“So where did you disappear to, Captain America?” Corporal Lopez twists around in his passenger seat to shoot a knowing smile my way. “Can you believe this guy?” He jerks his thumb at me in the backseat as his attention falls on our driver, Specialist Parsons. “He’s got a whole pussy parade after him all night, rubbing up on him like cats in heat, and then he just plucks the two prettiest ones from the bunch and takes off.”

In the rear view mirror I can see Parsons lift his eyebrows skyward. His moustache raises up higher when he does it, giving his face the appearance of a human arrow.

“Oh yeah? Two of ‘em, huh?”

I don’t respond, but the night before flashes in my mind. I can see their crimson lips brushing against each other as they slid their tongues from the base of my cock all the way up to the tip at the same time. My dick twitches up against my zipper, as if it’s reminding me that he had a great time when both the blonde and brunette from the night before slid their tongues up and around me like strippers on a pole.

“It was a good night,” I admit to my reflection in the window as I watch the familiar Colorado scenery float by me. I haven’t been back here since I left for West Point about a decade ago. I’m struck by the little things that’ve changed almost as much as I am by all the things that never did.

“A good night,” Lopez snorts over his shoulder at me, rolling his eyes. “You should’ve seen this greedy bastard in there, those girls were grinding up on him like a Roman orgy every time he got a drink at the bar. Man, that Captain America name is gold too. Did you come up with that or what?”

I didn’t.

It was just insanely good timing that the news footage of the firefight in Afghanistan hit the media outlets at the same time as the blockbuster movie hit the screens. Once Cooper Sanders got back on the air, he did a segment about the “real Captain America” who saved his life. Well, that was that. Fox, CNB and everyone else picked it up and ran with it.

I don’t love it, being compared to a comic book character makes me feel uneasy about the men I lost. Like watching Thompson get his head split open like a walnut is the same as watching a scene in a movie theatre. Like my men who didn’t make it are just extras on a set. Like the flashbacks and nightmares are exciting little trailers teasing this summer’s big Hollywood hit.

Captain America feels like it’s downplaying what happened over there for the sake of a quippy nickname. It feels like we’re trading compassion for sound bytes. But, I can’t change it, and it makes the girls practically cum as soon as they lay eyes on me. Not that bringing ladies home was ever a problem before. But, Lopez is right, now it’s as easy as pointing at one, two, hell, even three of them and heading out.

“Nah, I picked it up from one of those news shows. Who gives themselves a nickname anyway?” I shake my head.

“Yeah, Parsons, who would do something like that? That would just be weird, wouldn’t it Captain Forrester?” Lopez twists in his seat again to face our driver, who looks a little red in the face.

“Shut up, man.” Parsons tenses his jaw and his shoulders stiffen. I can’t help but laugh.

“Seriously? I gotta hear this one. What was the name?” I watch Parsons silently plead with Lopez in a single look. For a second, I think the Corporal is gonna stop chucking shit at his friend and leave me in the dark. Then he turns around in his seat, his eyes are twinkling like a cat that caught a little bird to snack on.

“Yeah, man, what was it you wanted everyone to call ya?” He pushes Parsons, but the only response is a flood of red rising up the back of my driver’s neck as he stares straight forward, unblinking.

“The sperminator,” Lopez looks me straight in the face and answers. Parsons turns a shade of purple usually reserved for eggplants and stroke victims.

“You’re a dick, man.” He manages to push the words through his locked jaw.

Lopez starts laughing like a hyena and I can’t help but laugh too.

“What? Why would you even want that to catch on?” Tiny tears form in the corners of my eyes as I struggle to breathe through my laughter.

“I dunno, I thought chicks would think it sounded cool. Fuck I was seventeen, you think you can drop it?” Parsons snaps at us but Lopez and I keep laughing.

“Dicks.”

The scenery blurs by the car window like fragments of a dream. At least it’s not like my real dreams. Instead of the sand covered hell-hole full of bodies that I visit every night, I see the field I used to play little league on. Instead of the village that I keep walking into in my sleep, I see my old middle school.

Memories piece together and remind me of my roots. I haven’t been back since I left for West Point, I was on my first tour when my parents packed up and headed to the sunshine state for retirement, so I never had reason to come home. A decade has gone by and I try to distract myself with all the little things that have changed. That strip mall never used to be there. Those subdivisions are new. It’s all a nice distraction from the only thing left in Colorado I care about.

Lauren.

Giving my head a shake, I push the thought away. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that there’s no shortage of pussy. After all, I got my leg blown off, not my dick. Although, there’s been many women who’ve tried to suck it off. Who am I to deny them?

After almost a year of intensive treatment at Walter Reed, the military gave me a choice: I could continue to be active duty or head out onto civvie street. It seemed like a no-brainer. I live to serve. Then I found out “active duty” meant desk jockey. Nope. No way I’m gonna stamp piles of paperwork for eight hours a day for the next fifteen years. Nothing against those guys, but I need something with a bit more adrenaline pumping through it’s veins. Something a bit more dangerous than maybe getting a paper cut.

When they told me I could discharge and finish my treatment at the Spalding Center near my hometown, I agreed. I mean, what else was I gonna do? Go hang out in an orange grove with my parents in Florida? Besides the military, Colorado has been the only home I’ve ever known.

I stare out my window blankly at the city sliding by. Suddenly, my eyes snap to focus when I see the red, white and blue flapping crisply in the spring wind. A row of flags lines the street, out the other window it’s the same. The blue on the flags compete with the blue of the sky. Parsons turns the corner and the road is lined down both sides with motorbikes, firemen, police and a ton of folks cheering.

A bunch of them are holding signs. “Welcome home.” “American Hero!” I wasn’t expecting this. The car slows down, and we pass hundreds of people waving and smiling. I roll down the window and wave back. On the sidewalk I see a pretty young thing with a couple of kids standing knee high to her. One of the boys stands straight and brings his little hand to his temple in a salute. I’m no softie, but I feel my heart twinge as I raise my hand to salute back at him.

The crowd seems endless; hell I’ve seen Veteran’s Day parades with less turn out. I know that when the footage first got released of me kicking the grenade away from Cooper, I was getting all kinds of attention. Interviews with 20/20, 60 minutes, even Oprah sat down with me. As the months in recovery wore on, the media buzz died down.

Unfortunately, so did all the fan mail from women who were offering me marriages and a womb to put my kids in. The wedding offers didn’t do anything for me, but some of the nasty descriptions of what they wanted to do to me to show their gratitude helped me get through some dark times. Luckily, when I was allowed to leave the hospital and mingle in the community, many more women were all too happy to show me just how grateful they really were. And flexible. If there’s anything better than a hot piece of ass with a patriotic streak and a deep throat, I don’t want to know.

No, wait, I do want to know. Send her my way.

“Well, holy shit Captain, it looks like the whole state came out to see you,” Lopez mutters in awe.

He’s not wrong, the street leading to the hospital is throbbing with people waving, shaking signs welcoming me over their heads and people giving me a thumbs up or salute.

A thunderous roar behind us makes me jump in my seat and twist around, fraying my nerves. For a second, my mind flashes to the desert and I expect to see a formation of Humvees rattling through the dust. Instead, I see a motorcycle group is roaring their engines as they follow the car in a different sort of convoy. My heart stops beating wildly in my chest and instead, I feel myself fighting to keep a lump in my throat from forming as I watch the group trail us in a v-formation, like a pack of Canadian geese heading south for the winter, with our car leading the way.

“I feel like I’m driving the president or something,” Parsons finally speaks again. I guess the crowd is even impressive enough to make him forget about the whole sperminator thing. For now, anyway.

He slows to a crawl as we make our way past the smiling faces. I could get out and walk faster than we’re driving and I’ve got one leg. It’s not like he has much choice though, with all the kids jumping around the car and trying to run up beside us, we’ve got to be careful.

Finally, we pull up to the rehab center and I catch my first glimpse of the media scrum waiting for us outside the front doors. The parking lot is overflowing with vehicles punctuated by full-sized, windowless vans with local and national news slogans and anchors faces plastered to the sides.

“Talk about a hero’s welcome,” Lopez smiles back at me, but the corners of his mouth quickly settle down into a straight line when he sees my face. “Hey, are you ok, Captain? You look a little distant.” His eyes dart over my face as I swallow my emotions and give myself a shake.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting all this,” I answer truthfully. I won’t bother him with the detail about how just a noise brought me back to a war I left almost a year ago. He doesn’t need to know that simple sounds have the ability to make me jump outta my skin. No one needs to know that.

“Whaddya expect,” Parsons interrupts, “he’s probably overwhelmed with how much pussy he’s gonna get here, right Forrester?” His eyes twinkle at me in the rear view mirror and I give out a laugh too loud for the joke.

“Yeah man, you know it. Just scoping out my first hits back here,” I nod and Lopez watches me a bit too closely then nods back, and turns back around in his seat.

“Alright, we’re here,” Parsons announces as he pulls the car up to the curb of the hospital. I can see that the staff have had the foresight to cordon off the crowd from the entrance so I’ll be able to make it inside without being mobbed. Or maybe they did it so the media would be able to get better shots of my arrival. Camera crews line both sides of the sidewalk leading to the front doors of the building, waiting for my big entrance. As Parsons jerks the car to a stop and the guys jump out to retrieve my wheelchair from the trunk, I curse the stupid procedure that requires me to wheel into the building rather than walk in like I’ve been practicing now for seven months.

Once I’ve lowered myself into the chair, I can feel Lopez try to grab the bars behind me to push me toward the building, but I grab the wheels with both hands and jerk them forcefully under my control, making it clear I don’t need his help. He lets go and the two men flank my sides as we make our way up the sidewalk together.

“We love you, Captain America!” I hear some women cry out and I scan the crowd to see if they’re worth acknowledging. My eyes settle on a small group of young, tight, blondes bouncing up and down with a glittery sign over their head. The sign itself gives me a moment’s pause as I notice that they’ve cut out a picture of the movie character, Captain America, in his blue tights and everything and they’ve pasted my face over his. Seeing yourself in a patriotic, skin-tight bodysuit is jarring, but I get over it pretty quickly as I watch them jiggle their perky tits in their tiny t-shirts. I imagine the four of them taking turns bouncing up and down on my cock like that, and all is forgiven about them making me look like a red, white and blue ballerina on their sign.

I push my chair up the path and soak in the scene as cameras flash non-stop. Even though it’s bright outside, the small explosions of light are distracting. Memories of explosives flashing as they flung fragments of deadly metal at us wash over me. The grip on my wheelchair tires tighten and I breathe deep as I try to ground myself. Before I have a chance to get my mind back under control, I see a man hop over the metal barrier holding back the crowd and jog toward me with his hand inside his coat pocket.

“Shit.” In an instant the crowd evaporates and the village is behind me. My skin prickles with sweat and I can see the man pulling an axe out from under his billowy robes seconds before I know it’s about to plunge into Thompson’s skull. I jump from my seat, fist clenched and grab the man roughly by the arm.

Lopez jumps between us and I lose my grip as he puts distance between our bodies. I blink as the village disappears and the man’s clothes transform back into a windbreaker and jeans before my eyes.

The crowd shrieks and claps like a rock star just jumped on a stage when they see me jump to my feet. Our little situation on the sidewalk is blanketed with the sound of whoops and hundreds of clapping hands.

The man looks at Lopez and pulls a pad of paper out of his pocket and nods at me, “Hey man, I just want an autograph. Can you sign it for me?”

I look down at the folded up paper of Captain America’s face smiling up at me and cameras flash like strobe lights around us. My head spins and my stomach feels like liquid, but I manage to push it down and I think I’m even smiling. Hopefully it looks like a smile and not a snarl as I grab the paper and sign my name. The crowd seems satisfied with it as they erupt into another round of cheers. I stand taller and scan the unfamiliar faces. How many people came out to wish me well today? It’s incredible that so many people I’ve never met care about me so much.

My eyes fall over old and young faces, none of them familiar, yet all of them friends. Wait, is that Lauren? I squint at the back of the crowd, closest to the door of the facility. Did she come out to see me come back after all these years? Her brown skin glows warmly and I can almost see the emotions in her eyes. Is she happy to see me? Or disappointed?

“Sir?” A small hand tugs on my sleeve, stealing my attention. I look down into the face of a little girl, her round cheeks covered in freckles and her broad, gap-toothed smile. “Sir?” she repeats.

“Yes?”

“Can I take a selfie with you?” She blinks up at me and I can’t help but smile.

“Sure kid. What’s your name?”

“Bethany,” she beams at me and holds a cellphone up to me. The crowd is starting to have more brave souls cross the barrier ever since the first guy jumped over. I don’t have time to take pictures and sign a hundred sheets of paper. But, I’ll make time for this kid. I quickly hold the phone up and we both smile up at the screen as I click our picture. Bethany squeezes my hand excitedly as I hand her back the cell.

“Thank you, sir. I can’t believe I got a picture with you. Thank you!” She smiles and reminds me of candle lit jack-o-lanterns on doorsteps in October.

“No problem,” I smile back before looking back up into the sea of people for the one person I recognized.

I search through the faces, eagerly looking for her, but Lauren is no where to be found. I must need more sleep than I thought. These late nights are catching up to me.

Whatever, give your head a shake. You’re not here for her. Besides, with the look Lopez is giving me, I know I’ve got bigger fish to fry than wondering about some old girlfriend.

Now if I could just get my eyes to stop searching for her in the crowd and my heart to stop beating her name.

But, yeah, besides that. Totally over it.