High in the Air Force

Two months after Basic Training Enlisted rocker Hippie drag

My first reaction was massive culture shock, but the sheer intensity of Basic Training didn't afford the opportunity to freak out. And there was hope for the future; the number of other enlisted stoners amazed me. Indeed, two guys got me high my very first night in tech school, right out of Basic. Drugs, mostly pot and booze, erased the fear I'd shouldered all my life, made me feel like I fit in. I knew who I was: a Party Animal. It felt so good to belong. The only insecurity remaining was my heterosexual virginity. I vowed to rectify that situation before I got to my next assignment, Williams AFB outside of Phoenix. When I finally graduated tech school, with honors, I drove from Illinois to San Francisco straight through - 56 hours - wired to the gills, stopping only for gas and a Winnemucca brothel where I gave up my cherry to a pretty, young blonde. It was a great relief to confirm my heterosexuality, however it set up a disturbing pattern. The scarce sex I had over the next five years -- fewer than ten times -- was with hookers because I still couldn't approach women and the idea of men scared me. Even worse, masturbatory release became more and more difficult. Not even the kinky letters in Penthouse Forum helped very much, though the fetish that got me the hottest was the one I soon tried: transvestism. Now that got me off big time! The problem was the towering guilt that accompanied my crossdressing; it eventually compelled me to inter my forbidden habiliment in a dumpster at midnight. I'd fight off the urges for a few weeks to a few months, and then I'd break down and buy a new ensemble. It was a continuous cycle, like I was some kind of frilly werewolf! Only marijuana could dull my shame, and I needed it all the time. Amazingly my potheadedness never interfered with my avionics job, repairing interconnected black boxes that even trained chimpanzees could have fixed. In addition to daily drug use and crossdressing, I also started playing guitar and singing in the military. Eventually I met some hippie musicians who let me hang out with them. As I got better at singing I would sometimes fill in on vocals, but I was very self-conscious about my military haircut so I purchased a wig so I would look like I fit in with the band. Of course, the wig became part of my solitary fashion shows. When I got my own apartment off base, I carried my dress-up to new levels. I had a few fantasies of turning into a girl, as well. I felt as far from the human race as one could be. I joined the Air Force to find my way, and I was now more lost than ever. Finally it was four years gone by and I received an honorable discharge. I hung out around Phoenix for the next year and a half, bumming around, working for electrical contractors and staying as high as possible. But in the end my heart cried out for the San Francisco that I badly missed, and so I headed back home to find the person I had failed to find in the military: myself.