It's officially been 18 months since my transition to civilian life. Jan 2020 was the attack. I moved to Colorado in May 2020.
I have made mistakes, burned some bridges, and formed a tight circle that's honestly keeping a lot of bullshit out of my life.
Currently, I live with my mother and am the babysitting uncle for some hotel owners.
A year ago, I had a high-rise apartment in Toronto, a brand new black Mercedes, and 200 grand in my bank account. That life required that I deploy to the Middle East 8 months out of the year. I remember after Vince and Zach died, I just wanted to keep deploying.
With different eyes now, I remember Maria, the previous sub, begging me not to go back. She pulled out all the stops...called a friend or two of hers to the apartment. Had my car detailed then she paid for an extension on my rental car. Stocked the fridge with snacks and wrote me a letter.
It's just that Iran had hit my base with missiles. The worst attack in history for a US base stationed in Iraq. It was a calling. The challenge of my life was there. My family's future and my own legacy. Could I have stopped? Just for happiness? While sacrificing standing alongside the few and proud to give their lives and energy toward this nation and its people, not its politics. Sorry, not sorry.
Finding submissives, when I was rich, was an easy enough task. With everything going on, I experienced the ocean of misconceptions and greedy tendencies that come with those born in the age of consumerism and social media. This experience allowed me to see that most women didn't care about trapping me in a monogamous relationship.
I was a contractor on orders to deploy. I have a vasectomy. Not exactly the smoothest of talkers. BUT...I was paying bills, babysitting my sub's kids + her neighbor's kids, putting their little brother through college, going to their anger management and life coach classes when the "boyfriend" canceled last minute, paid for a stepfather's hip replacement (that was a good weekend). It is this network of subs and friends who came back to me during COVID after I got blown up. Even when I was distracted and in the wind. Even when I had my fevers.
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When you read this, thank you for...
Sticking by me. Traveling to see me. Making food when I had shrapnel in my knee and back. Driving me to my appointments. Thank you for patiently waiting out my flings and relationship mishaps. Buying my weed when I didn't have time to get currency exchanged. Taking my mother to get her nails done. Giving me deep tissue massages. Explaining the new versions of emotional intelligence. For the birthday presents. For inviting me to Costa Rica with your family. For riding my dick in the back of the Benz right after I lost my job. For getting my motorcycle towed. For the strippers and carriage rides on Christmas morning. For the cigars stuffed with weed and live resin...needed those after the surgery.
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I had a dream where the government bought a whole city and placed only my friends and our exes in it. Then built a dome around it, dropped in weapons, and laced the air with truth serum mist. Most of my friends died. But the few of us who remained went on to live on like regular people. We shopped, ate, and fucked with who we liked and truly enjoyed. Then the red alert came. Uncle Sam wants us to be a self-contained mixed unit that self-sustains ourselves through our individual identities, mental and physical needs. Then I woke up. Now I'm having coffee. at 1615 in the afternoon.