A Long Hard Road Out of Hell

Foreword: READ THIS FIRST

This is the true account of how I lost and then regained my self-respect after returning from Afghanistan and finding my now ex-fiancé in bed with a guy who had at one time been my friend.

This is real life, and you probably won't like the main character (me). I don't pull any punches in this, even with myself. It isn't as over the top as my fiction on here, but that's how real life is. Names and a few minor details have been changed to protect the guilty and innocent alike.

Glossary of terms:

A/O: Area of Operations

Un-ass: Get the hell out of the area

SOP: Standard Operating Procedure

SOL: Shit Outta Luck

4th Point of Contact: The Ass. The 4th point of the body that hits the ground during a PLF.

PLF: Parachute Landing Fall, how an Airborne soldier lands while using a T-10-Bravo parachute.

Ate-up: Sloppy, messed up, fucked up

MEPS: Military Entrance Processing Station. They're found in most major cities in the United States.

STRAC: Strong, Tough, & Ready Around the Clock

ETS: End of Time in Service

Some things in this account have already been covered in "Coolness Under Fire" in the fact that I did take "Lena"(Kellie in that tale) to Prom and we gave each other our virginities that night. Differences include that we were stationed together in this one while in Panama during our first tour of service, but we still went back to being Best Friends, only with benefits whenever one of us wasn't in a relationship with someone else. It took us much longer to figure out that we love each other, which is how it really happened.

This will explain why I really don't give a shit WHY a wife/girlfriend/fiancé cheats. My philosophy: Zero Tolerance. Excuses are like assholes. Everyone has them, and they're all shitty. The ONLY exceptions and reasons that would call for reconciliation are Rape, Drugged Rape, or something like that. Drunk is just an excuse, not a reason.

This will also explain why I tend to have black female leads in my tales to help Hubby pick up the pieces of his life after Wifey cheats on him.

Unless you've been cheated on and hurt beyond measure by someone you truly loved, don't judge me.

I.D.

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Emily Henson was the woman I was going to marry. We'd met shortly after I moved from Santa Barbara to Tempe, Arizona for a job there. That was after 4 years in the US Army and another 4 years at UCLA where I got my computer science degree and my CompTIA certifications. I also moved there to be near my folks who had moved to Scottsdale. Being a UCLA alum made dealing with the Sundevils at nearby ASU a pain in the ass sometimes, but oh well. Shit happens.

My Best Friend Lena was back in Santa Barbara, and we kept in touch regularly. That is, until my new girlfriend Emily told me to cut back on that. Emily, as it turned out, was jealous as hell that I had a female Best Friend. She told me that I needed to spend less time talking to Lena and spend more time with her. I should have seen the warning signs about Emily, to be honest. But shit, she was hot, sweet most of the time, and I had fallen in love with her. So, wisely enough, I didn't tell her about what Lena and I had done together before I met Emily.

I'm Mitchell Nolan, by the way. 6'1", 198 lbs., still in shape after getting out of the Army back in '95 after a 4 year hitch. I still ran PT at least 3 times a week, just to keep fit. Airborne, Sniper, and Ranger schools had drilled it into my head to keep myself STRAC. Yeah, I had kept in shape even while getting my Computer Science degree at UCLA using the G.I. Bill and some student loans. Hell, I even still wore my Dogtags.

It was the summer of 2000 when I first met Emily Henson. I'd just moved to town, and went to visit my parents up in Scottsdale. Her mom was friends with my mom, and we hit it off immediately. In spite of the fact that I really wasn't into blondes, Emily captured my heart with her bright green eyes and honey-blonde hair, not to mention her sweet personality and sexy smile. She had just graduated from ASU, but I didn't hold that against her.

Anyone who watches College Football in the American southwest knows of the rivalry between UCLA and ASU. Duh. But that's not important right now.

Yeah, I was falling fast for Emily, and for just over a year, we dated and then moved in together. It seemed like a whirlwind romance to be sure, but we seemed to click on a lot of levels.

Granted, she didn't like heavy metal, or action movies, or sci-fi, but yeah. We were VERY compatible in bed, and I also listen to her favorite music, Country & Western, sometimes. I was young and stupid. What can I say? Back then, I thought that amazingly great sex was paramount to a relationship. I'll admit today that it's important, but not nearly as important as I thought it was back then.

Anyway, a little over a year after we started dating, and I had proposed to her, 9/11 struck, and the whole country ground to a halt for a few days while the muckety mucks in Washington figured out what was going on and developed a plan of action. Watching the plane fly into Tower 2 galvanized me, and I called up the MEPS station in Phoenix and asked about reenlisting.

Emily didn't want me to go, and when I called Lena, she didn't want me going back in either. I thought at least Lena would understand, having been with me in Panama during my first tour. I was Infantry, while she had been Military Police. She made some valid points. I wasn't 18 anymore. Hell, I was 28 when 9/11 happened. 10 years had passed since our first trip to MEPS, but I was hell and determined. She railed on me for about 15 minutes that this war wasn't going to end well, and that I would get my fool ass killed over there.

At the end of our last conversation, Lena gave me an ultimatum. She said "Mitch, if you go back in, I'll never talk to you again!" I hung up on her. Yeah, I'm bullheaded.

Emily was more supportive than my Best Friend, at least! Hell, Emily at least said she understood that I needed to do this.

Long story short, I went back in, and I thought at the time that I was sacrificing a lifelong friendship in order to serve my country in time of war. As much of a bitch as Lena had been about it, I figured it was worth the trade-off. I breezed through Basic, AIT, as well as Airborne, Sniper, and Ranger schools again. Ok, the last one was a lie. I made it, but NOBODY breezes through Sniper and Ranger Schools. When I was in the first time, I spent most of my tour in Panama with 1/508th Airborne and then 5/87th Infantry after 1/508th deactivated. This time around, I was assigned to 2nd Ranger Batt. out of Ft. Lewis, Washington.

I deployed in 2002 to Afghanistan, and I spent one tour there. Then one in Iraq, then back to Afghanistan for my last tour. I took Leave whenever I could to go home to see Emily. I missed her like crazy while I was overseas, and I thought she had missed me too. She said she did, and was very loving and passionate whenever I was home. Hell, if I hadn't taken a bullet through the knee almost 4 months before my ETS date, I might never have known that things on the home front weren't what they seemed.

Jim Harper had been one of my friends when I moved into the area. I had worked with him in the IT department of the company where we were both employed, and Emily and I had double dated some with Jim and his girlfriend Sherri Lewis.

Jim had told me when I left for my second run through Basic at Ft. Benning that he would keep an eye on Emily for me. I had shaken his hand and thanked him for that. Hell, he was engaged to Sherri at the time, so I had no reason to distrust him.

Now, when I got wounded, I didn't tell Emily about it. Stupidly, I hadn't wanted her to worry about me. Yeah, hindsight is ALWAYS 20/20. I know that NOW, thank you very much.

So when I got out of Walter Reed, and ETS'd down at Ft. Jackson, I decided to surprise her. Since I was just over 3 weeks early getting out from when I was originally scheduled to ETS. I was given a Medical Discharge thanks to my knee, and still walk with a barely noticeable limp to this day. Hell, I probably will for the rest of my life. I can still run, though. The months of physical therapy helped quite a bit.

So I flew home and landed at Sky Harbor 3 weeks and a day early. Instead of calling one of my friends or family to come pick me up, I took a cab home. I was planning a big surprise for everyone. As I hefted my duffel bag and paid the cabby, I noticed Jim's car parked next to my '79 Camaro in the complex parking lot.

I grinned at his "Fucked Over Rebuilt Datsun" Taurus. Damn Ford owner. Unless it's a Mustang, if it's made by Ford, it's fuckin' useless. The Mustang is the only Ford I like. Otherwise, I'm Chevy through and through.

I thought about what he might be doing there, but figured that he must be helping her with something she needed. I guess in the grand scheme of things, I was kind of right about that.

So thinking I'd surprise both my bud and my girl at the same time, I headed up to my door and slipped the key into the lock as quietly as possible. Even as I turned the doorknob and opened it, I knew something wasn't right. I could hear heavy breathing and moaning coming from our bedroom, and clothes had been scattered around the living room and down the hallway.

My first thought was weird, thinking back on it now. I thought 'Huh. They must have planned a practical joke for me. But how did they know I'd be home so soon?' Stupid, right? Yep, I was dumber than a box of bowling balls at that particular moment in time.

So I smirked and headed down the hallway to our bedroom. As I opened the door, half-expecting them to yell "SURPRISE" at me, what I saw instead made my blood boil.

Jim was on top of the woman I loved, slamming his cock into her over and over as she had her legs wrapped tightly around his back and was bucking her hips up to meet his thrusts as she moaned. I stood there in a state of shock as I watched my ex-friend fuck my ex-fiancé with a cock a good inch shorter than mine and not nearly as thick as my 7 1/2 inch long 2 1/2 inch wide cut cock.

From the muffled moaning that Emily was making, I knew she wasn't really enjoying it. Hell, when I fucked her or made love to her, she was a banshee in bed. Unfortunately for both of them, she was letting him do it to her, whether she was enjoying it or not!

As the shock wore off, the anger came raging back. Some idiots get off on watching their wives or girlfriends with other guys. Too bad I'm not one of them. The cucks and swingers would probably call me selfish. Ask me if I give a flying rat's ass.

Hell, I don't even remember thinking anything as I moved forward and took two strides before slamming my boot into Jim's balls from behind as he was pulling back for another thrust.

My boot connected with his testicles, and Jim screamed like a little bitch as he was lifted up and out and OVER Emily's body. He fell off the side of the bed, his hands holding his nuts as he moaned and whimpered.

That was when Emily noticed me standing there and tried to cover herself as she screamed. "Baby! It isn't what it looks like! What are you doing home?! Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"

At least that was what it kind of sounded like to me, she said it so fast. I wasn't interested in excuses. I just looked at her and said "Shut the fuck up," as I walked over and grabbed Jim by his hair. His longish hair made a great handhold for dragging his ate-up worthless ass out of my apartment. My only thought at that time was to un-ass the piece of shit from my A/O. As I dragged him by his hair, he started screaming again and alternately tried to cover his balls and grab my arm to try and break my grip. Yeah, that last part wasn't going to happen.

Now, I'm not huge, but I'm pretty powerfully built. The physical therapy for my knee was bad enough, but at least my arm strength hadn't suffered at all. In fact, holding myself up on the bars made my arms even stronger, and I had kept them working constantly. So it was with a slight limp that I was able to drag the dipshit out to the living room, open the front door, pick him up, and toss his worthless ass out onto the grass in front of my place. I slammed the door and went back for the cuntrag who had once been my fiancé.

Emily was crying as I came back into the bedroom, covering herself as best she could with the sheet. I pulled the sheet off of her and grabbed her by her hair too. Her long honey-blonde locks, that I had once loved on her, made an even better handhold to drag her worthless cheating slut ass out of my apartment, and I did so without qualms or compunctions. Before opening the front door, I reached down and grabbed her left hand. I yanked the ring off of her finger and tossed her out like the trash she was.

As soon as she was out the door, I slammed it and locked it behind her too. Fuckin' slut!

Then I took a look around the place and my heart shattered as the adrenaline wore off.

I staggered over to my couch and collapsed. I was hyperventilating and crying all at the same time as the enormity of what had just happened sank in.

"Jesus," I said in a whisper. "What the fuck did I do wrong?"

I vaguely heard the pounding on my door after God knows how long. A minute? 10 minutes? Half an hour? Fuck if I know. Fuck if I remember. I got up and staggered to the door. I should have looked through the peephole, but in my mental state at that moment, I couldn't be bothered. I figured it was either Jim, Emily, or both of them pounding on the door to get their clothes back. Fuck 'em. Let them run around naked for all I give a shit!

So with righteous fury glowing in my eyes, I opened the door to a uniformed Tempe Police Officer.

"Are you Mitchell Nolan?" he asked.

"That's me. Why?" I asked woodenly.

"This lady out here claims that you threw her out of her apartment along with the man seated beside her. Is that true?" he asked back.

I looked over and saw Emily sitting on the back of an ambulance while the EMTs had given Jim a cold pack for his nut sack.

"It's partially true, but she no longer lives her, and he's never been on the lease here, legally speaking. This is my apartment. My name is on the lease, not hers. She's my ex-fiancé and he's my ex-friend, in case that matters, and they no longer have any right to be in my apartment," I snarled.

"Well, Mr. Nolan, we need to know what happened here. Either you can answer our questions here, or we can go downtown," he said. Now, I've dealt with enough MPs and cops already in my life to know when they're trying to strong-arm me. They expect you to cave immediately and do whatever the fuck they tell you to do. I wasn't having it.

"Well, Officer Smith," I said, reading his name tag, "I just returned from Afghanistan with a 3 month stay in Walter Reed on the way. Anyway, I thought I'd surprise my fiancé and get home a bit early, but as you can see by how they're dressed, I was the one who got the shock. I decided then and there to revoke her privilege of living here, not to mention his privilege of visiting, and evicted them from the premises."

The cop looked at his notepad and nodded as he wrote down my statement. "Ok, Mr. Nolan, would you be so kind as to at least give them their clothes back?"

"Sure, Officer. Happy to help," I said with a touch of sarcasm. I told him to stay put and went to gather up what they'd been wearing before deciding to fuck on my bed. I then took the bundle to the door and handed all of it to the cop.

"There ya go, Officer. Oh, one sec." I said as I took Emily's jeans and removed the keys. I found her apartment key and removed it from the keyring. Then I handed those to Officer Smith as well.

"Thank you, but we may need to question you later," he hedged as he stepped back with the armload full of clothes.

"No problem, Officer. Always happy to help. Tell her to wait a moment and I'll have the rest of her things ready to go." With those words and a quick "fuck you" type smile, I shut the door, locked it, then went and got several garbage bags.

It took me less than 5 minutes to dump everything from what had been Emily's dresser and side of her closet into the bags, not to mention the toiletries from her side of our sink and tub. I could tell that Smith was surprised when I opened the door so soon after that and dumped the bags on the porch. "Here you go, Emily. Don't come back. Don't call. We're done!" I yelled at her, and saw her tear streaked face pleading for me to not do what I was doing.

Tough shit, I thought. She should have thought about that before she fucked my ex-friend who by this time was MARRIED to Sherri. I felt bad for Sherri, but then I knew that she would need to know about this whole mess. I pulled my cellphone out of my pocket and dialed her number as I slammed and locked the door again. She answered on the second ring.

"Oh my God, Mitch! Are you home?" she asked with a hopeful tone in her voice. Yes, Sherri is a friend too. Turns out, she was a damn sight better friend than ol' Jimbo.

"As a matter of fact, I got in this morning, Sherri. Unfortunately, I have some bad news about Jim and Emily," I said, my voice choking up a bit.

"What do you mean by 'bad news', sweety?" she asked. Her tone was apprehensive, to say the least.

"Well, they aren't dead, if that's what you're worried about. Unfortunately. I just caught your husband fucking my fiancé. I'm sorry, Sherri. I had no clue until I surprised them. I think I wrecked Jim's... equipment, at least temporarily. I kicked him pretty hard in the balls," I said, then proceeded to tell her everything about throwing them out naked and the cops showing up.

Now, some of you might wonder why I didn't get arrested. You see, Arizona is a Sovereign Property state, and that includes Lessees' rights on apartments. I was well within my rights to take out the trash, since my name was the ONLY name on the Lease. I'd never gotten around to adding Emily's name, so she had no more right to be there than what I had given her. I was also well within my rights to revoke her welcome status at any time and for any reason.

So it was with a lot of remorse that I told Sherri that her hubby is a dirty dog and my ex-fiancé is a slut.

"So it's over between you two?" she asked.

"Yeah. She knew how I felt, and she knew the meaning of Exclusive and Engaged. As in she was mine and I was hers. Nobody else's. I can't and won't take her back," I said. "Sherri, I'm really sorry about this whole thing."

Sherri was sobbing a bit, but rallied enough to talk after a couple minutes. "I can't believe he would do this to me, to us!" she was close to screaming into her phone. "I'm sorry, Mitch. I know you have no reason to lie to me. I'm going to have a LONG talk with that shithead when he gets home, though!"

"Well, this could just be a one-time thing," I shrugged. "I don't know how it is for you, but I can't trust Emily anymore. I mean, if she's going to do this before we're even married..." I let my voice trail off as I got another lump in my throat.

"I understand, hon," she said. "I'll let you go now. I have some stuff to do before Jim gets here," she said. "I'm sorry it was him with Emily. I know you were friends."

"Yeah, 'were' being the operative term," I snorted. "Ok, Sherri. I'll let you go. Take care, ok?"

"Ok, hon. You too." And with that, she Ended the call.

No sooner had she Ended the call than my phone started ringing again with Emily's number. I Ignored it and shut my phone off.

I had barely flopped down on the couch before the landline started ringing. I looked at the Caller I.D. and sure enough, it was Emily again. Why do cheaters always want to talk after they've been caught? Why do they want to try and "explain" shit that can't be explained or excused?