Dear Reader(s),
Warning: This is a somewhat longer story than you may be used to.
This is a love story. I believe you will find that it is romantic, funny, and erotic at different points. It has friendship, family, and love. It also has a preamble that some may consider lengthy or verbose, before you get to any 'sexy' stuff. But it explains a lot about the main characters and their relationship and growth. I think you will find it worth reading if you take the time. However, if you're looking for a "quickie" or "frequency" this may not be the story for you today. But come back tomorrow, you may find you like it if you give it a chance. I hope you enjoy the read!
Dedicated to ALL men and women who leave their friends and families behind to protect and serve!
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Do you believe in love at first site? It's a question I have thought about often over the past several years. I've heard a lot of people say it doesn't exist. But I know they're wrong. I know it exists because it happened to me. Almost fifteen years ago, I met the boy of my dreams and fell in love with him immediately. I was eight and he was twelve. Now, he is the man of my dreams and I'm still in love with him. I have been all of my life. The only problem is every time I tell him he's the one for me or that I love him, he seems to disappear from my life for a few months or even years. This time I'm going to make sure that when he leaves, he will want to come back. This time I'm not only going to tell him I love him I'm going to show him I love him. This time I'm going to make him love me.
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I was only eight years old when I first met Brian. My family moved into the house next door to his. For me, it was love at first site. For him, he disliked me immediately. The only reason he even acknowledged my existence was because his mother made him be nice to me.
Both of our families were 'military' born and bred. Not just 'military' but Marine Corps military. It is a totally different animal. My dad had just been given a new command at Marine Corps Base (MCB) Quantico and we had just moved to Virginia. At the time, my dad was a "Big Wig" in the Marine world and very well respected. He carried a lot of responsibility in his new role as the Commander in Charge of the Training and Education Command (TECOM) for Marines at MCB Quantico.
Whenever someone asked me what my dad did for a living, I always said my dad was in charge of every aspect of a marine's life, including how marines are taught, trained, and developed into fighting machines. My dad said his job was to "graduate marines who could think, plan, and act at least three seconds faster, deadlier, and more precisely than their enemy. Because those three seconds will save their life and the lives of their men."
Brian's dad was a Sargent Major and under the command of my dad. He was considered the best instructor and combat trainer in TECOM. He was the epitome of a fighting machine and my father respected him greatly. But he was Brian's Achilles heel. Whenever Brian and I would argue back then, I would always know how to get the best of him. All I had to say was "Yeah but your dad still has to say 'Yes Sir' to my dad!"
Brian adored his dad and wanted nothing more than to be just like him. All he ever talked about was becoming a Marine like his father. So once I said that, I knew he would just leave me alone. I think he feared he would take a poke at me if he didn't.
Brian spent every chance he had with his dad. If his dad wasn't on duty, he was with Brian. They spent as much time as possible together. Brian's family had a lake cabin about sixty miles from the base. They would spend weeks up there during the summer, fishing season, and hunting season. If the Sargent Major was off on a weekend, they went to the cabin. My family spent a number of weekends with them there also. It was Brian's family's home away from home.
When my family first moved to the base, I didn't know a soul. As the daughter of one of the men in charge, it's not always easy to make friends. You end up placing people in two categories. Those people who want to be friends with you because of your dad and those who don't want to be friends because of your dad. The people in the first group never make good friends and the people in the second rarely give you a chance. So, I didn't really have many friends growing up.
Luckily for me Brian's mom was on my side. She made Brian walk with me to the bus stop and introduce me to some of the kids. After school when he would be in the driveway playing basketball, she would make him let me shoot some baskets with him. He hated every minute of it for the first few months. Then I started to get pretty good at it and he took all the credit for teaching me how to shoot and how to play basketball. When I was a freshman, I made the high school team. When I was a sophomore, I started for the varsity team. Brian of course said I owed it all to him. And I guess I did.
Basketball became our thing and in later years it became our bonding time. We played all the time and as we played, we talked. After a few years, the age difference didn't seem as significant as it did at first. Depending on Brian's mood and the situation, he would take on the role of my "best friend" or my "big brother." Unless of course someone, specifically a boy, was bothering or picking on me, then he became my "protector." No one got away with picking on me if Brian was around. Of course, no one ever stopped Brian from picking on me, but that was a different story. He felt that was part of his job under any of his roles previously noted.
When I was thirteen, I got hurt during one of our pick-up games. Brian and I were in the drive way and I just happened to be having a good game. We were tied and when I went in for a lay-up that would have won the game if I made it, Brian threw a pick that would stop me in my tracks. It did, as he planted his feet and stood right in my path, I hit with too much momentum to stop. I took an elbow to the face and he busted my lip. Blood came pouring out of the open wound. When I bounced off him, I hit the ground and scraped both of my hands and elbows as I fell to the cement driveway.
When he reached down to help me up, his face became pale as a ghost. My lip was pouring blood and it was all over my chin and dripping down to my shirt. Both of my elbows and palms were brush burned and little streaks of blood were running down my forearms. He picked me up off the ground and ran, carrying me into his house. His mom wasn't home and he took me into the kitchen. First he soaked a kitchen towel in cold water and put it on my lip. "Hold this here and press hard" was all he said as he ran from the kitchen. A minute later he returned with a first aid kit and two plastic bottles in his hands.
He cleaned off my lip and face then grabbed an ice pack and a clean towel. "Hold this on it" was his next order. Then he took the brown plastic bottle and poured some on my palms and cleaned the cuts on my elbows. My cuts started to foam and he said, "That will clean them out so they don't get infected." Then he took some gauze and cleaned the foamy stuff off of them. He then took the little plastic bottle and poured it on a clean piece of gauze. He painted it all over both of my wounds and my skin and cuts turned reddish brown. Within seconds they were on fire and I started to cry out. "It hurts Brian, it really hurts. They burn."
Clearly seeing my pain and panic setting in he said the only thing that could stop my tears immediately. "You know the old Marine quote, 'Sweat dries, blood clots, bones heal, Suck it up Marine.' Marine's don't cry." I bit back those tears faster than even I thought I would be able to. I wasn't going to embarrass my Dad the Commander. I surely wasn't going to embarrass the Marine Corps and I would rather have died than embarrass myself in front of Brian.
Brian called my house and told my mom what happened. When she came in Brian's kitchen, she saw my cuts and abrasions all cleaned and bandaged and the ice pack on my lip. She inspected my lip and said she wanted to take me to the base hospital. She thought I needed a few stiches to close my lip. When I started to tear up again and was trying to convince her otherwise, Brian stepped in. "I thought we put an end to these tears. Suck it up and stop your whining. Let's go Mrs. J." That's what Brian called my mom, Mrs. J. Again he just bent down and picked me up from the kitchen chair and carried me to my mom's car. I could have walked, but who was I to complain if he insisted on carrying me. Brian became very bossy when he was stressed.
