Shot of Whiskey - Sex Stories

Shot of Whiskey

... you in three weeks. Me too. Please be safe. You too, please come back to me. I have to go, unit meeting. I love you. I love you too. We kissed, we merged, we replayed the intensity and the bond of our first kiss, as we did every morning when it was just the two of us. He smiled and winked at me and disappeared behind the small partition that shielded my door.

I got the call one week into my rest and recuperation trip. Ryan called my cell phone directly. No one else knew that I would need the call, there was no reason for them to know we had been what we had been inside my room. It was our own small world. It had been a IED, a roadside bomb. He was not in an MRAP, he had been manning the M60 on the turret of a HUMVEE. The vehicle had flipped violently. Two men were killed instantly. Two were injured and were recovering in Ramstein, one without a leg, the other might be ok, the brain scans and cognitive tests were still being worked through. I did not cry when I heard the news, I didn't even cry when I told my ex-wife who had become a dear friend over the years. She asked me if I was sad and I nodded my head, I felt the grief but I could not weep, not then.

I landed back at the same hopeless landing strip, eight months after I had first arrived. Sam was there with Lieutenant Dorado to welcome me back. He drove the car silently. Lieutenant Dorado spoke of PRT business and I listened, reacted, everything was still and everything was normal. I entered my room with Private ...

... Redding and Colonel Samuel Erikson helping me carry my bags. As the door closed behind Lieutenant Dorado, I sat on my bed and ran my hand over the space Robert had last occupied. His warmth was gone, his smell was gone, he was gone. I looked at my friends and they surrounded me immediately. They held me when I broke.

Death is horrific, death for a cause that you no longer believe in is particularly cruel, and death in absentia, told in some story that you did not witness, a body that you could not touch and bury, it is especially merciless. And so I wept. I wept for the nearly 200 mornings we spent together, the nearly 200 nights we laughed and kissed and made love and enjoyed the company of our friends, I wept for the 400 times we told each other we loved one another, I wept for the countless times we thought we had a future, I wept for the 10,000 times I looked in his eyes and felt loved, for the 10,000 more where my love poured out to him. I wept for the 400 times I touched his warm skin, for the 200 times he let me cradle his body and for the 200 times he wrapped himself inside my embrace. I wept for the 20,000 mornings we would not be together, for the 20,000 nights we would not hold hands while we drifted to sleep, for the wedding we would not have, for the children we would not raise, for the pets we would not adopt, for the Thanksgivings and Christmases we would not celebrate together. I wept for the presents we would not wrap. I wept. I mourned.

I had built a ...