It was August 1984. M-16 qualifying day at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio. It was fucking hot. Miserable, sticky, sweat dripping in your eyes hot.

I went through AF basic during the years when in an attempt to save money, the AF had installed .22 long rifle conversion kits into its M-16s. As anyone who's ever used one of these abominations knows, they malfunction a lot.

My flight had 3 CATM instructors--2 dudes and a female SSgt. We'll call her Jones since I don't remember her name. Since it was hot they had their fatigue shirts off (pre-BDU days) and SSgt Jones was a thick girl. Fit, but thick, with tig o bitties. Like, FF cups--I'm not sure but they were bigger than double D's.

It was 1500 and we were her last flight for the day. She had a vee shaped sweat stain over her cleavage and a couple of crescent moons -- one under each titty. We'd been there about a month and this was the closest we'd been to a woman. She was not happy about the heat, about how useless and stupid we appeared to be and she promised that if any of us pulled any bullshit on her live fire range she would shoot us. Check, check, and check.

So we get our weapons and ammunition and take our assigned positions. We are asked if there are any left hand shooters and I raise my hand. Jones looks at me and says "Well, if it isn't Mr Special himself" and tells me to pick up my shit and move to the end of the line.

After a few familiarization shots we begin the course of instruction on the various shooting positions and techniques and move through the practice round.

We are instructed that we are not allowed to clear any malfunctions. We are to maintain muzzle discipline, put the weapon on safe and raise our hand and wait for an instructor.

I have a couple of malfunctions during practice and do as I was instructed. One of the male instructors clears them, adding "I hate these 22's. They suck. Just do the best you can."

We progress to the qualification phase, and the senior instructor leaves for some reason. My half of the line gets Jones. I have several malfunctions and Jones assists me. During the offhand kneeling portion she corrects my form -- she leans in from above and behind me, shadowing me, and in order to get her hands on the rifle has to rest those big soft titties on my neck and shoulder. The right titty is mashed up against my ear. I can feel her body heat and smell this intoxicating mix of clean sweat and perfume. I was 18 years old and basically nothing but a self-propelled erection at this point in my life. I was seriously struggling to concentrate because I was excited and terrified all at the same time.

Then we moved to the prone position and I had a malfunction every second or third shot. By the 4th time she was pissed. She said "I'm getting pretty fuckin' tired of getting down on the ground with you, Airman. What is your problem?"

It was a rhetorical question but I was 18 and suffering from a painful boner. "It's this piece of shit rifle, ma'am."

"What?? Get up goddammit. Lay the weapon down, move your hands away from it and get out of my goddamned way!!"

So I did, and she got down, cleared the weapon, reloaded it and began firing, apparently to demonstrate it was all me. Click--clear. Click--clear. Bang, click--clear. And so on.

She furiously shot and cleared about a dozen malfunctions before realizing I didn't have enough ammo left to finish qualifying. I was pulled out of line and had to wait until my flight finished shooting. Then I got back down to reshoot the prone portion again but this time Jones basically spooned me--half laying on me with her left leg between my legs and her knee up against my ass, and those glorious titties mashed into my shoulder as she hand fed each round into the chamber.

Then she started harassing me quietly. "You planned this shit, didn't you, you sneaky little bastard. You ain't slick, slick. You like this don't you? All this ass and tits rubbing on your skinny ass pretending you're having rifle trouble. Well, don't you? Don't answer. You know you do."

Finally the bolt closed on the last round and she said. "Foreplay time is over, get the fuck off my firing line"

I shot an excellent last group and qualified.

When we saw our senior TI the next day during open ranks, he leaned in and whispered "I hear you got dry humped yesterday by the biggest tits at Lackland. Good for you."

I was Mr Special from then on.