IT WAS EARLIER THIS WEEK when I got the call from Jensen, now a Staff Sergeant in charge of his own squad down in Fort Campbell, as he was quick to inform me. I don’t blame him for being proud. I’m proud of him too, but he used to be my soldier. Now, he’s moving up the ranks quickly and that should’ve been me. Shit, I would’ve had my own platoon by now.
He said he’d be in town this weekend visiting family in Pittsburgh and would love to see me. While I’m excited to see him as well, I’m nervous. I’ve managed to put the Army in my rearview for the most part these days, but I know seeing him again will rehash some of those old memories, and it’s going to hurt just as much as it’s going to make me feel the warmth of nostalgia.
I haven’t seen Jensen since my hospital days, when gauze was wrapped around my head and pain medication was pumping through my veins. My right eye just days removed, leaving an empty socket, the remaining eye staring off in the distance, unfocused, my mind lost in the pain of my present state. In the world of the medicated half-living.
Jensen was always a good soldier, a friend even, but he disappeared just like the rest of them after I was wounded. He moved on with his life and forgot about his good ol’ one-eyed Sergeant.
Leaving his dinner invitation unrequited for a few days, I knew I would eventually cave and text him, agreeing to a meet-up. As much as I resent those who I served with, who so easily seemed to turn their backs on me when shit hit the fan, I still have an innate desire to see them, to feel that camaraderie once again, to tell those old stories. I feel a need to escape my present, the counseling session with Carleigh the other day stirring up a lot of shit, bringing about feelings and emotions I’ve stuffed down for a long time. Feelings of inadequacy and disillusionment. And a frequent desire to snuff out any sort of feeling with whatever substance I can get my eager little mitts on.
Those same feelings and emotions I carry with me on the ride to Pittsburgh, plans to meet Jensen at his hotel bar awaiting me. It’s not that seeing him will bring up some of that resentment. I can push that aside. I worry more about seeing him, hearing about his current life in the military, and feeling that empty, aching loss I feel when I think about being there again, fighting for something. Feeling worthy. The same feeling I get when I watch military movies now. I just can’t stand when those ‘what-ifs’ bombard my every thought. It’s a hollow, fruitless feeling.
When I enter the hotel restaurant, I spot Jensen sitting at a corner booth where he said he’d be, though he didn’t warn me about his unnatural growth.
“Jesus, dude. Are you eatin’ the steroids one spoonful at a time?” I ask with a laugh as I approach.
Jensen’s eyes brighten as he spots me, and he stands, pulling me in for a hug.
“Holy hell, man. Look at you. The man, the myth, the legend himself,” he says as we release hands and take a seat in the booth across from each other.
My eyes are still on the biceps that threaten to shred his shirt sleeves with the slightest flex. I motion toward them. “Seriously, Jensen. Did they stop checkin’ for ’roids, or did you find some shit that’ll go undetected? How much have you even fuckin’ gained?”
He shakes his head, waving me off. “Twenty pounds. And it’s all natural, baby. I’ve just been hitting the gym harder the past couple years. Cleaned up my eating.”
“Fuck you!” I shake my head, waving him off as well.
“No lie. Gym built.”
“‘Needle in the ass’ built.”
He flips me off. “Shut up, tell me what you’ve been up to, fucker! How’s freedom?”
“Not as good as that fightin’ life you’re still livin’.”
“Shit. With my own squad, it’s like I’m a babysitter now. My fun is in the rearview, man. It’s all counseling and training bullshit these days.” He laughs.
“I’d still rather be leadin’ soldiers.”
“Oh, come on. Civilian life can’t be that bad.”
“Not terrible,” I respond. “It’s just different. I miss what we all had over there.”
He nods as if he understands, but he doesn’t. He won’t until his time comes to move on.
“I can’t imagine, man,” he says, shaking his head. “I think a lot about you. You and Barker.”
“How is he, by the way? I haven’t heard anything from him in a long time.”
Jensen frowns, his focus shifting to the tabletop. He shakes his head. “Not looking good, brother. He deleted his Facebook a couple months ago. He hadn’t been using it anyway. I’ve sent a few texts. Nothing. Last I heard, he was still down in San Antonio going through treatment. Just had a kid. I don’t know. I think there’s some issues with his baby momma going on.”
“His leg still that bad?”
“I don’t think it’s the leg anymore. Wasn’t last I saw at least. I think they finally grew the femur back. The burns were why he was still in rehab. Again, we’re talking a year since I’ve heard or seen a thing.”
I shake my head, my lips tight. “I hate that I lost contact with him. Or that he did with me. Or that I didn’t try harder when he was still talkin’ to me. I don’t know.”
Jensen shrugs. “What can you do? You can’t help those who don’t want the help.”
He downs his drink and signals for the waiter.
“How many you got down already?”
He chuckles. “I’m visiting family. How many do you think?”
We both order drinks, and the waiter retrieves Jensen’s empty glasses, three already. As he departs, Jensen nods toward my head. “What’s with the scar? That wasn’t there before, was it?” he asks, and I mindlessly feel for it, forgetting it was even there.
“Don’t even ask. Long story,” I respond, waving him off and dropping my hand back to my side.
“The usual hooligan behavior you always find yourself in, I imagine?”
I shrug. “I don’t find it. It finds me.”
“You remember that podunk bar in Georgia?”
I nod, chuckling. “How could I forget?”
“Do you think that dude has any feeling left in his face?” Jensen asks with a laugh.
I shake my head. “Not if my foot had anything to do with it.”
“I still can’t believe you did that.”
Shrugging, I say, “Sometimes I feel bad about it, but then I remember he was hittin’ a woman. Takes any pity away pretty quickly.”
“I think about that shit all the time,” he says, grinning, as the waiter returns with our double Jameson on the rocks, a drink we’ve always enjoyed together, one of which he’s already gotten quite acquainted with tonight. The waiter then takes our food order before departing again.
Jensen lifts his glass, waiting for me. When I meet mine to his, he says, “To kicking the shit out of some random wife beater in the middle of Deliverance country.”
I nod. “To makin’ sure that same mouth he used to talk shit met the goddamn ground.”
Jensen laughs. “And his fucking teeth left in your wake.” He shakes his head and throws the glass back. I do the same, letting the memory of that night run through me.
I had just gotten my stripes, and I was out celebrating with my guys. We had decided on a trip to Fort Benning, Georgia from Bragg to meet up with some Infantry buddies of ours, and stopped in the middle of nowhere for beers along the way. After leaving the fine establishment, all it took was seeing some redneck punk with his hands around his lady’s throat to set me off.
I was raised in a household of abuse; I haven’t put up with any of it as an adult.
He didn’t have much time to respond before I was on top of him, slugging him in the face with everything I had. It baffled me that she was trying to pull me off of him, trying to protect the man who, moments ago, was choking the life out of her. I paid her no mind though. I hit him a good twenty times until my friends pulled me off, the dude’s face left a bloodied tattered mess. It was when he looked up, spitting blood toward his girl, and he said, ‘You’ll get yours later, bitch,’ that I really lost it. I broke free from my friends’ grip and soccer kicked him in the face, so hard I could feel his nose crumple against my shoelaces.
As my friends pulled me toward the waiting car, the dude’s girlfriend hitting me with every fist and curse word she could muster, I realized brainwashing isn’t reserved for the movies. It happens every day to the strongest of people. Love is funny that way. It can be the greatest thing in the world… or the worst. The heart makes it’s on choices sometimes, and they’re not always good ones.
“For real though, was that from a fight?” Jensen asks, breaking me from my daze.
“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”
“What’s that even mean?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “It means you know exactly how I fuckin’ got this.” I chuckle. “Why do you gotta be so nosey?”
“You ever gonna retire those fists?” he asks.
I shrug. “When the good Lord stops puttin’ deservin’ faces within reach.”
“I don’t think that’ll ever happen,” he grunts, taking a sip of his whiskey.
“If the present is any tell, the future looks full of blood-soaked knuckles.”
He chuckles. “How have you been otherwise, Rocky?”
“I’m a civilian. What more is there to say?”
“You could’ve stayed in, right?”
I lean forward. “As a fuckin’ radio operator? Maybe a fuckin’ 88 Mike, drivin’ trucks over there? I mean, fuck, Jensen, I’m an infantryman. There’s no changin’ that. I don’t wanna do anything else.”
“It would’ve given you direction, at least.”
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask. “Really. Because no way would you talk to me like this three years ago.”
“Three years ago, you were my squad leader.”
“And what am I now?”
“My former squad leader. And current friend. At least, I like to think so.”
“You are, but at least show me a little of the respect that you used to. A little of the respect that I’ve earned.”
“I’m just trying to help, boss. That’s it. No disrespect meant. Not ever.”
“Okay, sorry. I’m bein’ unfair. I think I just need to get on your level,” I say, jostling the ice in my glass.
“Good luck.” He laughs. “I’ve been going since two.” After a moment of hesitation, he adds, “Hey. Thanks a lot for congratulating me on getting pinned last month, by the way.” He passes me a facetious wink.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Jensen, how the hell was I even to know?”
“Well, if you had social media like the rest of us …”
“Oh, c’mon. Enough of the frat guys give me shit about not havin’ one of those things. I don’t care to know when you fuckers are goin’ to the gym, or foldin’ laundry, or whatever the hell else people feel the need to announce to the world. Besides, I think havin’ one of those things would get me in trouble. I’d certainly offend someone on a daily basis. My thoughts and opinions are best left to myself.”
He chuckles. “Happens just about every day.”
“Yeah, see?”
He scrutinizes me with his eyes. “So, you’re in a fraternity now, huh?”
“Yeah, what of it?”
He shrugs, a smug look on his face I don’t much like. “Aren’t you a bit old for that?”
“I ain’t even the oldest one in the frat,” I argue, though I have to stifle a laugh as I think of the two, maybe three, others who are older than me out of a hundred and seven.
“Still. What the hell, man.”
“I don’t like this new you,” I half-joke as the waiter brings us fresh drinks, setting silverware down for us as well.
He wriggles his eyebrows. “You love me.”
I shake my head. “You always were my worst soldier,” I say, chuckling, and he looks offended.
“Too far, fucker! Too damn far! You know Wilson gets that honor.”
I laugh, thinking about Private Wilson, who spent about six ridiculous months with us before he was chaptered out. At one point, his weapon was tied to his wrist with 550 cord so he was forced to take it everywhere with him. That was about the third time he’d lost his weapon. His night vision goggles followed soon after.
“Hey, Wilson had promise.” I grin. “I think he would’ve made a fine squad leader.”
“I think you’re losing your fucking mind, man. That fucker could barely tie his own shoes.”
I scan his features. “Well, fuck, at least he could grow a decent beard.” I motion toward the patchy strawberry blond beard wrapping his chin. “What’s this shit on your face?”
He runs his hands through the face pubes. “Hey, we can’t all grow that shit like you do. The dudes from fucking ZZ Top envy your shit, motherfucker.”
I stroke my beard, which hass thickened substantially over the past few weeks, nodding. “True. But dude, your face looks like a taint right now. Like an old man’s taint. You need to remedy that.”
“Hey Bishop, I don’t tell you how to suck your boyfriend’s cock, don’t tell me how to handle my beard.”
“Face taint. Not beard. Face taint.”
“Fuck you,” he responds, laughing, and takes a sip of his drink. “You seeing anybody now? I know last time we talked, you were with that one girl.”
“Chelsea.”
“Yeah, her. How’s that going?”
“She broke up with me in December. I think she just didn’t wanna buy me a Christmas present.”
We chuckle.
“Smart girl,” he says. “Can’t say I haven’t pulled that move a time or two.” Shrugging, he adds, “So, you’re just raking up the pussy down there in Crescent, huh?”
I narrow my eyes and tilt my head. “C’mon. You know me better than that. That’s never been my style.”
“Well, you had to have gotten your dick wet at least. Even you must have needs.”
I shake my head. “You’re an idiot.”
“No, I’m a man.”
“A married one, at that. Even my spotty sex life must eclipse yours. Does she even know what your cock looks like anymore?”
“You bet your ass she does.”
“Could she pick it out of a cock lineup?”
“A cock lineup?” He thinks on this for a moment. “Yeah, I think I’m alright. I’ve got a unique bend to mine.”
“So, you can piss around corners?”
“Just about.”
“No way she picks your dick out of a cock lineup. I bet you guys are at the strictly celebratory sex stage now, huh? Countin’ down to the once a year birthday blowjob?”
He shakes his head, but his face tells me at least part of what I said is true. It cracks my shit up.
“That’s what I thought,” I add.
“Tracy still sucks my dick every Saturday, thank you very much,” he says proudly, crossing his arms.
“The fact that it’s even scheduled …” I laugh, giving my head a quick shake. “How y’all doin’, by the way? She get over all that shit that happened after you got back?”
He shrugs, his focus shifting toward the crowded bar. “Could be better. Could be worse.”
“Three years later.” I shake my head. “That’s why you keep your married dick outta strange vagina, my friend.”
He scoffs. “It’s not my fault she went through my phone.”
“No, but I imagine you didn’t trip and fall into that waitress’s pussy either.” I grin as he rolls his eyes.
“I was drunk,” he argues, though I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself more.
“Well, that should hold up in court. ‘Listen, Judge, I know I killed that guy, skinned him, and wore him as a Halloween costume, but I was drunk. So … maybe a pass this time?’”
He chuckles. “She didn’t divorce me and take me for everything I’m worth, at least.”
“Nope. Just mandated blowjobs and solo family trips from here on out.” I wink at him and click my teeth.
He lets out a labor breath and says, “I’m beginning to think she only wanted to catch me in something so she didn’t have to come with me to visit my family anymore.”
“I remember the stories you once told,” I say, laughing, as the waiter approaches with our food. “I’m not so sure I blame her.”
“Thank you.” I nod toward the waiter, raising my glass. “Can we get two more, please?”
Once empty plates have been pushed aside and a few more drinks have made their way down our gullets, I can feel the drunken buzz in my limbs, a tingle between my ears. Jensen is a swaying mess, still coherent, but beaming in his drunken state.
“I’m so glad you came to see me, man,” he announces, drawing my attention from the quickly filling restaurant and bar area.
“Of course. Anytime you’re around this way, definitely hit me up.”
“Same with you and Fort Campbell. There isn’t a whole hell of a lot to do there, but Tracy and I could think of a few things to get into. No fighting though.” He points a finger at me. “I know how you get around cherry privates, and there are a shitload of them there. There’s not a bar in town that’s not crawling with them.”
“Shit. It ain’t much different than college.”
“Says the guy who decided to join a frat.”
I chuckle, nodding. “You got me there. I don’t know what the fuck I was supposed to do though.”
“What about their student veteran organization?”
I shrug. “I emailed them. I didn’t get a good vibe from the guy I talked to, some Coast Guard prick. I looked at their website, and …” I hesitate, shrugging again. “Just looked like a bunch of fuckin’ wannabes.”
He laughs, taking a drink of his Jameson. “You crack my shit up, man,” he says, his shaky eyes meeting mine.
“And why is that, Jensen?”
“Never giving much of anything a chance.” He puts a hand up, probably noticing the heavy scrunch in my brows. “And I mean that endearingly.”
“How so? Do tell.”
“Who am I to judge anybody? It’s endearing because everyone has their own unique quirks and qualities. One of yours is being suspicious of everyone and everything.”
“It seems to work for me. I have some good friends. Pretty good life. I take chances when those chances present decent outcomes.”
“Good friends? Yeah, but how many are close?”
“Not many live near me.”
“No, not proximity close. I mean, close to your heart.”
“What kind of Lifetime shit are you talkin’?” I ask with a chuckle, taking a big gulp of my Jameson. It goes down far smoother than just an hour ago.
“I’m saying, how many of your friends do you keep up with? Share your life with? Get close to? When’s the last time we talked before this week? And you were about to back out somehow, I know it. It’s why you didn’t confirm right away. You had to keep a foot out the door, just in case.”
I let out a nervous laugh, my focus shifting away from him as I shake my head. “No. I wanted to. I just wasn’t sure what I was gonna do this weekend. Was thinkin’ about a lake trip.”
He nods, his eyes borderline condescending. “Uh huh.”
“Oh, fuck you, Jensen,” I scold in a playful tone. “You better drop this high and mighty routine. Don’t let me remind you about your first few months in the Army, you dumb shit.”
He laughs. “What the fuck does my DUI have to do with anything?”
“It ain’t the DUI, I’m thinkin’ of, but the tears shed after.”
A shade of red takes over his face. He averts his eyes to the tabletop. “I was wasted, you fuck.”
“‘Sergeant, I don’t wanna go back home. Please help me.’” I laugh, shaking my head at the memory of this man when he was just a boy, fresh in the Army and drunker than can be at the Military Police station, bawling his eyes out. I continue, “Don’t you even start poutin’! I’ve told you this before, you will get shit for that until the day they cover me in dirt.”
As he handles his whiskey glass, a look of resignation takes up his features. “Even though you’re a fucking dick for bringing that shit up again, I’ll never forget that’s when I looked at you and said, ‘That’s who I aspire to be when I’m an NCO. That’s a leader.’”
My eyes fall to my glass, shoulders dropping slightly. I get the uneasy, sinking feeling I always get when someone compliments me. I’ve never taken them well. Lucky for me, Jensen fills the silence. “When you took me aside to talk to me … you remember that?”
I nod, sipping some whiskey.
“You weren’t even my squad leader then. And my own squad leader—Sergeant Isaac—you remember that asshat?”
I nod again, chuckling.
“He treated me like I just killed his children and fucked his wife in front of him. Like, fuck, dude, I know I messed up, but get the fuck out of my asshole about it. The Article 15 was bad enough. I didn’t deserve his contempt.”
I shrug. “At the end of the day, it’s why you ended up in my squad. And I’m damn proud of your turnaround.”
“It’s because of you, and that day. You said to me, ‘We all make mistakes. We all fuck up. This is not a wall, it’s a speedbump.’ You told me to pick my head up, to stop feeling sorry for myself, and to drive the fuck on.”
“Nothin’ special about those words, Jensen. But I’m glad they helped.”
“They were special to me. It proved to me that I wasn’t done yet, that it was just a hiccup.”
“And look where you are now.”
“I love you, Bishop. Man, really.” He lifts his glass, hands shaking, his glossy eyes meeting mine. “And I mean that no-homo obviously,” he adds.
I clink my glass against his. “You sound like a fuckin’ millennial sayin’ that ‘no homo’ shit. Can’t we men just accept we feel emotions too without thinking it automatically changes our sexual orientation? I mean, c’mon.”
“Yeah, yeah. You know the infantry.”
As I take a drink, I give him an agreeing nod.
“Holy shit,” Jensen mutters, his glass still held in the air, his focus shifted toward the noisy bar. “Broooooo.”
I look back to see what’s caught his eye, but spot nothing out of the ordinary. There are certainly more people crowded around the bar now, and what started out as a quaint scene has quickly turned into a rowdy nightclub atmosphere, Billboard hits playing through the speakers and everything, though nowhere near club volume.
Turning back toward him, I ask, “What?”
“You see those chicks? Fuck, I love cougars, man.” His eyes are still glued on the bar, his mouth slack.
I turn back around reluctantly. “Aren’t you married?” I ask, scanning the crowd for these ‘cougars.’
“Doesn’t mean I can’t look,” he says as I spot the pack, a couple of them with big fake tits, all of them in incredible shape; their nails are done, their hair is perfect, and their dresses are tight. Two of them wear leopard print.
I nod. “Yeah, pretty go—” My words are abruptly snuffed out when my eyes land on Carleigh in a figure-complementing maroon slip dress that nicely contrasts with her dark black hair. I turn back toward Jensen and try and fight the look of surprise from my features, but to no avail.
He studies me. “What?” he asks, pointing a finger at me. “What did you see?”
“Nothin’. What are you talkin’ about?”
“Your face. You look like you just saw a ghost.”
I shake my head, pretending to not have a clue what he’s talking about.
“Nope. Just lookin’ at the cougars.” I take a sip of whiskey and then shake it in front of him. “Another drink?”
“You know someone over there, don’t you?” he asks, though it comes out more like a statement.
I take another nervous drink before giving a him quick shake of my head. “Sure don’t, buddy. I think you’re just drunk.”
He tilts his head. “Oh, I’m absolutely shit-canned, but I know how to read faces, and that face you just made was one of recognition. Now, tell me who you just saw before I go over there and ask them all if they know you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
He would.
He shrugs. “I gave you another option.”
I sigh, shaking my head as I feel resignation take hold. “My therapist is over there.”
“Therapist?” His eyes shoot over my shoulder and toward the bar. “Which one?”
I wave a hand in front of his face. “Hey, fuckstick, it don’t matter. Let’s just get another drink.”
“No, tell me, or I will go over there, loudly searching for her.” He has wild eyes as he scans the bar area. “Is it one of the cougars?”
Ignoring his question, I say, “They’d probably end up tacklin’ you, thinkin’ you’re some nutjob.” I laugh.
“Which one is it?” he asks, his eyes still on the crowd. “Please tell me it’s one of the cougars.”
“Maroon dress. Black hair.”
His eyes go wide, mouth slack. “Damn, bro! You tell her all your dirty little secrets?”
I put my fingers to his chin and force his eyes away from them and to me. “Can you stop fuckin’ starin’? They’re really gonna think you’re a nutjob.”
“Let’s get them over here, bro.”
I shake my head firmly. “No, we are not invitin’ my fuckin’ therapist to join us drinkin’.”
“But Bishop, her friends are hot! And her, well fuck, how do you not just think about fucking her every session?”
I laugh, rolling my eyes and shaking my head, knowing full well I’ve spent plenty of time in that chair across from her, thinking about what it would be like to have my way with her, and to watch her have her way with me. It’s an invasive thought I find myself fighting often. Jeans are a requirement for sessions now. I learned that the hard way my second session when my basketball shorts were little protection against the stiffy I was sporting by the time the session was over.
“You’re outta your fuckin’ mind, Jensen. Stop fuckin’ lookin’ over there. I’m serious.”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” he says, standing with a drunken grin on his face.
I put a hand up to stop him. “Jensen, no! Don’t you dare talk to her.”
He continues as if I’ve said nothing, so I grab his shirt sleeve and yank him back toward me. He almost trips over his own drunken feet.
“Hey!” he yelps. “You fucker.”
“You cannot say a word to her.” I put a pointer in his face, my other hand still holding on to his sleeve. “Not a word, Jensen!” I fight the grin from forming on my lips as I look at his pathetically twisted face. It’s as if he’s battling a serious case of dysentery.
“I won’t. I won’t.” He puts his hand up as he passes me a drunken smile and waves two fingers. “Scout’s honor. I just have to poop.”
“I swear, I will hurt you,” I say, letting him go and returning to my seat. I narrow my eyes. That stupid grin tells me he hasn’t listened to a goddamn word I’ve said as he shuffles his way toward the restroom. I watch to make sure he doesn’t stray off course. He doesn’t.
It’s been thirty minutes since Jensen left. Thirty-two minutes and sixteen seconds, if I’m being precise.
That’s twenty-two time checks for me and dozens of looks over my shoulder, just hoping he’s still in the bathroom and hasn’t pulled Carleigh somewhere without me noticing to tell her my life fucking story. He’s so drunk, I wouldn’t put it past him. I’ve switched sides in the booth so I can watch the front door, bar, and bathroom. Jensen is nowhere to be seen. Carleigh disappeared too at some point when my back was still turned.
I scan the bar area, my drink in hand and the ice quickly diluting the whiskey. I’ve paid the glass no mind, nor the phone in my pocket, which I could’ve used to text him had he not left his own at the table. Instead, when I do look at it, I see only time, and how much longer it’s been since he’s left.
Brief thoughts cross my mind that lead me to believe he may be drunk shitting, which can easily take thirty minutes when it’s a particularly nasty one, and that’s the only thing keeping me seated and my mind from completely spiraling. Well, that, and the fact that I’d prefer not to look like a weirdo. If he is still on the shitter, and I happen to run into Carleigh now, as drunk as I am, I’m sure to say or do something offensive.
It’s when I’m a second from exiting my booth, having grown weary from the waiting, that I’m stopped in my tracks, slack-jawed and nauseous.
Jensen walks in little zig-zags from the front door of the hotel, Carleigh on his arm and laughing at his antics. They’re coming right for me, but their attention is on each other, so they don’t see the panic in my features.
When she looks up and smiles, a nervous smile as they near, I fight the surprise from my face, mouthing, “Sorry,” as I nod toward Jensen. She shakes her head as they approach.
Jensen spots me and smiles. “Bishop! Look who I found!” He puts his hands up as if he’s presenting Carleigh to me. I force a chuckle, my insides burning, anxiety barging its little way in.
“Well, Jensen, appreciate you disappearin’ for thirty minutes, first of all …” I let my words linger as I stand, putting my hand out for Carleigh. “Carleigh, good to see you. I see you’ve met my dear friend, Jensen.” I say the words with all the sarcasm I can muster as I shake her hand, my eyes shooting to Jensen, who has a wide, wasted smile on his face and a far-off gaze.
He hesitates for a moment as I let her hand go and she sips the martini she’s been holding nervously. Jensen’s eyes find mine, and he says, “Did you see I got Carleigh?” while presenting her again like he’s Vanna fucking White.
“Yes, Jensen. I just shook her hand actually … about two seconds ago … right in front of your face.” I point to the space between Carleigh and I. “Right here.”
Jensen looks at my finger, then at me, and then at Carleigh, before he motions toward the booth. “Have a seat, hun!”
She hesitates, looking at me as if she’s awaiting my go-ahead.
I nod slightly, a tight smile on my face. I worry what he must have already told her.
He takes a seat beside her, his empty glass banging hard against the tabletop. Looking toward the glass, he chuckles and then shrugs. “Oops.” Taking a drink from his drink-less glass, his eyes roam over to Carleigh. He motions toward her with his head. “You see I found Carleigh?” he asks, lowering the glass back to the table, luckily, without the bang this time.
I’d prefer a night without more side eye from the tables next to us. I lift my brows, my focus on Carleigh. “You see what happens when men get married and have their first free night out in a year?”
She rolls her eyes, lifting her martini glass in a half salute. “I already know all about that,” she says, tight-lipped, taking a drink.
“Hey!” Jensen barks, his brows scrunching together. He peers at me. “I went out just last month for your information. Might’ve even been three weeks ago.”
“Wow, man. Slow down. I mean, you’re like twenty-four, twenty-five? It’s time you hang up your fun boots and start really applyin’ yourself.” I pass him an exaggerated thumbs up.
He laughs. “But still. Not once a year. Tracy lets me go out every couple weeks. And she doesn’t even text me that much when I’m with the guys!” He holds up his phone, showing me his recent notifications.
“Jensen,” I say between laughs. “Do you have any fuckin’ clue how many times your woman has texted you?”
“Huh?” Jensen’s lip curls back, his brows furrowing, his drunken eyes flitting to the ceiling. “Texted who?” His eyes fall back on me.
I bust out laughing, and Carleigh does too, as I motion toward his phone. “Check your notifications, my friend. I get the funny feelin’ you’re completely fucked.”
He checks his phone, scans it, and it takes a moment, but before long, his jaw drops, his eyes going wide. It’s then I know he sees all the text and call notifications waiting for him on his phone, her name stacked one atop the other. He races to unlock his phone and begins reading them, a frantic look in his eye.
I just smile, my eyes trailing from Jensen to Carleigh. “So, I gotta give you an open apology for whatever he may have said or done in his time alone with you.”
“I did nothing!” Jensen announces, his attention still on the phone.
“He really didn’t,” she responds, waving me off with a smile. “He just talked a lot about you and the friendship you two share. It was endearing.”
“I’ll probably have to remind him of this particular experience tomorrow.” I glare at Jensen. “I really wasn’t tryin’ to disturb your night.”
She shakes her head. “My friends all just left anyway. I wasn’t really ready to go, and then Jensen here asked me to smoke.” She motions to him as he takes another fruitless drink. “I may have needed one after the night I had.” She shrugs.
I shoot Jensen a scowl. “You fuckin’ smoked and didn’t come tell me? You know I smoke and you know I ain’t had one since I got here.”
He just grins, his finger still working the cell phone screen.
“I could use another one,” Carleigh says, shrugging.
“Yeah!” Jensen adds, putting a pointer finger in the air.
As I stand, I wave him off, shaking my head. “No fuckin’ way. You smoked without me, we’re smokin’ without you. You sit your happy ass right there, call your damn wife, and grab us more drinks.”
He looks toward the drinks and then back up at us with a frown on his face. He crosses his arms and leans back into the cushion.
“Fine!” he says, sighing heavily.
“Great,” I say, a wide faux smile on my face as I put a hand out for her. She takes it, standing from the booth, and then follows me to the front door.
Once we’re outside, I pull two cigarettes out, claiming our spot around the smoke pit. I hold it out for her.
“I hope Reds are okay,” I say as she’s about to take it.
She stops in her tracks, her hand inches away from the cigarette when she asks, “Reds, huh?” She smacks her lips, her face scrunching with displeasure as she finally takes it from me and eyes it.
I pop the other between my lips and light it, taking a deep puff as I wait to light hers.
She still eyes the cigarette cautiously, finally slipping it in her mouth and waiting for the spark.
I light her cigarette, eyes on hers as the Zippo flame dances … and then she’s puffing as I pocket the lighter before a cough erupts. Then another, and another. She holds the smoking cigarette away from her as she vampire coughs with the other arm.
Taking pleasant puffs from my own cigarette, I smile through the smoke, setting a hand to her back and patting it lightly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she says weakly, shaking her head. “It’s been a while since I smoked last. I mean, before the one Jensen gave me.”
“And before that?”
“Twelve years.”
“Damn!”
“Yeah, it was hard quitting. I shouldn’t even be smoking this one.” She eyes the cigarette between her fingers again, studying it and the smoke that dances from its smoldering tip.
“Well, you get no more from me then. Ever. I can’t be an accomplice.”
She rolls her eyes, and it’s then I notice the drunken glint to them.
“Shut up. If I don’t get one from you, I’ll just bum one from my friend Allison. She still smokes. Even though they’re Camels.” She grimaces with disgust.
I chuckle, reminding her, “Your friends aren’t here anymore, love.”
She looks around for a second, turning and snapping her fingers when she says, “Oh yeah. Shit. Well, I’ll get another one from your friend then.”
“Fair enough. His girly cigarettes probably go down smoother anyhow.”
As if proving her adequacy, she takes an extra-long puff and holds the smoke in her lungs for a moment. Her forehead dances, as if she’s fighting off a coughing fit. She lets the smoke out of her mouth in little O’s directed right toward my face.
“Talented,” I say, nodding, as I track the little O’s from creation to dissipation.
“I get it from my momma,” she says, crossing her arms and pursing her lips like a fucking early nineties rapper.
“Do you really?”
She shakes her head, eyes wide as she takes another drag. Letting the smoke out, she says, “Lord, no. My mom never knew I smoked. She hated the stuff.”
“You know what’s crazy, Carleigh?” I ask, taking a pull from my cigarette as her beautiful eyes meet mine.
“What?”
“I’ve shared so much with you already and I still know so little about you.”
She shrugs. “It’s my job. And it’s not about me. It’s about you, Bishop.”
“Is it wrong of me to want more than that… more than just a doctor-patient relationship?”
The surprise in her features and lack of response sends a jolt of burning anxiety through me. I wouldn’t have been so forward without the alcohol, and at this point, as her tongue is tied and mine serves as a placemat for my foot, I’m left to stutter my way through the silence.
“Ugh, I mean. Fuck.” I give up when the words just won’t come. Her eyes are on the concrete now. The embers of her cigarette are moments away from meeting the filter.
“It’s okay.” She waves me off, taking a long puff and killing the rest of her cigarette. As she lets out a smoky breath, her eyes trail to mine. She looks hesitant, nervous, as she bites her lip, dabbing the cigarette out in the ashtray.
“You’re just so fuckin’ gorgeous,” I blurt, whiskey-produced words, with no other help needed. Taking a deep breath, I keep my eyes away from her, though I can see her staring at me through my peripheral. I can see the white of her teeth too, as her mouth hangs open.
“Bishop …” Her voices echoes throughout the empty silence between us.
My cigarette is burnt out but still clutched between my fingers. “No, I get it. I’m really not trying to be inappropriate,” I reason.
“I know. I know that,” she says, setting a hand on my arm. “It is a huge compliment. It’s just … with our professional relationship, I think it’s best to make smart decisions. Even drinking with you tonight was too far. I shouldn’t have come over. I kept telling myself not to in my head, but your friend there, can be quite … uh, convincing.”
I nod, cracking up. “Which you can imagine was just really great for my early twenties.”
She laughs. “I can only imagine.” Out of nowhere, a look of seriousness crosses her face and she takes a deep, worried breath. “Listen, Bishop, I’m sorry you’ve seen me like this. You weren’t supposed to.”
“Please! If anything, it helps. It makes you feel more human.”
She smiles. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t an android.”
“So, since I am considerably more drunk than you are, perhaps you can forgive me for the conversation I’m about to trigger, but … is me bein’ your patient the only thing keepin’ you from talkin’ to me about this further? Our ‘professional relationship’ as you put it.”
She cocks her head, an eyebrow arched. “First off”—she puts a pointer in the air—“talking to you about what?”
I take a step forward, tilting my head slightly. “About how completely and ridiculously attracted to you I am.”
A nervous laugh escapes her mouth and she puts up both hands to halt it, to no avail. She shakes her head with a wrinkle in her brow. “You definitely can’t talk like that.”
“If you answer the question, I never will again.”
She hesitates for a moment, tapping a pointer against her chin as she thinks, before she asks, “Wait, can you repeat the question?”
“If it weren’t for me bein’ your patient, would you let me kiss you right now?”
A look of shock passes over her features, and she takes a step back. Not an uncomfortable one, not as if she’s trying to get away, but as if she’s worried about how close she already is.
“Bishop. We really can’t talk like this. We still have so many sessions left.” She finally notices the burnt-out filter between her fingers and tosses it into the ashtray, reminding me I have to do the same.
“I’m just speakin’ hypothetically.”
“Speaking realistically,” she says, shrugging, that gorgeous smile stamped on her face thanks to the liquor. “I could be your mother, Bishop. I’m an old lady. So, regardless of doctor-patient relations, there are other reasons nothing could ever happen between us.”
I take a step forward, the alcohol running my game. I’m so reserved normally, but if you get an adequate amount of Jameson in me, I’m the smoothest motherfucker you’ve ever seen.
“You think your age bothers me? It doesn’t. Does it bother you?”
She looks around nervously, biting her lip again as she searches for the words. “Bishop, you have to stop. It is such a mistake being here. I should have left the moment your friend approached me.”
“What did he say to you, by the way? He was gone a long time.”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Bishop. He was drunk.”
“Sorry for what?”
“He shared a lot with me. A whole lot. Some things I would’ve liked to have discovered on my own… during our sessions. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t. Not until I told him we should get back inside.” She looks toward the front door. “Speaking of which, we should probably go back in. Your friend may be naked and dancing around in there by now.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
We laugh until the seriousness of our conversation comes back into view.
“So … what did he tell you?”
“He told me he was here visiting family. That you guys served together.” She smiles. “He has a lot of admiration and respect for you.”
“He’s a good kid. Did he say anything else?”
She bites her bottom lip, and she has no clue how her affinity for it drives me to realms of desire I’m not quite comfortable with.
“I can see it in your face. Just tell me.”
She hesitates, her eyes flitting away from mine as she seems to search for the words. After a few long moments, she says, “He told me about the explosion.”
I scoff, shaking my head. I pull my pack of cigarettes out and put another between my lips. After offering one up to Carleigh, and she declines, I pocket the pack and light the smoke, taking one nervous drag after another before finally asking, “What about it?”
“How much of it do you remember?”
“I have two different recollections. Now, what did he tell you?”
“What do you mean ‘two different recollections’?”
I take a puff and shake my head as I scoff the smoke out. “Is this a therapy session, Doc?”
“I don’t know, McKenzie.” She puts her hands on her hips. “I thought honesty was your thing tonight. So let’s use that.”
“I don’t want to feel like every time I’m with you, it’s clinical … so you can study me.”
“I’m your therapist. What other kind of situation would you expect between us?”
“Somethin’ natural. A situation where we are both open and honest about this mutual attraction.”
“Bishop, I—”
I put a hand up. “No, I know you’re gonna say there’s no attraction from your end, but I know and you know it’d be a lie.”
She’s about to say something but hesitates, taking a deep breath.
“Carleigh, I find you irresistible. Your age? What the hell does that mean when we’re talkin’ about real human connection? Hell, what does it mean when you don’t even look it?”
“Bishop …”
“Tell me now, Carleigh, that you ain’t ever thought about kissin’ me. Not once. Tell me you ain’t thought about what it would be like, on a proper date, and not stuck in a tiny little office and in the confines of a doctor-patient relationship. Tell me now, and I will go say goodbye to my friend, I’ll head home, and put on some King of Queens. I’ll drink a beer since I can’t smoke a joint.”
She laughs, shaking her head.
“And I’ll continue wishin’ I could watch it with you, and wonderin’ what it would be like to ask you questions, to get to know you, to hear your truths. I think about that a lot.”
She scoffs, but it’s followed immediately by a dimple-inducing smile. Shaking her head, she says, “Bishop. You have to stop. I’m your doctor.”
“Answer my question though. If you weren’t my doctor …”
“Yes, I’ve thought about what it would be like to kiss you!” she says, letting out an exasperated breath.
I smile. “That’s all I needed to hear.” I take a step forward, and she takes a step back. I place a hand on her elbow and she bites her lip.
“Oh, Bishop,” she mutters.
I kiss her before she can say another word, and much to my surprise, she kisses me back. Hard. Her lips dance with my own, the softness of them electrifying. Pulling her into me, I cradle her cheek with one hand, simultaneously backing her against the brick wall. I can hear people exiting the front door behind us, but I pay them no mind. I’m too preoccupied with this sexy fucking cougar in my arms and her perfect, delicate lips working so effortlessly with my own.
I pull back from her and she lets out a slow breath, her eyes still closed.
“Lord …” she whispers.
“I’ve wanted that since the day I met you,” I respond, shaking my head, lifting her chin with two fingers to bring her eyes to mine. She slowly draws her eyelids open, a look of contentment in her features.
“This is so, so bad,” she says, though there’s a smile on her face. “So bad.”
I kiss her again, ignoring her words and concern, instead relishing in the feeling of complete desire that wraps me up like a blanket.
As our lips part, I say, “Can we go back in and get another drink? I think it’s time I started gettin’ to know you.”
She looks worried. “Oh boy, I don’t think I like the sound of that.”
“Come on, Ms. Jacobs.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders and lead her toward the door. “Let Doctor Bishop get a peek inside that head of yours.”
My lips curl into a smile as she rolls her eyes.
As we make our way inside, I spot Jensen staggering toward us. He puts up a hand. “I didn’t think you guys were coming back,” he says, stopping just before us, a wide, drunken smile on his face.
“I’m not that much of a dick,” I respond. “You wanna grab another drink?”
He shakes his head stiffly, putting his bottom lip out. “Not a fucking chance. I’m taking my happy ass to bed. The wife’s pissed anyway. Gotta go give her a call.” He points toward the elevators before his eyes fall on Carleigh. He puts his hand out and she takes it. He rests his other on top of hers. “My dear,” he says, locking eyes with her, “it was so great talking with you tonight. Remember what I said.” He winks and unstealthily motions toward me. “Treat my boy right.”
She flashes a tight smile as he winks at her. “Okay, Robert. Thank you.”
He lets go of her hand, smiling, as he turns his attention to me.
I glare as he puts his hand out for mine. Grabbing it, I bring him in and whisper, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you,” before letting him go.
He just laughs, waving me off before he turns on his heel and heads toward the elevators. “Text me if you want to crash here tonight, Bish,” he says over his shoulder.
“Yeah, I probably will, buddy.”
He waves a hand in the air as he stumbles toward the elevator bay.
I look toward Carleigh. “You know you’re gonna have to tell me what the hell he told you about the explosion and why you asked me what I remember about it, right?” I say, narrowing my eyes at her.
She laughs, motioning toward the bar. “A drink first?”
I nod, and she leads me to the only open space at the cluttered bar.
She orders two shots of Fireball as my eyes analyze her features. She seems to hold something new she hadn’t held when we last spoke. As she turns, catching me staring, she smiles self-consciously, shrugging as her eyes meet the floor.
“What?” she asks softly.
“I’m just really curious what y’all discussed,” I respond, and wrinkles of concern take up her forehead.
She bites her bottom lip. “Why’s it such a big deal?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
She looks me dead in the eye, and I smile.
“Because I haven’t seen that little shit in years,” I say. “He used to be my soldier, and I’m wonderin’ what the hell he told the woman I’m interested in.”
Her cheeks go red and her eyes fall to the shots the bartender sets down in front of us.
“Bishop …”
“What, Carleigh?”
“We can’t.”
“We should.”
“Regardless … we can’t.”
I blindly grab the shot, lifting it to my lips with my eyes still on hers. “What did he tell you, Carleigh?” I ask, and then down the whiskey.
“A lot about you as his squad leader. Like I said, he has a lot of respect for you. And …” Her voice trails off, her eyes on the shot as she brings it to her lips and throws it back.
“And?”
“And, just, other stuff.”
“Carleigh!”
“I can’t believe you’re trying to make me tell you what your incredibly drunk friend
talked to me about. Do you know how out of his mind he was?” She shrugs, a wary look in her eye. “I mean, really, Bishop, he was so messed up. What he said doesn’t matter.”
I contemplate this for a moment, my eyes locked on hers. “It matters because you’re my therapist, and what you hear about me from outside sources may affect the way you treat me. I deserve to know.”
She grins, a hand meeting her mouth. “Funny how now I’m your therapist, but twenty minutes ago …”
Got me there.
“I’m not gonna be mad at him. I just wanna know what you know, for no other reason than I won’t sleep tonight if I don’t. So, for fuck’s sake, tell me.”
She lets out a labored breath, before she says, “He told me about you carrying your guys out of there.”
I take a deep breath, nodding, though I don’t know why. Finally, I say, “He was the only motherfucker to escape relatively unscathed, though the shrapnel in his leg didn’t make him too effective at helping to carry people.” I force a laugh.
She nods, frowning in concern. “Yeah, I think he holds on to a lot of that still. He carries it with him.”
I laugh. “You think that after talkin’ to him for thirty minutes?”
Her face remains unchanged as she nods. “Yeah, I am a therapist, after all.”
“Well, I don’t remember any of it.” I shrug. “And it did no fuckin’ good anyway.”
She sets a hand on my shoulder. “God, Bishop, I don’t want tonight to feel like a therapy session. I hadn’t in a million years anticipated seeing you tonight, but I have to at least say this. You must stop punishing yourself for all of this. You did everything you could. Everything. You carried two of them out, for God’s sake … blinded in one eye with shrapnel in your face. I mean, Bishop, do you understand what that takes?”
“They didn’t survive,” I respond, my voice shaking, my heart pounding in my chest. I lean an elbow against the bar and drop my head in my palm, letting out a deep exhale.
She wraps a hand around my elbow and leans in. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
I wave her off, forcing a tight smile. “I asked you. It’s my fault.” I hesitate for a moment before adding, “No, it’s not my fault. It’s that drunk bastard’s fault.” I point toward the elevator bay.
“I’m glad he told me though. Would you ever have?”
“Told you about the explosion?”
“No, I can read your files for that. I mean, what happened after it went off.”
“I don’t talk about it often. To me, it’s fiction.” I motion toward the incoming bartender. “Another drink?”
“Yeah, Grey Goose and tonic, wedge of lime, please,” she orders from the barkeep.
“And I’ll take a double Jameson on the rocks.”
As he departs, she smiles, saying, “I definitely shouldn’t be here drinking with you.” She puts a hand to her forehead. “For the love of God, I’m your substance abuse counselor.”
Her tone begins to worry me. “Hey, do you want me to stop drinkin’? I can. I’d choose hangin’ out with you over alcohol. Any day.”
She turns red, grinning. “No, have your drink. I won’t make you choose. But I should be getting home here in a few minutes. I need to get some sleep, and I don’t need one of my friends stumbling back in here, asking questions.”
“Why not go somewhere else? Somewhere with dark corners made for kissin’,” I say, cocking my head.
She laughs, waving me off. “You stop. I really do need to get some sleep. And why do I get the feeling you have effectively derailed our earlier conversation?” She smirks.
Shrugging, I respond, “I’ve seen your diplomas. You’re quite the brain. I had no doubt you’d catch me. Shall we continue?”
“Sure you don’t mind?”
I shake my head as the waiter sets our drinks down in front of us. I throw some cash down and grab mine, shaking the ice around to properly chill the whiskey.
“So, if Jensen was the only one with recollection of what happened, he’s the only one who can really paint the picture. It’s not just a story, Bishop. It’s fact. And you have the Silver Star to prove it.” She takes a sip of her drink.
“He told you about that?”
“Yeah, but I saw it in your retirement paperwork too.”
“Oh yeah.”
“I know they don’t just give that V for Valor away for nothing.”
“I guess I just don’t really credit myself for anything because I don’t remember any of it. It wasn’t a conscious decision to carry them out.”
“I think that’s what makes it even more special. You were running on instinct, and instinct alone. And your instinct said to carry your men to safety, no matter the cost.”
“Instinct and a heavy dose of shock-induced adrenaline.” I laugh, taking a drink.
“Well, yeah. Thank God for that, too. You pulled your brothers out, Bishop, and regardless of what happened next, they received proper honors, a proper burial, and closure for their families. Who knows what would’ve happened had you not gotten them out of there when you did.”
I shrug, taking a nervous sip of the whiskey. I don’t mean to shut down when the emotions start to overwhelm me, but in my current state of inebriation, it’s that much harder to keep the pain from my features.
“Hey,” she says, putting a hand on my cheek and smiling. The compassion in her sparkling eyes and the authenticity behind her smile warms my soul. “Don’t you even think another second about it. Let’s have some fun, huh? Wasn’t it your turn to play doctor?”
I tilt my head, eyeing her with a grin. “I don’t think that was supposed to turn me on as much as it did.”
She scoffs, laughing as she bats a hand at my chest. “You are capital T, trouble, Sergeant Bishop. Just plain trouble.” She throws her drink back and then eyes the now empty glass. “And I think that was my cue.” She takes down the rest of her drink and settles the glass on the bar top.
I place a hand on her elbow. “No, not yet! It’s still so early. Playin’ doctor, remember? I have so many questions still.”
She chuckles. “When’s the last time you checked the time? Maybe, we can grab dinner or something soon?”
“Before our next session?”
“I’ll try! I promise.” She looks around for a moment before kissing me with fervent passion, her soft Angelina Jolie lips sending jolts of pleasured energy throughout my body. It makes my body rage with desire.
She separates from me, her eyes closed, a smile on her face. Opening her eyes slowly, she says, “It’s been a fantastic night, Bishop.”
“An unforgettable one.” I give her one last peck before she makes her way to the door, leaving me with a racing heart, a hard dick, and a yearning for her unlike anything I ever remember feeling.
I’m taken back to when I was nineteen and had my first experience with an older woman. I had just graduated basic training. I was spending time with some old high school friends, if friends is what you could even call them, and we were at a local country bar on a packed Saturday night. I was proud and humbled to have come as far as I did, graduating basic training and gaining bids to Airborne and Ranger schools, but I was also still young, cocky, and with a new sense of fearlessness. But that night … that night was different. That night a fifty-two-year-old found me. She wasn’t any bit my type, six-feet-plus in heels, spiky Pink-esque blonde hair, a cigar always clenched between her teeth. But she wooed me with her directness and undeniable sex appeal.
When she zoned in on me, there was no stopping her. She filled me up with drinks and met me on the dance floor a few times, and by the time two a.m. rolled around, we were all at Denny’s; me with her, and my friends with their own girls, and she was playing with my cock under the table. I don’t think I’ve ever been harder. It was borderline painful.
She offered me a ride home and I was quick to accept her offer. Of course, we detoured to her place first before returning me to my hotel. We drank glasses of wine, made out a lot and talked a little, and then she let the hunger take hold. It was then I knew I had been hunted. She was the cougar, I was her prey.
She pounced on me as I sat in one of her dining chairs. She sucked my neck, ripping my shirt off, and then she bit my skin from chest to belt line. I threw my head back, desperate for to have my cock in her mouth, throat deep and basking in the warmth, as she pulls my belt off, tossing it to the floor. As she unbuttoned my pants, I fought the urge to come already. She hadn’t even touched my cock yet and he was already wanting to blow. I had time, but the feeling was stirring already, my young cock not yet equipped enough to deal with such a force of a woman.
I grabbed for her freshly exposed tits with gimme hands as her tongue ran the length of my stiff cock.
It’d be another five or six years of having an older fuck buddy to realize I was probably feeding off of some mommy issues, but it never bothered me. It still doesn’t. From that day forward, a handful of older women showed me the way of the cougar. I found myself turned on by the age difference, by how well they understand themselves, their desires, and know exactly how to go about getting those desires met. And it all stemmed from that night.
I never had sex with that Amazonian cougar. I don’t remember her name, nor the reason we didn’t fuck, but I’ll never forget what we did do. After twenty or thirty minutes of toothy head, which was quite disappointing, I found myself in quite the precarious position.
With my knees by my ears, my feet in the air, and my hands left to dangle from the chair, I should’ve felt emasculated, and I wanted to, but goddamn did her tongue feel good flicking against my asshole.
I wait for the cab outside with a grin on my face as the memory plays out in my head, and my thoughts then trail to Carleigh, and what it’ll be like with her for the first time, cradling that thick ass with one hand, the other grasping her long braided ponytail like a rein, playing ‘now you see me, now you don’t’ with my thick cock and her wet pussy. And then letting her take control.