Edited by Barney R. I tweaked it some more. All errors and omissions are mine.

Please note: I did not suffer the injuries as described in this story. If there are errors in how the recovery works, it is because I am describing my recovery from a debilitating arm injury. Thank you

I am Tyler Hundley, a military veteran, 36, owner of a Computer Security Systems Company, and a computer systems engineer specializing in cybersecurity, and married to Julieanne Simmons-Hundley. She is 33, a CPA and very career conscious. So career conscious that lately she sometimes goes through the motions when we have sex when she is having work problems. It is not making love when she is in that mode, it is just sex, and not even good sex then.

I was at least three years older than the common college student, as I joined the army right out of high school. It was something I felt I needed to do. It turned out it was the correct thing to do, but it also turned out painfully wrong when I was wounded on a patrol in the mountains of Afghanistan. If it wasn’t for the actions of our unit medic I would have died along with the three from our squad that did die, As it is I have an artificial right leg below the knee and many and sundry scars on my lower body. I am also sterile from a loss of blood supply to my testicles. I can get erect, and ejaculate, but I am shooting blanks. While in my treatment, rehab, and waiting for my discharge, I earned enough credits to enroll as a college junior when I was finally able to leave the military.

We met in one of the common ways. We were in a senior-level Business Ethics class in college. What is strange about our meeting is that she seemed to have a case of ‘the angries’ toward me. As I had never met her, never heard of her, and never even knew she existed, I just took it to mean that she had ‘the angries’ for all men.

Julie, (as she later told me she liked to be called) sat down next to me and glared at me as if she was waiting to have me say something so she could attack me. I gathered my stuff and moved to another row. She started to get up, but the professor strolled into the auditorium and started the lecture.

As I was leaving the auditorium, I was grabbed from behind. I turned and was the recipient of a slap to my face. Now, I was taught to never hit a lady, but this was no lady. I grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her back, and frog-marched her out into the hallway.

“Just what in the fuck do you think you are doing miss? You come to class with a ‘Jones’ on about something and when I try to remove myself from the situation, you attack me. I demand some answers. The first question after why you attacked me is who in the name of hell are you? I have never seen you until today.”

“I don’t have to answer your questions you creep.” She said so vehemently that she spit at me.

“OK, I am calling the campus police and reporting your attack. You have until they answer the phone to start telling me what the anger and slap were about.”

“Go ahead and call them Gary, I’ll tell them about the attempt to rape me last Friday night.” She seemed sure that she knew what she was talking about.

She got extremely pissed when I started laughing at her.

When I stopped laughing, I said, “I don’t know who this asshole Gary is, but I was in Seattle last week from Wednesday until yesterday and did not return here until 7:00 PM last evening. Whoever this Gary is, you need to report him before he actually does rape someone.” Then I added, “If you want, I will take you to the campus police office and stay with you until it gets straightened out.”

With a questioning look, she asked, “You mean you are not Gary Smith? At least that is the name he gave me when he bought me a drink at the dance Friday. It was a good thing I get sick on Vodka because he goofed and brought me a Vodka Collins instead of a Tom Collins.”

“I’m glad I’m not,” rubbing my cheek; “my name is Tyler Hundley, and I was not at any dance last week.”

“I’m so sorry, but I was a little drunk Friday, and you look a lot like that drugging scum. Looking at you, he wasn’t as good looking as you, and if I wasn’t so angry, I would have known that you couldn’t have been Gary. At least let me buy you a cup of coffee. If for no other reason than to learn more about your doppelganger that is running around the campus.”

“How can I turn down a request like that? I would be afraid you would slap me again.” Then I rubbed my face and laughed.

She had the nicest red face after I said that.

After coffee, we did go to the campus police. They told us basically to ‘piss up a rope’ because Julie did not report it immediately, went to the party voluntary, and could not even identify the perpetrator.

Gary was caught later that same school year, because this time the girl was allergic to the drug, and fell into a coma, and to avoid a major lawsuit, the fraternity gave him up. His name turned out to be Greg Carstairs and he came from money. He ended up on the sex offenders list, did major jail time and of course, was expelled from the college. The frat was bankrupted and also banned from campus.

The coffee turned into dates. I found out Julie was an only child and her parents were dead, killed in a home invasion gone bad. I told her about my service and that I was a wounded veteran, but not the details of how I was wounded. She knew I am sterile because I told her.

I asked her to marry me. She said yes, then asked for a prenuptial agreement. I agreed.

After we graduated, we got married. We did all of the typical married things with a few differences. We were and are chamber music lovers, and go to every concert that we can. The second is we both love to swim for exercise, although I would never be able to match Julie’s speed, we both have great stamina. My house has an Olympic-size pool, courtesy of a Powerball jackpot I won shortly before I graduated and before I got married. (note the prenup)

She was somewhat in awe and at the same time revolted by my stump, and all the scars. She would trace them and constantly wanted assurances that they did not hurt any longer. It got to the point that I asked her to stop touching them because she was creeping me out.

She apologized and was fine for a couple of months. One evening after our swim, she gently touched my shoulder and said; “Your scars are part of you, and I love all of you. I am sorry if it creeps you out. I touch them and try to imagine the pain they caused and am impressed that you did that for your country, your people, and your honor. I will not touch them if it really creeps you. I am just in awe of the great man you are after all you have gone through.”

I looked at her and from her words and from her expression and body language, she was telling me what she believed.

“Ok dear, I will let it go, but those scars were so costly in terms of lives of friends and buddies. You want to understand why I really am creeped out that I am wearing these scars. I am creeped out because guys that were there for me are not here wearing the scars that I am wearing. They are not a badge of heroism; they are the signs of luck, good and bad. The good, I survived, the bad they didn’t and I couldn’t do anything about it.

I realized I was crying when Julie reached up and wiped my cheek with a napkin. She left the room to change. I stayed and silently let all of the pain out. I must have fallen asleep at some time because Julie was shaking me.

“Honey, come to bed. You need to sleep in our bed, not in this cabana.”

I got up and went to bed. Sleep took a while, but I finally slept. It was strange, but after that night, I never again dreamed of my time in the army.