Mine is also unfortunate. The worst part of deployments or missions is the lack of privacy. You almost always bunk with someone unless you have “admiral” in your title. If there’s one reason to be an officer, more privacy would be it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard some random squib jacking it. Welp, that’s probably more information than you wanted to hear and thinking of my teammates walking the dog, so to speak, has killed my own boner.
Keep rubbing them out. The endorphin release is good for you. As for me? I’m saving it all up. Be prepared. Eat a lot of protein and drink a lot of water because it’s going to be a marathon.
Nate
* * *
Dear Nathan,
I’ve been cleared for the resection of the tumor. This makes me all kinds of happy. Isn’t it funny, though, how no one uses the words amputation at the hospital? It’s all “tumor resection” and “radical intervention” but no “we’re cutting off your limb!”
At first, I was very upset at the idea of losing my leg because I was struck by the vanity of it all. But each day that passes with that diseased thing still attached to my body, the more I want it off. Dr. Bhoraskar keeps telling me he’s positive it will be a below-the-knee amputation, but I want him to cut it all off if it means I’ll be cancer free.
It’s been beastly hot up here. There’s no wind and the lake looks like it’s made of glass. Nick came up after the last of the preseason games. He’s excited to start the new season. They are saying really good things about his team. Lainey traveled with him, and they could not take their eyes off each other. Grace and I wanted to keep Cassidy with us for the rest of the summer so that the two of them could fight or fuck away their issues. Probably a little of both. I haven’t been able to convince Lainey yet, but I think she’s coming around to the idea. She could use the break.
Watching someone else’s relationship drama is a lot more fun that experiencing your own, that’s for darn sure.
Happily bored with you,
Charlotte
* * *
Dear Charlotte,
Wait, we’ve barely been married for a month and already you are bored? Write me another dirty letter. Or better yet, let me tell you in exact and explicit detail what I want to do to you when I see you.
I’m going to eat your pussy. For hours. Long, endless hours. There will be no part of your cunt that I will not have explored, tasted, licked, at least five times. I am literally going to devour you. Fuck, I miss the taste of you on my tongue and the feel of your body beneath mine. I plan to take you in a hundred different ways.
I want you completely drenched and ready because my dick is so hard and huge that you need to be wetter than you’ve ever been . . . shit, I just snapped my pencil in half.
Baby, I can’t wait to see you. I’m going to come inside of you for a century.
Then we’ll see how boring our marriage is.
Nate
* * *
Dear Nathan,
I am completely scandalized. I had to read your letter three or four times I was so shocked. Write me more.
Hungrily awaiting you,
Charlotte
* * *
Dear Charlotte,
We’re writing postcard sized messages now? I deserve more than that.
Nate
* * *
Dear Nathan,
I humbly request that you forgive me for the brevity of my previous response. I was so physically and emotionally overcome by your message that I was not able to compose myself sufficiently to respond appropriately.
The whole family has moved, en masse, into your home. By that I mean Mom and Daddy, Noah and Grace, Reese and Cassidy. Lainey has given her up for a few weeks. Her ostensible excuse is that she needs to devote more time to holding my business together.
This is undoubtedly true, but I’m guessing that it also has something to do with Nick as well. I’m being careful not to say anything because I want this to happen for them. I think they make the perfect couple!
I’ve had Mom’s attorneys draw me up a new business agreement. I’m making Reese and Lainey true partners. After surgery, I need to spend most of my time focusing on therapy and recovery. Travel will be particularly difficult. Plus, there’s you with your promise of sexing me up nonstop. I can’t be in, say, Seattle while you are in San Diego. You have a big penis, but it’s not that big. (And thank God for that).
I’m going into surgery in three days. I’m terrified but hopeful. I want this to be over, and God, I wish you were home with me. I didn’t want to write that to you because I worry it will make you feel guilty about being away. Don’t feel guilty, but do know that I’m half a person without you.
Love you so much,
Charlotte
* * *
Dear Charlotte,
I had a long day and didn’t think I would have the energy to write tonight. I had just enough in my tank to dump a bucket of water over my head and then fall into bed. I still had my boots on, but even though my body was exhausted my mind kept telling me I couldn’t sleep yet because I hadn’t written you. I picked up the pen and started writing your name over and over again—dear charlotte, dear charlotte, dear charlotte—until I realized that those words were my heartbeat.
I fell asleep on the paper and woke up in the morning, pen still in my hand, your name scrawled all over.
It kills me to be away from you. I hate that you are scared and I’m not there to hold your hand. Remember that you have power in your fragility.
Lean on our families. We’re stronger because of our connections. Draw from their love and strength when your reserves are low.
Know that I’m with you. That I love you. That I’m so proud of you.
Stay strong, baby. I’ll be home soon.
Nate
* * *
Dear Nathan,
I do feel you on the other end of the pen. I envision you opening a letter and holding the paper in your hands. Your eyes moving back and forth as you take in my little writings. In that moment, we’re together. No matter how far apart we are, our hearts are connected.
The surgery went well. I feel so much better, as if a dark mantle has been lifted. Preliminary results look very good but, of course, I’m told not to read much into it. (I’m reading everything into it. Going to live until I’m 101. Going to climb a mountain. Going to swim the English Channel.)
I’ve moved to San Diego. The whole family has. It’s as if I have my only little entourage. Our parents are currently searching out the exact right home for us. There’s a lot of disagreement as to what that might be. Mom is in love with this place in La Jolla that costs more than an arm and a leg. <- gimp joke. I can make those now.
We’re not living in La Jolla, but the idea of being able to see the ocean every day is kind of irresistible. I’ll keep you posted.
A friend of yours came to visit me. Ford Hughes? He said he was a prior teammate of yours who left to join some other military group with a lot of letters in the name. He told me that you are the best guy that he ever knew. And that I should wait for you. And not fall in love with any of the other guys in the ward.
He went around and told everyone I was taken. We had a good laugh about it. There’s a story in his eyes. I don’t know what it is, but it looks interesting.
I’m doing mirror therapy now. I place it between my legs—no, not to look at my vagina—to make it seem like I have two limbs. The goal is to trick my mind into believing that the mirrored image actually exists. If the brain thinks I have a limb, my phantom pain from cramping goes away.
I don’t really understand how it works, but as long as I start believing I have a leg then the stupid fake cramps will go away. Hurrah! At least that’s the theory. Our brains are wild, right?
In two weeks my sutures will come out and they’ll fit me for my prosthetic. I’m excited about that.
You stay strong too. I’m here waiting for you.
Your loving wife,
Charlot
te
47
Charlotte
“Looking good, Charlie. Lose that extra weight, did you?” Shelly Tighe gives me the thumbs up as she leaves the therapy room. They’ve worked her hard. The front of her purple “Let’s Do It” T-shirt is drenched. I lean against a crutch and slap her hand.
“Yeah, all five pounds of it.”
“Shit, is that all these things weigh?” She jiggles one of her legs.
“It was just half the leg, and I got to keep the heavy thigh portion.”
“Win!”
Any time I start feeling sorry for myself, I just wheel around the recovery ward and see the amazing attitudes of everyone here. Shelly is a paraplegic who suffered nerve damage in a bad car accident. Like me, she’s here to learn to walk, but Shelly is using arm braces, and I’m going to have a bad ass prosthetic. It’s not a measurement of who is worse off, but being down on yourself is frowned upon by everyone—from the patients to the nurses.
And really, having the leg off that had all the cancer and disease in it is a relief. I still feel like I have a foot. If I concentrate hard, I swear I can rotate my darn ankle. The phantom limb pains are no fun. In fact, I can feel the leg aching right now.
I must’ve grimaced because Shelly clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth in sympathy. “Phantom limb pains?”
“I’ve been using the mirror, but my stupid brain isn’t catching on as fast as I’d like.”
She nods her head in understanding. “Saw your sweet new prosthetic in the therapy room.”
“Like that? My parents bought it for me. This company makes custom covers for existing prosthetics. You can change them out, like a case for a phone, depending on what you wear and what types of activities you’re doing.”
“The tattoo must have meaning.”
One of the interchangeable fairings I had made was a tattoo design of a dove with the snout of the dragon just off the edge. It’s a somewhat strange design, but I know what it means and so will Nathan. It’s a surprise.
“It’s a dove. It’s the second part of the story that my husband’s tattoo starts.”
“That’s very cool. When do you think he’ll get back?”
“Soon, I hope, but I don’t know. He’s been gone for a while. Almost eight weeks now.”
“That’s too bad. Is that normal?”
I laugh and tap my left crutch. “I have no idea. This is my first time—our first time. We got married, and he was hauled away during our honeymoon.”
I admit to having a mass of anxiety anticipating Nathan’s return. He left me at my most beautiful, all glamoured up by professionals for my wedding day. When he sees me, it will be with one of my legs gone. And as happy as I try to be, having one leg instead of two isn’t as sexy.
“When he gets back, remind him that moving around is the best medicine for you.” She winks and moves down the hall. At the other end I can see the therapist, Julie—the torturer—-waiting for me. I swing the crutches forward.
“How’s the flesh wound, Jackson?” Maurice Jeffries calls as I pass by his room.
“I’m getting my new prosthesis today, so I feel pretty badass.” Maurice has an AK—above the knee amputation—and according to all the other AKs or hip disarticulations, a BK is akin to getting a sprain.
“Got a surprise in here for you,” Julie says in a singsong voice. It’s the same tone she uses to tell us that one more step after the fifty she’s had us do is good for us. I hate and love her at the same time.
“Can’t wait,” I say with real enthusiasm because getting a well-fitted prosthetic is my first—no pun intended—step toward becoming fully independent.
Inside, though, my new fancy prosthetic is the least interesting thing in the room. My eyes skip over the titanium fittings and the chrome- and flesh-colored covers to the gorgeous man holding them.
“Nathan!” I cry. I curse my lack of mobility. I wait for him to run to me, but he doesn’t. “You’re a sight for these eyes, baby.” He taps my prosthetic against his hand, grinning hugely. “Get over here.”
I plant my two crutches on the floor and motor over to him as fast as I can. The last two steps I fly forward, using my crutches to launch myself into his arms. He catches me and the crutches fall to the floor.
“You’re home. You’re home.” I smash his face between my hands and pepper kisses over every square inch of his precious skin. His hand curls behind my head and stills my frantic movements.
“I’m home,” he says huskily. He greets me with an open-mouthed kiss, devouring me as he promised. His strength is effortless, and it isn't until this moment that I realize how vast the loneliness is when he is not with me. I return his kiss with fervor that has him moaning into my mouth.
The women I’ve met, some of the SEAL wives and girlfriends who have visited, have told me that reunion sex is the best. I can’t wait. Really, not another minute. I’m taking him here in the therapy room, and I don’t care who sees us. I take fistfuls of his cotton T-shirt and try to rip it over his head, but he laughs against my mouth and sets me down, a few inches too many away from him.
He steadies me with his hand and looks me over.
“I thought I was going to do the boat thing,” I say with a bit of a tremble that’s one part desire and the other part anxiety. I had big plans to show up at the dock with all the other Navy families when the big ship sailed in looking gorgeous with freshly applied lipstick awaiting my man to walk down the gangplank. My stump is hanging down, and I’m standing like a weird flamingo in front of him except half my leg isn’t folded up underneath me. It’s just gone.
“We got a special ride,” he murmurs absently. He sweeps strands of my hair away from my forehead and tucks them behind my ear. His fingers run down the outer curve of my ear and tug on the lobe. “You look so damn beautiful.”
“Not as symmetrical though.” I hop forward and close my arms around his waist. Up close he can’t see my stump.
“Who the hell cares about that?” He rubs his hands down my back, those big hands that have featured large in my fantasies.
“You told me after I shaved my head when I was fifteen that I was beautiful because of my symmetry.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “You’re beautiful because you’re Charlotte. You’re my ideal, you know? When other guys point out some woman that they think is hot, I measure them against you. You’re the standard. One leg, two legs, no legs. Whatever you are is what is beautiful to me.”
I melt into him. “You’re pretty good with your words.”
“It’s the truth. How’s that leg? Hurt much?”
I shrug a little, not caring about the pain now that we’re together. I want to talk about other things like when we’re getting naked. “Not right now. How’d things go for you?”
He tenses in my embrace. “As well as could be expected.” He places a finger under my chin. “I’m leaving the teams. Already handed in my separation notice.”
“No,” I cry. “Why?”
“I missed you. My heart, fuck,” he snorts with chagrin. “My heart literally fucking ached being apart, and it was hard to concentrate on the task at hand. I missed you far more than I’ll ever miss the teams. My life is with you. I’m not going to regret this. At first it was killing me not to be here during the surgery, but then I realized you don’t need me to save you. You just need me to love you. But baby, I want to love you up close and personal all the time, not just a few months out of the year. There’s plenty of stuff I can do out of the service, but I spent nine years away from you and I don’t want to spend another moment without you.”
I search his eyes, but he doesn’t look away. He hides nothing, and in those dark brown depths is his sincerity. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” A lopsided grin appears. “Can we get out of here? I’ve got two months of fantasies that you need to start working on.”
“Oh yes.”
* * *
“I want to be gentle, but it's been so long.” His eyes plead for understanding.
“I’m just as needy. Look, my hands are shaking.” I hold out my trembling fingers as evidence.
“Good,” he grunts. He makes short work of my clothes and his. His fingers slip inside me where he finds me wet and ready. It’s been a long time for me too.
His hands palm my buttocks, and he lifts me in one swift movement so that I’m level with his chin. His whole mouth engulfs me.
The shock of heat and wet against my sex wrenches a cry. He tips me back until I'm lying almost solely on my shoulders, my thighs resting near his ears. He makes loud sucking sounds, groaning with audible delight at the taste of me that is coating his tongue. Any self-consciousness I have over my lack of a leg is eaten away by his fierce, real hunger.
My body is so hot and so aroused that every pass of his calloused palm over my skin sets off minor detonations that are all building into something bigger, stronger, and more volatile than my simple self can contain. Pleasure streaks through me like lightning. I fling my arms wide and arch into his touch. I beg mindlessly for more, more, more until he wrenches his mouth away and plunges into me in one rough, sure movement.
“Shit,” he stills and jerks out.
I shout my protest, “No, come back.”
“Condom,” he mumbles reaching over the side of the bed for his discarded jeans.
“IUD,” I say, pulling at his arm.
He looks confused. “IUD,” I repeat. “No need for a condom.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank Christ.” He pushes my thighs apart and palms his shaft. The sight of his big hand surrounding his even bigger penis sends a shiver down my spine. A passage in his letters springs to mind and I suddenly remember that he had no privacy while he was away on his mission.
“You didn’t touch yourself while you were gone?”
The Charlotte Chronicles Page 34
