Two armies face each other on opposite sides of an empty plain. Soldiers stand stock still, the only movement, their hair blowing in the southwestward wind. Mouths shut, noses turned up, stone eyes staring straight ahead, seeing nothing… or maybe taking in everything, unflinching. Hardened and disillusioned, the spirits housed within their mortal shells too accustomed to the proximity of death. Each man a bean pole- ribs visible underneath their uniforms- in his allotted square on the never-ending checkerboard stretching to the right and left and also to the rear each man an echo of the one in front of him.
In the far back, a disembodied voice from the invading army yells, “Forward! March!” The idle military machine drags forward. Booted feet churning as if connected pistons of an engine pumping in unison. The proud green grass succumbs to the trampling deep lines of marching men as the distance between armies dwindles to the point of recognizing the wrinkled details of the enemy’s war-scarred faces. The invading force, gives up the high ground marching down the slight slope to face their opposition.
The defending force has not moved. Like a forest of perfectly aligned redwood trees they do not flinch or hesitate but rather stand rooted ready to give up not a single inch. It is not in their nature to budge.
The forces draw near one another.
From the back of the invading force the same disembodied voice as before yells, “halt,” not fifty feet from the defending army. Once again both armies are idle, not a single weapon drawn. There is no threat of violence. The scene is a monument to discipline.
Without a word spoken, the invading vanguard splits down the middle and the disembodied voice advances dressed in a soldier’s uniform with a few medals dangling from his chest. A scar travels over the left side of his lip, his beard doesn’t grow there anymore. Standing twenty four feet in front of his stoic army he halts looking forward above the defending army, eyes on the far horizon.
A member of the defending army marches forward as everyone else stands still. The two men are at military rest in the dead center of the space between armies, two feet away from each other.
The invading force’s representative with the weight of his country behind him utters with pure confidence, “nice ass.”
The defending representative nods in acknowledgement and appreciation. He retaliates, “your cheekbones are incredible.”
They nod to each other then turn one-hundred and eighty degrees marching back to assimilate into their designated army. The invading force turns and marches away in an orderly fashion back to their camp.
This has been a sexual advance.