OWNER OF ALL INTELLECTUAL PROPERTIRS….
A Dark & Loving ❤️ Hero’s Story
THE LONG AWAITED SUMMER 20/22 RELAUNCH!
The Back Story…
Elle and Sergeant First Class (SFC)Sabastian King did not begin their relationship in the swanky suburbs of Atlanta. No, their torrid and uncanny relationship began in a land far…far…away; the Middle Eastern Theatre (Iraq). The two were Battle Buddies—meaning they looked after one another; especially flowing in and out of some hot LZ’s (landing zones). The lovers were each other’s confidants, inseparable friends, and exceptional soldiers! And when it came to hardasses…these two were as hard as it comes.
However, fate and destiny are two very feckless and diabolical entities, sometimes (or are they)? Both Elle and Sabastian’s desiring and needing souls cried out the likes of hungry children for refuge and hope.
But in the world of soldiers and veterans, there are two types of pangs of hunger; one is salvation from a beast that feeds, from within (PTSD). The other is a restless carnal and carnivorous hunger that needs the flesh and spirit to nourish it, almost like a psychedelic drug feeding a junkie needing a fix! (Hunger always take the lead).
Somehow a north Georgia lake found a way to resuscitate, and rescue two lovers with fits of hunger that would fester wondrously and completely out of control. It is at that edge and mental intersection that their healing processes began to take on a life of its own, via the sultry and soulful sounds of Rhythm and Blues. But what an epoch carnal and primal journey, it would turn out to be for Elle… (Sorry No Spoilers).
A HERO’S SHORT LUST and LOVE STORY SLOWLY UNFOLDS & REVEALS ITSELF…
AND THE NIGHT MIXER WAS NOTHING TO PLAY WITH LIGHTLY, LADIES! SOMEHOW CLUTCH ALL OF YOUR PEARLS… JUST DOESN’T QUITE SAY IT!
The Night Mixer is your quintessential, connoisseur of sultry and soulful; rhythm and blues; carnal sensitivities; and of course, primal instincts. As for the Southern Belles with whom he engaged—the gentleman would afford the love interest the quarter of his protection; tenderness; passions; lust; and fire-brand of lovemaking. These attributes were not shared openly. Mr. Night Mixer would have to dig deep, from within himself, to give of himself. He suffered introvertedly from P.T.S.D., so harshly.
Outwardly, no one would be any the wiser. The objects (love interests) of his obsessions would be the only; exceptions with the knowledge of his secret: which they all held tight to the vest. Why? Because within each of the lives of those Southern Belles the soldier; veteran; gentleman; and purveyor of passion would be a life-long torment (the longing of him). Most notably—the experience of such carnal knowledge―which once shocked their modesties―would be held sacredly and securely in a place where…not even Seal Team Six could ever retrieve them! You would have to have been a part of the fold to understand.
SFC (Sergeant First Class) Sabastian King returned home in the fall of 2013, from the Nineveh Province of Iraq. The soldier rotated in and out of the Middle Eastern Theatre four times in eight years. It was time for him to rejoin civilized society, again. He could not have been more excited, and ready to come back home. Rather than wait to catch a commercial flight: back home. The anxious soldier, luckily, hitched a ride back to the states on a military G-5 jet―with six or seven “frozen middle” top brass (high ranking officers). Sabastian was always lucky that way. He was able to ride as far as New York, New York. From there, he would fly the duration of his way home via commercial airline (American Airlines): into the Atlanta Hartsfield airport.
The second leg of his trip was very uneasy, and pretentious for the returning hero and soldier. He sat half reclined in his seat the entire trip; as the gentleman gazed out the window at the fluffy clouds and setting sun. It was there, about fifty-seven thousand miles above the earth when his recall memory decided to debut itself. And it was not a welcomed return, at all.
He began to ask himself all sorts of questions concerning his return home, after so many months. “I wonder who all will be there waiting to see me?” The soldier whispered silently. He suddenly felt the goosebumps racing across his sun-chard skin and body.
Sabastian slowly closed his eyes to conceal the onslaught of tears that were, rapidly, filling the wells of his eyes. It was practically too late; a few fell down his dried sunburned face; hanging at his chin―ready to air assault themselves off, and onto his utilities (battle dress uniform). The passenger next to him noticed but was polite enough not to say a word. She simply handed him a crisp, baby blue, handkerchief to dry his eyes.
Simultaneously, she reached down to give his cracked rough hands a slight squeeze of assurance, and comfort. Her eyes began to well…just a tad. Rather than allow him to see her upset, she excused herself; then headed for the facility behind their row. Sabastian returned her gesture…he did not say a word…only glared out the window of the plane. That forlorn feeling was upon again. It is the one every soldier returning home from war feels: deep within the pit of our stomachs.
Sabastian missed his wife and girls…like nobody business. They were his love of life! However, he had been away from home for twenty-eight straight months. It is difficult to gauge the type of reception you will receive; once you cross over into U.S. airspace. It really is. If you don’t believe me…just ask any veteran or soldier matriculating in and out of that Middle Eastern theatre? Ms. King did not appreciate Sabastian (the civilian) signing up to serve his country, from the get-go! She felt deserted and pissed off. Because in her eyes; the military was his mistress on the side. She may have insured their daughters that daddy was alright, and let them read all letters he sent, but hanging off her heart were a million icicles. Nothing could ever thaw that ice…nothing!
It’s easy as hell to miss a figment of your imagination, but when we return home in the flesh…oh my God…whatta difference airspace makes! SFC King’s angst had merit…to say the least.
Sabastian’s intense gaze into those clouds was his way of finding strength, and intestinal fortitude. There was something powerful he had to prepare himself to be able to withstand. Would he be received with adulation and love by his wife and daughters…or not? From an emotional perspective, the weight of not knowing is, beyond, tremendous! Moreover, that powerless feeling of not being in control of the situation; can leave a thousand bee stings in the pit of your stomach. Yet, mentally, SFC King was ready…willing…and able to remain optimistic. I applaud that type of intense fortitude. Even though, I know its reality has… somewhat… perilous implications.
Finally, the fasten seatbelt sign flashed above the airline’s cabins. Already strapped in, Sabastian simply popped his seat into the upright position, for landing. If that boy was apprehensive before the flashing yellow light; he was outright scared to death; of what awaited him at the pick-up and luggage claim area of Hartsfield airport. SFC King never liked uncertainty. I remembered that from the theatre’. But that optimist in him brought all feelings of ambivalence to a dead halt. He was going to see this scenario to its bitter or sweet end…no matter what! How valiant of him…
Too bad he could not read the tea leaves the rest of us veteran. We always “planned for the worst…and hoped for the best.”
Typical to form at Hartsfield; that American Airlines 787 landed; only to be held on the runway for an extra forty-five minutes. Which worked out for Sabastian. He needed a little extra time to assess, as fast as possible, which one of his personalities would greet his family―Sabastian the realists―or SFC King the optimists? Baby…I know that side of you, which is kept locked away from the world. It would be the consummate optimist coming up that escalator into whatever!
The Atlanta-Hearts Field Airport, designated greeting area, was filled with patriotic Americans, Veterans, and fellow Heroes to welcome him back home: safe and sound! SFC King was beyond elated! Yet he remained steadied and measured, outwardly. That was just his way. However, nothing could ever remove the glare of those―armor-piercing; stunning; bluish; hazel green eyes―filled with so much pride; honor: and unbridled concupiscent appetite…nothing! At the end of the barrage of grateful Americans and Atlantans stood his, three beautiful daughters, and wife.
All the pomp and circumstance in the world could never measure up to the moment those girls embraced their father!
“OMG…is it really you…home…finally?” His oldest asked, literally, breathless. “Are you coming home with us…. please…please…please?” asked his youngest, as she danced around his legs: in the tightest hug and embrace. His middle daughter, sobered, by the moment was left, literally, speechless. With tears slowly streaming down her blanched white cheeks; the young lady was pale as a ghost from the pain of her new reality, she reached out to the youngest of the circle. “Stop…stop…stop…he’s not coming home with us guys!”
Next, there was this God-awful dead calm, as if all sound had been snuffed out that airport. He could not speak, only shake his head in agreement with his favorite…she was just like him (a matter of fact). The girls broke with their embrace, and shot a gaze towards Ms. King, with a look; short of nothing: but betrayal, loss, and confusion. It was their…” Mommy, how could you”, moment? Ms. King walked swiftly over to the girls and attempted to embrace them. All three young women recoiled in disgust, anger, and hurt. Damn dude.
King raised his hand in total angst, and anxiety about his girls; caught up in his and Ms. King’s fucked-up marital bullshit. In addition, the fact that she waited to handle his lodging in the middle of the Hartsfield Airport, and onlookers. Well, …it was a bit beyond the pale. Yeah to this day I must wonder…what the fuck was that shit about?
However, like all too many moments for returning heroes, the moment was short-lived. The reception from his mentally and war-torn wife was lukewarm, at best. As their eyes met, he knew…the life that which he’d longed and fought to preserve—simply was no more. Emotionally Mrs. Katherine King had moved on, but she hadn’t evolved like so many other service wives. I often felt that this was too her stubbornness…not her strength. Katie made a horrific error in judgment. You can never give a soldier that dedicated the ultimatum of well…it’s the service to your country, or me? Girl…you gonna come out the losing end of that ploy, no matter what!
SFC King was fighting to make the world a better place: for those beautiful girls…this was so much bigger than a husband and wife connection. Katie wasn’t naive…she knew that, but this was her attempt to control the uncontrollable. Holding the girl’s hostage, and as leverage was a pure “no-go!” Not only did she pay for her antics…the children paid with their hearts and emotions. Now she was a single Mom, with a part-time father; forced into a position he would never voluntarily elect for himself…on any day!
The woman he longed and vowed to spend the rest of his life with; was now Ms. Katie King. Apart of him slowly dimmed, mentally, with the acknowledgment of that notion. The father in him, had the wherewithal, to not allow those beautiful girls to suspect… a single iota of his discontentment and pain. Instead—he gave them all his love with hugs, and what seemed like a gazillion kisses, and carried on. It would be in this defining moment, that another type of soldier within him emerged, and began to take over the old SFC King. A darker yet wanting type of gentleman. Oh, make no mistake, he was hurt, but, also, determined to have a life…with, or without his Katie. In the interim Sabastian would ensure that he would live as close to his rod and staff (his daughters), as possible. They came first, and foremost! This issue was non-negotiable.
From that point, going forward, he would live free of the guilt; free of her torment, but most of all… free of the crazy marital separation restraints… so he thought! Sometimes in life…you cannot dodge those kindred angels, that touch our lives one way or the other.
That event, though short-lived (separation from his wife) molded and shaped the makings of the gentleman who we now know as the quintessential “Night Mixer”――well at least on the U.S. continent. Wink. I met the Night Mixer long ago: shortly before leaving the theatre. Shit…that boy’s primal antics never left my memory…ever! All it took was one time. Hey…to the winner would go all the spoils, so speak. And spoils they were! Mr. night mixer within that Navy Seal never forgot either…so it would seem. Finally, after heartfelt good-bye kisses to his girls, and a hard-good bye to his estranged wife with a kiss… that boy left Hartsfield Airport just as quickly as he entered it.
SFC Sabastian King returned home to Gwinnett Georgia―decked out in enough medals to make both Generals McArthur and Patton blush from envy, no lie, or stretch of the imagination, there. True to form— the disillusioned soldier returned home in his utilities, overpacked rucksack, and with zero body fat…literally! Seriously—SFC King looked as if he crawled off the movie screen; from all three sequels of the “Bourne Identity” trilogy: and with no less sexy or equivocal rambunctious! How delicious is that? The north Georgia suburbs would never be the same, again…ever!
Really hope you enjoyed this little short snippet of SFC King and Elle’s beginning exodus, sensually, intellectually, spiritually, and most of all carnally. The Book will be MINDBLOWING!
📚🥀✍️Thank you for your time and intrigue! I, and The Smoking Glass Literary Bar Are both ELATED and HUMBLED!