Sergeant Pilot

Bigots will hate this story.

Facts have been changed or left out to obscure events enough to avoid violating national security and other federal laws.

Stories that start with legal disclaimers are the best stories.

I should probably tell you about the time I accidentally locked myself out of my room in the barracks while dressed in women’s lingerie.

I fell asleep in white lace brassière and panties with a full length white nightgown.

I didn’t realize I’d forgotten my key as I poked my head out to check the hall way and then quietly tiptoed the complete length of the polished hallway to the second floor latrine.

I stood inside a stall urinating in the toilet when I realized I didn’t have the key to my barracks room door.

Fuck.

I wasn’t sure if I had closed the door behind me or not, but had the sinking feeling I had.

After urinating, I tiptoed back most of the way down the hall enough to see my door closed and locked (my barracks room was the last on on the rear side of the hallway).

A hasty retreat to a latrine stall to try to figure out what to do.

My pilot wings and my rank as sergeant and probably my entire military career was on the line.

My only answer was to get out of the barracks and climb up to the window. Except there was the NCO on duty at the only entrance to the barracks. it’s the military, some buildings only had one fire exit.

I left the stall and exited the latrine and crept down the stairs t the first floor. I peeked around the corner and the NCO on duty was half nodding off reading a magazine.

I slowly tiptoed across the back of the entryway into the latrine and then rushed into a stall with a giant sigh of relief.

I pulled up the hem of my nightgown and waited. Two bare feet visible in a locked latrine stall.

During the long wait for the NCO on duty to make the hourly fire check I contemplated my predicament, yanked one out, and planned how I would climb the barracks wall to the second story at my window once I got out.

I heard the NCO on duty check the latrine, walk the enitre length of the first floor hall way, and then climb the stairs.

As soon as he cleared the stairs I sprinted out the front door. Road runner had nothing on me.

Around the side of the barracks and all the way down the back side and urgent scaling of the back wall.

I could hear and see the night guard on watch in the motor pool behind the barracks and hoped he wouldn’t look up and see a sissy soldier in bright white lace nightgown climbing the barracks wall.

My heart was pounding.

I was so relieved when I finally made it in through my window.

When I was three years old I told my grandmother that I wanted to be a girl and wear pretty dresses. She sternly warned me to never tell anyone.

I kept the secret and tried ot present as masculine as possible.

Eventually enlisting in the airborne ranger special forces. That’s pretty masculine. I noticed there were an inordinate amount of short men in the special forces. Overcompensating to prove their masculinity. I guessed that there probably just as much an excess of sissies like me, all of us so carefully guarding our secret that nobody knew who we were.

This story will continue.