A Hard Time in Military Training

One of the things I've noticed about Sweden is the attention people pay to fashion.  It's pretty cool.  You rarely see Swedes in a "thrown-together" outfit.  Swedie's sister and cousin came to visit us in the States and they spent an hour putting makeup on and pretty outfits just to walk the dog around the neighborhood.  Now that I'm here I see that's not just a teenage phase.  The culture seems to be to genuinely care about the details of your outfit.  I can dig it.  I can be like that at times myself.  I've seen the business types with their tailored suits and bright patterned shirts.  The beard seems to be in right now (I'm even guilty of this one).  Fly socks, sneakers, skirts, dresses and suits.  I saw light scarfs in the summer and shiny nail polish and lipstick that work in perfectly with the rest of the ensemble.  People come to the gym with well-put-together workout clothes on.  Even the hipsters take their time to look more homeless than everyone else.

What I can't dig are the skinny jeans.  Seriously.  I thought it was pretty bad amongst the teenagers in the States, but ADULT MEN rock them here.  And it's on purpose!  In my youth everyone was wearing their jeans too baggy.  Now it's like a race to a yeast infection or something.  Just uncalled for tightness.  More than once I've been on an escalator and I look up and think to myself, "Hmm she has a nice... Dammit, that's a man!"  His jeans are so tight they have accentuated his HIPS.  Come on, man.  What's fly about that?

Of course, to each their own.  If you want to wear pants so tight that you can't bend over and tie your shoes, then more power to you.  I support your right to cut off your own circulation.  I, for one can't join that skinny jeans crowd.  I actually never got into the extra baggy jeans either.  I have always been into clothes that fit.  Imagine that concept.  But I certainly won't wear any tight pants after a certain bad experience.

Right after high school I went into the Air Force.  I figured going to college at that time would be a waste of somebody's money.  I was probably right.  At 18 years old I was only concerned about pretty much one thing.  SEX.  That's probably no different from most 18 year old guys.  I had no control over my hormones.  In those days it wasn't out of the norm for a certain body part to be "at attention" randomly. I couldn't help it.  But I was in the Air Force now and one of the major things I needed to learn was discipline.  Basic Training was filled with intense lessons in discipline.  From there you go to "Tech School" to learn the job you will do at your first official base.  My school was for air traffic control.

One of the customs when I was in my Technical School was to stand up at the end of class to show respect to the instructor.  The highest ranking student would yell, "Stand By!" and then the entire class would stand up at attention (arms straight down at your side, hands shaped as if you're holding a sword, feet touching at the heel and spread at a 45 degree angle).  When the instructor says, "Carry On!" you are allowed to break from attention and gather your things and go back to the dorms.  My team of instructors was notoriously tough.  You'd better not disrespect them or they would chew you out on the spot!

When I got in the military, I thought it was so cool to get my camouflage uniform (BDUs).  The other uniform you get is the dress uniform (blues).  You wear that to special occasions.  The first time you get to wear it is an awesome day.  You look like you're in one of those war crime trial movies!  "You can't handle the truth!!!"  But you learn quickly that those pants are super duper tight!  It sucks to wear them for longer than a few hours.  When we selected the pants we were forced to pick the correct waist measurement.  I've always had a big butt.  They didn't measure my butt, so my pants were extra tight around the butt/crotch area.  I didn't look forward to digging my blues out and preparing them whenever we would have to wear them.  Which shouldn't be that often, right?  Of course, in Tech School they made us wear blues once a week!  Thanks.

So on one particular blues day I was in class learning about radar rules or something, but for some reason I had a random "attention" situation brewing in my tight ass pants.  I scooted my chair up a bit to  ensure that no one could see my raging surprise.  It was no big deal right now.  Nobody is looking UNDER the table.  I glanced at the clock.  Oh shit, class is about to end.  The instructor is wrapping up the lesson.  The overhead projector is off and the lights are on.  Get some control, Jon!  He's about to make you stand up and you can't do it with a freaking boner.  I started trying to distract myself but then I started to wonder what even made me get hard in the first place!  This was so freaking unfair.  I didn't even have a memory of what made me "happy".  Now I needed to get "unhappy" and fast.  I looked around the room for some dead puppies or something sad.  Nothing.  Still hard.  Then it happened...


Shit!  Now it's time to stand up.  I quickly grabbed my Mountain Dew bottle and took a swig as I leaned over the desk in an attempt to make some sort of adjustment of my pointing member in my tight pants.  My little thigh shift did nothing.  I was still solid as a rock.  I pretended I was trying to screw the cap onto the bottle now as I slowly came to attention (for the second time).  The entire class was standing at full attention now and I was fumbling with a Mountain Dew bottle bent at the waist.  All of this took like 1.2 seconds, mind you.  Apparently this is enough time to piss off an Air Force retiree who dedicated 30 years of his life to his country and now he trains little piss-ants like me for his beloved country.  How do I know this about him?  He said, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" There was fire in this old man's eyes.  He looked me up and down and I promise you he LOOKED RIGHT AT IT.  Great.  Now my teacher just saw my freaking boner.  I looked for some sympathy from him.  He's been 18 before.  He's had uncontrollable boners.  Nothing.

"You think because I'm retired you don't have to respect me?!"
"Sir, I..."
"Shut up!  Everybody out except for Airman Rollins!"

At about the word "out", my boner had finally subsided.  Thanks boner!  Then my instructor got in my face as I stood at attention and told me how he gave 30 years of his life and how I'm a piece of shit and this and that.  I told him that I had utmost respect for him and his service, but I didn't want to spill Mountain Dew all over everything.  It was just a bad timing thing.  No disrespect.  I didn't want to say, "Well sir, as you saw, my ding-a-ling had a mind of its own today..."  But he knew what the deal was.  He probably laughed about it at the next meeting with the other instructors.  "Airman Rollins the hornball."  Thanks boner!  I know one thing.  This story would not be possible with baggy pants.  Until next time...


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