I met Alana in about the strangest way one can meet a woman, during a rape—hers. Two men were standing over a prostrate form in an alley behind the Mulberry Bar and Grill. Oh, my name is Blake Ritter. I was coming out the back taking the short cut to my car. I didn't want to have to walk all the way around the block if I didn't have to. One of the two men had a knife; I found that interesting.

That night, I was still an airborne ranger on weekend leave and in uniform. I had left a couple of my buddies inside; they wanted to close the place, but I was exhausted from the long drive up from Fort Benning, GA. where we'd just completed our indoctrination training. We, all of us, were now true believers in our own invincibility.

"Gentlemen, I believe the lady is tired and would prefer to be left alone," I said, addressing the nasties with more confidence than anyone had a right to feel being outnumbered and facing an armed enemy while not being so armed himself.

"Fuck off, soldier boy, or we're gonna be real inhospitable," said the one with the knife. He actually still had his dick hanging out. His contempt for me and my uniform pissed me off.

I moved toward the one who was unarmed. I wanted him on my left and slightly behind me. I had a plan. If it worked, the girl and I would both get out of this alive. If not we'd have something to laugh about in the next life.

The big one with the knife came at me. God was I glad that I'd excelled in bayonet training! I caused him to misdirect his thrust into the belly of his confederate. Who sank like the stock market. The bladist, momentarily shocked by his miscalculation, pulled his weapon free and slashed high, That's where I made my mistake. I tried to duck under it and he laid my right eye open wide.

"Shit! Shit it hurt!

He pulled back and came at me again. I tried to dodge his thrust, but it was hard because of the searing pain to my eye and because the blood, which was everywhere, all but blinded me. I was able to partially avoid his thrust, but it still pierced my chest maybe two inches deep just to the right of my heart. He snarled, no doubt unconcerned that I did not appear concerned which of course was in error because I was concerned as hell!

He reached out and tried to grab me by my tunic, but I caught his arm, and acting on pure adrenalin rush, broke it at the elbow. His scream energized me for the briefest of moments. I disarmed him and jammed his own blade under his rib cage and twisted it; I knew he was dead. Now if only I could survive.

I saw the girl move slightly just as I sagged to the asphalt. Well, at least I'd won my last battle. Funny, I didn't feel anything. I would learn later that shock was to thank for that little reality.

I think I heard the sirens; then, all was dark. I liked the dark. I needed the dark. I just needed to be left the fuck alone, and I was.

The room was quiet and empty except for the monitors. They were the first evidence that I had survived. I didn't really move very much, but my eye, my remaining good eye, took in the room. I'd seen rooms like this before; it was an ICU. One of the monitors must have alerted somebody; I had company almost immediately, a nurse. She hit a button, and somebody with a mobile tray came in. He was soon followed by a doctor. For the next twenty minutes I was examined and reexamined. The pronounced me alive; how fucking observant of them.

I was awakened by the morning shift coming into check my vitals. They were followed by the breakfast people. Them, by the porta-potty person who cleaned me up; that was kinda fun—she was female. Finally, the cops showed up.

"You Blake Carson?" said the short stubby one.

"That's the rumor," I replied. "But, I don't have any evidence of it to show you at the moment."

"You're a hero, Mr. Carson," said the short guy.

"Yeah? Well, that's good, right," I said.

"That's good," said tall policeman.

"Did the girl survive?" I asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact she's here too, but in a different ward. She was pretty badly beat up: some broken stuff. She asked about you. Said you took down those two pretty good. She asked to see you at some point. Wants to thank you, I guess," said stubby policeman.

"Yeah, well, tell her it's not necessary. I'm not much for sentimental stuff," I said.

"Okay, but she owes you more than you know. Those two guys you took down were both convicted rapists and one of them was a murderer. They'd have killed her for sure. They're, were, suspects in twelve killings of prostitutes during the last twenty-four months. The D.A. owes you a vote of thanks too for saving him the time and money of not having to prosecute the assholes."

"They're dead then?" I said.

"Yeah," said the tall policeman, "both of them are very deceased."

"Good. Couldn't have happened to a couple of more deserving assholes," I said.

The doctors were concerned about the wound to my chest. I'd lost my eye of course. Initially, there'd been some hope that they could save it, but that came to nothing. It was the one time in my life that I could have wished to have been known as Jack. One-eye'd Jack would have been neat; maybe I could change my name.

It was about the fifth day when I had a visitor. It was a woman, twentyish, tall, slender, nice ass; she wore a smock. "Hi," she said.

"Hi, can I get some more water?" I said. "I'm kinda dry?"

"Oh, sure," she said. "But, I'm not a nurse. I'm Alana Nelson," she said.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were a nurse. The smock," I said. She had taken my plastic cup and was refilling it from the tap. She brought it to me.

"I'm the woman whose life you saved," she said. "I had to see you to thank you. The doctor said I could have a few minutes. I'm leaving today; I've been upstairs till now."

I looked at her. I didn't remember her. But then she'd been naked and messed up, and I'd been busy the last time we were in proximity to each other. "Oh, okay. Well, you're welcome. It's nothing that any white knight in hero's armour wouldn't have done," I said, making light of the situation.

"You saved my life, mister. I won't forget it." I was thinking that a date with her would have been reward enough, but I squelched the thought. She was a rape victim.

"Really, think nothing of it. I was there and I was lucky," I said.

"I was the one that was lucky," she said. "I owe you a dinner at the very least," she said. "Please, when they let you go home, I'd like to drop by and speak with you. You know maybe take you to lunch or dinner or whatever.'

"Sure," I said. "I'd like that." Looked like I was gonna get my date after all.

Several of my brothers in arms visited with me over the time I was laid up. They'd made a big deal out of us being rangers and invincible and helping damsels in distress. I even got a visit from Colonel Johnson. Except for the eye thing, initially, I felt pretty good. The bad news was that my injuries got me my pink slip from the military; I was down about that. I'd loved being a ranger. Plus, all of that training down the shitter! Damn.

I was released two weeks later. Alana must have had someone on the inside cluing her because she was in the lobby waiting for me when I came down.

"Hi there, soldier," she said.

"Hi to you too," I said. "Nice to see you."

"I was thinking. I mean if you don't have any big plans for the day, that maybe you'd like to join me; I mean for the whole day. You know: Lunch, dinner, talk, wine, whatever or all of it," she said.

This was working out better than I'd hoped. "No, I have no plans at all. They were gonna call me a cab..."

"Then it's settled. I'm the driver, and you're my poor, poor man," she said, taking the helm of the wheelchair and steering me outside where she had already parked the car.

I was able to walk, I informed her, "It's just that the hospital staff insisted that I ride until I was outside and officially out of their hands." She nodded and kept on steering and pushing. I was thrilled to be her "poor, poor man."

Finally out of the wheelchair, we walked, albeit me a trifle weakly, to her car. It felt good to feel the sun on my face, and feeling it with a pretty woman to share it made it special.

"Where are we headed now?" I asked.

"My house. It's not far. I need to..." She smiled. She didn't finish what she started to say, and I didn't push it.

Parking in front of a one story ranch style, she motioned for me to get down. She came around to my side, took my hand and led me inside.

The house was sparsely but tastefully furnished. Oddly, there was no couch or real chairs in the front room, only three wooden benches. I made the guess that the wood was rattan, famous in the Philippines. There were some small tables spaced around with flowers—real ones—in vases placed on them. It was the strangest room I had ever seen in a private home. This was one interesting lady.

She evidently noticed my interest. "I don't do things like other people," she said. "I'm my own person. Something of a wannabe artist, actually," and she giggled.

"No, no," I said. "It looks—nice. Unusual, like you say, but nice. It's almost like—an indoor garden."

"You're very perceptive," she said. "That is exactly what it is supposed to portray. You made points with that one, young man," she said, having fun mocking me.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Sure, no problem," I said.

"Does the eye patch bother you?" I must've looked like a pirate with the black eye patch.

"No, I'm getting used to it. The doctor told me I need to get plenty of sleep in the future to protect the eye I've still got," I said. "I plan to do everything he says."

"Very wise," she said. "What about your military job?" she said.

I grimaced and shrugged. "I'm outta there," I said. "The colonel told me that I would be mustered out in another sixty days. It would have been less, but he worked it out for me, so that I could get a few more paychecks before they cut me loose."

She looked thoughtful. "Do you have a place to stay?" she asked.

"I was headin' out to get a room later today," I said. I'd been billeted at the base, but I didn't wanna go back there, and besides I need to get a job."

"Then it's settled," she mused.

"Settled?"

"Yes, you're staying here, at least until you can find a job and get your own place," she said.

Her tone of voice let me know that arguing was not an option, and besides, I had no inclination to argue. She was a good looking babe, and I was open to all possibilities. "That would be a big break for me," I said, sincerely.

She changed clothes and we headed out for lunch. The restaurant was a converted garden—this girl was into plants. We took a table in a shady spot off to one side. We conversed for two hours. In that time we shared most of the salient facts about each other.

I was born in California just south of L.A. She was from Columbus, Ohio, but had moved to Georgia to take advantage of a job opportunity: she managed an art deco shop in the center of town. She had two sisters that still lived in Ohio: one was younger and married; the other was several years older and single. Alana too was single and unattached. Me, I sure as hell was unattached; and I had no family other than the guys I'd served with. She was educated: a B.A. in art history. I was an ex-Ranger, or soon to be, with some skill as a mechanic.

We headed out. "Where would you like to go?" she said. "How about the park?"

I'd had no chance to answer, but I figured that would be all right if she didn't expect me to do a lot of walking. I was still a little weak especially after more than two weeks in the hospital.

"Sure, let's do it," I said.

"We walked along one of the paths, and the little brook made nice, I might say romantic, sounds while we did so. She took my hand, and led me kicking and screaming along. Actually, I'm only kidding about the kicking and screaming part.

She stopped me—us. She turned to me. She kissed me, on the lips. It was a delicate kiss, and one I would remember at odd times for years afterwards; first kisses are special.

We found a bench and sat down. I figured it was time for me to stop being a pussy. I pulled her to me and kissed her, my hand rested on her thigh; she didn't try to remove it. I moved it higher.

We kissed and hugged, gently, and let our hands roam free. Her breasts were large and her butt was broad, a little too broad, but that's the way I like 'em; it's soooo female.

My hand strayed up her thigh and under her skirt. Jesus she was hot to the touch. I pulled away and looked around. It was late in the afternoon, and it was warm. Few people were out and none right near us. I stood, took her hand, and led her to a dark little copse maybe fifty feet behind the bench we were on.

I stripped off my shirt and laid it down for her to sit on. The grass was soft and thick, but I wanted to make a statement. Bare chested, the still healing scar from the recent stabbing was clearly visible. We dropped to our knees, and she touched it, then kissed it. It seemed to hold a fascination for her.

"That scar makes you mine you know," she said. "Or maybe it's me that is yours."

"Either way works for me," I said. She slowly undressed for me and then lay back naked back on my shirt and the strewn clothes that she'd been wearing. I was totally enamored of her. I had never been with a woman as sexually exciting as she was, and I had never been with a woman whose pubic area was completely bare. I finished undressing and lay down beside her.

I leaned in to kiss her. I laid my hand on her breast very lightly. Moving my lips to her nipples I took first one and the other into my mouth and suckled on them. She was making little bucking movements coaxing me to do her. I moved between her legs and loomed above her.

"Yes, my poor poor man do me, do me now," she almost gasped. I poked at her. I drove all six inches into her, but slowly; I wanted to savor the moment. Soon I was pumping in and out of her. "Oh yes, don't stop, lover, don't stop. Fuck me good and proper."

I painted her insides with cum and she arched to drag from me every nano-sperm she could. I pulled out. She pushed me on my back and straddled my face. She leaned down and took me in her mouth. I was looking straight into her well fucked pussy and smears of my cum covered her there. I leaned up and kissed, then licked, then sucked her cunt trying to rob her of every trace of my leavings. She had me hard in minutes with her mouth. She rolled off of me, knelt, and bent over. It was a clear invitation to take her from behind.

I crawled behind her and licked her some more. I let my lips travel a little farther north, and I licked and sucked her anus glorying in it. God she was wonderful! I knew I could easily have fallen in love with this creature. No, that's not right; I was in love with her.

"Was it good for you?" I asked, smiling like a possum as we lay still naked beside each other in the little glen between the bushes.

"Oh my yes," she said. I looked at her closely now. I looked at her with objective eyes, not eyes glazed with lust only. Her ribs still showed faint yellowish patches where her assailants had kicked or punched her. There was a brown bruise on her neck too; she had clearly been throttled, probably to shut her up while they took her.

I felt funny laying there with her. I hardly knew her, yet we had shared the most intimate kind of moment that two people could. No, not the sex we had just had, though that had been plenty intimate; no, it was the life and death experience that we had been lucky enough to have survived just weeks earlier.

Alana was a tall woman, maybe five-ten, taller than me by three or four inches at least. She was not a slim woman, but certainly not fat. She had a nice body at a shapely 140 or so pounds. She was my kind of woman. She had light brown hair and a porcelain complexion that was almost baby-like. Her lips were full and her hips, again, broad and feminine. Her eyes were gray or light blue; I could never quite make up my mind, but they were mesmerizing. The package was wonderful; it was to me. While I'm at it...

I'm five-seven or so. Because of my lifestyle and my Ranger training I was steel hard-bodied. I could fight as well as any welter weight amateur champion, which I had been, regionally, as a youth. I am light haired but not actually blond. As for my looks, I have to be the prototype for average.

Her personality was on the bossy side, but I liked women who valued themselves and knew their worth; she clearly had and did both. This was a woman who knew what she wanted. She also knew how to fuck. Could she love me? It wasn't long before I found out.

We didn't go to dinner that first night; we went to bed. Oh, and it wasn't because we were tired. But, we sure as hell were tired in the morning; that's what comes from screwing all night and not getting any sleep.

I moved in officially the next day. I was put up in the guest room of the three bedroom home. The reason was that she wanted to give me some privacy, and I extrapolated, get some for herself.

We lived as border and landlordess with benefits for the next few months. The "L" word never passed between us, but that was about to change. It was a rainy evening. She came home from her work at the art place, as I called it, a little bit late, around 7:00PM. I'd gotten off my job at Selwin Motors, where I was now a fully certificated master mechanic, at the usual time of 5:00PM and decided to cook dinner for us. I had a motive behind such madness.

"Wow, Blake, dinner? Did I forget an occasion or something?" she said kinda playfully.

"No—well yes," I said.

"And that would be?" she said.

"I'll tell you over dinner," I said. I had set the table and as she went up stairs to get ready. And, I got ready. I had my speech memorized, and this was the night. I'd even disconnected the phone so as not to be interrupted. Oh yes, I was prepared. Rangers are always prepared. We might get killed, but it would never be because we weren't prepared for the challenge.

She came down about twenty minutes later. She looked nice, not exactly a novelty for her.

We ate, I poured us glasses of her favorite wine, burgundy. Just as she finished her first sip, I rose, went around the table and got down on my knees.

"Alana, I need to tell you that I have fallen in love with you, and I pray you will make me the happiest man on earth and be my wife," I said. And, I said it without stumbling all over the words. She stared at me in disbelief. I almost laughed.

"Blake—I—I..." I was getting a bad feeling.

"Alana? I mean did I do wrong? I thought..." Suddenly I could think of nothing to say. I was—embarrassed. She looked at me with tears in her eyes.

"Oh my no, my darling man. No, you did not do wrong. But, Blake, you know so little about me. Please," she said, indicating the seat I had so recently occupied. I did as she asked and retook my seat. "Let me tell you some things. Then, if you like you can respond. Would that be all right?"

I couldn't talk, but I nodded.

"Blake, I am not who or what you think I am. I'm a free spirit. I love men. No, that's dishonest; I love cock. Until I met you I screwed anything with a third leg. I'm a slut, Blake.

"That said, since I met you I have been monogamous. That's been some months now, and I can't believe it myself that I have had no hankering after any strange. It might be that I will never hanker after it again, but frankly, Blake, I don't trust myself. If the ache in my loins returns, I will disappoint you, Blake, and I couldn't stand that.

"Do you know what I was doing in the alley that night you saved me? I was getting ready to give one of those two assholes a blowjob. Then, his friend showed up, and they decided to beat and rape me instead. Then, you showed up and saved me. My knight in shining armour. I have been so in love with you since that night that nothing and no one has even tempted me, not even a little bit. You're every little girl's dream; do you know that?

"But if we married, would our romance get a little bit stale after a while; I mean like it does for almost every married couple? And if it did, and if I strayed, could you forgive me? Could I forgive myself for betraying the man that saved my life? Such an unholy risk my poor poor man," she said, finally.

"Alana, I could forgive you anything. I'll admit I don't—couldn't ever share you, but that said; oh for godssakes, I just love you so much! Honey, your past is what it is, as is mine. I am willing to take the risk. If we need to we will get counseling or something, whatever it takes. I ask again. Will you marry me?"

It was a gamble. I wasn't a fool. After what she'd said, I almost knew she'd go astray as she phrased it. Sooner or later she'd wrong me. I gritted my teeth and told myself that I would deal with that eventuality when is happened. At that moment, I had to have her, possess her; she had to be mine. I'd always been a fighter, and this was not different except in kind. I would fight the good fight when the time came, and I was betting on me to come out the one with the raised arm.

We were married, in front of a justice of the peace, three weeks after that evening.

The first nine years of the marriage were not good; they were spectacular, at least for me; and, I believe for Alana too. Two children had come along in quick succession in the second and third years of the marriage: Miranda and Shelby. Their parents adored them and the clan was happy.

It was after Shelby started school that Alana decided that she wanted to go back to work. She'd found a job at an art studio and it seemed to satisfy her. I was happy for her. The job was not taxing, she only worked four hours a day, and those in the morning: eight to twelve. Plus the extra money, though not critical for us, since I was doing quite well, was useful.

Some months, maybe a year into her new job, she started working longer hours. She was always to pick up the kids from school, and for my part I hardly noticed anything at all. Then one day I found her sitting in the living room with a glass of burgundy in her hand waiting for me. The kids were in the yard playing.

"Hi sailor," she said, as I walked in all grubby and smelly after a long day in the pit.

"Hi back atcha," I said. She was smiling, but for some reason or no reason I felt uneasy.

I sat down beside her and gave her a hungry kiss which she returned enthusiastically. "Got a surprise today," she said, pulling back a bit.

"A surprise?" I said.

"Yes. There's an art show in San Francisco, and the boss, Gordon, has invited me to accompany him and the artist there," she said, all bubbly and happy. "We'll be gone maybe four or five days. Isn't it exciting?"

I looked at her, not real happy. But, what could I say. "Yeah, I guess," I said, my lack of enthusiasm obvious.

"Ah, honey, it's only for a few days, and it is a really good opportunity for me to see some really good stuff. We have shows here in Georgia, of course, but not like on the coast," she said.

We talked for some time, and I eventually fell into line. She'd never had an opportunity like this, or so she said, so how could I in good conscience be a pooper.

I learned that she would be leaving Saturday afternoon and returning Tuesday or Wednesday evening. Well, the kids and I would do something special on the weekend, I decided.

On Saturday, the kids and I took Alana to the airport, had lunch with her there, and then we waved goodbye to her as she went upstairs to await her companions in the departure lounge. I had a bad feeling. But, I had the children with me, and that was a plus.

Late Saturday evening, she called. She let me know they'd arrived safely and gave me the number to the hotel she'd be staying at in case of emergency. She did say to call her on her cell for anything else though.

I had taken up working out with some buddies of mine from my days in the rangers: Mark Hutchins and Gary Chapin. I was of the unscientific opinion that working out helped keep me in shape including helping me to protect my good eye by increasing my circulation and such. I was certainly buff after a decade of it. We all were. We were the three musketeers, twenty-first century edition. We all became experts with the yawara too, a not very well known or understood invention of the Japanese.

The yawara was a very short stick, ours three-fifths of an inch in diameter and four and a half inches long. Someone who knew how to use one could not lose a fight if he or she got the first unprotected strike in; the operative term was "could not," literally.

We always practiced together at the park on Sundays for an hour no matter what, and the rest of the week on our own. And, we always took our children with us. They kinda did what we did, after they practiced the things we wanted them too. Both Shelby my seven year old, and Miranda, eight, were tough little kids; but, respectful. Neither had ever been in a school brawl—as far as I knew.

"Daddy daddy," said Miranda. "Mr. Hutchins says I did very good today." She was all smiles, and so was I.

"That's great, baby. Now got get your brother so we can get going," I said. Shelby was still with Mark and they looked like complementary shadows of each other as they repeated over and over the Shotei form. Gary, who'd finished his routine, stood near the duo and smiled broadly. His fourteen year-old son Arthur was laying on the ground near Karen, Gary's thirteen year-old daughter. The two of them were completely fagged out. I think they were in love too.

The kids and I headed for zoo after having breakfast at the IHOP. The day was a great success, and we all hit the hay early after dinner. Alana called, at 6:00, and spoke to the children then me. She sounded exhausted.

"Yes, honey, I am exhausted. The elevators were out for an hour for servicing because of a small fire on the ground floor," she said. "They put it out in a hurry, but I didn't want to wait, so I decided to walk up the nine flights of stairs," she said. I laughed.

"I told you that you should be working out with me and the kids," I said, making light of her plight. We talked a while. She explained what she'd seen and how wonderful it all was. Well, she was an art lover.

After hanging up, the bad feeling I'd had since hearing about her trip returned with a vengeance. Then, I did something unconscionable: I called the hotel and asked about the fire in the lobby. My heart sank when they told me that I must be mistaken; there had never been a fire at that hotel. Why would she lie? Without any more evidence than that, I began to suspect that my wife was having sex while she talked to me. Helluva thing the human mind.

Tuesday evening the kids and I picked up my wife at the airport. Amidst the excitement that the kids exhibited, my somewhat less than thrilled greeting went unnoticed.

We had sex that night. She did her best to make me happy that she was back. I guess I was, but I also had questions. Questions that I couldn't ask, not yet at any rate.

The following week was normal except for two things on Tuesday and Thursday night respectively, Alana had to work late. She didn't get home till after 9:00PM. In all of the time she had been working she had never been later than 6:30—ever. Add to that that on both nights, she showered when she got home and pled fatigue to my overtures for sex. My eyes narrowed; I was pretty sure she was having an affair. No, I had no clear evidence, and even the lie about the hotel fire might still somehow be explained; but I was pretty sure I was right.

The following Tuesday night, Mark and his wife Elizabeth, who were also neighbors, had the kids for evening. I was parked across from the Art Shop where my wife worked. My heart took a very bad hit that night. Mr. Gordon Crowder had his arms around my wife and was kissing her passionately while I watched the scene unfold through the window; the store was closed and the lights were out except for the security lights behind the two of them; they were clearly visible. Ten minutes later they exited the building, got into his car and drove off. I followed.

The Pine Tree motel does not have a restaurant, but it does have rooms. They got one together and went inside. I went home.

I'd already picked up the kids and now I waited. Murder crossed my mind. But before I killed her boss I wanted to have it out with her. And no, I had not forgotten her concern in the beginning when I had asked her to marry me. Now, I wondered how long and how many. She showed up at about 9:45.

I was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea. She stopped when she saw me.

"Blake?"

"Yeah, it's me," I said, and took a sip of tea.

"Is something wrong?" she said.

"I don't know," I said. "You tell me."

"Huh?"

"Well we can start with, how was your night at the Pine Tree?"

Here face went white. Her shoulders sagged. "You know?" I didn't answer.