The Marine and His Queen (part 1)

John was 18 when he finally joined the Marines. He'd been looking forward to it since his 9th birthday when his mothers boyfriend, who himself was a Marine, took John hunting. On the morning of his 9th birthday John woke before the sun. His mom was in the kitchen warming strips of venison to serve with eggs, sausage and potatoes. Charlie, his mom's boyfriend, was loading up the truck. John sat at the kitchen table, dressed in his camouflage pants and bright orange vest, eagerly awaiting their departure.  The door opened and John felt the crisp wind slide off of the snow covered porch and into the living room. Charlie hit his boots against the side of the house. They ate in silence as his mom wished him luck and went back to sleep.

They drove from their house in Boulder to the north-western tip of the state in search of elk. The sun had just begun to rise as they climbed into the Rockies. The orange glare ricocheted off the ice crystals on the side of the road, enamoring John and reminding him of fire. John's stomach turned as the mix of acid and adrenaline sloshed about around the bends of the road. He was worried he wouldn't be able to shoot an elk and feared disappointing Charlie. In preparation for this trip John had religiously played duck hunt. While most people used the game for entertainment purposes, John used it to hone his craft. He would routinely score perfect 30,000's and on one bender, reached level 60.  At a seemingly random spot on the highway, Charlie turned off the truck and got out.

Charlie wasn't a mean man, but he certainly wasn't nice. He had a leathery face with dark mahogany hair that grew thick on his neck and chin. Charlie was a hearty, thick man. His knuckles were round and callused, and his voice boomed even while he whispered. He instructed John to unload the cab of the truck while he unloaded the bed.  When John opened the rear passenger side door, the bags came rushing out. Charlie stomped around the rear end of the truck to find his pack and his rifle laying in the snow. "Fuck John, just go sit down or something. God damnit, my pack is all wet now. I hope you know you're carrying this. My fucking rifle! Snow in the barrel... if this trigger freezes up you're in for it." Charlie had never hit John, but he always saw it as being possible. John tightened his stomach muscles and tried to hide his red face. He felt so stupid.

From the road they hiked, in silence, to a hunter’s outpost deep in the woods. In the shanty structure they left their extra clothing, food and firewood. Charlie loaded his rifle and saw that John was still a bit shaken up. "Hey bud, why don't you bring me that box of cartridges? Yeah, these are the good ones. Mark down at the bar told me the new tips on these babies slice through anything, even an elk’s big ass skull. Haha ya know?" John smiled and began to defrost a bit. Each of them put on their caps, retied their boots and headed out into the wilderness.

"Step softly John, watch out for twigs and leafs. Any noise could scare these bastards away. A few hundred yards back I saw some droppings that were still steaming. I know they're close, I can sense them." John scanned the area. Back and forth, and then again, looking for any signs of the elk. Every so often he'd see a branch in his peripheral and swing his pellet gun across his body and aim. Charlie would smack the back of his head and laugh. This went on for hours. John's toes had long ago become numb from the cold and the end of his nose was chapped from wiping it with his gloves. His anxiety had diminished and he shuffled through the snow lackadaisically.

"Hold my gun kid, I need to pee." Charlie walked around to the back side of an aspen tree to relieve himself. John stared at the tree, smiling slightly because the knots in it reminded him of alien eyes. He looked at the snow, then at the sky, it was mostly gray but he could still make out the stark white light of the sun. A leaf fell and hit the ground to the left side of his soggy boot. He looked at it, wondering if that is how an elk would fall. "Johnny boy", Charlie whispered. "Psst, John." John didn't hear. "GODDAMNIT JOHN SHOOT HIM!" Startled, he hastily raised the rifle. He placed the massive butt against his shoulder and cocked it. This finger of a little boy wrapped around the trigger, and with more effort than he expected, he pulled it.

The blowback from the shot caused his arms to buckle. The rifle propelled itself backwards as if the elk had fired back. In an unforeseen series of events, the butt hit John on the chin, unhinging his boots from the snow molds his body heat had created, and sent him crashing into the aspen tree. The alien eyes looked at him as he lay there dreaming of duck hunt.

When he awoke Charlie was bounding the legs of the dear with twine, knotting it in such a way that he'd be able to pull it back to their shanty lodgings. He rubbed his jaw, moved it side to side and bit down a few times to loosen it up. He had a throbbing headache; he could hear the beat of his heart echo through his skull. His vision was blurred and his neck was stiff from the whiplash. He stood up with the help of the aspen tree and felt the warm puddle of blood that had accumulated at the top of his body, slowly drip through the frozen limbs beneath his clothes. He felt faint, but composed himself and walked over to see his kill.  Charlie was grinning from ear to ear. Shaking his head in disbelief and saying things like, "You're a man now, boy!" John didn't smile. He didn't speak or laugh, he simply stared. He examined his kill, accepted its death and internalized the words of Charlie, forever perverting his perception of manhood...

...John was 24 when he got out of the military. He had taken 3 tours in Iraq and would have gone back for a fourth, but he was discharged under circumstances he now refuses to speak about. He was living at home with his mom, unable to find work and disconnected from the majority of people his age. Charlie left long ago and had taken with him the income. John's mom could barely support herself let alone a 24 year old who ate obsessively and was constantly conned into signing up for "free" porn sites. Collectively they made the decision that it'd be better for him to live with his dad. John used some of the money he had saved while in the service to buy a used jeep. He packed up his rucksack and began driving towards California.

It was January 3rd. John had gotten into LA the day before, driving straight through New Years stopping only briefly for a Corona at a truck stop in Reno. He was staying at this cheap motel on Ventura Boulevard in Reseda whose sign read "Room Rates $29.98 per night. Adult Movies." John shacked up in the motel for about a week before making any contacts. Through an add he posted on craigslist he got in contact with Bill. Bill was also a marine who had been to Iraq a few times and like John, was having difficulty adjusting to life back in the states. On his second tour Bill met this kid Erik from Cadillac Michigan. Erik had always been a bit of a loner. He was scrawny and greasy and his eyes were permanently bloodshot from the bright light of his computer screen. On one of their days off in Baghdad Erik showed Bill this website that sold Russian women as wives. You got your pick of hair color, weight, and even tit size. Bill thought Erik was joking when he told him that he had already ordered one, Svetlana, and she'd be waiting for him by the time he was discharged. Well one of the first things Erik did when he touched down was send a post card to Bill, now in Fallujah, bragging about what a little whore Svetti was. So Bill logged onto that website the first chance he got, and placed his order for a Russian bride. He was fully aware, as was Erik that this was these girls opportunity at receiving a green card, but they figured two and half years of marriage is better than nothing.

John made his way out to Hollywood on the redline express bus. He walked up three flights of stairs before getting to Bill's studio apartment on the corner of Cahuenga and Fountain. John didn't know anything about a mail order bride, he was just coming by to grab a few drinks. When she opened the door John immediately shot his eyes to the ground. While he had spent plenty of time studying the female form and the many positions it could be contorted into, he had unfortunately become the prisoner of his own arrested development. John was painfully shy around females. She invited him in and he shuffled his boots past the doorway and into the least cluttered corner of the apartment. Bill walked out from the bathroom shirtless. He had allowed his marine issued hair cut to grow shaggy in defiance and his body sweat reeked of whiskey. John hadn't let go of his time in the service as easily. He still woke up at 5, never allowed his hair to grow longer than half an inch, wore military issued sunglasses and shit with the door open. After some idle chat between the two of them, Bill finally introduced his wife to John. She had been washing dishes in the kitchen, allowing the men to have their space.

John and Bill made their way downstairs. Bill said he knew a good bar around the corner where they could toss back a few. They turned left on Cahuenga off of Fountain and the Blue awning of a bar gave shade to the interesting fellows loitering out front. John made his way towards the door and was abrasively grabbed around his bicep. "Whoa there fella, you ain't a faggot are ya? Cause the only hajji’s making the pilgrimage to that shithole aren't bowing down to pray, if ya know what I mean..." A small balding Taiwanese man wearing a shirt that revealed his mid drift sent John a wink. His eyes shot to the ground and he began to shuffle his boots down the street. "You'll get used to it", Bill assured him.

As they sat at the bar, Bill asked, "So what'd you think of Nikki?" "Who", John asked. "Nicola, my wife! What'd ya think of her?" John wasn't sure how to answer the question. He thought of her curly hair, and then her tits, and then all he could remember after than were her shoes. They were Fila's. "She seemed nice and pretty, pretty nice I mean." "Pretty nice! Pretty Nice? Come on man I know you saw her tits and what about those eyes! Man back before I ordered her, the only pussy I pulled was the neighbor’s cat when it ran up their tree. Now look at me, I'm married to a fucking super model. She does whatever I want. Whatever-I-Want." John was impressed. He thought back to the feeble attempts at relationship building in Colorado and remembered the embarrassment and shame the women who he met made him feel. In porn it always seemed to so easy. Approach the girl, compliment the girl, fuck the girl. Here in front of him was an opportunity to make that approach actually work for once. So he asked how he could get a Nikki of his own...