Chapter One: The Return Home (Fabrics of Time)

Chapter One: The Return Home

“Running Water”

Through the times of pain,

When all looks as rain,

Shedding tears of all your shame,

Bearing all the weight of the blame,

Water pouring all around,

Tears streaming to the ground,

A kiss to heal all wounds,

Even in the dark passion blooms,

Caresses to forget to forever consume,

In the mist of heart-aching pain

Two lovers hold on tight in warm rain.

 

The hum of the three roaring engines, gentling vibrating my sore, tired body and exhausted mind into a pathetic sleep, combination of anticipation of going home with the horrors we are so rapidly leaving behind My heart longs to be home, yet my heart aches for the poor souls I left behind in the midst of a battle. My sleeps is haunted by the wives of my troops I sent home with a flag over their hearts waiting to confront me, by the eyes men I watch fade away, by the cries of the children forever scarred by a war the world would never truly understand.

 

“Strike.” “ Strike.” The call of my nickname brings back to my surroundings, on a KC-10,a DC-10 airliner converted into an air-refueling tanker probably nearing twice my age, therefor twice as ancient in the scarred aged of our country's recent decades of battles. “What are your plans we get home Strike?” I look over to see Mac, bright eyed as ever, short red hair, freckled face, pale skin with ripped muscles protruding from every angle possible eagerly awaiting my answer.

 

“A cold beer, a hot shower, and three days of sleep” I replied without given the question much of any real thought. What I really need was well, exactly that to start, at least one cold drink to take away nine months of stress, anxiety, death, hardship, mixed with the bond of men and women, forming a connection few every know. A hot shower to wash away the dark stains of battle and to ease the ache of my heart for the loss of so many young courageous men. And finally three days of sleep to ease my poor, aching body and wearing mind, for how long can a man survive of short naps and caffeine combine with burst of adrenaline during the bloodshed of battle.

 

“And you Mac, what do you plan on doing upon landing?” I returned already knowing the response coming.

 

“I plan on hugging my daughters close, putting them to bed, and then riding my wife until she begs for mercy.......maybe then she will invite one of her girlfriends to help!” Mac exclaims as he punches my shoulder. Even though he barely moves, it still feels as if he hits my body him a hammer.

 

Laughing I quickly add, “Try to get some sleep Mac. I am pretty sure Sally will wear you ragged with 20 minutes then start calling my number as you putter out.” With one quick response my right-hand man and trusted friend is closing his eyes. I look around the plane to see a handful of men I started out with at the beginning of a bloody deployment only months ago. As always, the stronger survived, the lucky snaked though and the few old men like me took the brunt of the load. How many trips is this now...three to Iraq, four to Afghan, Syria, Egypt? S**t, somewhere I lost track, each becoming a burr, each with trails, and each with friends sacrificed for what?

 

With a thump, I look around to see men adjusting seat-belts, packing gear. I know wheels just touched down, but hours must have passed while I felt I was just awake. I chuckle to myself as I see men busy trying to prepare to rush off the plane. If only they knew the process; so much work left to do before we can all go home. Well, some a*****e must be the bearing of bad news.....

 

Nine months at war, three days of flights and travel, twelve hours of unloading cargo and in-processing men, three hours of consoling wives of men too young to die, talking to children who I knew their fathers better than they every would, only to arrive home to cold, lonely house. But hell, at least I can have a cold beer, or quite a few. Months with no alcohol has their benefit. First, I am ripped with no fat since I only could drink water. Second, I am such a cheap date; two beers I am tingling all over, happy to shower with the third beer in my hands.

 

The hot water streams upon my nape of my neck as lean against the wall. I can the feel warm water run along my back, down my etched lats, pooling at my defined hips, before pouring along my long lean legs. I lean against the wall, letting the water wash away the dark stains of war, the sins of my soul, the regrets of my life, the sorrows of my souls. Tears roll down my checks as the beer slides down my throat, the water rinses away the shames of choices, yet here I am, survival of another battle, scars added to my body, none as the painful as the one stored in my heart.

 

But in the midst of battle. in the heat of survival, when the primal force awakens in us to lead us to victory, awakens a beast only a few mortals could know or relate to. While I body soaks in the hot steaming water, my mind thinks back to hot steaming passions discovered in the midst of most heated moments of the war. For only death can ignite the passion of a man or woman in the manner I experience.

 

The forbidden concept of our ranks only heightens the lust, breaking the rules, throwing all to side, abandoning all we know to surrender to the calls of bodies. As my body recovers in the warm waters, my mind recalls the sinful waters of my recent lover, an officer of mine, a commander, a boss in uniform, a lover in secrecy. Sometimes in life, when all in wrong, passion is at the best, the forbidden fruit of our lives, a lust we must partake.

 

I recall showering after returning from a heat battle sending two of my men home with a flag rested over their souls, to find myself comforted by the woman questioning my decisions now standing mere feet away naked, watching my every move. With one glance in her direction, I know she admires my skill of leading men, my rough but strong body, a mind she lust for each and every day.

 

I smile as she walks towards me, wraps her arms around my chest, she kisses my back then nibbles upon my shoulders. I tense as she apologizes for remarks only hours before. Turning to start into her eyes, I see a woman shaken by command, desperate for affection, longing for my touch. I pin her to the wall, my hands upon her neck, neither softly nor threatening, kissing her lips then nibbling upon her lower lip until she moans. I watch as her hands caress my firm chest, tracing the scars of battles long in the past, only to focus on the hardness of the present to bring mine to a throbbing passion.

 

I slowly kiss her lips, nibbling upon her neck, my hands some caressing her tight curvy body and gripping her throat at once. I trace her voluptuous breasts, down her enticing hips, yet I keep one hand upon her neck as if she just as much a threat as a pleasure. My lips trace a line from her lips, to her neck, to her swollen n*****s, to her tight abs, to her enticing hips to her wets lush lips. With such strokes of my tongue her legs wrap around my shoulders, her body supported by my shoulders and back, as my tongue and lips bring her to orgasm after trembling orgasm.

 

As one we fall to the floor, as steaming water rains from above as we make love. Her legs stretch behind limits to accommodate the length of manhood, hips spread wide to accept the girth of her prize. We make love until both the shower and her sweet honey rain warm waters upon my body, such trembling pleasures only known to lovers of stories, only written upon in the books on the gods, but here we are mere mortals tasting the pleasures of the Gods, losing sight of the harsh world all around to the treasures we each bestow upon the other.

 

 

Through the times of pain,

When all looks as rain,

Shedding tears of all your shame,

Bearing all the weight of the blame,

Water pouring all around,

Tears streaming to the ground,

A kiss to heal all wounds,

Even in the dark passion blooms,

Caresses to forget to forever consume,

In the mist of heart-aching pain

Two lovers hold on tight in warm rain.