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“Right,” I say, rolling my eyes that somehow I even asked.
“Are you all right, soldier? You don’t seem like yourself. Everything squared away?” he asks, loading his plate. I can’t tell him the truth, so I give him a variation of it.
“Yes, Sir. Just thinking about a new case. He is pushing himself too hard. Need to figure out how to get him to slow down. You might have heard of him, Lieutenant Colonel Manny Delgado.” I can see him searching his mind before his eyes perk up a bit.
“Yes. Delgado. Quite a soldier. He earned himself a commendation. He got injured rescuing his squad from an insurgent’s ambush. He threw himself on top of the sniper and took five to the leg. Damn fine soldier right there. Yeah, that one is going to bust his ass to get back into the action. Mark my words.” He says this more to himself, but my mind is once again back to wandering. I find myself smiling yet again thinking about him. I am not at all surprised by my dad’s information. Something about him tells me he is the type of person to take care of everyone before himself. I wonder if he is the type to let something slip through his fingers rather than admit he wants it?
four
Manny
It’s day five of therapy and I already feel stronger, like I could run in a marathon again. It is getting harder and harder to resist her and I know I should, but at the same time, I know that I won’t. At night I can’t resist jerking my cock thinking about her. Her tight ass has haunted my dreams and I fucking want to claim her. To own her screams of pleasure as I pound into her surely tight cunt. I should wait to do so, but I can’t. When I walk into her room, she’s bent over a file cabinet drawer. The leggings she has on are camouflage, but not the right print for the Army. I resist the urge to chuckle. Then she stands up and turns around. Her t-shirt says “I like to ride beards” with some authors names on the bottom and a logo of some kind. I groan. I’ve got a beard she can ride. She’s trying to kill me, it’s official. Her whole outfit would get her a court martial if we were on base. I was initially going to go to the physical therapists on base, but they are booked out solid. It’s the price we pay when too many of our boys come home broken. I was the least broken, so they recommended this place, saying that many of the therapists are in the Army but work here part time. That’s what sold me.
“Hey Manny. Oh, crap, sorry. I got hot,” she says pulling on her Elite PT sweatshirt.
“I bet you did.” I say, grinning at her like a loon.
“Anyways,” she says smiling. “More talking or music today?”
“Talking. Always talking,” I reply loving the sound of her voice.
“You might regret that. Assume the position,” she says, gesturing to the table. I get down on the table and we begin. Today instead of innocuous questions, she cuts me to the quick and I admire that.
“So physical therapy works best when you have someone at home to help you.”
“Does it?” I ask, curious. She hasn’t said anything like that before, so I have to wonder why she’s bringing it up now.
“Yes. Do you have someone at home to help you?”
“No.” My answer is short and to the point. I want her at home with me.
“No wife, girlfriends, kids?”
“No. I’ve never been married, and I haven’t been on a date since before I shipped out after 9/11.”
“Oh. Wow. That’s a long time.”
“I’ve been busy since then,” I say.
“I bet. Freedom isn’t free.”
“It isn’t. You know that, being a staff sergeant yourself.”
“I work at hospitals. I’ve only seen the aftermath.”
“Cleaning up the aftermath is just as important the fight, some might even say more so. Healing heroes seems like a thankless job to me.”
“It’s not. It’s very fulfilling.”
“So do I really need someone to help me at home.”
“It would help, but I admit that was asking because I was curious. I wanted to know if you were married.”
“No. Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Are you married? Do you belong to someone else?”
“No, of course not,” she replies, giggling.
“Why of course not?” I ask, groaning as she begins to massage my thigh. She hasn’t done this before and it feels amazing.
“I just meant that I’m not married, and I don’t belong to anyone.”
“Good,” I say, and we continue on with the session. After we say our goodbyes, I decide enough is enough. “Karcin?”
“Yes?”
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
“Oh shoot. I’m sorry I have plans tonight.”
“Okay, I understand. Perhaps some other time.”
