Chapter 3 Finding Each Other

Interestingly, our end of service ended within a few weeks of each other. I left before Isiah. Poor bastard, the only real father he had, died in a plane crash. Until then, I figured he would make a career in military life. He called me to let me know what happened, and he was getting out also. After he finished grieving, I would try and set him up with employment in security at the law firm I worked. I had my law degree and completed my bar in California. My folks got upset I didn’t go right into the firm from college, but it was my choice, and I felt I needed to do it at the time. It was more than a little convenient we both are from LA.

For all the shit he and I went through together, he’s never met, my family. I plan to fix that someday. I know he grew up poor, and both my folks are attorneys. We weren’t filthy rich, but we did have a big home and wanted for nothing. Ironic, I think of him as a brother, and he never met my family.

I also knew about his “condition.” Talk about being dealt a shit hand. He’s a good-looking guy, and women think so. He can be downright nasty if a woman tries to flirt or come on to him shamelessly. Once, I witnessed him in such a bad mood he brought her to tears, and all she did was suggest a blowjob. If I’m around, I can typically save everyone some embarrassment. In that case, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. If I’m in the mood to go home with a girl, I would never do it while he is around, not that he would mind. He’s been my wingman plenty of times. If he’s going to be my wingman, he will generally wear a fake wedding ring, so he has an excuse to sit and chat with a woman with no expectations of sex. The phony ring he wore got a lot of use, and I think he enjoyed the idea of telling people he was married.

So, my boy was feeling down and unemployed. There’s one thing men will do when that happens. We head to the pub.

I preferred this Irish pub named “The hole in the wall.” The story goes there is a pub in Ireland by the same name. It backed up to a police station, and there was a hole in the garden wall behind the building. The police on duty could have a pint there without being seen drinking in uniform. The owner in LA isn’t even Irish, but the theme certainly is. His grandmother, or something, was Irish and claimed it as her heritage. Whatever, the beer is wet, and it’s a big military hangout since the owner was a ground pounder in the Army. Meaning he served infantry.

I arrived slightly before him, and he came later than he usually does. It wasn’t long until I noticed he was out of sorts and distracted. It was a little later in the evening, and quite a few people were already there. We were moving up to the bar to order a drink when he backed up into a heavy short guy sitting down at an empty barstool.

“Sorry, man,” Isiah apologized

“The fuck! Watch what you’re doing? Don’t you see it’s already taken? You spilled my beer too, asshole!”

We turned to look, and a black man in his twenties was irate. I vaguely knew him from a conversation a week prior. We also noticed a framed picture of two black men dressed in their Army dress uniform on the bar next to him. Surrounding the frame was a series of shot glasses. He appeared to be grieving a fallen comrade when we collided with him spilling drinks. He was liquored up and gearing for a fight. He wasn’t near Isiah’s size, but that didn’t prevent him from shoving him.

“Woah there! Hold up, my friend.” I interrupted, stepping between the two.

I turned to look at Isiah. “Look, let’s not get kicked out so soon. Besides, this guy was the boxing champ in his unit if I recall,” Turning slightly to him for confirmation. He nodded. Turning back, Isiah just arched an eyebrow as if to say, “Are you serious?” Then, I turned back to the other guy.

“This man you’re trying to pick a fight with is the human equivalent of scorched earth policy. It’s a bell you can’t unring if you catch my meaning. Like you, he’s had a horrible day. It isn’t a tunnel you want to jump into without consideration.”

“He should watch where he’s going!” He snarled with a little less abuse than before, evidently picking up on the analogy. Then added, “You guys are Marines?”

I heard a snort nearby from a man I knew to be a Marine.

“Marines?! Are you fucking kidding me? We’re too fucking pretty to be Marines. What are you laughing at, you ugly jarhead?” Pointing at an older retired Marine.

“You wouldn’t last 3 minutes in the Corp!” He shot back jokingly.

“Hell no, we’re fucking squids. Haze gray and underway!” I said with a broad grin. I heard a few laughs and a cheer nearby.

It finally amused the man enough to try to hide a grin and shake his head a little. “Typical,” he muttered, defusing the tense situation.

I learned a while back if you drop enough F-bombs on military guys. Most will get on board with what you’re saying. With this collection of vets, you could hang out with them for the night and find yourself dropping the word, fuck, into every sentence for the next few days.

“So, what do you say we sit down, have a pint or three, and you can tell us about that fallen brother of yours?” He nodded but said nothing.

Turning to the bartender, who looked relieved. “Four beers and send another down the bar there.” Turning to the Marine, “Not for you! The girl next to you, jarhead.”

The older Marine only shot me the finger because the seats were empty. Isiah started talking to the man, and after a few moments of conversation, I left with a beer in each hand to chat with the retired Marine, whose name I knew was Joey. Despite the tense moment earlier, Isiah seemed to hit it off with the guy and, before long, started sharing stories. Isiah isn’t all piss and vinegar. He does have a softer side, especially for vets and kids.

We don’t, as a rule, share we were SEALS. Instead, we’ll say we were in the Navy aboard whatever carrier we could think of at the time. It isn’t a lie, but I’ve learned most special forces will keep that little bit of information to themselves if they can. Otherwise, every drunk bastard in the bar will feel confident to put their imagined fighting skills to the test.

“Hey Joey, how’s the demon-fighting coming along?”

He took a slow drink before answering carefully. “Good days and bad.” A generic answer for primarily bad.

I pointed to a board near the bar. “My phone number is listed right there. If you need someone to help you fight those battles, all you need to do is call. Don’t let them take you without help.”

He looked at me then nodded. “Thanks, I think I might.” He had a dry, deadpan delivery to the way he spoke. “You’re no more regular Navy than I am a virgin.”

I looked at him with feigned shock. “You’re a virgin and a jarhead? My sympathies, you were dealt a shit hand.”

After the requisite Navy/Marine shit talk, we carried it into everyday conversation. A little later, I felt a feminine hand on my shoulder.

“That was nicely done earlier. I thought for sure there was going to be a fight.” Came a smooth, melodious voice I could barely hear in the bar.

I turned to look at the newcomer. A pixie cut black-haired woman with bright blue eyes standing approximately five inches shorter than my 6’1’ frame was in front of me. She was wearing a short black skirt and a matching black top with red trim that did nothing to hide her athletic hourglass frame.

“May I steal him from you for a while, sir?” she asked Joey politely

Joey didn’t just look at her. He stared at her. Not in a way nice way either. She didn’t flinch but smiled the entire time very sweetly. Joey scrutinized her for a while, then stood up, holding a glass out to me for a toast. We clinked glasses and downed our beers. We said goodbye’s then he left with a fist bump.

Her hand stayed on my shoulder but became more of a caress in a few moments. She was unbelievably beautiful, and Thomas Junior was giving her a proper salute. When she had my undivided attention, she moved her hands to the front of my chest, gliding them up and down seductively. My head swam with arousal, and I could do little but focus on her lips and the way her tongue formed the words. My mind imagined that same tongue gliding up and down my cock.

We engaged in small talk, but I had a hard time focusing on the subject. Her leg pressed against mine and her skirt inched up the closer she got. She made an effort to linger close to my ear as we spoke. Turning to look at her, she smiled broadly. The woman took my hand and placed it on her bare leg casually.

She leaned into me to whisper into my ear. “There is a banquet room in the back. Would you like to go back there and be alone?”

“Is the pope catholic?” I answered, not questioning my luck in the least.

She giggled and took my hand, leading me back through the room.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” I asked

“I think it’s hotter if we find out later, don’t you agree?” The mysterious woman answered evasively.

Once inside, she turned and pressed her chest against me. “Seeing you do that earlier was hot. Your confidence is such a turn-on. It makes me wonder what else you are good at doing. You’re just so sexy I needed to meet you.”

The praise made me feel good that she was pleased. The mystery woman pressed herself against me tightly. Her hips rocked back and forth along my upper leg. My hand gripped her tight ass and squeezed, pulling her short skirt up a little higher. I realized she wasn’t wearing underwear. Pressing her lips against my neck, she bit my ear and switched to my neck, adding more fuel to my haze-filled lust. My hand moved and squeezed her firm breast, which amplified her already accelerated breathing. The woman, in return, squeezed and massaged my cock through my pants.

Pulling away, she reached down and snapped open my pants quickly and fished out my steel-hard erection. “Nice and big,” she cooed. She pushed me back roughly, so my back was on top of the long banquet table. Holding my chest down with one hand, she was surprisingly strong. The opposite hand held my cock in her hand, and her mouth expertly locked around the head. There was almost no foreplay. In her mind, evidently, the teasing was done.

She glanced up at me after a few seconds of going down on me. “Are you okay with this being a quickie?”

I was so turned on and ready to explode, nothing could have made me disagree with anything she suggested. My luck typically wasn’t quite this good, but I wasn’t complaining.

Not receiving an immediate reply, she lifted her skirt and climbed up on top. Lowering herself on top of me, she was already soaked, wriggling her chiseled torso as she slipped herself down. Once down, I could feel her pussy hugging tightly to my cock. I could feel her squeeze my cock in time with the motion of her strong hips as she ground her clit against me. She started slowly, then faster, as we both felt the urgency of the moment.

The supreme control of what she was doing to my cock was unprecedented, and I was going to have an early eruption if she didn’t slow down what she was doing.

“Come for me, now.” She commanded. Her authoritative words rang loudly in my head. I resisted allowing things to finish so quickly. It was in vain. The sudden arousal buildup didn’t slow down. I erupted from what I considered the biggest orgasm of my life. A massive orgasm was accompanied by the onset of utter exhaustion and weakness.

Before my very eyes, she transformed from a beautiful woman to a sexy demon. Her facial features were mostly the same. Black horns protruded from her head, and her skin turned a darker shade of red. Black leathery bat wings appeared from her back and a tail from the base of her spine. Holding my head down with clawed fingers, I was pinned.

“Oh,” she cooed. “You are delicious. Thank you for that. It’s a shame I need to kill you. I would love to have a lot more of you regularly. I’ve never felt so good.”

Her words were cut off as a gold cord wrapped itself around her neck, yanking her off me. A tall, beautiful black woman pulled the demoness away from me and tossed it to the ground. The demon tried to stand but received a solid boot to her head, sending her sprawling. Finally, the demoness stood and looked at her attacker. For once, I had nothing to say. I was stunned, speechless.

“I know you.” She accused, her eyes went wide, and evident fear stapled into her expression. The demon’s eyes snapped to the exit, but the newcomer was standing in the way.

The newcomer wore white leather armor embroidered with intricate gold designs. Her long black hair was tied into twin braids. She stared at the demon, stoically revealing nothing. In her hands, she still held the cord from a moment ago. The monster was trapped, but she darted toward the exit anyway, trying to swipe at her as a distraction. Instead of moving out of the way, the cord was used defensively. She caught the clawed hand with the cord, then, with an impressive display of speed, rotated her hips and slammed the demon to the ground on its face. The cord, still wrapped around its arm, pulled the arm back. While the monster was still stunned, the opposite arm was quickly pulled back before the demon could move, and the wrists were tied together. She let go and summoned something else. A weapon of light materialized in her hand. It was a medieval longsword encrusted with gold and diamonds. The sword emitted a radiant white glow.

Stepping away from the demon the newcomer spoke with, I think, might have been a south African accent. “Do not move!” she commanded.

Predictably, she moved. Which goes to show she was either very stupid or terrified.

The black woman stood poised, a mask of determination etched in her features. I knew that look, having seen it many times. She wasn’t messing around.

What happened next was fast, very fast. It happened so fast that I didn’t quite see how it happened. One moment the demon was trying to make a break for the door to escape. The next, its head was rolling across the floor toward the door with the same forward momentum. Within a few seconds, the body and head dissolved into a puddle of black goo.

I took a moment to capture my first honest look at my savior, who was exactly my height. Well-defined muscles rippled her frame. She wasn’t bulky but resembled a cross-fit princess gone to the extreme. Offhand, I imagined this is how an Amazon princess should look. Her posture maintained the same erect pride I would expect from royalty. She held out her hand to assist me in standing.

“What in the fuck was that?” I demanded. My head was foggy, and I was having trouble clearing it.

“That was a succubus. It drains your energy to the point of depletion then kills you.”

“No, I mean what woman wants a man to come first? That should have been a big warning sign to run for my life.”

She just rolled her eyes and shook her head. “That is your takeaway from what just happened? You can’t possibly be so daft.”

“Do not underestimate the level of my daftness.” I tried to say seriously. “No, I’m pretty sure my dick will be hard for the rest of the night too. That was just too hot.”

She sighed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Who are you?” I say seriously.

“I am just a messenger.” She tells me stoically

“Yeah, right. Something tells me you aren’t ‘just’ anything. That thing nearly crapped herself seeing you.”

The black warrior ignored my comment. “May I ask you a question?”

Tilting my head in wonder, “Of course, ask me anything you like.”

“You were talking to that man out there, and you asked him if he was still fighting demons. Clearly, he doesn’t, and you offered your assistance.”

I struggled to remember what she was referring to. Then it occurred to me. “Joey? The demons we were referring to are the ones in his head. The statement is a metaphor for the demons of war. The demons stay as a result of having been in combat. It’s a way of communicating you are struggling with PTSD. It gets bad enough with many that they feel suicide is the only way out. I wanted him to know he had someone to call before it comes to that.”

She nodded, but her expression softened as she spoke. “I see. Despite your frivolous and cocky nature, you can be compassionate.”

“Speaking of cocky,” I glanced down to my still hard erection. I haven’t yet put on my pants. She looked confused a moment before it dawned on her what I was saying. “Definitely not!” She took a half step back from me. She lifted her chin in an arrogant posture as if the idea was repugnant. To her, it probably was.

“Suit yourself,” I responded before donning my pants. “Look, not that I’m complaining that you saved my life, but who are you, and what do you want?”

“You are taking evidence of the supernatural rather well.” She comments speculatively.

Internally, I wasn’t handling it well at all. It surprised me she thinks otherwise. “That isn’t the weirdest thing to happen to me.” I try saying casually. “Try visiting a military barracks on a Friday night. You will need to redefine weird.”

“Be that as it may, I need your assistance.” She said in a haughty and formal tone.

“With?”

“I need to enlist your aid to ensure a particular woman meets your friend Isiah Banner.”

“What woman?” I asked skeptically

“Her name is Lauren Richards, and she will be coming tonight to meet him.” She said as she stood by the door to the banquet room.

“Do I look like Tinder to you? You don’t need me for them to meet.” She didn’t seem put off by my response. Instead, she countered.

“As you well know, he doesn’t handle women approaching him well.”

“For good reason,” I added.

“He would give proper consideration if Isiah were to meet her by way of his best friend.” She countered again.