Collide Into You: A Romantic Gender Swap Love Story (38 page)

Chapter One

T
HE
HANDWRITTEN
LETTER
WAS
FOLDED
up in his Kevlar pocket. The day was hot, windy, and Staff Sergeant Justin Hauten—a machine gunner, career Army sergeant, built like the Terminator but still a small-town-Texas boy—had a few minutes to kill.

Justin never put things in his pockets, least of all letters, and he figured it was some sort of mistake, or a joke one of the other Sergeants was trying to pull. For the record, Justin had never once fallen for one of their stupid jokes.

He jumped back into the idling Humvee (the driver, Specialist Walker, was taking a piss), pushed his M4 and a camera to his side, and opened up the carefully folded piece of paper. It quickly became apparent what it was.

Justin
, it began,
you make me weak. Every time you walk near me, my heart beats double-time. Can you hear it or feel its pulse? My body radiates heat for you and my body, voice, refuse to obey when we talk. Everything about you turns me on. From your muscular body, your green eyes, to how strong and long your fingers are. Are your lips as soft as I imagine them to be? Will your heat match my own should we ever touch? I long to reach out to you, to skim my fingers along your arm, or back, or leg. And more. I want so much more that my hand is shaking as I write this. I’ve watched you from afar, desired you at a distance, for all these longs months, and I’m taking a chance now. I have to let you know how I feel. I will burst otherwise. I’ll stay hidden for now. But soon, very soon, I will confide in you. I hope you will not be disappointed. All Yours, T.

He read the letter three times and with each reading, his opinion changed. First, he was pretty sure it was a joke. All of his buddies, even his company commander, called him Hotten, based on his physique and his last name. But this letter, the deep confiding, with its secret longing written in each word, told him that it probably wasn’t a joke and that one of his buddies had the hots for him.

He looked at the top of the letter. It was dated four months ago.

Justin refolded the letter and placed it back in his pocket. He wasn’t sure how to feel.
 

He looked out over the Afghanistan landscape, pondering. The red dirt, the mud-hut homes, the deep craters left by some roadside bombs, the Afghani peoples’ mixed expressions as they passed by, the eager faces of the children wanting chocolate bars or to practice their broken English. And those were the good days. He didn’t like thinking about the bad days around here.
 

“You ready, Hotten?” Specialist Sean “Nebraska” Walker adjusted his sunglasses and inspected himself in the mirror as he got back into the driver’s seat. Nebraska was as tall as a lumberjack and built like one, too. Throw on a plaid shirt and he’d be a dead ringer for the old Brawny Paper Towels man, minus the creepy mustache.

“Yeah, Nebraska, let’s go.”

As the desolate, yet hopeful, scenery went past, Justin wondered who T was and if there were other letters. Did T place the letter in his pocket four months ago, or did he write the letter then but just now put it in his pocket? Nebraska spoke into the two-way radio, informing the command that they were done for the day and en route. A static reply came back.

“You heard that, Hotten?”

“What?”

“The camera. Captain Phillips wants it first thing.”

“Right, yeah, I heard.” Justin shook his head.

“You alright, man? You look, I dunno, confused about something. You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

His mind went straight to the letter, but Nebraska wouldn’t be talking about that, would he?

“What?”

“Seriously, man,” the driver whistled. “Something’s stuck in your head, but that’s your business. I’m talking about the camera. The mission.”

“Oh, right. No cold feet. I’m still game.” Justin patted the camera sitting in his lap.
As long as it doesn’t get us killed.

Chapter Two

T
HE
SHOWERS
WERE
DESERTED
,
THANK
God. Justin stripped down quickly and let the hot water cascade over him. He checked his wrist for the hundredth time, but the white outline of a missing watch made him laugh. He figured it was about midnight.

He had spent the entire day with Nebraska, as usual, taking pictures of the landscape and other landmarks for the commander. So far, the commander was happy with their progress, but he hadn’t gotten exactly what was needed just yet. Their mission had begun a month ago. One month left, he thought to himself as he soaped up.

He rubbed the back of his neck, and the muscles screamed at him. Justin turned the water knob all the way to the left and let the scalding water hit the aching muscles and then cascade down his back.
 

Earlier in the day, another letter had turned up in a notebook he used day in and day out… a letter that wasn’t there yesterday. Same handwriting, but dated two months ago. He could remember some of the words.

This is more than a crush. I want to taste you, feel you, kiss you. I love it when you smile.

Justin was beyond flattered. Unlike how civilians thought the military thought about gay men and women, he had never encountered hatred or the lesser treatment of those living under the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell rules before that rule was recently abolished. One of his former commanders was gay, and everyone knew it.
And he was one of the coolest guys I’ve ever known,
Justin thought.

He just didn’t know how he was supposed to feel toward the person writing these words to him. He reread the letters as many times as he could get away with—privacy was difficult to come by around here—just to make sure the notes were indeed for him and not for someone else. Justin was pretty easy going and not the type to play things out to the hilt in his mind, but something about the situation combined with this mission set him on edge. He didn’t see the scenario ending favorably if he found out who the letter writer was. Did he want to find out?

The shower water was a little less hot now, and it was only a matter of time before his skin pruned up. Plus, any minute now, someone else would come in and steal his solitude.

He wondered more about T. T didn’t have to be from his company, though it was more than likely he was. T could be from Kabul at ISAF headquarters, but it was doubtful. His admirer had to have access to his equipment that those at Kabul wouldn’t have.

Sergeant Terry Ingram, maybe? God, he hoped not. The man was a sexist jerk and his personality was, well, beyond offensive at all times. What about Lieutenant Tom Ackers, the executive officer? No, he was married with a couple of kids.
 

Perhaps T was the last name…

Then his mind went in another direction.
Be honest with yourself!
The idea sort of turned him on. It was taboo, new, and intriguing…

A surge went through him.

What would it feel like? To kiss a man, to have his skin covered completely by T? He’d never once thought of this. In his thirty-one years, twelve of which he’d been in the military, he never let the thoughts of another man, let alone a mystery man, enter his thoughts sexually. But had it been there, under the surface?

He tried to think about the girl back home, Julia. His cock swelled a little more, but if he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that he was already slightly hard. He lathered some bar soap and lowered a hand, sliding his palm over himself, then wrapped the hand around his hardness.

He pleasured himself and climaxed rather quickly and intensely, just as the water turned ice cold.

Justin wasn’t sure which of the two images—Julia, or T—heightened the experience.

Chapter Three

I
T
WAS
NEAR
DUSK
WHEN
he had what he needed. Red and pink streaks ribboned the sky as the sun sunk lower. It was a gorgeous image and one that he would have loved to capture on the camera, but he needed the last bit of sunlight as he dug out his notebook. He motioned for Nebraska to take the camera back to the vehicle as he made a few notes.

Three weeks had gone by, and the commander was beginning to lose patience with him. Three weeks, and three letters—which were getting to him. Justin was both annoyed and aroused by them. The last letter was dated one week ago.

In my dreams, when I touch you, you shiver and beg for more. I’m rubbing your back, hard, digging into your sore neck muscles, when you turn around, push me down, and kiss me like you’ve never tasted anything so sweet.

But he couldn’t discern any odd behavior by any of his friends. The only person showing any behavior beyond the normal was his commander, and Captain Phillips was showing the “I’m pissed at you” kind. At times, the Captain would have an “I’m going to kill you after all of this is over if you don’t get what we need” mentality, too.

Suddenly, someone was yelling.

Nebraska.

Justin hauled up to the top of the hill behind him and spotted two M4’s and one handgun pointed at Nebraska. Shit!

“Give us the camera,” one was shouting at Nebraska. Justin couldn’t tell who they were, but they weren’t military men. He sprinted down the steep hill, tripped, and fell down the rest. Everything that could have possibly hit him or poke him did. Rocks. His M4. The holstered M9 firearm at his side. Even the pens in his side arm pocket. He counted himself lucky that none of his weapons discharged.

He did his best to stand up, but his right knee wouldn’t cooperate and he quickly collapsed. He pulled out his M9 just as one of the three pointed an M4 at him.

“Hello, Hotten,” the man said sarcastically. Captain Phillips? “I understand you got what I need?”

Justin’s mind whirled. What was the point of this? He was going to give the camera to Captain Phillips tonight. Why go to all these lengths?

“You okay, Nebraska?” Justin asked.

“Think I just crapped in my pants, but, yeah, doing pretty good. You?”

“Not too excited about the turn of events,” he said to his friend, then addressed the commander. “You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?”

“Insubordination, Staff Sergeant?”

“Figure that’s the least of my worries at the moment.”

“Instruct your little friend here to hand over the camera and no one gets hurt.”

“First, there’s nothing little about Nebraska, and second, you’re not in a position to make any demands. The way I see it, we have the camera and I have a gun pointed at your head. I’m pretty sure I know which of us is the better shot, Captain.”

“Yeah, but what about Nebraska here? He’s not exactly a sniper. He’s more like a lumbering oaf, tucked into Kevlar like a stuffed sausage.”

“Cute,” Nebraska muttered. “But he does have a point, Justin. Not the sausage part, but the shooting part. And really, the other two fellas here, let’s not forget about them. I know I haven’t. The good captain failed to make introductions.”

Justin desperately wanted to look at the two men focused on Nebraska, but he didn’t trust that Captain Phillips wouldn’t shoot the second he did. The two other men were not in his company, of that he was certain, but other than that, he was at a loss as to who they were.

“Who are your friends, sir?” His knee was beginning to throb and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a small amount of blood was trickling down his temple. His whole mouth had a metallic taste. A tooth was loose.

Great, just great.

“I like to call them Mr. A and Mr. B.”

Clever. These two were either from the State Department or the CIA. Did they really have to be wearing sunglasses? So cliché. It was practically dark now.

“Back down, Captain Phillips,” one of them said as he pointed his weapon down to the ground. “You too, Sergeant Hauten. No one is getting shot today.” The other man, probably Mr. B, followed suit and lowered his M4. “Do we have an understanding, gentlemen?”

Justin laughed out loud. “The only reason I have my weapon pointed at Captain Phillips is because he has his pointed at me. Perhaps the reason is obvious to everyone else, but why is Captain Phillips pointing his weapon at me?”

“Captain Phillips, I am ordering you to lower your weapon.”

“I want the camera first,” the captain said, slightly stuttering. Justin could barely make out the sweat pouring down the man’s face.

Justin knew what he had recorded over the last two months on the camera currently hanging around Nebraska’s neck, and none of it warranted this type of behavior from the company commander.

“Listen, guys,” Justin began. “I don’t know what’s going on, but this son of a bitch doesn’t look like he’s going to back down, so perhaps you can do someth—”

A shot rang out and Justin’s ears began to buzz. It took a couple of seconds before he realized the captain had just shot him. He actually shot him.

“What the fuck?” Justin screamed at the man. Mr. A, or B, quickly wrestled Captain Phillips to the ground and even handcuffed him. Nebraska was at Justin’s side, inspecting him.

His shoulder seared and while he knew he wasn’t going to die from a gunshot wound to his shoulder, he was so pissed off that he might black out from a sudden stroke. Justin noticed strange things that he probably wouldn’t have noticed otherwise.

Nebraska had thick eyebrows, which were now tightly knit in concentration as he tried to stop the bloodflow. Nebraska also had a lot of freckles.
 

“Jesus Christ, Nebraska. You should wear sunscreen.”

“Sure, whatever you say, buddy.”

Something banged against his other shoulder: the camera. It was still around Nebraska’s neck. A bird screeched in the background. Footsteps, and then he was being carried.
 

The drive back to the base was the longest and the roughest possible. And not because his shoulder hurt. It hurt like a bitch. It was because Captain Phillips was sitting right beside him, handcuffed, cursing up a storm at the injustice of it all.

What an asshole.

Chapter Four

I
T
WAS
HELL
BEING
SHOT
, but the nurses
were cute and the drugs felt nice. Justin found out later, after his surgery, that Mr. B confiscated the camera from Nebraska. But not before Nebraska punched him soundly on the jaw.