A Farewell to Arms

She had relatively slim calves that tapered up into big powerfully muscled hips. Comparing those hips to your average waif-like super model was like comparing a manufacturing facility to a workshop. She was built to repopulate the species.

But her waist was startlingly narrow. If her hips were in the 39-inch range, her waist was more like 26-27 inches and with her monstrous jugs she looked like she had been tied in half.

Her tummy, was not fat as much as it was round and fertile looking. And of course there was her glorious rack.

She had stripped off her shirt and dropped her bra as she went into the bathroom to finish getting prepared. I picked it up wonderingly and read the little tag. It said 42-DD. She must have named the left one shock and the right one awe!!

She emerged from the bathroom stark naked. Those ripe, full things swayed as she strode purposefully toward the bed.

The aureoles on them were light brown and huge, probably three or four fingers-worth wide. The nipples were equally prominent. Then, as she lay down on her back each breast pooled out on her chest. It was a stunning display of female lushness.

She was breathing raggedly as I leaned down to kiss her. Her mouth opened like a flower and I could sense desperate hunger there. She gave a little moan and grabbed the back of my head. We exchanged tongues for several minutes, both of us breathing loudly.

Then she gave a much louder moan and spread her legs. She said with desperation in her voice, "You've GOT to fuck me NOW!!"

I knee walked up the bed. I was going to rub around in her hungry slit for a couple of seconds to get warmed up. But, the instant she could reach me she grabbed my cock and just shoved it into her very hot and well lubricated receptacle.

She let out an unearthly groan and shot her legs wide, grabbed the back of her knees and dragged them up to her shoulders, opening herself to be pounded; which was exactly what I did.

While I was doing it she was emitting loud "Ahhhhhhhhhs", and "OH YES'S" and finally she just settled for rhythmic shrieking. I had not had sex since I deployed. So I wasn't going to hold out much longer.

Fortunately she began to yell, "OH YES... THAT'S IT... CUMMING... CUMMMMMING... DON'T STOP!!"

Then her eyes, which had been giving me the most intense fuck-me stare imaginable, rolled up in her head and she literally convulsed in a paroxysm. It was like she hadn't had sex in months either.

I was not far behind. I came like a freight train while she shrieked, "YES!! GIVE IT ALL TO ME!!"

We lay there in a sweaty panting heap for a long time, just catching our breath. Her giant boobs were still puddled on her chest, rising and falling.

I understood what had happened. We had just participated in your basic life affirming act.

Afghanistan is about as alien a place as you can be and still be on planet Earth. And the constant sense of impending doom only serves to torque up the stress.

Being a soldier might seem dashing and romantic. If you've never been one. But the heroic illusions evaporate after you see your first casualty.

I knew that the two of us were not going to fall in love and get married, or even probably see each other again. But for a very short time we could give each other the essential assurance of intimate human contact.

And THAT helped buttress our resolve to face the hard things that every ordinary American in that desolate piece-of-shit country faces.

Both of us lived in a world where relentless hyper-vigilance is a basic survival requirement. You can never stop watching and listening - even when you are in camp.

That's the case because, you never know when the occasional mortar round, or suicide bomber, will show up and end you. And that constant overarching sense of menace will sap anybody's spirit.

Our little interlude had temporarily lifted the burden of stress off our backs. And for a very short time we found peace in each other.

I looked at her and she smiled. I said, "I don't have to report back until day after tomorrow." She laughed and said, "I think that we can find something to kill the time between now and then." And we did - over-and-over, multiple times.

I still think of her. She was an insatiable beast in the sack. Yet there was something about her that was deep and nurturing.

I don't know what I did for her - maybe just filed down her horns a bit. But it had occurred to me - even at the time - that if I had met Gage anywhere civilized she would have made a wonderful wife.

~

In the interim, Rinaldi and I have had a lot of those kind of moments. We would get together. And he would rustle up a couple of women. Then I would get laid- usually.

It might sound kind of feeble that I was willing to let my buddy facilitate my sex life. But he was just so good at it. And I am so inept. He wasn't really pimping for me as much as he was leveraging my nerd charm. My success or failure after that depended on my own limited abilities with the opposite sex.

Rinaldi was back in London permanently now. And I was looking forward to sampling one of the stimulating dishes that he usually served up. Hence, I was sitting with a pint in a nook at the Anglesea Arms in South Kensington awaiting his arrival.

He had bragged about the nurse he was fucking. He said that she was just the hottest little thing - an absolute animal in bed, but a perfect lady everywhere else.

He also said that she was so beautiful that he would almost consider forming an exclusive relationship with her - the key word there being "almost." I had to admit that I was eagerly anticipating the arrival of a female who was so hot that she could ALMOST cause Rinaldi to give up his womanizing.

I was well into my second pint when Rinaldi showed up with two women in tow. There was no question which one he was with. She was so spectacularly beautiful that every man in the pub was tracking her.

The other woman was trailing behind with that anxious look that a person gets when they are waiting for the roulette ball to drop.

She was clearly my date for the night. And she was very presentable in a well-made, English country girl kind of way. She had pleasant, even features, cornflower blue eyes and a lot of long blond hair. It was parted in the middle and hung down her back in a wheaten sheaf. Her name was Helen.

The best way to describe her body was "sturdy." She was built along the lines of my former friend from Afghanistan, meaning huge tits. And that brought back happy memories of a couple of nights of debauched sex. All-in-all Rinaldi had done very well for me.

Of course Rinaldi's woman was spectacular beyond my poor nerd reckoning. I soon found out that her name was Catherine. She must have had an infinite number of Celts in her blood lines. Because, she had a glorious mane of long, thick copper hair, which she wore in a cascade of frolicking curls. And like all redheads she was a riot of vivid colors.

She had the redhead's milky-white, velvety-smooth skin, which was colored by a wide swath of cute brown freckles. Those ran across her nose and along each of her perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Her hair was a natural dark copper. Her lipstick was as bright red as her nails and the expertly applied blue makeup turned her intense emerald eyes into sparkling pools of sunlit intellect.

She had the face of a Celtic Goddess, huge, wide-set, cat eyes, a long, perfectly shaped Irish nose in a classic winsome heart-shaped face, with a neatly pointed chin. Her wide sensual mouth and gorgeously sculptured lips seemed to be fixed in a permanent secret smile.

The rest of her was lithe and willowy with long beautifully shaped muscular legs. She was tiny compared to her friend; perhaps five-three and certainly thirty pounds lighter. But she carried herself with such an aura of grace and confidence that she was clearly the dominant one.

And maybe it was her pheromones. But she radiated a simple eroticism that set-off unbearable waves of yearning in my lizard brain. I think she caught me staring in awe at her as the three of them approached. Because she gave me a puzzled glance as she sat down.

Rinaldi introduced me to my date. I liked the hint of interest in her eyes as she looked me over. It was like she had decided that she would buy me for the evening.

Both of them were obviously combat nurses. Helen had the kind of deep tan that you get working outdoors in a climate like Afghanistan. Even Catherine's satiny redheaded skin had a dusky tinge to it, which only added to her gorgeous coloration.

I said conversationally, "So when did you two get back from Afghanistan?"

Helen laughed out loud and Catherine said in an amused sultry voice, "Is it really THAT obvious." I said, "No, you both look absolutely superb. But you don't get that kind of sun lounging on Brighton Beach."

They both laughed again. Helen said, "Catherine and I just got back from six-months at Bagram. We have only been back three weeks."

Rinaldi had just begun bragging about his latest conquest a couple of weeks ago. So that fit the timeline.

I said, "I mostly operate out of Camp Dwyer, in Helmand. That's a Marine lair but it is more convenient for what I do." They both said together, "What DO you do?"

I tried to look mysterious as I said, "I COULD tell you but I would have to kill you afterward and you are both far too beautiful for THAT."

My lame attempt at Tom Cruise humor was actually not too far from the truth. I would have lost my clearance and perhaps my freedom if I had regaled them with my exploits as a Grey Fox. The NSA likes to have its secrets well-kept.

We spent a pleasant evening telling war stories. I was struck by the strength and courage of both of those women. Neither was a fragile flower. They had faced all of the hardships that the men under their care had faced. And they had done it with a certain amount of open-handed, selfless grace that most guys couldn't comprehend, let alone be capable of.

I found myself talking more to Catherine than Helen. I was certainly not objecting to spending an evening with a gorgeous, intelligent and witty woman. But usually, at some point Rinaldi's hand would be snaking up his date's dress. And at that point she would become very distracted.

Rinaldi might have had that in mind. But Catherine had turned almost completely toward me. So he would have had to reach around her to touch anything but the back that she was presenting to him.

I actually wondered, "What the fuck?" Since it almost seemed like this stunning creature was interested in ME.

That thought set off waves of panic. I am not used to beautiful women even noticing me, let alone coming on to me.

Her eyes were truly emerald color. And they held a depth of passion that tacitly confirmed everything Rinaldi had told me about her bedroom skills.

But Rinaldi was an expert rider. And the concept of me taking that thoroughbred filly out for a spirited romp scared the shit out of me. Failure is just so mortifying.

I wanted to get her to stop looking at me with a fascinated, fuck-me stare. So I said, "Why did you choose to go to Afghanistan?" The nurses have to volunteer for that duty.

Her beautiful face clouded and she said, "My fiancé of eight years was an Officer with the Life Guards. I went there to be near him."

The Life Guards are the oldest of the two regiments of Household Cavalry. They might look like over-bred 19th Century anachronisms when they are Trooping the Colors for the Queen.

But, when they exchange their horses for speedy Scimitar Mark IIs they are reputed to be the best armored reconnaissance unit in the world.

Catherine said with unconcealed sadness, "He was killed in a massive IED blast. They said that it might have been an American thousand-pound bomb that the Taliban had repurposed."

I said, "I'm so sorry for your loss." I didn't really feel it. But what else could I say?

I had seen a lot of death in my three tours. And the natural outcome is to just turn off your feelings. So she might as well have been telling me the cricket scores.

As she was talking she had reached distractedly into her purse and pulled out a shiny antique stick. She was toying with it like it was a religious artifact. I said interested, "What's that?"

She brightened and said, "It was the last thing that Anthony gave me. It's a swagger stick that his grandfather carried at the Somme. It was all that they were able to find of him after the first day's attack back in 1916."

I had seen that sort of thing a lot in The 'Stan. And I knew that the dude had foreseen his own death.

I said as kindly as I could, "A lot of the loved ones of my friends have gone through what you are going through. And the only way to cope is to get on with your life. You honor their memory by finding somebody else to love - somebody who can make you happy."

She said wearily, "I'm trying."

Then the feminine power flashed out of those beautiful green eyes. It was like a flare off of the face of the sun. She looked at me impishly and said, "Tell me that you love me. That you will be mine forever."

I knew that she was winding me up because of my last remark. I had just nonchalantly told her to find somebody to love. It was a cliché. We both knew it. And NOW she was making me the butt of the joke.

I thought to myself, "This is an incredibly smart and spirited woman."

I was sure that sometime in the next two hours she would be giving Rinaldi the ride of his lecherous life. So I said with an equal amount of fake sincerity, "I DO love you. And I will love you to my dying day."

I was actually thinking, "We should be on Saturday Night Live."

I didn't add that I was getting the premonition that my dying day might come sooner than later. I had the creeping feeling that I had already run through most of my luck.

She gave me a smile in reply that had the sort of smug womanly satisfaction that made me want to bend her over the Anglesea's upholstered pub bench and fuck her.

She handed me a card and said, "In that case, call me and we can arrange the wedding."

Then she stood, gave Rinaldi a look that must have fused the change in his pocket and said, "Come on dear, we have to get back to the flat."

Helen leapt to her feet and said, "Wait!! I rode with you!!" It didn't seem fair. Rinaldi was probably going to get a threesome. And I was going to experience the far too familiar company of Rosie and her five sisters.

I couldn't get Catherine Barkley out of my mind. She had matchless Celtic beauty, along with Boudicca's courage and the heart and soul of a Druid succubus. And it was all wrapped in a staggering, force-of-nature personality.

I knew that the game about "loving" each other was just a tongue-in-cheek mockery. So I didn't take any of it seriously. She was so far out of my league that I felt like the best I could hope for would be that we would occasionally hang out with each other.

Even so, I was hoping that we could become casual friends. I was in town for two more days so I called her the next morning and asked her if she wanted to come down to Hyde Park for a picnic; just so we could set the date for our wedding.

It was 10:00 AM. But I could hear Rinaldi's voice whining in the background about her coming back to bed. I could imagine her standing there naked, holding the phone, and trying to fight off Rinaldi's determined attempts to drag her back for one last early morning delight.

I had a momentary pang of jealousy. Every warning sensor in my head went off at once. I thought, "What the fuck is that?? Emotion!!??"

She said with anger in her voice, "Stop it, I'm talking to Frederic!!" Then she said in her most flirtatious tone of voice, "Should I bring the Best Man?" I said, "Of course, if you can pry him out of bed." She said even more seductively, "I have my ways." I thought, "I'll just BET!!"

I walked down Cromwell Road to the Waitrose in the Gloucester Road Arcade and picked up some delectables. Then I rode the Piccadilly up to Knightsbridge, walked across Carriage Drive to the Park and set up a blanket on a little grassy spot next to the east end of the Serpentine.

It was one of those insanely gorgeous bright blue-sky days that happen once in a while in the English summer. Since it was late August the temperatures were in the high sixties. The grass smelled fresh cut, the hint of cooking from the Serpentine Bar and Kitchen flavored the air. And everybody in the Park seemed to be in a good mood.

I was feeling a little bit more human today. I am tough. And I can deal with most of the unavoidable angst that accompanies what I do. Or maybe it isn't a matter of toughness. Maybe it's the fact that I am such a nerd that I don't really live in this world. I live in my head. And it's a lot safer up there.

I was really looking forward to seeing my "bride to be" again. Her sheer joie-de-vivre and the brilliant energy of her exceptional life-force almost made me experience a twinge of optimism. And of course my buddy Rinaldi always amuses.

She must have walked in from the Park Lane side because I saw her strolling casually past the octagonal Gin Bar. Her long muscular legs and that lithe body were enhanced by the white shorts, and hunter green Izod polo shirt combination that she was wearing.

Her thick red hair absolutely shone in the in the bright sunlight and the contrast with the hunter green of the polo shirt made it almost gleam. She looked like an earthbound angel. And she was alone!!

She got to where I was sitting. I was on my blanket. I had a good Cabernet already opened, three wine glasses and some assorted Waitrose nibbles. She looked delighted.

She sat down next to me crossed those fabulous legs and leaned easily back on her arms. Of course THAT showed off the perfect shape of her full faultlessly proportioned boobs, which distracted me for a second.

She looked at me enquiringly, like she expected me to say something. I stated the obvious, "Where's the Best Man???" She looked teasingly at me and said, "I wanted to have you all to MYSELF today."

I had no response to that except an extremely puzzled, "Why???" She said, "If we are going to be married we need to get to know each other better." I laughed lecherously - continuing the joke - and said, "Shouldn't we get a room then??"

She smacked me on the arm and said, "Not until the after the wedding." I had the totally ungentlemanly thought, "And Rinaldi probably wore you out last night." But I kept that to myself.

Instead I said a little sadly, "I'm going back day-after-tomorrow so we had better get busy."

And we did. We had a wonderful day together; sitting on that blanket in the sun, drinking the wine, eating the olives, cheese and bread and talking about the things that made us who we were.

I told her about my life growing up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin. I told her how absolutely isolated I felt living with all of those agricultural types.

I told her about my parents, who were decent God-fearing folks. But they never came close to "getting me."

I told her about my early interest in all things electronic and how that got me a ROTC scholarship at Carnegie-Mellon.

I scrupulously avoided any conversations about relationships. I didn't want to sound as clueless as I actually was.

It might be a geek thing. But I don't understand women. I take what they say at face value. And so I have been largely used and abused by the female of the species.

The girl who I lost my cherry to started fucking my best friend as soon as I left for Pittsburgh.

I was actually married for a short while after college. We lived in a neat little place in Jessup. I thought that she was the girl of my dreams. Then I was deployed.