The Combat Zone Hookup, II


Last time, on Jack’s TMI Blog, I was left with a mind full of worries, and fingers smelling of vagina. My newest acquaintance, “Alexa”, asked me to come to her trailer so that I could lay some pipe, but there was one little problem: Military personnel were not allowed in the civilian areas. After almost 8 months without any sexual contact, though, trivialities like “rules” were not about to dissuade me…

When I finally arrived back at the big tent, my rack mate, “LCpl Wallace”, greeted me. “Rayner! So how’d it go, man?!”  He’d actually seen Alexa and I hanging out on a previous night, and like the big, clueless asshole that he was, yelled to wish me luck. He knew I’d met her that night, also. “Smell my finger…”

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The Combat Zone Hookup, I

The desert...

One of many pictures taken during my time spent in Iraq.

Of the many things connecting me to Missouri, there are mainly two that stick out in my memory. The first being all of the ink I got done while I was there (kinda hard to forget), and the second being the little lady that is the subject of this post’s title.

Now, you might not believe it, but getting laid while in a combat zone can be a little difficult (especially since Vietnam wasn’t my war), and being a Marine didn’t help. In my time, the total force was 6% female, and many went for admin jobs, so there wasn’t an even distribution. My MOS, in specific, was only about 4% female, and it just so happened that every unit I ended up in seemed to stand on the shallowest end of the “drowning in pussy” pool.

Not once, in my whole 5+ years, did I end up in a platoon with a female in it. Hell, in Iraq, my company of 200+ Marines only had five females in it. Two were too high ranking (more on that some other time), one was an obvious dyke, and of the last two, one got herself pregnant early in the deployment, and the other was seriously injured by enemy action. Both were sent home.

Sometime around the tail end of my deployment, though, my fortune changed. Circumstances made it so that when I wasn’t off on a convoy with my platoon, I was stuck with a supply guy (we’ll call him…”LCpl Kelley”). My job was to drive him back and forth between the base’s flightline and his supply unit’s building, transporting stuff that’d arrived back to them (I’d been a baaad Jackie Boy, and working with no days off was my punishment). For whatever reason, his unit had civilian contractors working with them, and Kelley, like many Marines, really didn’t care for civilians. The fact that he was forced to work with them seemed to make him dislike them even more. “Fucking civilians are disgusting. Bunch of undisciplined pieces of shit…” He was hilarious!

This turned out to be opportune for me, however, because when time came for one of these contractors to be replaced, they flew in a girl from Missouri that even someone without desert goggles would think was cute. “So…who’s that?”, I asked Kelley. “Oh, her? Just another stupid civilian they flew in. Now all of these dumbasses are drooling all over her, being all gay and shit, trynna flirt. What, you like her too?” He sounded frustrated, as if he hoped that I wouldn’t also turn into a mindless drone around her. “Don’t know. She’s cute though.” Kelley agreed with at least that much.

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On Morality


Certainly, while reading through some of my posts, my morals must have come into question at least once or twice. If they have, then this post is for you (and if they haven’t, then stand by for upcoming posts).

So, what is “morality”? Here’s a definition that I accept: Morality is a value system, created by groups and/or individuals, which purports to identify right (good) from wrong (bad), and prescribes appropriate behavior based on these classifications.

In other words, morality is ultimately subjective. Many seem to either be totally unaware of this, or in childish opposition to it, but it does not make it any less factual. I’ve argued this, very successfully, with a variety of people, and in a variety of venues, both private and public, in cyberspace and in meatspace. The reason my argument has been successful is because it’s true. Without subjects, there wouldn’t be morality, nor the conditions which caused it to emerge. But morality isn’t only subjective in the sense that it cannot exist without subjects. It is subjective because how and to whom it is applied depends entirely on the subject[s] applying it. This is typified by the interactions between ingroups and outgroups.

Did you think moral laws like “Thou shalt not kill” applied to those outside of “god’s” chosen tribe? (Christians love peddling the idea that morality is objective, too.) Do you think those enslaved by early Americans were afforded the same moral consideration that early Americans afforded each other? How about all of the Rwandans wiped out by the Hutu? The closer you examine the claim that morality is “objective”, the tougher a sell it becomes…

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Wait, did I…?

I’ve done my fair share of dumb shit while drunk. Usually, I remember, but sometimes…..not so much. I’m often able to track down and harass friends and acquaintances for information, so I can reconstruct the previous night’s events, but it’s not like I can guarantee that what I’m being told is accurate.

For example, just a few days before I’d first hooked up with Liz, I went to a huge party with co-workers and had a bit much to drink. When I came to I was on a couch, with some dried blood in my nose, and the only person present was a co-worker’s wife. When I asked her about my bloody nose, she claimed that her and I tried to make out, and my co-worker got really pissed and punched me in the nose.

She seemed like a slut, and she was cute, so I took her word for it, apologizing profusely to my co-worker when he arrived a little later. According to him, though, she’d made that all up, and I’d simply tripped and hit my face. His wife insisted that her story was real, but I thought his version was more plausible (and it didn’t make me as uncomfortable), so I went with it instead. A few months later they split up though, and he told me it was because she was a huge slut, so some doubts persist.

But then, there are times where I believe the night was unremarkable and I don’t bother trying to learn more…

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