Captain Dr. Philip Eames, and Me

Captain Dr. Philip Eames, and Me

Michelle's husband dies in Iraq. His best friend dates her.

**

How many times do you meet the love of your life, the perfect man, the perfect husband? Once, would be my guess, and that's only if you're lucky. Thorsten was sent to me from the angels in heaven, of that I was sure. Yes, he was good looking, and that's always nice. Yes, he was smart as the dickens, and that always nice, too. Yes, he loved me to an extraordinary degree, and for me, that's essential.

We fell in love while in college, and I worked full time while going to graduate school myself, to put him through medical school. We postponed having children until we could have enough time to breathe, let alone take care of kids. When it came to sex, though, Thor was perfection itself. I hadn't known it before I met Thor, that fateful day in college, but I needed a man truly to take charge, to toss me about, to fuck me to his heart's content, to brutally use me. I loved it when Thor did that. I didn't just love it: I needed it. I even craved it.

How our lives turned to shit overnight happened suddenly. Thor's best friend from kindergarten through college, Gary, died in Iraq. The surgeon operating on Gary, out in the field, had botched a fairly routine lifesaving operation.

Shit happens. Doctors are operating under duress. Conditions are suboptimal at best. Thor and I knew it all, and we had heard it all before, it was a fact of life, but Thor fell apart. He had just finished his residency, and he enlisted. Off he went to the Middle East, fulfilling his patriotic duty. I waited for him, and got my PhD in Comparative Literature, while he was saving lives overseas.

He came home in a box. The details are sketchy, but he had been sent to the front to try to save a soldier who could not be moved. I don't even know if he saved the soldier, or not. What I do know is that nobody saved Thor. Some wounds are rather quickly fatal, and there's nothing one can do. Life is like that, sometimes.

I fell apart. I circled the drain for around six months before, with a lot of help from friends, therapists, and especially some fabulous serotonin uptake meds, I finally resurfaced, and screwing my courage to the sticking place, I faced the world. I had interviewed for jobs just before Thor died, and I was due to start teaching, out in Indiana, in the fall. I was just barely well enough to start my job.

I moved to Indiana. Indiana is quite a bit different from New York. People smile at each other, and for no reason at all. The smiles are meaningless, too. They smile at you, and then stab you in the back. They're nice on the street, and aggressive in their cars. Of course, there are precious few people on the street. In New York, who you are is defined by your coat. In Indiana, it's defined by your car. An old Subaru just doesn't cut it, unless you live in Lafayette, home to the Subaru factory. My job wasn't in Lafayette. Then there's hair style. I could not wrap my head around how some women, hell, most, wore their hair. Did they actually think that was attractive? Finally, there was food. Chinese food was foreign food. So was Italian. Middle Eastern food? Fuhgeddaboudit.

I had to make some adjustments. Except for the hair styles, I made them. I traded in my Subaru for a Ford F-150. I even bought a gun, just one without bullets. You know, to fit in? I went to Don's Guns over in Indy (why pay less?). I bought myself a 38-caliber single action revolver, which I was assured was a sexy "ladies' gun." The "sexy" part was essential. Why else would I want one, if not for the sexy part? Don Davis died in 2016, but he was an institution in Indiana. I learned these things so easily, it was frightening. Don Davis was named among the top five dealers who sell guns to criminals by the Federal Department of Justice. He was ranked at #4. Luckily for me, he also sold guns to people who were not criminals.

**

I began teaching. I was good at it, and the students loved me, and I loved them. I slowly, ever so slowly, began to heal. After around a year I was able to go through Thor's effects, that had come home, along with his body. There was one envelope I was afraid of. It was marked "Personal. Do NOT Open. PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL." I had always known Thor would make a good doctor, because his handwriting was only borderline legible. I giggled, as I deciphered it.

I smoked some weed, got a good bottle of a nice, full bodied Cotes du Rhone French red wine, I put a Xanax in a dish next to me, and I sat at my dining table, and stared at the envelope. I had a glass of wine, and stared some more. Next to me I had one of Thor's love letters. I had read it around a hundred times already, but I kept it there at hand, just in case I needed it. Finally, in a brief, fleeting, burst of courage, I opened the envelope for the first time. I was holding my breath. I saw what was in it.

I burst into laughter. Every picture Thor had ever taken of me, they were all there. There were sweet pictures, for example of me laughing in the park near his medical school, a picture of me when I came to pick him up after his first solo surgery, and many others at various meaningful times. I began to cry.

There were other pictures, too, however, and they were soiled and dogeared, from frequent use. Those were the risqué pictures. In one I was dressed, but you could see some side boob through my halter top; in a second my nipples were poking dramatically at my sweater top; and in a third I was dressed in Thor's favorite outfit of mine, which was a tight, clinging dress that showed off my hourglass figure. I was wearing it without a bra, and only a blind man would not have been able to discern that fact.

Then there were the pictures I knew he must have treasured. They weren't risqué, they were more like pornographic. In the first one, there I was, topless, and smiling. In another I was stark naked, with my artistically trimmed bush on full display, and in a third, I was sprawled on my bed, legs open, with everything on display, and a silly grin on my face, although I highly doubt Thor wasted a lot of time looking at my face in that particular picture! Those were the soft porn pictures. After them came the hard-core pictures.

There was one disturbing note, though. Behind the pictures of me, were pictures of another woman. She too was naked in some of her pictures. Those pictures, too, were worn with use. There were lots of possible explanations. One was that the men shared nasty pictures of their wives and girlfriends. I figured that probably happened a lot with men starved for female affection in faraway war zones. Naked, real women, whom your war buddies would talk about, had to be sexier than porn actresses on the Internet.

Maybe Thor had borrowed some pictures from a friend? Had he jerked off to pictures of this other little slut of a sexpot? I got jealous, and angry. Then I thought, hell, the man was in a war zone, trying to save soldiers' lives. Give him a break! I decided to forgive him, posthumously.

My next thought was, if he had these pictures of some other naked sexpot, did that mean he had lent the pictures of me to a friend? I shuddered at the thought! I just sat there, staring at the pictures of this woman. Four glasses of wine later I l chanced to look at the background of the pictures. Those taken outdoors (when the woman had her clothes on) were taken in a dessert. In one picture, she was in uniform. The other woman had been an army nurse! Did my sweet husband, my patriot who went to Iraq to save lives, the man whom I had sweated and toiled to put through medical school, had he enjoyed the bed of another woman, half a world away, off in the middle east?

Did it matter? He was dead. I could ask his best friend over there, a man named Captain Eames, but would he tell me the truth? He wouldn't want to hurt me, probably. He'd think, what did it matter now, anyway? It mattered, though. It mattered to me. I called my brother.

Facial recognition technology has become quite remarkable. Two days later my brother, who works for a government agency I shall not name, gave me the name, rank, and serial number of the bimbo slut inside of whom my beloved Thor had been wetting his dick, over in Iraq. I'll bet she was a screamer, too. Thor loved when he made me scream, sometimes from fear, sometimes from extreme pleasure, but usually from a mixture of the two. Thor's sexpot bimbo slut nurse had left the service, and she was now supporting herself as a surgical nurse at a hospital in New York City. I booked a ticket for my next vacation. I brought some of the pictures with me.

At least Thor had good taste. I rang her bell. She wasn't surprised to see me, I had let her know I was coming to see her, and when she did in fact see me, she burst into tears. The woman he had fucked over in that wasteland of a desert was totally gorgeous. I kind of knew that from the pictures, but seeing her in person drove it home like an icepick through my heart.

We went to dinner at Carmine's, an old Italian institution on the Upper West Side. We had so much food we took some of it home to her place. We spent five hours drinking and talking about Thor and how wonderful he was. In the end, I couldn't hate her, and we actually became friends. Thor had consistent taste in women, and Sarah and I were a lot alike. Sarah was salt of the earth. I felt a little guilt for having a priori hated her.

Around 2AM, when I bid my tearful goodbyes to Sarah, she asked me if the good Captain Dr. Philip Eames had contacted me? He was now back from Iraq, too. I said no, he hadn't. Could she give him my number or email or Facebook or something? I told her yes. She smiled.

There was something in her smile. I took a risk and asked. "Sarah, were you and Dr. Eames intimate, too? I mean did you, uh, with him, as well as with Thor?"

Sarah seemed surprised I had asked. "You're just as quick as Thor had always said," she replied.

"Thor talked about me to you?" I asked.

"Only constantly. I always felt he pretended I was you when we, uh, you know. I didn't mind. You had to be there, Michelle. Nothing made sense. Only the dead and the dying were real, and they were all around us. It was a time-out-of-time, you know?"

Sarah had to work the next day. I busied myself with a museum or two, and did some clothes shopping. I met Sarah for dinner, and she surprised me when she brought the good Captain Dr. Philip Eames with her. I had thought their affair was over. After all, Sarah had dumped Philip in favor of Thor. It turned out it was indeed over, sort of. There was definitely a little sexual tension between Sarah and the Captain. Sarah explained, though, that she had simply thought I would enjoy meeting Thor's best friend over in Iraq. She was right.

The three of us talked practically the entire night, until Sarah kicked us out, because she had to sleep. She had the swing shift the next day, and when one is a surgical nurse, one needs one's sleep in order to be sharp at all times. Philip took me back to my hotel, which was a 'cheap' hotel down in Greenwich Village. (There is no such thing as a cheap hotel in Manhattan; the best one can do is a less expensive hotel!)

He tried to give me a kiss at my door. "It's too soon, Philip," I said, and he nodded. He looked crestfallen. I flashed on the wonderful Sarah, and I remembered how she had served as a stand-in for me, as Thor had fucked her to smithereens, and I said, "On second thought..."

I counted, as I lay in bed, once Philip had finally finished kissing me at the door to my hotel room. I didn't count the number of times he had kissed me, which was a lot. We must have kissed for fifteen minutes, or probably more. It was easy to do, since Philip gives magically wonderful kisses. No, I didn't count the kisses I had exchanged with Philip, rather I counted the number of men I had kissed in my life.

There was that kissing game in tenth grade, when I kissed two boys. In eleventh and twelfth grades I had kissed four more boys. That was six, for high school. In college, of course, I had done a lot more than kiss. So, it turned out I had not kissed that many college men, because kissing often led to sex, and besides the inevitable sexual mistakes, I had only had two serious boyfriends in college, before I met Thor. Then it was Thor and only Thor, and the two of us kissed a lot. We had sex a lot, too. The man was oversexed, and I was only too happy to oblige his near constant sexual urges, no matter how strange they were.

That meant, in total, five men kissed me in college, and six in high school, for a total of eleven men. Philip was the twelfth man I had ever kissed in my life. Philip could really kiss, too. I realized, as I lay in bed, that I had become seriously aroused by Philip's kisses. These were my first sexual urges since Thor had come home in a box. I hadn't had sex in almost three years, I realized. The last time had been the night before Thor had left for Iraq. That had been quite a memorable time, too!

I had one more night in New York, and I agreed to go on a date with Philip. My stomach was in knots the entire day, worrying about what might happen at the end of the date. The date itself was quite pleasant, and at dinner I pumped Philip constantly for stories of Thor when he was in Iraq.

"Thor had the God complex, you know?" Philip said.

I nodded; I knew he was like that. He thought he could save anyone.

"He had the talent of God, too, or so it seemed. He always knew instinctively just what to do, and he'd order everyone around as if he were a drill sergeant. His hands had the gift of life. It was damn good theater watching him in action. All the nurses were in love with him, even the male nurses," Philip said.

I raised an eyebrow.

"No, Thor wasn't bisexual. I didn't mean love that way, I meant admiration," Philip clarified. I smiled. "He was just a damn good surgeon. The best one of the entire unit. Until he wasn't."

"What happened?"

"One soldier came in and Thor treated his bullet wound. He had to amputate his leg. He was so focused on the wound, and the skill needed for an amputation, that he completely missed the cancer. He might have saved his life if he had realized that the poor soldier had cancer. But he didn't; he just missed it. In the field, we're not just surgeons. We have to be generalists, too. We need to make the diagnosis and treat the wounds, both. We had four wounded that day. It was triage, and Thor was under tremendous pressure. Missing the cancer was completely understandable," Philip said.

"He fell apart, didn't he?" I stated, more than asked.

"Yes. That's when he started volunteering for riskier and riskier missions. I couldn't decide whether he was trying to save the world in compensation for his mistake, or if he had a death wish," Philip said.

"He was trying to save the world," I said. I knew Thor.

"Yeah, maybe. He got his death wish, though," Philip said. We were both silent for a long time. When the desserts came, Philip picked up the conversation, again.

"Thor was sure popular. He shared, too. We all got to see wonderful pictures of you. It really cheered us up," Philip said.

I sat up straight. "Pictures? Thor passed around pictures of me?"

"Oh, Michelle. I'm afraid the entire unit saw compromising pictures of you, and probably every guy there has jerked off while gazing into your baby blue eyes, wishing he was, well, you know..." Philip said. I had suspected this, but nevertheless was horrified to learn it actually did happen.

"You too, I imagine?" I asked, trying to hide my dismay at having such intimate pictures of me passed around for a bunch of men to enjoy. I saw Philip blush for the first time.

"You really are quite beautiful, you know," Philip said. "And sexy. Especially when you're naked. Your breasts are..."

"That's enough," I said. I was losing it.

"Okay, but you can't deny you're every man's wet dream, Michelle."

"Even when I'm properly clothed, like tonight?" I teased. I'm sure my eyes were sparkling, even as I was dying inside.

"Well, maybe we can fix that later, after I take you to your hotel," Philip said, with a twinkle in his eye. I said nothing, and devoted all my attention, like a green laser, to my dessert. So many emotions were swirling around in my head that I couldn't have formed a coherent thought to save my life.

I really loved the way Philip kissed me. I was horny, too. The last time I was kissed, and the last time I had made love, both, was the night before Thor left. It had now been close to three years. I was a sitting duck for a man with Philip's talents. Philip and I had discussed Thor all night, and when Philip spread my legs and entered me that fateful night, it was as if he were my beloved Thor, back from the dead, making passionate love to me. It was beautiful. Philip had been tender and loving, as if he knew how fragile I actually was.

"Did you climax?" Philip asked, as we lay together in my hotel bed.

"No, but it was really nice. You sure did, though! You have healthy balls. That was a lot of jism. Have you been saving it up, or something?" I replied. I was leaking his cum all over the place.

"Thor said you like rough sex, too," Philip said.

I was appalled Thor had not only circulated those pictures, but discussed my sexual preferences and peccadillos with his friend. Your true love is not supposed to do things like that! I was horribly embarrassed.

"Let's keep Thor out of the bedroom. I just had sex with a man named Philip Eames. Thor is dead and buried," I said, repeating the near constant refrain from my therapist out in Indiana.

Suddenly Philip became like a man possessed. He kissed me hard, and he threw me over, onto my stomach, forcing my ass into the air. He began to play with my anus using his fingers of one hand, while he finger-fucked me, fast and hard, in my pussy with his other hand. I began to moan. They were my first moans in almost three years.

Suddenly I felt Philip's cock push brutally into my cunt, shoving it in balls deep. He began fucking me so hard his thrusts moved me up the bed, until my head hit the bed board, not once, not twice, but over and over again. All the time while he ravished me with force and fury, his fingers were fucking my asshole at the same time. My moans were really loud, and then it came: My first climax, my first orgasm, in nearly three years. Had I been more religious I would have blushed to have heard the words coming out of my filthy mouth at the time. Then I climaxed a second time. I was on the verge of a record-breaking third climax when Philip finally lost it, and dumped a second mega loud of spunk deep inside me. Wow.

I fell onto my stomach, satisfied and exhausted. I had only once before experienced raw sex like that. Philip lay on top of me, his cock still wondrously embedded in my love canal. He also still had one finger resting inside my ass. From time to time he would wiggle it inside my ass, and I'd give a small giggle.

Philip told me years later it was those giggles when he would wiggle his finger inside my ass, and my two mega climaxes, plus of course my good looks and my sweet nature (yeah, right) that stole his heart that night. My heart, on the other hand, was right where it always was, and all I could relate to was that I had cheated on Thor.

Philip knew something was up, that we had crossed some line, some kind of Rubicon river neither of us had known was there. In my mind, I was still wed to Thor and cheating on him. Given the fabulous sex we had, it was remarkable how poor our relation had become when I left to go back home to Indiana. Our tones of voice were hostile, and neither of us wanted ever to see the other again. We had enjoyed a whirlwind romance gone bad.