Heaven’s Gate
41 Not a Soldier
Whitney was back the first of July, just when we took our summer break. All shows were doing reruns or had guest hosts for two months and everyone was breathing a sigh of relief. When Whitney arrived in her camo, the first thing she did—after a big and long kiss—was point at her lapel. Her gold bar was now silver. She’d made First Lieutenant during her deployment.
“What does that mean? Do you get transferred now? Are you coming home for good?” I asked.
“Same shit, more pay,” she laughed. “I’ve been told that when we deploy again, it will be to some shithole little embassy that only has my platoon. That means I’ll be the platoon commander and the senior Marine at the embassy. It’s a good way to have the full scope of responsibility of a captain without risking more than your own platoon. With luck, I’ll make Captain as soon as I have my time in grade.”
The kids were all over us. They wanted to know all about Whitney being a soldier. Whitney told them, “I’m a Marine. I might look like a soldier to you, but soldiers are Army pukes, and I’m not one of them.” Matthew and Ellie had still been pretty little when Whitney left for basic and Xan, C-Rae, and Leslie were just babies. They’d seen her on leave before, but when you only see someone once every nine to twelve months, you don’t really get to know them well. We walked in the back door, surrounded by family and all the children on the ranch.
“Do you know what I want right now?” Whitney said as she knelt in front of the kids. There was a course of ‘no’ and ‘what’. “I want to get naked. Then I want a hot shower, some of that chicken I smell roasting, and a cuddle in the big chair. Anybody with me?” Clothes started falling on the floor, but when Liz and Samantha showed up next to Whitney and took each article of her uniform as she neatly folded it, the kids got the message and began folding their gis as neatly as they could. We’d put shelves at kid height all along the mud room and each one put his or her gi in a bin. Even the two-year-olds were making the attempt to put things away properly.
As Whitney stripped, I saw her body as if for the first time. She still had no body fat to speak of, so her breasts were tight against her chest. Her hips flared slightly. Her pubes were neither shaved nor trimmed. Her arms and legs were thicker, stronger than when I’d last seen her. She rippled with power and energy.
“You’re strong!” Matthew said in awe.
“I’m a Marine,” Whitney responded.
After lunch, the kids all made a show of cuddling with Whitney in the big chair, but the call of a hot July afternoon pulled them away quickly and they all ran outside. Only Xan stayed. She curled into Whitney’s arms and began petting her cheek and chest.
“Just like your mother, aren’t you, sweetheart,” Whitney said. Before long the two of them were asleep.
We were all at the silo in the morning. Judy was as happy to see Whitney as anyone else in the clan. Adam even came over from his apartment in the village. I knew that even though Adam was working out, he wasn’t practicing his forms or sparring lately because he couldn’t risk damage that would keep him from working. He had become as highly in demand as a model as Heaven. If anything, his good looks were better as he matured. He and Warren planned to meet Heaven and Amy in Barbados for a shoot in two weeks. They were taking Pam with them.
Everyone undressed outside the silo. Larry had done some nice work putting a porch roof over the entrance and installing bins for our clothes like we had in the mud room. He had two kids in the training sessions, Ellie and Leslie. Doreen’s two, Matthew and C-Rae, were right with us. Xan, for all that she was still the smallest of all the children, was also my prized student. And now we had Geoff and Robyn’s daughter Sarah working with us. Céleste and James had begun following us to the silo and even though they didn’t come in, I saw them watching us intently and occasionally moving their hands and feet in mimicking what we did inside.
“Today we will follow Master Whitney,” I signed to our class. They lined up quickly, clasped their hands in front of them, and bowed their heads to Whitney. Adam, Judy, and I lined up behind the kids. I was pleased with this view of the children. Usually I was facing them and this gave me an opportunity to observe them without them seeing me. They were intent and as Whitney gracefully moved from one form to another, the children followed at their level. It was beautiful to watch.
And silent.
I had established from the outset that there was no verbal communication in the sacred space. They followed the example and if a correction or instruction was needed, it was done in sign language. I noted that Whitney had not lost any of her signing skills.
She worked us all hard. The smaller children were shuffled outside after half an hour to watch through the door. That was really all a three-year-old could take. I was happy to see that Sarah was beginning to lose a little of her baby fat. Robyn had never slimmed down after pregnancy and I had a feeling she indulged Sarah with food. Even Geoff was packing on a little weight. Kevin continued to be slim and still went to various drag revues in Indy.
Ellie and Matthew, however, stepped up their game and Whitney pushed them harder. After another half-hour, we were all panting and sweating. She chased all the children out and they ran laughing and giggling to the outdoor showers. That was still one of the best things we ever created at the ranch.
Then Whitney closed the door.
I knew what she wanted. Adam and Judy took posts on opposite sides of our circular chamber. Whitney and I faced each other and bowed.
It probably looked at first like we were just doing more forms, reflecting each move the other made as we circled and feinted. But this was the best of anything Whitney and I had done together. We were teaching each other. I learned forms of battle. I taught forms of peace.
And then we engaged.
We tested and measured, struck and blocked. We moved together and apart, our moves speeding up as we went. Fewer blows found their mark than ever before when Whitney and I had sparred. We both achieved that transcendental state in which we were one with the room and with each other. This was our sacred space, our temple. There would be no victor in this match.
I don’t know how long we sparred, but we were both exhausted and lying on the floor next to each other. Judy and Adam left the room and closed the door. Whitney rolled toward me as I rolled toward her and we turned from combat to lovemaking. This was our completeness. As I pushed through her thick bush and buried myself in her warm, wet depths, she rolled us over so she was above me, riding me with her head thrown back in ecstasy as I played with her taut nipples and marveled at her rippling muscles. I was reminded of the line in the Dune trilogy in which it was commented that “she could kill with any muscle in her body.” Yet she did not kill me, though she drank my life essence into her body as I drank hers. I had never felt so at one—so in sync—with a lover.
Our loving lasted longer than our sparring.
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