Karma's Revenge

True story, no names except her lovers. All over 18.

In the late 1990s I was a 40 year old Major in the US Army, working in the Pentagon as a Military Intelligence Officer. I was nine years prior enlisted, most of that time was spent on a Special Forces ODA. I was separated, pending divorce from a bitch of an ex wife. I did not go to bars to meet women, I just didn't see the percentages. So I went online.

I went into an overseas chat room, and lurked for awhile, until I understood how things worked. Eventually I met a delightful school teacher who was intelligent, witty, and very quick. We chatted easily in English despite her living in Singapore.

After several months I still hadn't seen her picture, I didn't know her age, and barely knew her location. But we got along so well that I was online at every opportunity. We chatted about everything and everything. I was absolutely intrigued. I found out she was 24. She sent me a lesson plan she had just finished. It was brilliant, precise, concise, articulate, and very emotive. The students would have a great time actively participating.

Finally, a year or so after meeting her online, she sent me a picture. I was stunned. She was a dark skinned Indian with very aryan, almost Anglo features. She was almost model thin, her abs were slightly exposed and well defined. Her boobs looked like large B cups, maybe small Cs (hell, what did I know but they looked great). ...her smile was scintillating, and her eyes were the very definition of bedroom eyes.

I was awestruck and in a state of constant arousal.

Several weeks later she offered to visit me. Again, I was dumbfounded. Yes, all my professional instincts screamed at me that she must be a spy, seducing me. As a former counterintelligence officer, however, I had vetted her every way possible. I had asked all the questions, verified the information, and had her checked out. She was clean. So I agreed that she should visit. But I didn't ask how. How was she paying for the flight. There was one other question I hadn't asked. Guess what that was.

I went to pick her up several weeks later in Newark, NJ, we had an emotional meeting. First, when she walked down the ramp from International Arrivals, she was smoking hot. She oozed sex appeal. Her eyes glowed, her smile was radiant, and her hips were mesmerizing. We kissed, we melted, we bonded. I'm tall at six feet, she was, perhaps 5'5". We got her luggage and headed West on I-78, stopping at Clinton, NJ for the night. Our night was loving, passionate, and almost nonstop. She was so engaging, intelligent, and mesmerizing that we were more than simpatico, instantly.

The next day we drove to my two bedroom apartment and we settled in for the next few weeks. I took leave and we toured downtown Washington DC for several days. We rode on Skyline Drive and the Shenandoah Valley. We found out she was an old fashioned soul and knew much about the 60s through the 90s, including the music. She set off no alarms, and I am a very skeptical person. All was good, I felt. We discussed her relocating and moving in with me, after she returned home. She agreed.

She flew back to Singapore, spent several weeks wrapping up loose ends, and then returned. This time she flew into Washington. Life was good.

After several months of bliss, the apartment complex notified us that they were kicking us out to convert to condos. We finally found a place close to the Mosque in Falls Church, as she was Muslim. My spider sense got a mild tingle of alarm.

A few months later, a man showed up outside our apartment. She kept me away from the windows. It turned out to be her husband, a pilot for Singapore Airline. Oh chit. She went out to chat with him. Double chit. After some time she returned and we sat down to discuss the issue. She had promised to return to Singapore and divorce him. Divorce him, I hadn't known she was married. That also answered how she paid for her trips, spouses fly free.

Okay, I was angry and I should have kicked her out at that point, but I had an absolutely wonderful life with her by my side. Hell, she (he) was paying for most of it, so why not?

She flew back to get a divorce in Sharia Court in Singapore. The concept of her using a Sharia court boggled my mind and increased my anxiety. It took several weeks longer than I expected, but she finally returned. It was a wonderful reunion.

She wasn't working, so she hung out in a Starbucks near the Pentagon. After a few weeks she said, "American men are so friendly! They're always walking up to me and chatting me up!"

I responded, "American men aren't being friendly, they want to pick you up and fuck you!" A few weeks later she confirmed that was their intention, but it never happened, not that I'm aware.

Then my three years were up at the Pentagon. We had a farewell luncheon for me in Rosslyn and she joined us. This was the first time they had met her, the gang was smitten.

We spent one year in ROTC hell, I was the XO of an ROTC Battalion. I started mental preparations for retirement.

In the months before the university started, she started having mental issues. She began striking and kicking me and screaming when I was driving, she once even tried throwing herself out of the car. Once the New Jersey State Police pulled us over, someone reported us. Amazingly, she verified my story. She became suicidal at home, to the point that I took all the sharp knives in the house, put them in a canvas bag, and dropped them out the window. It got so bad hat I had to call the police. They concentrated on me as an abused spouse, as my entire right side was black and blue. They arrested her for Spousal abuse and put her in the Psych Ward at Newark Hospital. The next night a hurricane roared through, deeply flooding the area. I had promised to visit, so I headed out. I had never seen water geysering out of manholes before, surging 20 feet high at places. But I got there. I got inside, signed in, and sat down with her. She was lonely, afraid, and torn up inside. She knew she needed help, and I gave my assurances I would be there for her, but she had to get better. In just a few days she was taking the medications and the change was dramatic. She kept that prescription filled.

After a few months, she had a clean track record and the two of us were deeply in love. I asked her to marry me, she said yes. I asked my parents to be witnesses, and we had a simple civil ceremony.

At the end of the school year, the Army decided to replace me with a civilian contractor, so I found a unit in Washington DC that wanted me. I got no further than the front door when the G3, who knew me from Haiti, grabbed me as his plans officer. When we were n Haiti, he had been my boss for one day when I authorized a snatch operation on one of the top ten most wanted. I told him. We both went directly to the Task Force G2, who sent us directly to the CG. I was trying to force the issue of submitting target packets on the "Top Ten", they were never approved but we had a lock on them. The CG accompanied us to the US Embassy. After a few minutes, we had a secure VTC with the Department of State. They finally admitted that they only had us submit packets for political purposes. After that we never submitted a target packet again and saved a ton of needless work. The G-3 at my new unit loved me.

G-3 plans in an intelligence unit is really boring. We got a new CG, for whom I had had worked both with and for, so he snatched me up as his writer/ "slide bitch". I developed a seriously over classified Concept of Operations for a special project, using a SAP as the proof of concept. In my unclassified write up, I used Osama bin Laden as my focus, eight months before 9/11.

In the meantime, my wife and I were attending embassy parties all over DC. At one, I met a snake in the grass named John. Like a guided missile, he locked onto my wife like she was the most succulent meal in town, and she was the most gorgeous creature there, that night, most certainly. Then we found out he was heading up efforts at the State Department for the country that was the focus of her Master's thesis. My alarm klaxons began clanging, loudly. The body language between the two of them was unmistakable, they wanted one another. As quietly and quickly as I could, I guided her out the door and home, but it was too late. In the weeks following, she indicated she had met him for information, for advice, and finally, for friendship. Then, all mention of his name stopped. One evening she came up to me and asked if we could talk. "I had an affair with John. It was only once, it took place in his downtown apartment."

I was furious, inside. Furious. I was devoted to her, loving, caring, and I had repeatedly warned her about him, specifically. He was very charismatic but it was obvious, he was an experienced predator. She stood no chance. I loved her, cared for her deeply, and she had confessed. She was remorseful, contrite, and swore it would not happen again. I caved and said we would work it out. Life went on. I worked like hell to keep her mind on me, on us.

In the meantime, the CG and I are pitching his project to anyone and everyone in authority. Joint Chiefs, Senate Intelligence Committee, House Intelligence Committee, NSA, CIA, and so on.

Then 9/11/2001 happened. We received full funding for our project on the next day. That day, I approached the G3 and the CG about helping with the rumored invasion of Afghanistan. I left on the first plane smokin' to Ft. Benning for inprocessing, then to MacDill AFB, where I did Intelligence planning for the invasion. I went back to DC several times to get dedicated assets and attended one unclassified intelligence conference to discuss the frigging definition of a terrorist group. My wife joined me.

She drove my SUV down to Tampa and stayed awhile, it was a tearful goodbye. She saw I was wearing a green beret again, that I was exhausted from 18 hour days, but I was happier than a pig in snot because I was damn good at my job and I was making a huge contribution. I called her every night.

That's not to say I was a saint. The strip clubs were made free to the military. My best friend and I learned that the six inch rule translated to hands on. I learned the difference between how saline and silicone feels. That was never more than an hour, I was exhausted.

Finally, the day came for me to join the Special Operations planning cell in Qatar. It was a constant 120° in the shade during the day. We started every planning session by playing Pink's, "Let's get this party started". Imagine grown men, all Special Forces, SEALs, Rangers, etc, dancing to that. It is still one of my most cherished memories.

I had access to a VOIP phone, so I could phone my wife from work, anytime. I didn't want to call too often, but I noticed on weekends, I had difficulty reaching her. Ever. I would call later, and she said, "The charge on my phone died", "I was in a dead zone", and so on. "I forgot my phone". All the while commuting to New Jersey to finish her Master's degree, for which I was paying.

I was exasperated, so I confronted her. "I would never cheat on you," she said.

That night, returning from the SCIF where we worked, I said to my best friend, "I think she's cheating on me".

My best friend responded, "She'd never cheat on you, you're too great of a guy."

Then I went to Afghanistan. Rugged permanently snow capped mountains, 120° in the day. I watched one man hunting a sparrow with a homemade slingshot. I realized if he didn't kill the sparrow, he wouldn't eat. I bought Burgas for all my female relatives. I was also offered Makarov pistols, slightly bloody Soviet uniforms, mortar rounds, Soviet bayonets, and so on. There were minefields everywhere. It had been only slightly more than one decade since the Soviets had left.

After some time I developed a chest cough. The roads are covered with a fine talcum-powder like dust, inches thick. People squat and shit on the roads, which gets ground up and turns to dust. I must have inhaled some. I was coughing so hard I kept my tent mates awake. I was sent back to Qatar, then back to MacDill. I met my wife at BWI, we had a tearful, passionate reunion. The next morning I flew to Tampa. I hadn't noticed that most of her belongings were gone.

I spent the weekend in shock, seeing bare naked female flesh on display. We had received a daily T&A show in Afghanistan, that's Toes & Ankles.

I finally out processed my unit, hopped in my amazingly well maintained SUV and decided to surprise my wife by driving straight through from Tampa to Washington DC. You know where this is going, don't you?

I arrived at 7 am, that's 0700 for you normal folks. The house was empty. She was gone, all her stuff was gone. No note. I expected "I hate you, I'm gone," but nothing. In two days she had changed from a loving, welcoming wife into a ghost. I hadn't hit her, cheated on her, gambled, drank, or abused her in any way. She had left me without a word. Not. One. Word.

I went back to my unit wearing desert camouflage and a sun scorched beard. I was in a state of shock, I was walking like a zombie. What had I done wrong? Had she been a spy all along? Was I not man enough? Not big enough? Was my personality that grating?

Then I discovered she had cleaned out my bank accounts. I had a total of $80 to last 24 days to my next paycheck.

Then she called me, "Would you like to drop by my place to see where I'm living?" Sure, we picked a time, it was off Van Dorn Street.

I stopped by. It looked desolate, empty, unkempt. We talked, I received no explanation, then I was asked to leave. I did so, quietly. At least we were talking, I figured. Little did I know.

A few days later she called and asked me to drop off some spices she had forgotten. I did. Strike two.

Finally, I was going to make lunch and we were going to sit down and talk on Saturday. She was sick and didn't show. I drove to her place after picking up some meds for her. I knocked. No answer, but the peephole opened and closed. I hung the bag on her doorknob and left. On the way out, in the parking lot, I recognized a truck belonging to a fellow veteran from my ROTC days, where she went to graduate school. We had even visited his home in New Jersey.

All the tumblers fell into place, and the door opened. She was shacking up with Rick. He was the common factor to all her disappearances.

I tried to call on the phone, I was angry but I tried to stay calm. I was furious. That jack off had seduced my wife and had stolen her from me. That was Saturday.

On Sunday afternoon, I received a phone call from the Alexandria police department, could I stop by. I said sure.

I stopped by, the female detective asked me a bunch of questions about my wife. She was good, very disarming. Then I was asked to write out a statement describing my three visits to my wife. Then she showed me my wife's statement, it was nearly identical.

The detective then said, "I'm arresting you for the charge of stalking". Stalking? Hell, she invited me, requested me to drop off stuff, and then I was caring for her health?

Then she dropped another turdball on me. Not only were they holding me in jail overnight, because it was Sunday, but they were coming to my house to confiscate my extensive gun collection because she considered me dangerous - because I was a Green Beret. I just asked that a note be passed to the magistrate judge, that I wasn't pissed off now, but I would be if they kept going. Threat? No, I made sure to avoid the implication.

The next day I was released, deputies accompanied me to my home and confiscated my weapons, they were returned several weeks later. I called into work and explained what happened.

Then I showered, dressed and went into work. I was in charge of a SAP, my dream job, but discovered my code didn't work. Anytime you are arrested, this happens. My dream job was pulled out from beneath my feet.

So, I did the intelligent thing and sat on my rear deck and cried every evening. I'm not a drinker, so that was a blessing, but I did try it a few times. I was clinically depressed, so I went to a counselor, who asked if I wanted drugs. I asked how long would they take to kick in. I was told six weeks, so I declined, I could rejuvenate myself before that.

She also had a restraining order on me stating there was to be no contact whatsoever.

I saw what my soon-to-be-ex had done could be presented as filing for a green card under false pretenses, so I decided to play hardball. I spoke with her friends and simply stated that if she didn't drop the stalking charge, I would have her deported. It worked, but I was off the SAP forever.

I retired one year later after 27 years in the Army.

I honestly do not remember the divorce, but I have the decree.

Then she moved to California, to Oceanside. She threw away her Masters degree and began selling real estate.

Years later, I met a wonderful woman in New York City, drove up to see her, our first kiss was in the just falling snow.

I took a job with a military agency after I retired and had to visit their San Diego office, near Oceanside. I called and my ex and I arranged a breakfast meeting. I finally got to ask why.

She had found one porn tape of mine, an old one, and thought she wasn't enough for me. Thanks, Rick.

She felt powerless, so she had me arrested. Thanks, Rick.

Not one good reason why. Burn in hell, Rick.

I married that fiery, feisty Puerto Rican woman from NYC. Opposites contrast, I'm white bread from Pennsylvania Dutch country. Our cultures are polar opposites, but our thought processes are surprisingly similar. We like many of the same things, music, books, and the list goes on. We also love our differences.

A few years later, I saw an advertisement for a fundraiser for my ex, for rehabilitation.

I came to find out that she had used my money to buy a house in Oceanside. While she was moving in, she fell and broke her neck in two places.

Ain't karma a bitch?

Now she is a quadraplegic, bed bound, contemplating why her.

She was married to a green card seeker in 2018. I should turn him in.

And the final touch of karma? Rick lives in Oceanside, too., he says so on Facebook. Yeah, tap that dead ass. Quite literally.

I love karma.