When Johnny Marches Home

[©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18 WITH IDENTITIES DISGUISED; FOR AGES 21 OR ABOVE]

[On his second tour of duty in Iraq, a soldier becomes a casualty. Insult joins injury upon his return. Only his mom is left to try and save the day.]

[The story is primarily a story of love and devotion, versus passion. It also touches upon serious battlefield injury. If this is disturbing to you, then we thank you for looking in on the story—you are dismissed.]

My mother warned me. She said that I was pressing my luck signing up for another hitch in Iraq. But I knew my country needed me, and I was much more likely to survive than some shave tail new recruit.

My first tour was Desert Storm. I was only 18 and it was almost a rout. After the incredible air assault, I think my mom could've taken 1,000 Iraqi prisoners. Don't get me wrong, there were some serious firefights. As loader in an M-1 Abrams tank, I was knee-deep in that tank battle near the burning oil wells. It was fantastic, especially because we didn't lose a single tank.

Upon my return, I attended college and got a fairly decent job as an accountant. Eventually I even got a girlfriend, Rebecca. We started dating about a year before the Iraqi invasion. As usual, my distant father didn't ask me anything about the war, my girl, or my job. My mom, on the other hand, did nothing but ask me about these things. She also felt free enough to tell me things. She told me that she and dad had tried sporadically to have a second child, but it just never happened. Mom said they might give it another try.

Frankly, that was more info than I really wanted. My father was not my favorite person on the planet. He was ice cold to me and not that nice to my wonderful mother either. Although he had many flaws of his own (many, many), he was always harping about this or that with my mom. He was so rude and boorish about her coloring her hair (my God, a gray hair!) that she told me she was giving up coloration altogether.

On my last night in South Miami before shipping out, I did what all western warriors have done for years: making sure that a part of me lives regardless of what happens. I had just married Becky and our honeymoon coincided with my last week before embarkation. We 'consummated' that marriage many times, and I was confident that I had 'done the deed'. I fully expected to return from this tour and be met by Becky and my new child. From the way my mom was talking, I expected to see her with child also. At 48, I thought she'd better hurry.

During the invasion, I was in one of the leading Bradley's. In front of our unit was absolutely nothing but a few million Iraqis and elements of the Republican Guard. It was incredible stopping and deploying the TOW wire-guided missile. Our little tin-can took on a Russian main battle tank--and won.

I started communicating with Becky and my mother via various means, mostly various forms of telephone. Soon, Becky stopped calling or taking my calls. Then my mother filled me in.

Mom: "I hate being the bearer of bad news. I was at the mall and I saw your wife shopping. No big deal of course, but then I saw that she was shopping with someone. He was a nice looking Cuban émigré. Well, she saw me and her face turned ashen. Then, to my shock, she came towards me. I presumed that she had an innocent explanation. Not exactly. She told me that I wasn't seeing things; she and Antonio had been seeing each other BEFORE you shipped out. She was filing for divorce, especially now that I had outed her. Then, she just had to add this: her heart was not into all of that 'heroic departing warrior crap'. Becky said that she didn't want your baby for that reason or any other, and she went to a clinic to rid herself of anything you might have started."

I was thunderstruck. I had a letter from Becky sent via the NAS. Normally like most service people, I relished mail call and opened anything I got ravenously. This time, something told me to hold off. Well, with mom still on the phone, I quickly opened the letter. It was a legal service notice about the divorce, conducted in absentia, no-fault, etc.

Me: "Mom, I just got a 'dear John' letter, except this one was prepared by her attorney."

Mom: "I am so sorry. With this pending divorce, I didn't want to lay anything else on you."

Me: "Such as?"

Mom: "Well, your father and I broke up some months ago. It seems that he didn't dig me turning gray at 49, even though he didn't mind turning bald at 42 some years ago. That didn't bother me so much as when I was recovering our memorabilia after moving. I noticed that below the correspondence he kept was his little medical file. Sticking out was a doctor's write-up for his check-up after the vasectomy that he had after you were born. What that meant was that he was just going thru the motions for years when I was trying to have that second baby before it was too late. THAT was the last straw. The odd thing was, he said he was delighted about a divorce. He had been having an affair with his over-weight secretary. She was an exact copy of Rosanne Barr, but I had to concede, she wasn't gray...yet."

I said my goodbyes and we ended the call.

This was a bit much to have to digest in one phone call. My mom was divorced; her husband a cheater who faked it for years. My beloved wife had just divorced me after being 'outed' by my mom. She too faked it after taking up with another man. Becky thought nothing of extinguishing a life that we might have started. None of this was exactly morale boosting for a man in the field.

All of that seemed important at the time, but it took a back seat soon afterward. We were out on a re-con mission. Like every other damn village, there were these squat palmetto and date palm trees, several white Toyota pickup trucks, some modest homes, and vast expanses of nothingness. All of a sudden, we came under fire. My CO had a direct connection to our Air Force liaison, who could call up to AWACS above us for air support. Like room service, a flight of F15 Eagles came and blew the sh-t out of that whole area. I hate to admit it, but it was lovely to see what a Maverick or Hellfire missile could do to static targets. Quite a floor show, it was. We slapped each other on the back and prepared to move forward again. It was just a little thing, taking a number one as it were. I had several options, but in that heat, doing it outside was a lot more pleasant than holding it in or doing it inside. So, I hopped out onto the road. A road we had not swept (for mines). It was the shock of my life, like a sudden tongue of flame. As I lay on the ground, my CO already had a call in to Med-Evac. I swear before they could get out of the Bradley, I was being air evac'd to the divisional surgical and then to a ship for serious cases like mine.

They weren't all that common in Iraq. During World War II, the Germans had developed a 'shoe mine'. That was what I stepped on. It was designed to savage the lowest portion of a GI, the purpose being to just take enough to ruin morale throughout a platoon. Well, it certainly ruined my morale.

The medical team was great. They couldn't save what was no longer there, but since I only lost the bottom of one leg, a prosthetic was almost like being re-built. Almost.

My mom was the only person on my emergency-contact list now. She was informed almost immediately. She offered to fly out, but they said that I would be returning stateside immediately.

It's funny. Flying thousands of miles home was no problem for me. Negotiating all of the different turns and steps off the plane and at the airport was. I was constantly afraid of tripping, even when there was nothing to worry about.

It was 1am when I got off the plane. I was stunned that there was a group waiting to greet a returning wounded warrior. Some people would dismiss it as silly or corny, but to me, it was just fantastic. Their hugs and little commemorative things were wonderful and I would cherish them always.

After their group said goodbye, I saw my mother. I could tell she was desperately trying NOT to cry, as was I. She ran to me. We hugged so tightly we could have made a diamond from a lump of coal. I looked at my mom. She had let her hair turn gray. I could tell she was self-conscious about it.

Mom: "So what do you think of your broken down old mom? I'm totally gray, 49, divorced. Pretty pathetic, eh?"

Me: "Mom, you have always been gorgeous and that hasn't changed. [I put my arms around her.] God, you still have that same figure. You are the sexiest, hottest, old hag in the country." [We both laughed. Then, there was a different look. Mom's eyes were still red and puffy from crying, but I could tell something. It was a silent recognition that we were mother and son, but something more...]

As we headed out of the airport, I could tell that mom was more worried about my physical 'changes' than I was. She was visibly relieved when she noted I could keep up with her with only the slightest trace of a limp.

Though I could drive, she volunteered to do it and I wasn't about to say no. My mother had done well in the divorce proceeding. Her counsel called that blob of a secretary to the stand and easily got her to talk about her affair with dad. That 'cooked his goose' and mom kept the house and 2/3rds of the money.

Mom had carefully set me up in the guest bedroom (which had been MY bedroom years before.) It was great to be home with my loving mother, even under these circumstances. She gave me a wonderful dinner (my favorite: duck, green peas and Irish potatoes), an aperitif, and a nice hug. Her home was old enough that it still had a fireplace. In Miami, that was only for décor 364 days a year. Well, it wasn't environmentally minded, but mom turned the A/C way up, so three of those treated logs were doing their fiery thing as we embraced. I hated to admit it but corny or not, that damn fire was really romantic. For the first time ever (as an adult), I kissed my beautiful mother. She kissed back, getting tearful yet again.

My mother was pre-occupied that evening, but it was not what I expected. She was not consumed by my return, my physical 'changes', or even her divorce. What occupied her mind obsessively was the burning question...

Mom: "Johnny, am I getting old? I mean, now that you've just seen me after time away, you can tell. Now, do not spare my feelings. Honey, is your broken down old mother over the hill?"

Me: "Mom, you have asked me that four times now. It must be because that short-sighted impotent ex-husband of yours left you for some young tramp. How can I convince you that you are NOT too old?"

She thought I was just being kind. My mom gave me a fervent kiss. We embraced yet again. As we did so, I figured out how to convince her and satisfy something that I wanted to do.

Me: "Mom, you keep saying you're old, I keep saying you're not. Let me inspect ALL OF YOU and see, once and for all."

Mom: "God, Johnny, I don't know. It's one thing to kiss and hug a little. But what you are describing...I just don't know."

For some reason, I lost my temper. Actually, it was more like I had gotten hot and I didn't want to debate this issue all night. I smiled, stood up, and motioned my mom to stand up. We both had been snuggling on a llama skin rug by the fire in our night clothes and robes, ready for bed. As we stood by that flickering fire, I put my hands on the lapels of her terry cloth robe.

Me: "I don't want a long discussion, mom. I want to see you...I HAVE to see you. I want you nude mom, NUDE!!!" [I tore off that robe. Underneath her robe, she had on absolutely nothing. I got hard for the first time since the battlefield 'event'.]

Me: "Now, get back down on that rug, mom, and let me see how beautiful my loving mother is." [She sat down, resolved to the fact that her son was going to take stock of her.]

I started with her gorgeous, smooth feet. I didn't know if I was fascinated with them because of what happened to me or what, but I was mesmerized. Holding up her left foot in the palm of my hand, her toenails perfectly pedicured and coated with the richest red polish, I just had to plant a kiss on each lovely toe. With a final caress of her tender soles, I proceeded up to her slender ankles and incredible legs. She was 49 and there definitely were some new colors on her legs. That was unimportant. Maybe I was prejudiced or going blind, but to me, those were the best legs I had ever seen. The fact that they were as soft as a baby's bottom from a waxing certainly helped. Mom's breasts were flat out fantastic. They were as plump, firm, and upright as any playmate of the years' were. Her mature nipples were excited and stuck out like thumbs. I couldn't resist and put my mouth on each perfect nipple. Mom made me feel so safe, so warm, so loved; she brushed my hair as I suckled.

I finally got to her beautiful face. Except for the gray hair, my mom looked exactly like Nina Hartley, the doyenne of adult cinema—and I mean exactly, from head to toe. As I held mom's face in both of my hands, she looked concerned, as if I was about to render my verdict on her age question.

Me: "Mom, you are NOT old. That is my verdict. My second verdict is that we go to bed. I'm exhausted from the trip."

To my surprise, mom actually looked crestfallen. I think that she really wanted 'it' badly and thought after I went nuts that I would take her. Lord knows I wanted to. However, mom meant more to me than that and I would prove it the next day.

Mom went out shopping (what else?) for most of the next day. She came home and was delighted that I had brought in dinner so there was no cooking or clean-up. She loved the romantic touch of the candelabra with three lit candles, also. We held hands through most of the meal.

Me: "Mom, I can't believe that such similar things happened to both of us regarding romance. With those events, and that thing that happened to me, your constant support was the only thing I could rely on. I don't want to ever lose that. This is going to be weird...real weird...but mom, will you marry me?"

She was understandably stunned. It wasn't the legal issue, as she had changed back to her maiden name during the divorce. No, it was still her feeling that she was a worn out old bag, not worthy of a young, heroic warrior like myself. As she pondered this issue, I opened a jewelry box from Macy's, within which was a one carat solitaire. My mom went into tears (yet again). I put it on her finger. She kissed me and wordlessly nodded.

We found a state that seemed the most liberal in its approach to marriage. We flew out there and got married in a civil ceremony that was as lavish as any $50 spent in a government building. We took the 'red-eye' flight home so we could honeymoon back in Miami. Once there, we changed our things for a brief honeymoon at the famous old Fontainebleau on Miami Beach.

After a wonderful room service dinner, we were all set for a night of romance in our suite. Then, I got the urge to hit the beach. We were not all that far from the beach where I first dated Rebecca, my treacherous ex-wife. For some petty reason, I wanted to get back at her by doing it on the beach with a woman who actually loved me, unlike her. Whatever the reason, mom thought it was wild and crazy. So we wrapped ourselves in robes, grabbed the room key, and padded down to the lower lobby and the beach. It was 1:30am on a Monday night so few people would be up, anyway.

I remembered the closet where the maids kept things, so I found some marvelous big towels for us. My gorgeous mother and new wife lay on her side, looking up at the giant presence of the hotel looming in the almost pitch black distance. In the dark, I didn't feel self-conscious about the 'new device' at the bottom of one leg. I opened the festivities by taking my mom's right hand and placing it on my cock. She quickly got into the swing of things and was keyholing it like mad. Soon, it reached a new record, some ten inches of cockmeat. I then whispered for her to touch every single pubic inch of her womanhood with that mighty staff. I placed her slightly shaking hands on my rod for her use.

Hesitant at first, soon mom had rubbed her clitoris raw. She gently tapped at the slavering lips of her beloved pussy, and then entered her gateway to heaven. My rough uncut cockhead was scraped against the tingling walls of her oh-so-very-sensitive vagina. Her moans were pleasingly audible; I think ships at sea could hear them. Actually, her soft moans blended beautifully with the white sound made by those warm waves from the Atlantic. Holding my huge babymaker in her fist, she could just barely touch her innermost walls and tap at the cervical entrance. After the sigh from her third orgasm, she handed me back my steel rod, thanking me with a kiss.

I got on my back and let the cowgirl in mom come out. As she went up and down, I caressed her perfect breasts, relishing the fact that they were now mine. Feeling those erect nipples, fully popped now, I wondered if I could one day get them to give me warm, sweet mother's milk. I knew going into this marriage that that was a real long shot. My mom was 49, after all. Though I wasn't lying that she looked young, she was at an age when pregnancy was unlikely.

As mom stopped her up and down thing, she settled down atop me, falling forward to kiss me. As my hands caressed the soft soles of her mommy feet, I kissed her tender lips.

Mom: "Sweetheart, this has been a beautiful experience. If you want to stop now, I will understand. I'm not sure there is anything more we can do out here."

Me: "Well, there is THIS!" [I flipped her over, staying connected inside of her. The one concession I had to make to my new 'physical make-up' was to make love on my knees and not from my toes. It was just a small thing, really.]

I went mad for about two minutes and then stopped. It was 'a small thing' to do it slightly differently now that I was 'slightly different', but I couldn't do it. I was too tired, too challenged, and perhaps too defeated.

Me: "Mom, I never thought that I would say this, but I can't go on. I don't want to keep trying and just disappoint you. At least for tonight, I'm beat. Maybe I will feel better about it tomorrow...maybe not." [I fell off of her, onto the beach like one of those jellyfish caught by the changing tides.]

My loving mother sat up, looking down upon her beaten warrior lying in the dust. In keeping with my low morale, my mighty sword had deflated also. Somehow, mom had to pump manhood and virility back into me. She did something unexpected. She draped her fantastic legs over my legs. It was perfect, as I could now caress her shapely legs, caress her sexy smooth feet, and kiss her straining nipples about to pop off her Playmate breasts. Meanwhile, she put one hand beneath my empty family jewel sack while she tried to re-start my engines by hand-cranking me.

Mom: "Sweetheart, I just want to help you like you helped me get over my age worries. You know your father had his own problems. One of them was how he was equipped. Comparing his little 3 ½ inch toy to your manly ten inch tool...well, I should have had HIM ship out and not you."

I laughed. My mouth locked onto a pouting nipple, forcing her head to reel in pleasure for a moment. I caressed her gorgeous smooth feet as she continued talking. But whatever happened, she relentlessly kept pumping--pumping power and confidence back into me.

Mom: "Now it was no shame to have that tramp of a wife leave you; believe me, I heard plenty about her before you married her. Let me tell you that all of the Miami metropolitan area heard about her AFTER you divorced her too. Hell, I started half of those rumors myself. The truth is, I was cheated on by a short-sighted jerk who regarded age as a matter of a few gray hairs. You were cheated on by a short-sighted tramp who regarded wealth only as measured in a bank book."