The day I returned from Afghanistan made me remember why I needed to forget Afghanistan. Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I must have told myself at least three times to just enjoy the homecoming, but the vision of my best friend’s blood spattering across my rifle and face had an extreme hold on my brain.

I blinked, and he was gone.

I know that sounded bad, but who would want to contemplate their best friend’s agonizing death twenty-four-seven? Forget it and move on, I thought to myself, just as my platoon sergeant used to say. Shit just happened, people died, and the few that got to go home and experience pussy once again before the next bout with death were the lucky ones. That was my reality—the reality of a United States Marine.

Not much got a Marine down. A cigarette, a rifle, and something to shoot at usually helped keep the peace. That being said, shit did surface from time to time, and I would sometimes find myself waking up in the middle of the night strangling my pillow to death because of a vivid nightmare. Most people would call that a what-the-fuck moment. There was a reason they called us the few and the proud. There were only a few of us idiots out there that actually wanted to experience insanity, and everyone else either acted like we were gods or hated us. Either way, I slept well at night knowing that, because of what I did, someone, somewhere, would get to wake up with a smile and go to the movies with his friends or talk shit on our president without worrying about his rights getting stripped away.

I knew people appreciated it. They just didn’t always know exactly why they appreciated it.

I never judged anyone. I couldn’t have given a flying fuck what anyone’s bitches and gripes or political views were—none of that mattered to me. What did matter was the fact I was finally back home, and Bonnie Caldwell’s tight pussy would be waiting for me.

The seven-ton truck’s air brakes puffed and screeched as we rolled to a halt in front of a massive crowd of antsy wives and girlfriends, children and grandparents, and various local women looking for a good time. It was the same goddamned thing every time. Banners thrashed in the wind with the words Welcome Home Heroes, and the Marine Corps Band played our time-honored hymn as we hopped off the trucks in our tattered and sweaty camouflage. Cheers and clapping erupted from the onlookers, and I felt sick to my stomach as the happy moment whipped at my eardrums like exploding mortar rounds. I couldn’t wait to drop off my gear, find Bonnie, fuck her brains out and stuff my face with a double cheeseburger. And where was an ice-cold beer when you really needed one? Fuck, it was good to be home.

Our commanding officer, Major Baldwin, called us into formation in front of our friends and families so he could speak a few words on how good of a job we did while deployed, tell the families that America is still the best nation on earth, and all around just plain bullshit nobody really cared about. After being on mission after mission for nine months overseas, the last thing we wanted to hear was yet another mission statement. We just wanted to go home.

Finally, the major called us to attention, our bodies locked in place and arms flush with our sides, and he screamed as loud as his lungs would permit, “Dismissed!”

We all yelled out, “Dismissed, aye, aye, sir! Ooh-Rah!” in reply, and one-hundred and twenty fine-tuned warriors did an about-face movement in unison and sprinted toward their loved ones as if storming a beachhead.

The major had granted us a four-day leave period or ”96” as Marines coined it, so we were all stoked. With so many people everywhere, it almost was as if we were in a great battle, fighting to search out our families as quickly as possible. I watched as little girls and boys jumped into their fathers’ arms, tears fell from faces everywhere, and wives and girlfriends dry-humped their men without regard to others around them.

As the moments went on, I started to wonder where Bonnie was. I hadn’t heard from her in over a month, but she had assured me in her last email she would be waiting for me. My heart started to lodge in my esophagus, and I gulped several times as the crowd gradually dwindled in size. I began to realize she wasn’t there.

Her last email, which I had probably read a hundred times, still scraped against the back of my eye sockets:

My Aaron!
I’m so happy they finally decided to bring you and your boys home! One month? Aaaaaahhh!!! I’ll be at the homecoming, I promise! Guess what? I’m touching myself right now. I can feel myself wanting you. Ooooo. What is this? God I am so fucking wet right now! Where’s a nine-inch prick when you need it? Get your ass home! I want you inside me because I can’t stand this shit any longer! Ugh. I really do miss you. Your arms holding me tight. Your lips against mine. God, I can even smell you still. *Sighs*
Remember the stuffed owl you got me? He really is watching out for me like you said. I cuddle with him every night. I sometimes look into his eyes and hope I see into yours. *Sniffles*
I’ve been talking to Kaitlyn and working out all the details for our special day. Everyone is so excited! I can’t wait to be Mrs. Rogers! Nothing would make me happier.
Please hurry back! I love you so much, babe! Kisses! Hugs! And sweet wet dreams, my love! ;-)
Love,
Bonnie XOXOXOXO
P.S.-This pussy is yours any time of the day or night when you get back! Muah!

There was no way I could sleep well at night after a letter like that. All I could think about was Bonnie’s pussy. She even sent me a picture, which had all her curves on display and, let’s just say, I didn’t bring enough socks with me on deployment. No one could get me fired up like Bonnie. She talked dirty as hell, loved picking out X-rated movies together, and always wanted to experiment. I couldn’t get enough of her, and we fucked all the time. Who could ask for anything more?

The more I thought about her though, the more it hurt. My arms ached to hold someone tight, and the open air was not a comfortable substitute. Where the hell was she?

“Hey, Corporal Rogers! Where’s your girl?”

“Errm. I don’t know, Jackson. She probably has a good reason.”

Lance Corporal Jackson was one of my subordinates, but we’d grown close during the deployment. We had similar interests, and he was funny as hell. However, seeing him hugging his wife and son somehow started to piss me off. I couldn’t believe Bonnie had stood me up. I was so goddamned embarrassed. And I must have looked like a pathetic lost dog in front of all my Marines.

Fucking fantastic.

Then I saw her.

But it wasn’t Bonnie. It was her best friend, Kaitlyn, and she had her glassy blue eyes locked on my position as if she was about to cry. My mind flipped like a hotcake as she ran over to me. Before I could speak, she wrapped her arms around me and began to whimper. I didn’t know what to do, so I just went with it and reciprocated the embrace.