Home for Halloween a Hero's Welcome

As if plucked out of a cornfield in the mid-west somewhere, she was pretty in a country girl sort of way and immediately he liked her, especially when she was working with him, helping him, massaging him, and touching him. He spent as much time looking down the open top of her scrubs, as much as he did staring up at her pretty face. He was jealous when she was working with someone else, while knowing that they were feeling the same attraction for her that he had. She was just doing her job and he was bored out of his mind and horny.

Given so much medication at the hospital, even though he was on a drug induced high, once out, whatever giddy euphoria he felt was quickly ruined by reality. It's amazing how so many wounded military personnel force themselves to live just to come home to die. A slow suicide of self-pity and desperation that leads to death by depression, by drugs and/or by alcohol that they take to ease their mental pain, but that so weakens and worsens their condition, their body, their mind, and their spirit, that they just wither away and die. Obviously, possessing the will to live, no doubt, she saw something special in him to warrant her to give him more attention that she gave anyone else. Not that she didn't do her job in caring less for others than she did in caring more for him, she just went over and above her duties and responsibilities by working with him off the clock to make sure that he wasn't a casualty of home, after he had already been a casualty of war.

In such a vulnerable and frail state, his mental condition was much worse than his physical one. The fact that he was so physically fit, fitter than most, would help him to recover in body, but it was the mind that plagued him, as if he was sickened with a virus, an infectious disease of the mind that would eventually claim his body, too. She knew, no doubt, that he'd take a longer time to recover but, apparently, she saw that he was worth her extra effort. Evidently, it must have been obvious to her that he had qualities that the others didn't possess for her to take the extra time with him. His drive and determination was already there, he just had to channel that inward to fortify himself instead of wasting his time on negative thoughts and his energy on things he'd never do again.

She couldn't do it alone. She could only help him to walk, when he was ready to strap on the legs that were especially made for him. He was ready, until he fell in a deep depression again, a funk that, had he had access to alcohol, he'd lose himself in a purple haze of sorrow and remorse. Woe is me is so much easier than to be all he could be without legs. Learning to live a new life different from the old one, she's had enough success stories to know that he could do it.

A relapse in his mental condition, he was now content just to sit in his wheelchair to become the cripple that he's not and watch some of the guys play football from the hall window out back. If you need to find Brad, he's there, even when they aren't playing football. Staring at the empty field, maybe imagining playing a game, seems is all he wants to do with his days.

Yet, there's more to life than running and playing football. Not everyone who watches football can play or have played football. Most football fans just love the game. Most football fans occupy their minds with other things they can do and are good at doing. Football to them is as much entertainment, as it is a diversion.

She just needed to show him the way by having him discover his passion for something else, something that he could excel at doing, to give him a renewed reason for life, not so easy to teach someone who's always been so physical to now be more cerebral. Not that he still couldn't be physical but, mindful of his new limitations, he needed to know his limits and measure and access his success by that, instead of how he was before. In reality, even someone like him, someone without legs, had no limitations. The only limits he had was the ones that he chose give himself.

Since football is his passion, maybe instead of being the player he always wanted to be, he now could be the coach that he always should have been. Not everyone who knows the game can play, which is why there are sidelines, press boxes, and sports pages. Just because he couldn't be competitive doesn't mean he still can't be part of the game he so loves. More than a game to him, football was his life and she needed to show him a different side of football, one that he could participate in from the sidelines instead of between the goal posts.

Then, one day, as if a new dawn had cleared his mind of all the debris that weighed him down, he was sitting up in bed, already dressed and wearing his legs that he wore once to see if they fit and never wore again. Apparently, he wanted to see if he had the balance to stand on them, and, of course, he didn't and fell. He couldn't stand without the help and the shoulder of the orderlies to lean upon and without the special harness equipment and handrails that they had in the rehabilitation ward. Now, he was ready and he worked really hard to master walking with his new legs, but he worked too hard and when his stumps started to hurt, swell, and bleed, when more shrapnel forced its way out, after, yet, another operation, he had to start all over again with new legs, more therapy, and more depression.

"You're lucky to be alive, Marine."

As if receiving a shot of adrenaline, whenever he needed it the most, the words of his commanding officer echoed in his head. This was his life, yet, so tied to those who didn't make it home, his life and what he did with it, wasn't just about him anymore. This was about his buddies, the ones who didn't have a chance to return home. There were enough dead and broken soldiers that never healed. He didn't want to be just another statistic. He had to recover for them. He had to do it for them. He had to show them that he was still their hero, worthy of their praise, and worthy of being a Marine.

In bed and wheelchair bound again, he had to wait for his scars to heal before he could wear his legs and practice walking again. When he was ready, he took the time, something he had a lot of lately, to learn how to walk all over again. One step at a time, step by feeble, unsteady step, feeling as if walking on a spring loaded stilt, the footstep he took so small and wobbly in the beginning felt strange to him. Eventually more steady and confidently assured, it took him months to heal from his physical wounds and to get his body back to where it needed to be to go home. Yet, it was more difficult to heal his psychological wounds and to get his mind where it needed to be for him to truly heal and continue to recover fully.

When he was discharged, he gave Molly an address, just a PO Box really, where she could reach him, should she want to reach him. Not really sure why he did that, he had his good days and his bad ones and it must have been on a good day that he felt man enough and had the courage enough to think that she'd want someone like him. Not yet lovers, they developed a connection and became friends.

She came to him one late one night, when the other guys were sleeping and moved him to a private place. He had a bad day and he could see on her face that he had upset her. She wheeled him in an unoccupied room and removed her top. She helped him get up on the bed and they started making out. It had been a long while since he felt a woman and he was sure feeling her. She had beautiful breasts and he loved sucking her nipples, as she slowly stroked his cock. Glad that was still working, at least he still had one good leg.

"I can tell your feeling better, Brad," she said giving him a smile and a kiss, as she continued stroking him.

"I never imagined receiving this kind of personal therapy, Molly."

"Yeah, well, that's just what I figured you'd think, Brad. I don't do this to all the guys. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that I never gave a hand job or a blowjob to any serviceman before, because I have."

"Actually, I'm surprised you gave hand jobs and blowjobs to some of the guys. Why them?"

"After working so closely with someone for a period of time, it's impossible not to develop feelings for them. Then, there are those who are unable to sexually satisfy themselves."

"What do you mean, they can't get an erection anymore?"

"Well, there are those, too, but I'm specifically talking about the men who return home without hands or arms."

He looked at her remembering the poem about the guy feeling sorry for himself because he didn't' have shoes, until he saw a man that didn't have any feet. Now that he didn't have feet and legs, for that matter, truly, he should have a problem. He couldn't imagine how worse off he'd be without his hands, instead of losing his legs and his feet.

"I wasn't judging you, Molly. I'm just happy that I'm one of the guys you feel close enough to do this."

"It's different with you, Brad. I realized after meeting you that it was just sex with the others. I'm starting to fall for you."

"I really like you, too, Molly. You're pretty and smart and I love your tits, but why would you want someone like me, a half a man, a man with no legs."

"I don't look at you in that way. The loss of your legs doesn't define you. Someone like you is strong enough inside to go beyond that, so that it is no longer a disability. I envision you competing in Iron Man competitions, one day. That's who you still are, big, strong Brad," she said looking at him, giving him a sexy smile, before giving him a long, wet kiss.

Then, she moved her body halfway down the bed and took him in her mouth. In all the blowjobs he's had in his life and being a good looking guy and a football star, he's had his share of blonde, cheerleader blowjobs, but this blowjob, by far, was the best blowjob he's ever had. Maybe it was so memorable because it's been so long. Maybe it was so good because it was Molly blowing him, a woman with whom he was beginning to develop a strong attachment. Maybe because he had been so horny and he needed to cum. Unlike the other guys, who just masturbated in bed, he didn't want to do that, he didn't want to be like that. He wanted to be better, stronger, and more in control than that, than just jerking off in the hospital. How pathetic is that?

Things changed between him and Molly after that. Certainly, she touched him more, rubbing his shoulders and his arms. He was the one who grew more distant. He was the one who was afraid, after she made her feelings known for him. His mind wasn't right and she'd be fired, if he told his psychiatrist what she did and what she had done to others. What should have worked like a miracle worked just the opposite. By her giving him sex, it made him realize how truly pathetic he was. A bittersweet moment, the repercussions of making him want her, when he wasn't ready to feel worthy of her love.

Besides, he was thinking more about his future without legs. He was preoccupied with going home and how differently everyone would treat him. The hardest thing for him was to return home in the way that he was now without legs, half a man with a broken spirit and a troubled mind. Yet, he did it for his lost buddies. He did it for them. He did it for his folks. He did it for his friends and family. He did it for Molly. More importantly, he did it for himself.

"OORAH!"

At the stroke of 9pm, when all the kids were home pleading with their parents to have one more piece of Halloween candy, Brad was standing on his parents' front porch dressed in his full Marine Corps blues uniform with all his medals and ribbons prominently displayed. Even if he had forgotten where he lived, with all the bright lights and loud music, it would be easy to find home. Halloween was his Mom's favorite holiday and everyone was here, friends, neighbors, and relatives helping her to celebrate her special holiday.

He took a big breath before ringing the doorbell.

"Who could that be at this hour? I should have turned off the front porch light," he heard his mother saying on the other side of the door. "Do we have anymore candy? Brad's Dad rushed to his wife's side with more candy to give to the trick or treaters.

"Trick or treat," said Brad, when his mother opened the door.

There standing upon his own two artificial legs stood their son, the war hero home for Halloween.

"Brad! Oh, my God!" His mother rushed to him and gave him a bear hug that nearly knocked him over. "Everyone! Brad is home!"

The best surprise he couldn't have given his family, especially his mother, was returning home, and the best surprise they could have given him was to have invited Molly to their Halloween party, too. They've been together ever since.