Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Story is intended for a mature audience, age 18 or 21 in some countries. Story features, straight and lesbian sex, implied rape, a scene of futanari and gender transformations of male to female and female to male. The story also contains graphic violence and language. Serving with Distinction contains elements of the Werewoman Handbook series as well as lore from other werewoman fiction.

Darkness surrounds me. I hear a young woman giggling, then another and yet another, as the silhouette of a woman steps forth. Her features are hidden but she has a warmth and calming air about her.

“Welcome home,” the voice says. “Do not despair, for your future stretches far beyond your own comprehension. I have great plans for you.”

“Where am I, what do you want from me?” I ask in a worried tone.

“I cannot tell you yet, but you will see more of me soon,” she says. “I need you to stay safe until then watch for and WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!!!,”

“Huh?”

“WAKE THE FUCK UP MACGREGGOR!!!”

The sound reverberates around me as I feel a sharp pain on my side.

I open my eyes to see a brightness quickly overshadowed by the shape of large man with a bald head sporting sunglasses.
“I didn’t say you could sleep on this range,” the large man says in a thick New York accent as bits of spit laced with chewing tobacco spew out.

“No SIR!!!” I shout.

Regaining vision and focus I see Gunnery Sergeant Berry staring me down with a look of disgust and anger.

“Your relay is almost up, but then you’d know that if you paid the fuck attention Serrggeant!” he shouts in a tone that both challenges my rank and discipline. “Get your shit on and go to the firing line.”

Getting up, I look for Corporal Deveraux, the one who was supposed to warn me of anyone on the warpath and wake me up from my cat nap. I see him 100 yards away, smoking in a circle with other Marines and laughing. I also see half the company asleep on their packs and gear.

Motherfucker.

With the speed of a race pit crew, I don my plate carrier armor, Kevlar helmet, M4 Carbine and camera. Let me introduce myself, the name’s, Nate, Nate MacGreggor and this is my life.

Sweat covers every inch of me as I pant in the 95 degree heat. September in Guam is not like September in the states. I reach for my camelback bladder on my back and with a tiny moment of relief, it still feels cool and half-full. I dash for the column of Marines grabbing ammunition from the nearby table.

A grunt hands me my ammo and I begin to load my magazines with the appropriate amount of ammunition and prepare to do my live fire training.

Corporal Antione Donaldo, 1st Squad leader, 1st Platoon, Bravo Company greets me with a shit eating grin.

“The look on your face was priceless, Mac,” says the tall African American grunt with a smile. “He gives us all shit, but you he likes to gift wrap it and sign, seal, deliver.”

“Yeah well it doesn’t help that I’m the reason he got his ass chewed and written up during pre-deployment training,” I respond. “I know I did run off during our raid mission to get a better shot with my camera, how was I supposed to know he’d move his team so fast and far?”

“No excuses is the name of the game man,” said Donaldo.

I know he’s right and I also know that Gunny Berry is the kind of guy that flips shit at the slightest error. I put that thought away and focus back on preparing to shoot. I make my way to my firing position, wait for instruction. The command is given, I prepare my weapon, sight in and fire.

CEASEFIRE!!!

I approach the target and see the tight cluster of holes greets me from the chest of the paper dummy I just went to war with.
“Well at least you can shoot,” says Berry as he spits a wad of chewing tobacco. “Too bad your job is as useful as shit flavored candy.”
Lovely wordsmith for an asshole.

“I definitely would try sleeping with one eye open tonight if I were you,” said Donaldo with a chuckle. “Gunny’s especially grouchy today.”
Today’s hike almost killed a third of us with all the heat and humidity. Just another day in paradise I tell myself.

I’m used to dealing with assholes. I’m what you call a military journalist. I take pictures, caption photos, write stories, work with media and generally tell the Marine story. Been doing it for about 7 years and worked with many people under the sun. The Gunny Berry’s who don’t care about this occupation also don’t see its significance, the Donaldo’s, who’ve seen what we can do, see it as a way to preserve history. He also sees me as his personal photographer, but that part isn’t the point.

After I finish shooting for the day, I holster my rifle, pull out my camera and spend the rest of the daylight hours capturing some shots of the training. My day’s take of training photos are mixed with shots of shenanigans by bored Marines.

“Yeah this is history,” I chuckle.

I smoke a few cigarettes , take off my armor and lie down next to my gear. Laying adjacent to me is my good buddy Sergeant Brad Sizemore. His sunglasses hide his eyes but he appears to be napping. His long face and pointed nose are the only physical differences between us, otherwise we could be brothers.I take piece of my bar and prepare to lodge it in his nose.
“You are a lousy prankster Mac,” he says with a blank face.

I throw the ball of protein at Deveraux and resume eating. The blonde-haired combat engineer sits up and moves his earbud to my face.
“New mix track from Tiesto, thought you’d like it,” he says.

“Thanks Brad”

Listening to the music I get lost in the beat for a moment. Brad is an Afghanistan veteran like me. He served in Sangin while I travelled all over that damn country. Like me, he’s an enabler that supports the mission except he supports it by blowing shit up. He’s been a good friend for the past four months. We met while standing guard in an Amphibious Assault Vehicle. I knew we were gonna be best bros since started singing “Queen” and “Tenacious D” on a motivation hike.

“owwwww” I grimace.

“Shrapnel bothering you again?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’d think the docs would be able to get all the tiny metal pellets and rocks out,” I say with sarcasm.

We both chuckle and spend the rest of the day relaxing while trying to enjoy this paradise. I fall asleep inside my sleeping bag soon after the near full moon arrives.

Once more I am in the shadows, I see what looks like a hallway dimly lit. I can see many doors open. In the first room on my left I can see a young teen, his back is turned to me. I see him reach for some books. They look like art books. He reaches into his pants and begins to masturbate.

I turn to my right and it’s a dark room with the light of the computer monitor casting a silhouette. I approach the boy to see what he’s watching. It’s a short length lesbian clip. The boy doesn’t notice me.

I keep moving down the hallway. Each room I pass is the same, each boy is the same one. In one room he is drawing naked women dancing, in another he is looking at a PLAYBOY. I can see that I am watching the sexual coming age of someone, someone who feels close to me.

The farther down the hallway I get I can see the boy’s taste’s change. In one room I see him sex chatting. In another he is rubbing what appears to be women’s pantyhose or leggings on his cheek. Farther down the hallway I can see him trying on various garments.
The last door at the end of the hallway, I hear shouting and sobbing. The voices I can’t make out, but the anger tells me it is an all too familiar sight. Two parents are standing over the boy, shouting at him as the child holds his hands in his face. The mother is holding a pair of panties in hand and shaking them in disgust. The boy is being scolded for what his parents caught him doing. I feel sympathy and for a strange reason feel like I’ve been here. The scene darkens and I feel like I am moving to another place in time.

Now I smell what appears to be burning timber. A faint glow enters my gaze and I cautiously move toward it. As I step forward I see that it is a bonfire. I see a bunch of shadows dancing around it as I enter the clearing. One of them moves away from the fire and saunters toward me. With a quick run and leap it tackles me to the ground. I see she is a woman as she plants a firm kiss on my lips and centers her face to mine. I see her facial features. Blonde layered, cascading hair frames her model face, for what can be described as a combination of Kate Upton and Scarlett Johansson. She hovers her beautiful face over mine while keeping me pinned and immobile.
She opens her mouth wide and fangs descend from her lips. A guttural sound escapes her lips and…

ROOAAAARRR

Startled, I wake up to find the first light of dawn shine between the palm trees.

Helluva dream

The company of Marines and me pack up camp, eat breakfast, shave and prepare for the 10 mile hike back to ship.
Scattered along the asphalt route, dead roasted toads remind me of how hot it is getting in the morning.

“At least this is downhill” I tell myself out loud.

Around noon we make it back to the grey painted, steel behemoth we call home. The USS Hickory, landing support vessel and logistics ship, never looked more welcoming. I make it to my quarters, drop my gear and get to the ship’s bathroom before the rush to get off crowds the passageways.

After expelling the gallon of water I drank this morning, I put away my dirty tan camouflage uniform and shower off the stink of the field. My feet ache but I know it won’t matter in two hours. I put on my most fashionable yet casual clothes. I decide on my blue plaid shirt buttoned halfway with sleeves rolled covering a white undershirt. Khaki Cargo pants are held up by a cloth belt and brown schooner shoes cover short brown ankle socks.

Just as I soon as I finish spraying cologne, Brad arrives in my quarters. He is wearing a “suns out guns out” T-shirt under a thin black short sleeve button up, denim shorts and skater shoes. A now empty room full of stacked and neatly made bunk beds shows just how far behind the fun we are.

“The logistics guys left this morning, lucky bastards,” I say with a tinge of anger. “Can you believe they left the room in shambles, took me an hour to hide their mess.”

“Yeah, well pussy, at least you worked enough these few days to really enjoy this port call,” Brad teased. “Who knows you might get laid.”

“Couldn’t we all use that,” I say with a smile. “Our hotel is locked on right?”

“Yeah got us on the 8th floor in the Hyatt,” he reassures me. “I can’t say how lucky we are. We got the last cheap room and we’re only a handful of guys allowed to stay overnight. We are going to get pussy easy my friend.”

I laugh, knowing full well how hard tonight’s fun will hit us. The military knows that when it lets loose hundred and Marines and Sailors on a couple nights of liberty, shit gets out of hand real fast. So getting permission from our superiors took some heavy asking. Thankfully, my Captain was enlisted once and knew the struggle.

I finish combing my hair and examine myself one last time before departing. My dirty blonde hair is trimmed, my square forehead and jaw is clean and my nose is acne free.

“LETS DO THIS!!” I shout.

It takes about 15 minutes to get through the exodus of Marines leaving the ship. Brad and I spend the daylight hours shopping. We look for clothes, my brand of cigarettes and other essentials I can’t normally get on a warship in the middle of the ocean. As I walk past the lingerie, my mind wanders to the display models. Their sexy poses and garments catch my eye. I brush it off after a minute passes and proceed to check out.