Tattoos can be so very sexy. The way they kind of wind around on your skin and tell stories of your life. The Second Mate’s intrigued me. His were very, very personal. The first one I noticed was the one on his arm. It only took a few moments to realise it was symbolic of his service. There was a dog tag, and a flag and some other symbolic things I didn’t understand. But I never asked him about it.
I was drawn to him when I first saw him. He told me
“I will be the big guy standing there.”
And he was. Everything about him was big. His height, his shoulders, his hands…
Everything about him was sexy. His eyes, the way his hands pinched my nipples and left finger bruises on my breast. The way he would lay me down and hold my legs open so he could watch me play a vibe over my clit. The way he told me to spend an entire day wearing no underwear so that he could put his fingers into me every time I bent down to put away a rope or adjust some sailing gear.
Apart from the tattoo there were other marks of service. His hyper vigilance. Trained to see every tiny movement and notice every little thing. He was acutely aware of his environment but also the moods and interactions of the people around him. He noticed when your mood was down and asked how you were going. And when his fingers were inside you he noticed every movement of your face. From the first time he touched me he could play me better than any musician.
There were other scars. Ones that were harder to watch. Physical pain from old injuries. Mental pain from the things he had seen and done. The army is not easy on its infantry. It chews them up and spits out their injured bodies and souls like seeds from a fruit.
Every November 11 we remember the fallen and pray for their souls. This year I will be remembering those who came home and praying that they can heal their souls.