Page 55 of Confessions of an Apache Pilot

On one hand, I was annoyed at the teasing. Annoyed in a delighted though sexually frustrated way. On the other hand, I was in. Her walls were down. She wasn’t being guarded and defensive, the game was on. All it took was not announcing it. We could keep playing as long as neither one of us acknowledged it out loud.

I smiled and tried to look like I wasn’t distracted. “Next, we shoot multiple targets.” I stepped beside and slightly behind her again. “This time I want you to work from left to right. Aim at the same place as before, at the throat. But when you move to the next target, stay with the rifle. Don’t turn your head first, pivot at the hips.”

I put my hands just above her hips and felt the expected bulge in my pants. She drew in a sharp breath when my hands grabbed her. I made sure that my hips were a half step back, so she wouldn’t feel the effect being this close was having on me. Then, I put a twisting pressure against her hips to emphasize that this was where she should turn.

She turned with the pressure. “Good. Pivot here. Keep your head, arms and shoulders locked in place. Pivot at the hips so that when your sights cross the next target you’re already in a position to fire.”

I let go and stepped back. She did a couple practice turns to get the movement down. “What if the target is too far away for me to pivot?” she asked.

That’s a great question, it means I get to put my hands on you again. And with any luck hear that delightful sigh.

Out loud I said, “That’s a great question. In that case you need to move your leg and pivot your feet to adjust your stance.

I walked over to her right side. “Watch me.” I showed her a pivot at the hips, then I pivoted my left foot while dragging my right foot behind me. “Pivot on the ball of your foot, not the heel.” I watched her try it.

“Like this?” she asked, and pivoted on her feet. The barrel of her rifle dipped low as she turned.

“Not quite. Keep your head, eyes, and rifle up.” I stepped behind her and reached my arms around either side of her, pushing up on the rifle. She didn’t disappoint. She let out that delightful little inhale that sounded like the combination of pleasure and pain. “Now pivot”. She turned to the right again, this time with me guiding her. The rifle stayed level. “Good, just like that. One more time, then we’ll do it live fire.” I stepped back and watched her practice the movement again.

How the hell was she keeping it together?

It was all I could do to keep my composure, what with her looking this hot and the constant contact. She was clearly enjoying this, if her small moans were any indication. I wasn’t imagining it. She had to be doing it on purpose. But here she was, cool, composed, and utterly destroying it in training. I didn’t step back to watch her shoot, I stepped back because I was rock hard now and one more of her little hip bumps might leave her a bit surprised by what she would feel. Just focus on the training.

I reoriented my brain away from her body and back to the task at hand. “Ok, load it up and get ready. Center on the middle target, but when I say fire, work from left to right. Five rounds in each one.”

She smiled over her shoulder and said, “Okay.” Then she loaded a fresh magazine.

“Ready… Fire!” I shouted. She brought the rifle up, pivoted at the hips, and ripped off five rounds into the first target. Then, rifle staying eye level and head fixed with the rifle, she turned to the middle target, firing off five more. She continued flawlessly pivoting to the right-hand target and finished off with the last five shots. Jen straightened up and turned to me. Instead of slinging her rifle down low, she raised the smoking barrel up to her lips and blew on it.

I could have exploded right there. My balls ached. Who knew watching a woman decimate a target would be such a turn on? From back here I could clearly see a tight grouping of bullet holes in the heart of each target. And there she was, practically posing again, smoke coming out of the barrel of her rifle, mocking me with her beauty.

I wanted to throw down with her right there, grab her by the belt looped through her cargo pants and pull her into me. To feel her plump breasts press against my chest while I kissed her, all while running my hands up her sides and into that gorgeous shining hair. Oh, yes, I wanted to have her here and now. Instead, what I got was a series of internalized curses about how I was torturing myself. We still had more training to do. Not to mention we weren’t alone out here. Didn’t mean a man couldn’t imagine it, though.

While every rational part of my brain was screaming, ‘you’re in over your head, get out’, some sadistic part was reminding me that I had promised her advanced firearms training, and that we were not done yet. There were still more drills to do. And as much as I should be running for a cold shower right now, I couldn’t bring myself to half-ass the training or break a promise. Looks like you're going to bed with blue balls tonight.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” I asked.

“First time. I guess I just have a good teacher.” Her smile was infectious and her voice was husky, teasing. I was grinning right back at her.

“Put your aviation vest and body armor on for this next one,” I told her.

“Sure thing” she said. She unslung her rifle and walked to the tables to get her vest. I was sad to see her have to cover up her chest, but simultaneously relieved that she would hopefully be less of a distraction. Somehow, against the physics of fashion, she was even hotter in her tactical gear. I sighed and put that thought away as she came back. “Now what?”

“Now, when you’re getting out of the cockpit, how often does your vest and gear get snagged on the magazine in your rifle?” I asked.

“Um...every time.”

“Same with us.” I held up a small, ten round magazine. It was one third the size of a normal rifle magazine. “Ever see one of these?”

“It’s so adorable,” she said, while taking it from me and inspecting it.

“Just like everything else in the Army, we have to have trade-offs. You can have a thirty round magazine and risk getting tangled climbing out of the aircraft, and possibly killed. Or you can take less ammo, and be able to get out quickly. If you opt to carry one of these, you have to be quick with your magazine exchanges, and be quick to transition to your pistol.”

She thought it over for a second before deciding. “I’d like to try the stubby magazine. Better to get out fast and be able to fight than to get shot while climbing out.”

“Agreed. That leaves one last drill before I set you free. We’re going to fire the rifle until it’s empty, then transition to the pistol. Even though the rifle is slung around your shoulder, you can’t just drop it and grab your pistol. We’re wearing too much shit with our aviator vest and body armor. It will get tangled if you try and pull it off and you’ll wind up tripping over it or worse.”

She looked down at her holster, which was mounted to her vest across her chest, then looked over the rifle sling. “I never thought about that. What do you recommend?”

---