Short Answer: I’m not into it.
Long story: A previous sub was way too pushy about a scene that I just don’t have any interest in. The debate started out an oven baked dinner and turned into a bonfire. I noticed she was stepping out of the submissive role to be vindictive and engage me in my insecurities rather than just let things go. I just wanted to relax, maybe a little kink. But fair warning, brats probably should steer clear of veterans and southern gentlemen. I’m just not built for that bullshit.
It has been jarring to be around so many civilians who are interpersonal disconnected but will choose personal slights as a medium to convey happenstance interest.
Instead of continuing down the road of scenes vs opinions. I just spilled it.
I don’t like food play because on my 1st deployment to Iraq, while on guard duty, our breakfast meetup was ambushed. On gate guard duty. There is a road that leads from Basra (main city in south Iraq) into the main Basra Airbase.
***Her: Can’t we just try it a few times and see it you like it specifically with me?
Me: Yeah…negative on that ghost rider.
And so…I told her the truth. the deep dark truth about my fear of pancakes.
………To the left of the main entrance was our guard shack and entry point. Our first shipment of organic coffee, pancakes and REAL eggs just came in. Way better than the yellow powder crack cocaine that they mix with water and fry with canola oil.
For 2 months, we have been eating MREs and bagged meat with labels that said “For Army and Prison Use Only.”
0700 am, since rotation was earlier today. We usually skip breakfast and have it brought to us. Today they just brought down a pallet of all the goodies
0715. packs are dropped coffee is laid out. In this order from the road, adjacent to the gate, between me and the outside world, there is a brick wall, a few Jersey barriers, a Kevlar window plate wall, then the concrete south facing wall, then stacks and rows of breakfast inventory for us to ration and cook with for the weekend rotation.
0730. Five armed assailants fire armor piercing rounds about 100 feet from the gate. While seated cleaning my weapon, everything around me suddenly bursts with the shining colors of eggs, coffee and pancakes.
Whipped honey syrup fills my boots as it oozes along the floor. All my power cords (very hard to get), socks, and laptop are done for. I feel hot coffee be cooled by the syrup as it soaks into my combat boots and squishes between my toes.
In less than 10 seconds, a quarter of the southeast building corner has been sheared away. The whole shed is flooded. And these guys are still shooting.
I hear the teams outside engaging.
2 more enemy trucks arrive. Once they started shooting. The southwest corner was hit. this is where all the juice and fruit was. It went exactly as you fear.
bullets ripped through the juice boxes and tipped over the cleaning closet in front of the weapons rack.
thompsons m4 has a cracked scope and twisted trigger guard, plus it’s soaked in grapefruit juice and syrup. The smell of pinesol fills the room as two full containers are ripped apart and spew pine scented radioactive waste all over me, my bunk and two guys behind me. damn near blinds me. I toss Thompson my rifle as I puke into my duffle bag. I take out two Capri subs from my bag and blindly squeeze to wash my eyes out.
Eyes cleared. Teeth grit. Im stressed, I'm hungry and if I'm going to be 100 percent real here, these boots were brand fucking new. Like fresh out the box, steel toe, Blackhawk boots. Size 10.5 in summer, 11 in winter with the double up sock combo.
These things were so fresh, I was getting phone numbers in church. PREACH.
Anyway, the feeling of bacon grease, eggs, oil, coffee, and syrup just weirded me out of being shocked or scared by the bullets.
Grossed out + adrenaline + Army training = I am peeved. Borderline unreasonable.
Brandon (that’s his real last name) takes one in the shoulder. My boss is running to the back to the radio station. The assailants outside are not moving up. They are just continuing to shoot.
I just let myself cry.
0736. I half stumble, half bear crawl to Thompson’s rack. He has a gallon of water. I wash my eyes and face with it. Mother fucker has pre workout powder in it.
Jackd pre work out is some serious stuff. Im amped, crying and brushing my teeth with my left, I grab a 9 mil off the rack, load it and fire back through the open wall. Once empty. I fall down into Thompson’s bag rack and look for pants, shirt and socks. I put on his boots too. We break for the east facing window and grab our helmets and vests.
For a reference point. This shed is filled with 15 young American men. All orphaned warriors, horny, 10 thousand miles from family, haven’t eaten breakfast, are all armed to the teeth, and have just been blinded with pinesol and Jackd preworkout. I was not the only one who needed to washout with the preworkout.
Once outside. We were not…interested in peaceful solutions.
Anyway, this is why I don’t like food play, feet play, alcohol, poppers, and as of today I have no guns in my house anymore.
……..
Back to the future, Bratty sub 27 has her mouth open and just lays with me on the couch while we watch Love Death Robots. We saw each other 2 more times then she ghosted.
it’s cold. I’m going to trade some stocks and play some xbox.
