I remember clearly that terrible period after my return from a difficult assignment in a dangerous war-torn country. I was one of the lucky ones and didn't get a scratch the entire time. Most of my buddies were not as fortunate with a 55% casualty rate in less than ten stressful months of IEDs and booby-traps set with skillful deception.
My supposed fiancée Patricia was lined up to give me some much needed R&R when I stepped off the plane at the airport. I was a bit disturbed to discover she was a no-show despite my repetitious messages about the correct date and time of the return flight. My parents were on a two week tour of Canada and Nova Scotia and sent their regrets with a check to ease their absence on my return.
Only one other returnee was still waiting for someone to show up in the holding area of the almost deserted airport.
The powers that be in their "Ivory Towers" were a little skittish about releasing the "Killer Elite" into society without some semblance of family interest to act as insulation with the rough edges of civilian life. I didn't know the other returnee very well because she was one of those weirdos from the "infrastructure" unit that were reputed to make some hard choices about borderline cases that were not fully proven one way or the other. I was just a low-level interrogator with interaction chiefly with "JSRs" (Joe Shit the Ragman) losers in the wrong place at the wrong time. She admittedly outranked me by more than a few levels since I was still a worker-bee E-7 and she was a First Louie with the right to sit in first class and use the VIP lounge if she so desired. Her name was Hanna and I wasn't sure if that was her first name or her last name because we didn't wear name-tags or any of that other bullshit the regular troops had to put up with.
I could tell from the nicotine stains on her fingers she was dying for a smoke but they frowned on such politically incorrect vices at places like airports. Even most military bases prohibited it in almost all public areas. It was kind of laughable that lighting up a previously illegal weed would be more politically correct than smoking a menthol light in the shadows of a doorway or an outside porch. I didn't smoke any more but the reason was the fast accelerating cost rather than some sense of environmental altruism. Most of the true believers would most likely smoke like chimneys until the day they died but their days were running short even in isolated places and remote outposts.
"You can light that up behind the baggage area, Lt. Hanna; I will hold the bar down for you to get back inside."
The thirty-something rather plain dirty blonde threw me a look of gratitude and slid out the door into the cold and the dark. I knew she had to be hooked badly to make that sort of move but I didn't hold it against her because most of the old-time unit members still held on to that vice despite official displeasure and annoyed frowns from rear-area commandos hooked on lattes and other more acceptable pleasures.
When Hanna came back inside, her face was slightly flushed and she was smiling once again now that her smoking itch was scratched.
"How much longer do you think they will keep this area open for us Sergeant? My husband was supposed to be here but my sister tells me he went out with some "friends" from work and must have forgotten to meet me. She doesn't drive and has to stay home to watch her kids anyway."
It seemed like her problems were similar to my own but I didn't want to burden her with my issues so I just shook my head in sympathy and asked her,
"Do you want a coffee from the machine? It is pretty bad but at least it is wet and hot."
She laughed and pushed her stray wisps of hair back from her forehead looking up at me and smiling like she was actually seeing me for the first time. I found her movement to be strangely seductive even though she was wearing shapeless utilities and had no make-up on her face, not even a hint of lipstick. I found myself wondering what her eyes would look like underneath me looking up at me as I slowly slid inside her private female channel like an unauthorized invader from a renegade unit. I remembered the graduate female student I had humped at some crazy New Year's Eve party before going overseas and the look she had as I buried it good in her Rhodes Scholar winning cunt without knowing either her first or last name. I knew she considered me a Neanderthal with a "grunt" vocabulary but she certainly had that look of loving "Lust" written all over her face. I sort of saw the same glimmer of need in Lt. Hanna's eyes but I was unsure if it was appropriate to suggest getting better acquainted.
At the back of my mind, I had this picture of my supposed fiancée moaning as she took it "doggy" fashion from some three-piece suit civilian with a hard dick and no interest in conversation. I knew my Patricia liked it like that and since she usually took it that way with her eyes closed, I figured she didn't really care whose dick she was getting from behind just as long as it lasted long enough to make her experience her required "tingle" and they carefully followed her instructions on always using a condom.
Hanna blew on the hot coffee and tentatively reached her tongue out to make certain it would not burn her mouth when she touched her lips to it. I was just waiting for it to cool down because I could tell from the paper cup it was far too hot to drink right out of the machine. The only other people in the holding area was a sleepy airport control person and a tired looking cleaner who was emptying the waste bins with an experienced air of familiarity that advertised a long history of doing the exact same thing for a very long time.
"Hey, Lt. let's move over to the TV chairs and sit down. They are a lot more comfortable and nobody is around to care if we don't use the TV's or not."
.... There is more of this story ...