Any Soldier

by Lubrican

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Chapter Four

When they got to the door to her apartment, he stopped.

"I can go stay in the barracks," he said.

"But I came all this way just to see you, and talk to you," she complained. "And I'm going to be in so much trouble when they find out I hoodwinked you. They might even put me in jail!"

"You could just leave," he said. "Just drive away. They have no idea who you really are. How would they find you?"

"And leave you here to take all the heat?"

"Hey, I'm a TBI patient. My brains are scrambled. I could do anything at any time. Nobody knows what I might do next. They won't even let me leave because they think I might go off the deep end."

"Really? You can't leave?"

"I have to have a sponsor," he explained, "and I don't have one."

"Who can be your sponsor?"

"Well usually it's a family member," he said. "Except I don't have any." He blinked. "I mean I didn't think I had any. I do have a sister ... somewhere. But they can't find her, so that doesn't help. And besides, she might not be willing to take me."

"I can't believe any sister would turn her back on her injured brother," Julia said, incensed.

"Well, she sure hasn't tried to contact me," he said.

"How do you know?" she asked. "I tried to contact you for months, with no success at all!"

He looked thoughtful. "Well, I guess that's true, ” he said.

"You know ... they still think I'm your sister," she said.

He looked at her. "Thanks, but it would never work."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Remember all that paperwork I'm supposed to complete back at the Family Assistance Center? It's not going to happen. We don't have anything to prove you're my sister."

"Oh," she said. "You have a point."

"Besides," he sighed. "You don't want me living with you."

She tilted her head and surveyed him.

"You haven't been listening very well."

Then she opened the door and pulled him inside.

"Julia," he complained. "I can't stay here tonight. You're a nice girl."

"And you're a nice boy," she said.

"I'm not a boy," he argued.

"And I'm not a girl any more."

"We don't even know each other," he pointed out.

"We can get to know each other better tonight," she said.

"Look, Julia, you haven't been listening very well either. If I stay here tonight I'm going to want to do things."

"That doesn't mean we have to do things," she said.

"But I'm going to want to!" he said, getting loud.

"Obviously, you don't want to," she said firmly. "Because if you did want to, you'd be trying to get in here, so you could seduce me and carve another notch on your gun."

"I don't have a gun," he said, almost petulantly. "And if I did it wouldn't have any notches on it."

"None?" She was shocked.

"Well, not very deep ones, anyway," he said, looking away.

"What does that mean?" she asked. "Are you a virgin?"

"No," he said defensively. "I just haven't done it very much, okay? Are you happy now? I'm not a macho stud with a bunch of girls to my credit."

"How do you know?" she asked sweetly.

"What do you mean how do I know?" he barked.

"Well, you told me yourself, you can't remember things. You couldn't remember your sister, and she's a pretty important woman in your life. And you couldn't remember me, and you admitted you get horny for me. So who else can't you remember? I bet you have a girlfriend somewhere."

"I do not have a girlfriend," he insisted. "If I had a girlfriend I'd remember her."

"Like you remember your sister and me," she said, smiling impishly.

"What do you want?" he yelled.

"I want you to be Bob," she said softly. "I want you to be yourself, the man who wrote me letters, the man who my kids adopted. That's all I ever wanted."

"But what if I want more?" he whined.

"Do you?" she asked, and then held her breath. She was going crazy inside again.

He opened his mouth to speak and then stopped. He took two deep breaths.

"I don't think I'm supposed to," he finally said.

She wanted to scream "Why not?" but the fact was he might actually have a girlfriend out there somewhere. She couldn't believe women would let a man like this run free.

"All right then," she said. "All we'll do tonight is get to know each other better. Tomorrow I'll slip on out of here and you can tell them whatever you want."

"Okay," he said. He sounded tired.

"I need a shower," she said. "Can you go find us something to munch on tonight? And some drinks maybe? My keys are on the table. Can you drive a car with that leg?"

"Go take your shower," he said. "You have an automatic. I'll be fine."

Once she was naked, in the shower, with water cascading against her skin, she knew she'd have to masturbate. She felt like she was about to explode already. She soaped her body quickly. There was complimentary shampoo. It wasn't the kind she used, but that didn't matter. Not for just one time.

When she was clean she leaned against the wall of the shower and slid a hand between her legs. She jerked as her fingers found her clit and pressed it.

"Ohhhh shit," she groaned. For some reason, the only time she cursed was when she was doing this.

She ended up squatting, two fingers digging deep and the web of her thumb torturing her clit as she shook in the grip of an orgasm. She wanted to sit down and just let the water play on her body, but she knew if she did that she wouldn't want to get up.

She turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. While she was toweling off, she glanced in the mirror, looking critically at her straggly reddish brown hair, the wet ends of which were currently plastered to her upper breasts. Those breasts were normally contained in a bra, but not because they needed support. They were firm and high on her chest, with nipples that she always thought looked like had been rouged. Her stomach was still flat, and she always examined it because that flat stomach was what kept her to her running schedule. She turned this way and that, trying to figure out if her hips were getting bigger. Looking over her shoulder she decided her butt was still OK.

She used a fresh towel on her hair, getting it as dry as she could. It was while she was doing that that she realized she'd forgotten her blow dryer. No matter. She could comb it out. It always dried straight anyway, even if she tried to put curl in it.

She turned to get dressed and froze.

She hadn't brought anything into the bathroom with her. In fact, she hadn't even brought her suitcase into the motel room. There had been too many other things to think about.

She looked at the clothes she'd taken off and wrinkled her nose. She'd been wearing them for almost twenty four hours. No way was she putting them back on.

She went to the door and opened it a crack.

"Bob?" she called. "Are you back?"

There was no answer. She opened the door more and peered out. No Bob. She thought about just waiting, but it was chilly. She decided to get the bedspread and wrap that around her until Bob came back. Then she could have him get her suitcase.

She stepped out of the bathroom, tossing the towel in her hand onto the floor. She walked to the bed.

The door opened and Bob walked in, a plastic bag suspended from one hand and her suitcase hanging from the other.

They stood, both like deer in the headlights. She stared at his face, noticing his eyes take in her nudity. He was very thorough in examining her body, and part of her mind noticed that as his eyes ranged over her naked skin, a pink flush began suffusing his cheeks and then his forehead, until he looked sunburned.

"Oh man," he sighed.

Julia sensed, in those few seconds, that she had power over this man. That seemed incredible, because he was a soldier, a warrior. He'd been in battle and fired guns and been blown up. It was impossible for a strong man like that to be helpless under the gaze of a mere woman.

But he was. She could feel it.

"Close the door," she said, astonished that her voice was so steady. She felt like she was going to explode any second.

Her suitcase hit the floor with a thud and the hand that had been holding it groped for the door and pushed it shut.

"Put my suitcase on the bed, please?" she suggested. "I won't have anything to wear until I can get into it."

"Oh man," he moaned.

"Yes, you're a man and I'm a woman," she said, putting her patient teacher voice into her throat. "There are some differences. You've seen them before."

"Not like this," he sighed. "I'll just turn around now."

He turned around.

"My suitcase?" she reminded him.

"Oh, yeah."

He bent and she noticed it looked different somehow. She wondered if the prosthesis made it difficult to bend over. He was trying to put the suitcase on the bed without looking.

"Bob?"

"Yes?"

"I don't mind if you see me."

"You don't?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because if you didn't have a girlfriend, I'd wish I was your girlfriend."

He turned sideways.

"I don't have a girlfriend."

"We don't know that," she said.

"Then why are you standing there naked?" he asked. His eyes darted her way and then went back to the wall.

"Because you're holding my suitcase and I can't get any clothes out of it," she said.

"Oh. Yeah."

"Put my suitcase on the bed, Bob."

"Sure," he said. Finally he faced her and put the suitcase on the bed. He didn't look up, though.

"Would you open it and hand me something to wear?" she asked. This control she had just discovered was intoxicating.

"Um ... all right," he said.

He opened the suitcase.

"Panties and bras are in the corner on your left," she said.

He reached and then stopped. "I can't touch ... I mean I can't do ..." He swallowed. "I can't," he finally said.

"All right then, pick a T shirt on the right and hand it to me."

He took the one off the top, which was red, and stuck it out across the bed to her. She crawled onto the bed, feeling like some kind of vamp and took it from him. Standing on her knees she pulled it on.

"Now some jeans. They're under the T shirts."

He lifted the shirts and pulled a pair of jeans out. He looked up at her as he handed them to her. His eyes dropped to her pubic hair and widened.

She didn't say anything. Instead she rolled to her back and stuck her legs up in the air. His eyes were glued to her as she reached to start the jeans onto her feet and then pulled them up her legs. When they got to her hips she arched her back and wiggled, almost laughing as his wide eyes watched her pubis slowly disappear behind the denim. She zipped and buttoned, and then rolled off the bed to stand in front of him ... close.

"That wasn't so hard ... was it?"

He swallowed, but his face suddenly seemed to firm.

"I can die a happy man now," he said firmly.

She did laugh then, with the pure joy of a woman who knows she is honestly appreciated by a man she likes. She was horny as hell, but it felt good and she welcomed it. She poked him in the stomach with one finger.

"I'd prefer you didn't die just yet," she said.

He looked into her eyes.

"What do you want from me?" he asked softly. She understood him to be remembering the last time he'd asked that question, and that it was being asked very differently this time.

"I don't know," she said. "Actually, that's not true. I know what I wish for, but it's not fair to ask it."

He was quiet for a while, but didn't move away from her.

"You said I flirted with you in my letters," he said.

"I thought it was flirting," she said.

"You wanted it to be flirting?" he asked.

She felt her cheeks heating up.

"Yes ... that's fair to say."

"And did you flirt with me?"

"I never could seem to learn how to flirt," she said.

He barked a harsh, short laugh. "What was that stuff just a few minutes ago?"

"I don't know," she said, feeling weak in the stomach. "I've never done anything like that before."

"Were you waiting for me ... like that ... on purpose?"

"No. I was going to get the bedspread and wrap up in it, but you came in first. And then something happened and I saw that ... I don't know ... it felt like I had some kind of power over you, and it was exciting. I almost felt like a different person. I've never acted like that before. I don't know what came over me."

He was quiet again for a few seconds. Still they stood only inches apart.

"If I wanted to kiss you, would you let me?" he asked.

She licked her lips. "Yes."

She expected him to kiss her then, almost closed her eyes in anticipation, in fact, but he didn't kiss her.

"If I asked you to take your shirt back off ... would you?"

Her eyes jerked away and then back. His seemed so huge, all of a sudden ... those eyes she could fall into.

"I think I would," she whispered.

She watched his face, and saw clearly several different things flitter across it. She saw something that might be desire, but it was displaced with worry and then anger, followed almost immediately by a helpless look that made her heart ache.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Her hand came up and rested on his side.

"I have scars," he said, barely above a whisper. "Ugly scars."

"You're not ugly," she said firmly. Her hand lifted to caress his cheek.

"Not there, maybe. But you wouldn't want to see the rest of me."

"You don't know that," she said.

"Yes I do," he said. "They even make me sick to see them."

She brought her other hand up and sandwiched his cheeks between them.

"Bob, I don't know what's happening right now. I'm scared, and excited and I don't know what to do or say. But I do know that there isn't anything about you that could make me sick. It's not possible."

"You don't know what you're saying," he said.

"No, you don't know me well enough to understand how I feel about you. I'm not even sure I understand. One minute I want to run away because I think that's the right thing to do. The next minute I want to tear off my ..." She stopped, her eyes wild, but then lumbered on. "... to do things I don't usually do. But I know this, Bob. It is not possible for you to show me anything that would drive me away because I couldn't stand to see it."

He looked at her, anguish on his face. He wanted to believe ... but it was hard!

"Show me now," she said suddenly. "Just get it over with. Then you'll know. And I'll know. Just show me your scars, Bob."

"You're crazy," he said.

"Probably," she said. "Who else hops in a car and drives a thousand miles non-stop to look for a man she's never met and doesn't know how to find when she gets where she's going?"

"You did pretty well, I'd say."

"Then maybe I'm not crazy," she said calmly. "Come on. Get naked, soldier."

"I can't believe you said that," he groaned.

"Do you need help?" she asked, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

He stepped back. "No. I'll do it. Just turn around."

"No." she said.

"What do you mean no?" he asked.

"You saw me naked. Now it's my turn. You stared at me. I get to stare at you. Now get naked!"

He took his shirt off first, and then stopped as she walked around him in a circle. He was wounded twice before the IED sent him home. One was when a sniper sent a round past the edge of his body armor. It was a through and through wound in the arm and, other than being sore for a month, it hadn't really caused him any problem. She found the exit wound and touched it lightly.

"What's this?"

"Sniper," he said. "Went right through my arm."

She walked around and found the puckered, round entrance wound.

"I don't see that many scars," she said, looking at his chest. Her face was pink.

"You know the scars I'm talking about," he said.

"I can't see them yet," she said.

He unbuckled his belt and then undid the snap and zipper of his jeans.

"You're sure you want to do this," he said, his voice even.

"I'm sure," she said.

He pushed his jeans down to reveal purple and yellow striped boxers.

She laughed.

"What?"

"Your shorts ... they're very interesting." She giggled.

"I didn't make fun of your underwear," he groused.

"You wouldn't touch my underwear," she corrected.

He had to sit down at that point. He took the pants off his good leg first, revealing a long scar that went from the outside of his knee to mid calf.

"I was running for cover in a fire fight and got snagged by some scrap metal," he said.

"Ouch," she said, looking at the eight inch long scar.

He sat there, staring at the leg that was still covered.

"Go on," she said softly.

At first she couldn't see much of anything. There was a tan colored sock like thing that went above his knee. The stump was firmly inserted into the socket of the prosthesis. It looked very foreign. She started to say it didn't look so bad, but realized she wasn't seeing what he was afraid of yet.

When he crossed his knee, it was almost comical, because it was such a normal thing for a man to do. The part of his left leg where the prosthesis attached ended up lying on his right thigh. He bent forward and removed the leg. He laid it on the bed. He reached for the sock, but stopped.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

"I want to do this," she replied. "We need to do this, Bob."

He closed his eyes ... and removed the sock.

Julia had never seen the results of an amputation before. In truth, this one looked pretty good. It had been thought out, and done in a deliberate manner, rather than the hack job that sometimes had to be done in the field to save a soldier's life. The end of the bones had been shaped and screwed to each other, and the muscle and skin closed neatly over it. It had healed with typical thick, pale scarring, but the scars had been planned by the surgeon too, so that the prosthesis worked with them, instead of against them.

It looked odd. It looked painful.

She knelt, putting her face right in front of the leg, which was straight. He opened his eyes and bent the knee reflexively to move the ruined end of his leg away from her face. Her hands came up reflexively to cradle the stump, almost as if she were catching it. She looked up at his face and then back at the leg. She lifted it, making it straight again.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"Sometimes," he said, his voice shaky. "Not right now."

"Can I touch it?"

He swallowed. "I guess."

She let the fingers of her right hand slide around the side of the leg, where the skin was normal. Then she pulled it toward her so that her palm smoothed over the top and then the end of the stump.

"Did that hurt you?" she asked.

"No."

Now she brought both palms to run them over all parts of the scarred skin.

"It's so sad," she said softly.

He had nothing to say.

She cupped the stump in both hands again, and leaned forward to press plump lips gently against the very end, where the scars were the thickest.

She pulled back. "I wish I could kiss it and make it better for real," she said.

She looked up at his face. He was crying, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I'm not disgusted," she said anxiously.

"I know," he said, his voice tight.

Then he burst into sobs of relief and joy.

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