by Dani Stowe
But no one’s here to find me. Both of my brothers—my older and my younger, who are both in the military, could not come out. My mother is in a nursing home and my father, an Army veteran, is no longer alive. I wish my father could’ve seen me. He was so proud when my brother came back from his deployment. I would like to think my father would be proud of me now.
I’m amazed at how many soldiers my age have wives and many have kids, too. There are just a handful of us that have no one, who I’m sure they feel as stupid as I do in the middle of this mass reunion. So, I turn around and head out of the hangar, towards the other loners and the bus that will take us back to our barracks.
I should’ve called her.
I don’t know why I did not call Camilla. If I had called, I could be going back to her place right now, back to the castle on Fairytale Lane. Instead, I’m about to ride in a big white tin can, which looks like a bus made for kindergarteners.
“Gunner?” I hear Camilla’s voice from behind.
My eyes water. She came.
“Gunner, I got your emails. Did you need a ride?”
I turn around and she’s holding a plastic clear container filled with something that looks like baked goods decorated in patriotic colors. Goddamn it! I realize I missed her birthday. The festive goodies prompt the thought of missing her birthday. But it’s not just the container that reminds me I’ve missed her special day; it’s also because she looks different. In truth, she looks younger. Her lips and cheeks are pinker and she’s wearing a flowy knee-length floral blue dress with white flowers that ruffles at her shoulders and scoops low and wide across her breasts.
Her breasts! I want to put my face between those tits and bite them, but there’s something else that’s different. She doesn’t look sad as she was on the last night we were together. She doesn’t look stressed or angry like she did when she was still a soldier in command. And she certainly doesn’t look like she’s in need of anything, which is how she always appeared to be to me.
She smiles and it hurts me. She looks happy.
I bite my lip. I don’t know what to say. I want to ask her to take me home—back to her place. I’ll even sleep in the frilly pink-painted room if I have to.
“Gunner, do you need a ride?” she asks again.
A ride. That’s all she’s here for—to offer me a ride, like she’s doing me some kind of favor, like she had to go out of her way as she sometimes did for her other younger soldiers that were once under her command.
It’s obvious my homecoming has interfered with her happiness.
“No,” I say. “I have a ride.”
Camilla sighs and looks at the container in her hands and then reaches out to hand it to me.
“I baked you some cookies,” she says.
Through the top of the container, I see cookies of various sizes in the shape of stars and flags. The cookies are all decorated with red, white, and blue icing and sprinkles, but they look horrendous. They look like a kindergartener decorated them. I laugh to myself.
Great. Maybe I can share them with the other kindergartners on the bus.
“I know,” she smiles and it’s refreshing to see her bite her bottom lip as the corners of her lips turn upward. “They look silly and they are rock solid, plus they taste just as bad as they look. You don’t have to eat them.”
“I’d be happy to eat your cookies,” I tell her and she laughs, but it’s a weird, fake laugh.
She keeps licking and biting her lip and I can’t turn away from the tongue and teeth that are abusing the rest of her mouth keeping it wet and turning it red. As other people are hugging and kissing each other, in the back of Camilla’s mind as well as my own, we are both thinking about fucking one another.
“Are you sure you don’t need a ride home?” she asks for the third time.
I peep down at the ugly cookies in the container. They seem symbolic of our relationship. We are a rock-solid mess of sweet and salty, good and bad, older and younger. And no matter how hard we try to escape one another, we can’t ignore the fact we are both continually hoping the cookies will at least taste good. I look back up into her pretty smiling face as she licks her lip and bites it once more.
I’d like to turn that pretty face into a frown from the pain of my cock deep in her pussy and watch her abuse her bottom lip with her own teeth until its beet red.
“If it’s not out of your way, I could use a ride,” I say.
“I came here for you, Gunner,” she says and I think I’m about to cry. I swallow hard to keep it in. “Where’s your stuff?” she asks.
She follows me to get my bags and leads me to a green SUV, a Ford Explorer, which she obviously bought brand new and is the exact same vehicle I used to drive her around in. She’s bought a big-ass car to match her big-ass castle and I still wonder what the hell she’s going to do with all this big-ass stuff.
There are not many people left lingering as we drive off. Everyone was desperate to go home. I’m desperate to go home—to her home.
I glance over to her knees. Her dress seems to have gotten shorter once she sat in the driver’s seat and now the ice-cold air-conditioning is blowing at the hemline exposing most of the skin at her thighs.
“You okay?” she asks. “Are you happy to be back? I heard what happened to Buckler. I’m sorry. I know she was your friend. She was a good soldier and a good mom.”
I don’t want to talk about it and turn my head out the window. I see the airfield of helicopters in the distance; beyond that, I see headstones.
“Drive us to the cemetery,” I tell Camilla.
“Gunner, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I think we should avoid the cemetery.”
I turn my head to look her over and she catches me checking out her legs.
“Don’t tell me you don’t want to go to the cemetery,” I smirk. “The only reason you came to pick me up and wore that dress is because you want to take me to the cemetery.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she says and her smile is gone.
“So, you don’t want to fuck me?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Nine months,” she blurts. “Nine months we haven’t talked, we didn’t respond to each other, and—”
“And you decide to pick me up with a bunch of cookies and wearing that dress.”
“What is your problem with my dress?” she asks rather loudly.
It’s awesome that she’s nearly yelling at me. I’ve almost got her back in the cycle.
“It says ‘fuck me,’” I say.
“Gunner, my dress does not say fuck me. And I don’t want to fuck or fight with you because that’s all we ever do. I really thought nine months would’ve changed us somehow, but we are clearly in an unhealthy and unbreakable cycle.”
She’s right and I’m not denying it, but I want it. I need it. I need to be in this cycle right now because I want her to take me home. And as much as I hate to do it, I’m going to have to keep the cycle going.
“Are you saying you don’t want to fuck me?” I ask. “Are you saying you didn’t leave the comfort of your castle and drive all the way out here to get fucked by your boy toy?”
She huffs and to my surprise, she passes the turn to the cemetery and takes an unanticipated left. I look ahead at the long road between training fields surrounded by tall trees that encompass the perimeter of tall grassy fields and I realize she’s going to take me back to the barracks.
Fuck!
Maybe these nine months have changed her. Maybe she really does want to break the cycle and she doesn’t want to fight...
But she wouldn’t have worn that dress if she didn’t want to get fucked, so maybe I need to be nicer.
I lean over to her and get my face as close to the side of her neck as I possibly can without touching her and I breathe into her neck.
“What are you doing?” she asks as she blushes, but smiles again.
I knew it! She does still want me.
“Take me home with you,” I tell h
er and put my hand at her inner right thigh.
The car swerves a bit. “I can’t take you home,” says Camilla whose face has turned into a frown.
I don’t get it. Why did she come to pick me up if she wasn’t planning on taking me to the cemetery or back to her place?
I lean back into my seat and I’m still looking at her when I realize what my problem is...I’m not the one in the driver’s seat.
I’m about to ask her if we can trade places, but her phone rings so she pulls over onto a dirt path along the edge of one of the training fields. When she picks up the phone, she starts speaking in Filipino.
I’m fuming inside. I’d never heard Camilla speak Filipino before. She never told me how many languages she spoke and I was beginning to believe Harris was a nutcase after he mentioned it. But here she is, talking in a language I can’t understand right next to me and it pisses me off. For all I know, she could be talking smack about me, but I don’t think so. She starts to raise her voice and it sounds like she’s arguing with whoever it is on the phone.
I recall it might be the general. Maybe that’s why she can’t take me home. While I was gone, that motherfucker moved into my castle.
I watch Camilla shake her head, which causes her hair to lightly whip across her face as she speaks; I don’t know if it’s from the emotional turmoil of being back home or seeing Camilla again while she talks to someone else—someone more important than me, but I’m aching all over. I need to get out of the car.
I push the door open and put my cap on my head. I walk a few yards into the open field. The grass is so high in some places it reaches my palms as I swing my arms; it reminds me of when I was kid.
When my adoptive parents were angry with my brothers and I, they’d punish us, which never really was a punishment, by sending us outside. So, we spent a lot of time outside. When one of us got in trouble, we were all in trouble. Everything my brothers and I did, we did together. We built forts, we hunted squirrels, we outran neighbors—never leaving a brother to fall behind. And we listened to every one of Dad’s lectures about what it meant to be a good soldier, a good husband, a good citizen (even if that means to fuck shit up on occasion), and a good man.
But I don’t feel so good right now. I feel like a schmuck. I’ve travelled overseas to do my duty only to come back to no girl, no kid, and no castle.
I hear Camilla coming up from behind through the tall grass and I turn around to see her making her way towards me. She looks amazing in her dress and I’m guessing she left whatever drama she had back in the car because now she’s got the look of a cougar in the wild.
The wind blows and her dress flies up a bit. It makes my dick hard and I reach for my buckle. Camilla notices.
“Gunner, wait,” she says but I march towards her as I undo the buckle and I take her down.
I kiss her hard and grab her by the waist, leaning her back and helping her to lie in the grass. I get on top as my cap falls off and I get between her legs. I lift up her skirt as I unzip my fly.
I don’t care who’s she with. She’s with me right now. I look at her face—her forehead is crinkled and her eyes are open wide, but she doesn’t say anything to stop me. She cups my cheeks so I pull her panty to the side and slide my long hard cock into her wet pussy.
It feels so good.
She wraps her legs around my waist and gasps as she runs her hands over the top of my head and the back of my neck.
Ah fuck, it feels too good.
It’s been too long to go without this, without her. I try to stave it off, but I can’t control the urge to fuck her hard and I come.
She yelps loud. I cover her mouth with my hand because I still can’t control myself as I come in her. I know it’s too deep for her; I’m making her cry out, but it feels too good to me, being out of practice for so long.
As I finish, I feel like I’m not done. I want more practice; I need more practice, except it’s possible I literally just blew my chance of going home with her.
I was supposed to keep her hanging and wanting more. That is the most crucial part in keeping our cycle. If I can get her back into the cycle, I know—I just know, she’ll pick me over the general and kick his ass out of my castle.
I reach my hand down to her pussy where I feel for her clit, but she stops me by gripping my arm.
“Let me make you come,” I tell her and dip my head to bite on her ear.
“I can’t,” she says, trying to push me off. “I have to go.”
“Let me get you off first,” I say although I have every intention of leaving her hot and heavy right before she’s about to peak, so she’ll have the insatiable urge to stay with me. I reach for her pussy again.
“I can’t, Gunner. Get off!” she snaps as she pushes me and I roll over to my back.
I watch her as she stands up and fixes her dress and tries to smooth her hair. She tries to dust the grass off and I can’t figure out why she’s trying so hard to look perfect, like she’s still in the Army, trying to get her uniform, which is now a dress, to look flawless. I put my dick back in my pants and zip up my fly and I see she’s watching me, too.
“Take me home with you,” I say and I have no idea how or why the words came out sounding so childish, like I’m begging, but they did.
She shakes her head and turns to walk back to her car. I look around for my cap and pick it up then skitter after her.
“Take me home,” I say again as she walks around the car to get into the driver’s seat and I get in, too.
“You can’t come home with me,” she says as she starts the engine.
“Turn the car off,” I tell her and reach for the keys, but she grabs my arm.
“Stop it! I have to go home and you can’t come with me.”
“Why not?” I ask and I hate to sound like I’m whining, but I’m sure I do.
She doesn’t say anything. She just puts her sunglasses on and drives.
I decide not to say anything either. It’s obvious I’ve changed—she’s changed. I was lying to myself when I assumed we could get back into our cycle. It was worth a try, but looking at her from the passenger seat, I can tell she’s not going to stand for any more of my shit—always trying to push her to overstep her boundaries for me.
So, she just fucked me, but I’m still on the outside. To get back in, I’m going to have do what it took when I was kid if I wanted to be let back in the house after getting in trouble—I’m going to have be good.
I reach for the container of cookies and sense she’s glancing at me while she turns the steering wheel as I pull a cookie out and take a bite. It’s hard as a rock and its salty as fuck; I try hard to keep a straight face as I swallow, but it makes her smile.
“How is it?” she asks.
“It’s good,” I lie as I nearly choke on the crumbs that are stuck in my throat and won’t go down.
She laughs as we pull up to my barracks and we both get out to meet at the rear of her SUV to pull out my bags. She doesn’t say anything when I halfheartedly thank her for the ride and she grabs my arm as I’m about to head up the stairs.
“Can I tell you something, Gunner? A truth, I think you deserve to know.”
“Sure,” I say. I’m anxious she’s about to spill the beans on the general or whomever might be shacking up at her house, which doesn’t matter to me because I’m more than happy to fight with any asshole for what I want. But I’m also apprehensive she might say this was the last run in our cycle; I get the feeling she really doesn’t want to fight with me anymore.
She swallows before she opens her mouth. “I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you the very first time I met you. You seemed bigger than me—no, better. You’re fearless at taking risks and you fight for what you want. As your commanding officer, I should’ve never gotten involved and there’s no excuse for my behavior. Even today, I wore this dress thinking I would feel different, like I could be someone else, someone you deserve. But I still feel guilty because, although I’m not your
commander anymore, the truth is, it’s because I love you that we should’ve never gotten involved.”
Her phone rings from inside the car.
“I have to go,” she says and looks curiously happy in this moment, which feels like shit to me; we are being torn apart. “I hope you’ll forgive me one day,” she says as she walks towards the call of someone else and gets into her car.
I don’t stop her as she drives away. She says she loves me but, for whatever reason, happiness is in the opposite direction. I love her too, so I figure I better learn from her example as well as the speech she just gave me and not get involved.
Chapter 8
“This is bullshit! I gave you five grand to tell me I can’t have the kid. What the fuck did I pay you all that money for?” I snap at Avery, my lawyer, who probably pays $300 dollars a month to bleach her hair blonde. She’s sitting in her fancy brown leather chair that is wide, yet still too small for her; I’m sure she paid at least two thousand dollars for the damn thing that squeaks when she spins.
“I’m sorry, Gunner,” Avery says with her arms crossed as she swivels side-to-side. “But I told you from the beginning this was going to be the most likely outcome since it was unlikely you would be able to adopt this child. The State simply cannot grant custody of a child to a man in the military. You’re also extremely young and a single white male. People can’t help but be suspicious of your intentions to father such a young boy by yourself.”
“That’s fucking crazy talk,” I hiss. “I’m not a pedophile.”
“And this is the other problem,” Avery says, leaning forward to put her elbows on her heavily lacquered cherry-stained desk that hosts several small bowls of various bite-sized candy. “Between your choice of language, the fact you still live in your barracks and don’t own a home, plus your history as a foster child yourself—these things make you more suspicious.”
My eyes water and I massage my temples. “But I ended up with amazing parents who taught and gave me everything,” I say. “We were a military family. This kid deserves the same. I can give him that.”
