasn’t often her male companion towered over her and she enjoyed it.
At her door she took James’s hand and pulled him inside. “This is what I’ve been thinking about all night,” she breathed, her hand sliding down the front of his trunks; hot, moist lips exploring his tanned, naked chest.
James was unable to resist; drawn by her voluptuous, very-aroused body, his self-imposed abstinence officially over.
He woke as Carol finished dressing. She kissed him and was gone, totally uncomplicated. He took a leisurely five-mile run, showered, and left for the office; the experience with Carol left a lingering grin on his rugged face.
He thought about the events of the previous night with mixed feelings. Carol was a fine, wholesome girl, well worth getting to know but he was strangely troubled that Shelly would disapprove. “Weird, since she probably doesn’t even know my name,” he thought.
He stopped at the canteen to collect some fruit for breakfast.
As he entered the software lab James caught a glimpse of Shelly. His heart warmed to her immediately. He found it unsettling how quickly she was getting to him. It made him feel both vulnerable and accountable.
If she noticed him she didn’t look up so he continued upstairs and began running his new turnstile program. It worked so well that before he could finish his banana, the report was printed. “Only one fault,” he noted mischievously, “Must check the turnstile at the jetty.”
“Hello.” Shelly’s clear young voice interrupted his absent-minded mumbling, “I need some help with my computer and you are the only person in the building at the moment.” She spoke levelly, reluctant to actually ask him for help.
“One of the joys of getting in early,” he smiled widely.