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Chapter 7

“Everybody says sex is obscene. The only true obscenity is war.”

— Henry Miller (Tropic of Cancer)

I managed to crawl away from the blast intact. Mostly. I passed out about the time that Remmy grabbed me under my armpits and pulled me from the wreckage that once had been a farmhouse.

There are flashes in my memory at this point. I remember Remmy’s voice telling me to buck the Fuck Up, Sir, and to not Fucking Quit On Me Now, Sir, and that the squad had made it thanks to my warning. Then blackness, then the helicopter, then more blackness, though Remmy’s voice still managed to penetrate that dark veil.

The light that streamed in under my eyelids was way too fucking bright. I wanted to go back to sleep, but the doctor kept talking.

“Captain, I know you’re awake,” the whitecoat said. “We need to talk. Now is better than later.”

He didn’t have much of a bedside manner, I thought. I’d learn later that his name was Doctor Warner Ruby, and that he was one of the best surgeons in the biz, and that he was a volunteer. I didn’t know that now. Now I just wanted to sleep.

“Listen, ma’am,” his voice was deep, but grating. I was pissed that he wasn’t calling me sir. “Ma’am” was so last century and no longer in the regs. “Ma’am, you need to open your eyes. Now.”

I sighed and did as I was told. His face wasn’t unpleasant. It was a good, solid symmetrical face, aside from a large scar running diagonally down his forehead, over his left eye and trailing off down his cheek. I’d later learn he’d run into a mine field after a child had wandered off; he saved the kid but nearly lost his eye.

“Captain Phifer, you...” he began. I cut him off.

“I no longer have my left leg. I knew that before coming in. I figured it out when I had to tourniquet my left thigh before I crawled back to my squad.” I rubbed my temples. “Just slap one of them fancy new prosthetic legs on and let me get out of here. There’s a war on, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Doctor Ruby laughed. I liked his smile. I’d later learn that the rest of him wasn’t unpleasant to look at either. And then I’d learn about his wife.

“It’s good to see you have a grasp on the situation,” Warner said. “Many soldiers who come through here don’t really have a clue. Still, you have options.”

“I know what they are,” I grumbled. “I can either have the damned thing regrown, starting now then be out of commission for the next six months and never really have the same strength in my leg,- and no, 80% is not the same - or I get all cyborged up. I’m going full cyborg.”

He glanced down at his paper thin, fully pliable electronic pad. “I need you to understand something about the leg, however -”

I again cut him off. I would later learn that he liked that, he did not really like talking to idiots. “Listen - I know the routine. I have a week to get my leg growing, or that option is off the table permanently. Just get me a good leg, get me into some PT, and get me out of here.”

PT lasted two months, and they were long, excruciatingly boring months. Excruciatingly boring coupled with lots of sex. Remmy did not approve, especially after I kept it up even when I found out Doc was married - I didn’t care, I just wanted to feel something other than boredom. The doc was separated both mentally and physically from his wife, divorce in the works.

The first time it happened was when Warner came to my room to check on me a week after I got my new leg. It was kinda awesome, shiny and titanium, and could do things my other leg couldn’t. I was still getting used to the neural interface and I was tired. Tired and horny. When Warner walked in the door, I attacked the other woman’s husband.

All of my bridled annoyances, all of the guilt, all of the replays in my head of that moment the bomb went off, all of the anger that had been amassing in me exploded like the bomb that took my leg, and exploded all over the Doc. Literally, at one point.

The platoon was off on assignment, I was languishing in the recovery bungalow, and Warner was making idle chit-chat about who the hell knows what while I was sitting on my bed flipping inattentively through various websites when I couldn’t stand it any longer. Without any hints, I jumped on him, tearing his white coat off of him, almost knocking him unconscious as I did so.

Doctor Ruby had the faintly tanned skin of his mother, pulled taut over smooth flowing muscles. With clothes, he was just a guy, a regular guy, naked he was … tasty.

There was no bulk, he had the build of a runner. He was cut, a sharp statue of a man. His ropy vasculature rose in all the right spots on his arms. His scar enhanced his masculinity; I could eat that raised line of skin up, I enjoyed playing my fingers over it after sex.

I was the animal to his animal, the tooth to his nail. I landed in his lap with a reverberating thump thanks to my unsteadiness. I played my lips over his trembling neck. Then I bit. He jumped with pleasure, and this got me even more turned on. I savagely kissed his mouth, my tongue dancing with his. I let my breath couple with his and I felt him grow hard and push against my crotch.

Warner pulled away, and he stared at me. “You have far too many clothes on,” he whispered, then proceeded to remove them. Not in a polite, gentle, clinical manner either.

I liked it.

He wasn’t shy; he countered my attacks with his own, each of us wanting to fuck, but wanting to play, too. It was all about the fun. Our eyes caught every once in awhile, making us pause, grin, then go in again. Our pupils were so completely dilated that they were essentially black. I wanted him, he wanted me, and that was all we needed. Our hearts drummed together while the adrenaline flooded our systems, and our senses focused on the moment at hand. On this cold winter evening, we were nothing by salt and heat.

My shirt was a casualty of the encounter, ripped to shreds, and I liked it. He stood, and he lifted me. I locked my leg around him. His strength was surprising and welcome. I am not some skinny little woman, I am tall and strong, I have muscles and bulk. That he could hold me up without hesitation sent hot chills down my spine.

He inhaled my chest as we fell to the bed. My nails pulled furrows down his back, my mouth tangled in his black hair.

I let myself glide down the good doctor, and I grasped his hardness with a playful tug. I rolled off to the side and untied his scrubs. I was going to show him what I could do with his loaded weapon. I was well trained by the Army. I ran my fingernails down his shaft, then flicked the tip of my tongue around the tip of his tip. He quivered. I liked it.

I released him. I didn’t want him to end too soon. I wanted what I wanted.

I worked my way up his body, letting my wetness moisten his chest.

As I moved up, I left his arms free, then locked my thighs around his head. He was ready, willing and able to satisfy me.

And I was.

Two months later, we were done with PT, I was done with him, and I joined my future husband back on the front lines. Remmy would always hate Doctor Ruby.

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