TRE is all about forward personnel: torpedo room, fire control, navigation, etc… We had three days in port after ORSE — one of which was spent on duty.
On one of the two days I had off, I was at the Ala Moana Mall when I got a call from my buddy Hokie. We were good friends from Nuclear Power School and he was calling to tell me that he was on his way out to Pearl Harbor to work as a Lab Tech on another boat. The two of us would eventually share a rented house with Gamecock, which would lead to more hijinks in the town of Kailua… more to come on this.
[Incidentally, Hokie was the guy that gave me the idea to start this blog last summer on his stop in my home state of Minnesota.]
On the night of July 22 I met up with Hokie and two Navy chicks that we used to party with in Charleston, Coco and SexyNuke. They were both stationed on the Nimitz, which was in Pearl for the week, and they wanted to party.
*Aside: This was the Nimitz port-call that was featured on the PBS series Carrier. They were on cruise and were en route to the Persian Gulf to bomb the shit out of Durka-Durkastan.*
Our night was unsurprisingly characterized by drinking… heavily. This of course led to skinny dipping in plain view of the public at Waikiki Beach. I was pretending to take a nap on the beach as SexyNuke walked back up to put her clothes on. I saw her tits and thought they were special enough to earn an entry in my journal. Coco was a bit of a bigger gal with huge saggy ones and saucer-like nip nips… not particularly noteworthy. There’s a story about Coco and Hokie from the Power School days, but I’ll skip that for now. TRE is more important.
Fuck that, here it is…
THE CHARLESTON HUMMER STORY
We were at our usual watering hole, Wings Bar & Grill, engaged in our usual activity: getting shit-housed. This was routine for a Friday night but this particular night was a bit different — we were joined by our favorite instructor. He was a chief, but didn’t act like one. Plainly, he wasn’t an asshole — he was cool. He hated the Navy bullshit, with particular disdain for the fraternization rules. His only rule was that he couldn’t party with us while we were under his instruction as a Chemicals/Materials/Radiological Controls instructor, but he could come to the bar the night after the CMR final.
So he was there bullshitting with us and everyone was having a blast. Hokie introduced me to Coco and SexyNuke. I had known SexyNuke by reputation only. She was one of the two hot chicks at NNPTC, surrounded by a sea of virgins. Coco was a new face but she was pretty enough and cool as fuck.
We might have turned up the volume a few notches on this night because we wanted to show the chief that we were a fun group of dudes and the chief wanted to show us that he could still party at his age. Everyone was jovial, Hokie was dancing… like a big-booty ho in a rap video. He thought it would be funny to bounce his ass about four inches from my crotch; I did not. I stepped back and tried to punt Hokie in the ass, which was successful, but I forgot that I was wearing shoes with a longer toe and I caught him square in the nuggets. He toppled over in excruciating pain while Coco immediately rushed to his aid. I felt horrible even though I and everyone else were laughing hysterically. Coco was consoling him while I was fighting back tears in a half-hearted effort to ask him if he was okay.
Roughly an hour later, we all decided to hit up Perkins for some 2 am pancakes and perhaps a syrup chugging contest. [Super Troopers was a hot movie at that time] Hokie and Coco stumbled into Hokie’s car and they were the lead car. The rest of us drunk fucks were in the following car. We got about half-way there when someone noticed that Coco wasn’t in the car anymore.
“Where the fuck is Coco?!”
A few moments later we saw her head pop up from Hokie’s lap area.
Me: “Holy shit! She’s suckin’ Hokie’s dick!!”
Our entire van exploded with laughter. She ducked back down for more Hokie meat and continued to alternate between slobbing and looking around… until we pulled into Perkins’ parking lot.
As we were pulling in, we were like a pack of fucking SWAT team dogs in the van, just barking and climbing over each other to dart out of the van to sprint and catch a bad guy. Our driver pulled up right next to Hokie’s boat of a car and we surrounded his car like ants to a fallen piece of watermelon. Some guys even jumped atop the car pounding on it like apes.
All Chanting: “ROAD HEAD! ROAD HEAD!”
Hokie had a shit-eating grin on his face and Coco wore the most embarrassed look I’d ever seen on a human face. Needless to say she did not come in and dine with us all. Hokie took her back to base and we bumbled in to pound maple syrup and thoroughly annoy the other patrons.
I’m not proud of what happened next. The following Monday I told a few people about this incident to some classmates, and by ‘some classmates’ I mean the entire fucking class. Oopsie-poopsie…
I was a bit of storyteller and it was just too juicy a tale to keep to myself. In retrospect, I feel like kind of an insensitive prick, but she kind of deserved it. A female at that school is outnumbered 100 to 1 and if they act even a little bit interested in a guy they’re labeled a slut and a whore. They have to be careful and make wise decisions because of this microscope that they are under. She chose to perform fellatio in full view of other students. It was my duty to report this misstep to everyone who cared… which, as it turned out, was everyone.
Later that day, Coco came to my classroom and asked me to join her out in the hallway for a little chat. Everyone in the classroom — including myself — knew which direction this conversation was about to head. [Pun fully intended] She started by berating me, then turned to incredulity, started crying, denied the event and finally accepted her mistake. She passed through all 5 stages of the grieving process in exactly three minutes. Navy chicks…
I defended my actions because she came at me in attack mode; I had no choice. I denied even saying anything about it to anyone at first, but then turned to apology-mode when she started crying. I felt a little bad, but mostly because she caught me. Whatever. She’s the one who put Hokie’s schlong in her mouth in front of half my class and me!
As I turned to go back into my classroom, there were like six dudes huddled near the doorway — eavesdropping on our discussion and snickering like little Junior High bitches.
I don’t think I talked to Coco again until the July night on the beach. I don’t know why I didn’t go skinny dipping that night. I drove them to the favored spot on the beach. It wasn’t even that secluded. It was in plain view of about 1,000 vacationers right in the heart of Waikiki Beach. I guess I was so drunk on this night, I was feeling shy. I drank myself into bashfulness. Maybe it was because of the rapport I had with these two particular girls, I’m not sure.
They dressed themselves, we walked back to my car and we were on our way to get the chicks back to the Nimitz. Hokie was driving and I was riding shotgun so I could pass out again. Hokie was still brand new to the island, didn’t know exactly how to get back to base and missed the exit that he needed to take to get back to Pearl. It sucks because if you miss the exit you have to drive west on the H1 for like another 5 goddam miles before you can turn around. I was either unwilling or unable to help him find his way back. I just remember that by the time he found his way back to base I got back to my room after sun-up about an hour before I had to be in the engineroom boat for quarters.
I figured, “Hey. I can skip work again. I got away with it that one time earlier this year.”
Man was I dead wrong. My chief sent every member of my division, one by one, to my room to tell me to get my ass to work. I’d get up, get in the shower and then go lay back down. The next time someone came knocking, I’d get up and put my uniform on. Next time, it was the LPO. I finally gave in and left my room. As I was leaving I passed my LPO, cursed at him and threw a tantrum as I stormed by. I punched the soda machine, hard… and continued on to the boat. I don’t think we was mad at me, I be he was probably just happy to be off the boat. “Go Find Fish” was a desirable tasking for that morning. Business as usual: I started my day at noon and I never heard anything about it ever again.
TRE went okay.
My journal entry: TRE — I hope we run Battle Stations every day.
We ran Battle Stations every god-damn day! You almost never get what you wish for in the Navy. That one totally fucking backfired on me.
*Another aside: I put down Guam as my first choice of duty station [just to be a smart ass] and ended up with my true first choice: Naval Submarine Base, Pearl Harbor, Hawai’i. What the fuck.*
On July 30th I had my third and final Disciplinary Review Board for being DINQ. They were becoming incrementally less painful as I inched closer to becoming a fully qualified Fast-Attack Submarine Warrior.