Shore Leave: Prologue (Patreon)

Lt. Frank Nash stepped off of the plane and walked through the Ibiza airport, still squaring his corners out of habit. He wore his military issue blue slacks and a white tshirt that was smartly tucked into the trousers with perfectly trimmed and tapered crew cut brunette hair. Frank had been talking to his friends from back home about his upcoming shore leave having completed officer school and been instated as a 2nd Lieutenant in the US Air Force after 4 years of ROTC and 9 weeks of specialized schooling, he’d finally reached the point in his life where nearly everywhere he went, people called him “Sir.” Granted, he was only a butter bar lieutenant, as signified by the gold bars on his uniform lapels and hat but he was proud nonetheless.

(1)

His instructors had advised him not to return to his home town for a while, as it would most likely just piss him off to see how little would have changed. Friends and family would have accomplished nothing, buildings would be the same or just repainted, and there would most likely even be some people he knew who would have no idea he’d even left. To avoid this, he’d decided to treat his two closest buddies from college to a trip as a means of getting out and seeing the world instead of coming back to the same boring town with the same boring people continuing their slow trudge to nowhere.

Everett Lomos couldn’t have been more pleased with Frank’s invitation, but upon arriving in Ibiza Town, he’d decided not to waste any time getting familiar with the environment. Blending in was easy so long as Everett didn’t mention his name or speak for too long. His tan, hispanic features helped him pass at a glance, but conversing with the locals had proven to be a dead giveaway as his Mexican-American Spanish sounded to the locals like a British accent would sound like to an American. “Spainish” as he called it was turning out to be a little bit of a detriment already, as every attempt to hit on the local women had turned into discussions about his accent or the fact that he lied about being from Ibiza in an attempt to claim that he wasn’t just a tourist trying to laid. He was fit, he was hot, and he had plenty of charm, he thought. So why, he wondered, was he having such a hard time picking up chicks?

(2)

It didn’t really matter. He had plenty of time to try and work his perceived magic on olive-skinned beauties with dark hair after he picked up his buddy from the airport. After all, Frank had been with him through thick and thin as kids and even went to the same college before shipping off to the military. Sure, they’d gotten into it a few times about Everett’s tendency to try to sleep with or outright steal girlfriends by convincing women to leave their boyfriends, including Frank’s ex girlfriend Sunny, but Everett shrugged it off and explained that any female willing to cheat on a guy like Frank wasn’t going to be good for him anyways. At the end of the day, he believed he was providing a service that helped his friends find healthy relationships while also getting him some pussy at the same time.

The buzzing and jingling of his phone alarm reminded him of his timeline. Everett hopped into the rental car and drove down to the airport where Frank was probably waiting.

Reginald Alexander Bridgeworthy was the son of a wealthy lawyer who was really only going to college as a means of “finding himself.” A trip to Ibiza wasn’t especially novel to him, but it was a nice break from the daily grind of Philosophy lectures and Photography 10q projects. He’d wanted to escape the “confines” of his father’s wealth, but still ended up accepting hundreds of thousands a year for both fun and tuition. What the young hippie heir REALLY wanted was to escape the expectation that he would turn out like his pencil-pushing, innocent-imprisoning, hyper-conservative dad and join him as a fellow prosecutor at his firm. As a result, the muscular blonde spent as much leisurely time as he could going to festivals and raves while he slummed his way through even the most basic of college courses. Even though his figure and long, golden hair made the ladies swoon over him, Reggie barely had any interest in the multitudes of chicks throwing themselves at him for his body, or worse: his money.

(3)

He was supposed to be heading to his hotel after he’d gotten a message from Everett saying that Frank had been picked up from the airport and that the two of them were on their way. Reggie of course had gotten himself lost on an “exploratory trek” through the town that he just happened to embark upon while he was high on sativa based edibles in a foreign country. Upon receiving the notification that he was needed, he began darting between buildings at a full run, utilizing the parkour skills he’d spent years honing all over the world to jump carts and evade traffic while still trying to focus hard enough on where Google Maps was trying to take him.

After some trial and tribulation, the exhausted fire spinner and massage therapist made his way to the suite that he and his buddies had all booked together for the next two weeks. He placed his keycard into the card reader and listened as the telltale whirring of the door mechanism sounded before the lock clicked open.

“HAAAAAYYYYYYYY!!!!!” Cheered Frank and Everett as they saw the final component of their triple threat enter the room.

Hugs were given, pleasantries were said, and before long, the question came up.

“What now?” Asked Everett.

“Now…” Frank said, grinning. “Now we go out and have some fun.”