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Bad timing and eternal horns
Bad timing and eternal horns
I said I'd write about my bad timing in retiring from active Army duty some day, and today is as good as any. I retired 11 Aug 01. When 9/11 happened, I was incensed, and wanted back in, badly. It became worse a day later when one of my best friends' sons notified me his dad was among the Pentagon dead. Turns out if he hadn't gone to have a friendly cup of coffee with a mutual Navy friend, he'd be alive today. Or maybe not-- he was like me, always wanting to rush into harm's way.
They wouldn't let me back in, at least not to play in the woods with my beloved Rangers. Both my knees are pretty much done for; with the exception of the huge scar on the left one, though, I've had a few lovers who made quite a game of looking for all the itty bitty scars arthroscopes leave behind. My lower back is pretty much done in, as well. They offered me a desk, which offended the hell out of me.
It was the beginning of thinking I was old.
I had a great pity party for a couple of years. Returning me to active sexual exploration was one of the things which saved my sanity, and probably our relationship.
It's always been a part of my life. I was brutally sexually abused by a female neighbor who babysat me from age 6 to 9. I don't ever remember being a virgin, really. Another neighbor girl initiated me into the mysteries of voluntary sex when I was 12, and I had the great honor of having one of my city's highest-class independent call girls as a next door neighbor when I was 16. In return for chores, that wonderful lady tutored me for one glorious summer in the arts and sciences of sex. I'm not Hollywood handsome, and my endowment is only average, but I've never had any complaints, thanks to her.
It didn't take me long to find out that sex is an immense part of the Intelligence business, in ways Ian Fleming and Tom Clancy can only wildly imagine. There are few better ways to gain fairly reliable information than to employ Horizontal Intelligence Gatherers, whether they be professional or amateur, female or male. Every cop and every spy knows this, and always has a number of them on the under-the-table payroll.
So, everywhere we went overseas, we always recruited a stable, from willing amateurs who would work for patriotism to the highest-paid and best-trained callgirls.
Like I said, an open marriage was a necessity.
On top of that, there were always ready and willing female soldiers, although the rules of engagement were quite strict, written and unwritten. No fraternizing between officers and enlisted. Boffing within the confines of one's own unit was highly discouraged. For instance, a spy and a nurse could hang out together, or a male doctor and a female spy, but the spies and medics had best not hook up together. And while it was somewhat within the unwritten rules, a Major should not boff a Lieutenant-- bad form.
Needless to say, on top of my grief, I missed all that (and I hear Kabul is grand).
I can't go back to the Army.
But, at least in one way, I'm back.