Seeing J.A. and I going through a deployment inspired my roommate to write this dirty but interesting piece. I love it!

irrelephantminds:

Seven months. Seven months had gone by. A girl shouldn’t go untouched for that long. After a certain amount of time you start to lose your mind without the feeling of of his hands on your skin. Your fingers wander below. You lock yourself in your room, in your shower. The water streams down hot on your face and drowns out the sounds of your longing moans. And then there’s a point where you go numb. Nothing, nobody else can please you. You can try to drown out the thoughts with music, with normal conversation, but every time you close you eyes, you can’t help but grit your teeth at the thought of him shoving his sub-machine gun into you and dropping the trigger. Your head has grown convoluted. Images of war and guns and blood and gore are cross-multiplying with that of lust and sex and heat and passion. And then those seven months are up, and one day he comes home. Your hands were already shaking. He pushes down the door handle and swings the slab of wood against the inside wall like it was a dead body of an enemy. He storms toward you with fury in his eyes. You don’t have a chance to speak, and with a deep breath he grabs you by the waist and throws you into the air, pulling you into him. You wrap your legs around him and take a bite out of him, and he kisses you back like he’s got venom in his blood. This snake, this carnivore you’ve taken hold of, he fights you like he wants you. He tears into the fabric between your shoulder blades with his claws, craving to feel what’s underneath your skin. You can’t wrap your legs around him tight enough. There’s no one home, but even if there were, it wouldn’t stop you from fucking him on the counter top. You manage to make it to the hallway, at least. Even with you against his body like a parasite, he finds no difficulty in slamming you against the wall. The sound that escapes your lips would be a whimper of pain if you weren’t enjoying every second of it. His finger tips press against your torso and climb underneath your shirt. With every skin cell he tears into approaching your rib cage, you can feel this pain in your gut telling you to get away, your human instincts screeching for help, under attack, but his mercy has disappeared a long time ago. The events between him getting out of your clothes and tossing you like a grenade onto your mattress are a blur at this point. Now you can see him climbing out of the fabric trapping him inside, and he leans over to grab you by the back of your neck and pull you into him. And your lungs can never find enough air

(Source: birdsbirdsatemyface)