Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Incest, Swinging,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Prologue - Steve Sharp takes a vacation that changes his life. He gets some breaks, he makes some of his own good luck. Lots of loving, some dull stuff but some decent action. This shows how you can succeed with your friends. (Some codes are implied but not a major part of the story.)
Done! Finished! Over!
I got fucked up a little in the first sandy go around in the Middle East. Some rag head got lucky with an RPG by blowing up a rock and getting me with some of the shrapnel. Just enough to send me on a med-evac plane to Germany then after some treatment there back to the good ole' U.S. of A. After about nine months of corrective surgeries and rehab, the Marines said they didn't need a cripple so take this monthly disability pay and go away.
The lasting affects of my injuries were not too bad. Some scars and a slight limp only some of the time. When necessary I could still run a little, just not fast. All in all, I was in pretty good shape.
When I finished high school I was working in a grocery store and had another part time job flipping hamburgers. I tried junior college but was bored. My only happiness was riding a beat up old Harley I had bought but a lot of folks were put off by it saying I was going to turn out bad for hanging out with bikers. My mom died of loneliness after my father got killed at work. Before the folks died, my older brother and sister both moved away from our small town to a big city to live and work.
I was restless and thought I would be good in the military so I cleaned up Mom and Dad's estate, split the proceeds of the house and their car with my siblings then enlisted into the Marine corp. I was a good Marine and felt like making it a career until a Muslim quack got lucky.
So here I was, twenty-four years old with my only trade, a hell of a soldier.
With the Vet benefit, I went to a welding school for a year and learned how to meld metals. The school taught every type of welding there was and made sure you were fairly proficient at it before they tried to place you with organizations that needed their graduates.
First chance to show my worth was in Alaska on the pipeline. Seems the seams (I know that's corny but it's kind of cute) on the huge pipes carrying oil from the field leak. They need welders to fix the problem. Big problem is you have to really clean up the area around where you are going to work or you will be the cause of a big boom. I learned how to clean up oil and successfully welded leaky seams for a year.
The work wasn't that hard but you really were isolated as you traveled between what they called base camps then went out to job sites on a large ATV or snow mobile. You could go into town and spend five bucks for a can of beer or fifty for a bottle of hooch or five hundred for a toothless whore. Or, you could just work every day, make the overtime and salt the cash away for the murky future you dreamed of. I didn't know what my future was going to be so I happily worked as much as they would let me. My only restriction was no more than an eighteen-hour day.
After about eighteen months, I really didn't think I could take the cold in the winter or the mosquitoes in summer any more so I asked for a transfer to a warmer climate.
The oil company that had hired me suggested I take a position open on some drilling rigs and wellhead equipment in northern Texas and southern Oklahoma. Seems their welder came to work with a hang over and blew himself up. You really have to work at it to make a really big boom with an acetylene bottle, but it can be done.
I quickly found out that being back in the states was nice. The company had me working twelve or more hours a day, seven days a week. When I was able to check out a local bar or eat somewhere other than the company's chuck wagon meals on wheels, I enjoyed ogling some of the sweet young things in low riding shorts and halters. Actually that's all I did, ogle. I was never at one location long enough to put the moves on any of the local talent.
This lasted nine months till the foreman asked if I wanted a job that was open on platforms off the coast of Belize.
Where the heck is Belize?
For the money they were talking about, I wanted to know. So far after welding for a little over two years, I had made a ton of money and not been able to spend hardly any of it. I put as much as was allowed in one of those 401 things and put a bunch more into some kind of Fidelity mutual fund. I usually kept a hundred a week until I had too much carry around cash then I put it in my checking or savings account. Don't know what I was saving for but I was working too much to spend much money.
The possibility of making a real killing on an oil platform gave me a thrill.
The company had me pack my bags then catch a company plane to Miami. From there I caught another company plane heading south to Belize. The folks that met me kept advising me that I didn't want to wander around by myself, as it was dangerous for an individual gringo. So I caught the first available seat on a company helicopter to the first platform that needed my help.
Wow! These things were big. These platforms were tall too. Imagine about eight football fields welded together like a giant fishing bobber setting sixty feet over the water with huge machinery standing another seventy-five feet higher. Really, really big. This was an established platform that was pumping a bunch of oil out of the ravine beneath the ocean.
The maintenance supervisor had a long list of repairs to be done as the last welder had gone home over a month before. The way they paid was easy to justify a lot of work. Every guy was paid for seven twelve hour days then was taken back to solid ground for a week. From what I was hearing, the guys just drank, messed with drugs and chased whores for the week then came back to the platform and started over. Didn't sound like a way to live or save money to me.
At the end of the first week, I asked the maintenance supervisor if I could stay instead of going into shore. He smiled and had me on a helicopter to another platform within an hour. There was another maintenance supervisor with another long list and another 84 hours of pay.
Let's see, I was a new guy so I only made $24 an hour for the first 40 hours, then time and a half for the next 20 and double time for the last 24. That is Twenty seven hundred and fifty two dollars for one week. You had a bunk to sleep in. They fed you all you could eat. They had a Doc on the platform to fix you up when you cut yourself. They had all the hot water you needed to try to keep clean and best of all; they gave you fresh coveralls every day.
Oh yeah. Since I wasn't in the USA, my income was not taxable.
You could buy snacks and soft drinks from the company store but you could get all the iced tea you could drink for free plus if asked nicely, the cooks would fix you up with my favorite, some crispy over done salty French fries.
After a little over a year of all work and no play in South America and over a couple of years in North America, I told the company I needed a long vacation of several months, maybe a year. They gave me a ride back to Miami and offered me a ride to anywhere they went before I started my vacation or exile or whatever it was going to be. Miami was fine with me so I shouldered my duffel bag holding all my worldly possessions and went into the city of Miami.
Done! Finished! Over!