The first time I saw Major Cade Jameson his pants were around his ankles. Taught, smooth glutes pushed over snug boxer briefs that gloriously enhanced every inch of the hard-earned muscles peeking out from under them. Those perfect glutes called to me like a siren, beckoning for me to come forward and, “squeeze here.” But I’m getting ahead myself. To tell this story right, I’ll have to start with the present and not the past. I owe Cade a debt. A life for a life. My name is Brecklyn Brannon, and I’m not who I claim to be.
The first time I saw Major Cade Jameson his pants were around his ankles. Taught, smooth glutes pushed over snug boxer briefs that gloriously enhanced every inch of the hard-earned muscles peeking out from under them. Those perfect glutes called to me like a siren, beckoning for me to come forward and, “squeeze here.” But I’m getting ahead myself. To tell this story right, I’ll have to start with the present and not the past. I owe Cade a debt. A life for a life. My name is Brecklyn Brannon, and I’m not who I claim to be.