It Was a Time of Warbymagichands©
This happened many years ago. I was a young man, freshly married, settling down to a normal life. I was a virgin when we married, and could probably be described as a good person. That all changed for awhile, as things turned out.
The letter from the draft board put an end to anything normal in my life. I read and reread it, I was being drafted into the Marine Corp.
My wife at the time, Sharon, was all in tears, this was the Vietnam era, there were daily reports listing good young men we knew that had been lost.
I realized the futility of any real resistance, and being more oriented to the Navy than the Marines, I went down and signed up for a 4 year hitch.
"Might as well make the best of it!" I thought.
My training was normal, when one day the Chief came up to me and asked me if I was interested in a special program.
I was already starting to get bored with the electronics I was studying, so I jumped at the chance.
Just four months later, I graduated with honors with a special forces unit, and found myself in a nasty little Country with death at every turn.
My unit was a close knit group, we didn't associate much with anyone else. We did the jobs they ordered us to, and never talked about it afterwards.
One day it all came to a head, one of our team tripped a wire, and all hell broke loose. We lay in the mud, and our own blood. I remember seeing the mud spurt up around us from the incoming fire, then the sounds of the rounds would follow.
They cut us to rag dolls. I lay face down in the mud, foreign voices all around. I held my breath, dead to all outward appearences. From my training, I could hold my breath for a very long time. They stripped my pockets, kicked me and left.
What seemed hours later, I lifted my head and looked around. My team was dead. I began a long crawl, just a foot or so at a time.
The next thing I remember is waking up to bright lights, laying on a hospital bed. I found it hard to breath, checking myself, I knew my left lung was gone.
Weeks later, I stepped off the plane at Portland, dressed in my uniform. There was a couple of Marines in street dress, and an Army soldier traveling on the same plane. We sort of gravitated towards each other, not really saying much.
As we walked up into the main part of the airport, I noticed a group of people holding signs, acting a bit unruly. I had no idea at the time what was going on, what the protest was.
As we got closer, a young woman, face screwed up in rage, charged at me screaming "Baby killer!" Then she spat on my uniform.
I looked at her in shock, and did the only thing I could do. I snapped to attention and just stood there as she raged at us. My military brothers did the same.
I looked at her closely, a pretty young woman near my age. Her features burned into my memory, then security and police hustled us away.
Another time, another place, I may have asked the lady to dance with me. The odds are very high she would have accepted. Where her hate came from, I am not sure. I only defended my Country, my duty. Right or wrong, I still don't know today. But I do know that this was the only Country I had!
I returned to my wife, my life. The things I did as duty became memories that seemed to be something that never happened. It was the only way I could deal with that.
One day a few months later, I had to make a run back up to Portland, I was taking some business training. I made arrangements to stay at a local Motel, and settled in for what I thought would be a boring week.
One evening, I decided to head down the street to a local nightclub, just for a drink and to relax.
I was sitting at the bar, nursing my drink and watching the band, when I noticed a young lady dancing. She looked familiar, then it hit me she was the one from the airport! I looked closely, there was no doubt.
I just sat and watched her, slowly she was getting drunk. Finally I stood up and walked over to her, and held out my hand to ask her to dance. She looked up at me with a smile, no hint at all of recognition, I had expected none.
Finally the band slipped into a slower number, I reached for her and she slid into my arms, pressing softly against me. I just let nature take it's course, soon we were snuggling like long lost friends.
I learned her name was Karen, she was a student at a local college. Soon I was seated at her table, I now had her interest.
After a few hours, she was to the point where it was time to leave, I offered her a ride home. One of the other ladies she was with protested a bit, but Karen agreed to go with me.
I drove her to her apartment, and helped her out of the car. She stumbled a bit, as I walked her to the door. She turned to thank me for a nice evening, I took her in my arms for a long kiss, and felt the resistance crumble.
She opened the door, and took my hand. We were no more than inside the door when I had my hands on her. Soon I had her naked, I pushed her back on the couch and freeing myself, rammed into her with no fanfare.
I wasn't taking her for pleasure, this was anger. I pounded away at her, as she cried out in pain but then softened as the pain became pleasure.
Rolling her over, I spread her cheeks, getting the satisfaction of her yelling "NO!" but she was no match for my strength. I rammed into her, getting a shudder, then deeper as she cried out in pain. I made no attempt at being gentle.
She was murmering now, and I allowed myself to climax in a rush.
I pulled out and fastened my pants, I hadn't even bothered to remove them completely.
She looked up at me, a little fearful. I just smiled.
"Remember the guy at the airport?" I asked her. Puzzlement flashed in her eyes. "The one in the Navy uniform you spat on?" I added.
Her eyes widened, then her expression was shock.
"You just got fucked by the babykiller!" I told her.
Then I spat between her bare breasts, turned and walked out the door...