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“I guess we did well on our last night home, huh?” I said lightly, standing and grabbing my suitcase handle. “We did good our last time together. Besties forever!” I said, holding up a hand for a high five.
My friend smacked my hand even as the airline called my flight, announcing that it was time to board. It was time for reals to say goodbye to my best friend, the girl I’d seen almost every day since I was four years old.
“Bye Tina,” said Mags mischievously. “Hope your finishing school in St. Venetia is fun.”
Oh yeah. I rolled my eyes and retorted, “Hope your finishing school in France is ten times more fun.”
At that Maggie laughed. “They’re going to have us locked up in chains, pert and pretty for the guys to inspect. God, it’s gonna suck,” she groaned, rolling her eyes.
I nodded, but now it was really time to board.
“Bye honey,” I said, air-kissing her cheek one last time. “Stay in touch!” And I dragged my roller board over to the check-in counter, the lady taking my boarding pass and gesturing to the gate.
“Thank you, Ms. Sterling, this way,” she said.
I turned towards the jet bridge, letting the cold air-conditioning blow on me, gripping my suitcase firmly in hand before striding forward purposefully. Because it was going to suck at finishing school, Mags was right, it was going to be so boring, learning etiquette and doing dumb stuff like riding horses.
But at least I wouldn’t be living at home anymore, the world was my oyster now. So I was looking forward to it, kind of, sort of … with a delicious secret that was all my own.
KATO
“You think she’ll remember us?” I asked as we stuffed our duffel bags full. It was time to head back to the USS Tompkins, shore leave was over. It’d been the best R&R ever. After all, it’s not every day that the hottest piece of ass you’ve ever had blows into your life.
“Oh yeah,” grunted my bro, “she’ll remember. Everyone always remembers us.”
That was true. The likelihood of Tina forgetting that she’d been done two ways, with two men in both her holes was pretty slim. But then again, the brunette had been curiously nonchalant when we said our goodbyes.
“Bye Karl, bye Kato,” she’d purred after we’d helped her back into that leather get-up. Her hair was adorably mussed, and in the grey light of early morning, god, she was so young and nubile.
But sassy too. The girl pecked us each on the cheek before turning to the Uber she’d called, wiggling her ass flirtatiously before looking over her shoulder. “Au revoir, mes amis,” she said, before blowing us a kiss one last time.
Now my French sucks, but doesn’tmes amismean “my friends”? She’d called us her friends? The two men who’d just come hard in her ass and cunt, and that’s all we were? My brother looked at me, just as dumbfounded.
“Girls,” he said shrugging. “Who knows?”
Because Tina hadn’t asked us for any contact info, nor had we asked her for hers. I guess this really was a fly-by-night encounter, she clearly had no intention of keeping in touch. And I didn’t blame her. Sailors aren’t exactly known for their fidelity, and hell, as far as she knew maybe we kept a girl in every port.
But still, the brunette hadn’t even asked. I shrugged and turned back to packing, stuffing my bag full before heaving it over my shoulder.
“You got that junk we picked up?” I asked my twin.
Karl merely grunted in assurance, not even turning to look at me. Our next port city was Tripoli, and after that, Cairo. Not exactly the safest places these days, but they don’t pay us good money to be on a luxury cruise. The Navy these days is fucking dangerous, even as a merchant marine. The U.S. government might call you to back-up some warrior class destroyer on a moment’s notice, and fuck, we were dangerously close to Syria and the mess going on in Sudan. It wouldn’t be the first time my twin and I sailed into some seriously messed-up shit.
But I shrugged. This was our life. It was light years different from Kansas and the farm we’d grown up on, but we didn’t have a traditional small-town upbringing either. Our mom had kept us hidden from the world, isolated almost, choosing to home-school us, part of her conviction that the local public school was no good academically. And it’d worked out perfectly because as a flight attendant she only worked a week per month, so there was plenty of time to oversee our education.
And our dad? Well, he’s the Crown Prince of St. Venetia. Yeah, you heard me right. Our dad is Prince Georg of St. Venetia, aging playboy, wealthy philanthropist, classic car collector, and total asshole. During one of the few conversations when Violet had been willing to discuss Georg, we didn’t get much out of her.
“So where did you meet?” I’d asked. Karl was listening just as intently, even though he was filling up a water jug with some muscle mass powder. At fifteen, we were athletically oriented, looking to build up muscle, strength, speed and agility, make ourselves into superheroes.
“On a flight,” replied Violet. Her hair was already going grey despite being only about thirty-five, and brackets surrounded her eyes and mouth. But you could tell that Violet had once been beautiful, a real stunner.
“A flight to where?” I pressed.
“I think Jerusalem,” said Violet vaguely. “I was a flight attendant and your dad, well he was flying first class as you might have guessed.”
“But where was he going? How did you guys start talking?” I pressed.
“He was headed to some government function, maybe meeting the Prime Minister of Israel,” my mom sighed, twisting the rings around her fingers. They were silver, nothing expensive. “I offered him champagne, he asked for another, and before I knew it …” her voice trailed off.
