Date: Sat, 7 Dec 2002 16:19:40 -0800 (PST)
From: rimpigfl <rimpigfl@yahoo.com>
Subject: MY DAUGHTER'S EX BOYFRIEND 24

Disclaimer: Usual stuff. This is fiction. Didn't happen to my knowledge.
Some of the parts I hope never does.

This story is dedicated to several people:

My friend Bob in Illinois who's constant love and support over the last few
years has seen me through some very rough times. Thank you, Bob, for always
being there.

My friend Geoff in England who's love and concern saw me through some of
the very rough patches I went through writing this.

My friend Joshua, wherever you are. I promise, Joshua, that I will never
forget.

And last, but NEVER least - to all Gay and Bi-Sexual members of the United
States Marine Corps who continue to serve with bravery and distinction
despite the persecution that they risk.  To me, they are the true Heros.

MY DAUGHTER'S EX BOYFRIEND - ERIC'S STORY 8
Part 24

The Narrator of the story is now Marine Master Sergeant Eric Meadows -
Troy's father.

By RimPig (c) 2002

I'm in a jungle. The heat, the smell of rotting vegetation, the bugs, all
tell me that. But I don't know where I am. I am lost. Somehow, I know that
I've been lost for several days. I smell the rancid odor of my own body
covered in fear-sweat. I have my rifle, but that's all I have. I can't find
my canteen and my mouth and throat are so dry from thirst that I can hardly
unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

"Where the fuck am I? "

"How did I end up this way?"

These questions echo in my head and tear at my mind. Every noise in the
jungle frightens me. I am lost, so very lost. I don't know where the drop
point was, I don't know where the pick-up point is. I have no knowledge of
what direction I am traveling or what direction I should be traveling. I
move through the dank, hot, steaming vegetation as quietly as I can.

I'm supposed to be trained to deal with this situation. I know that. But,
somehow, I can't ever remember being trained for it or what I was taught to
do. I know that somewhere inside of me is the knowledge of how to survive
but I can't find it. I'm not even really sure that I want to! This
surprises me most of all.

I try to remember the mission. Nothing comes. I have no goddamned idea what
I'm doing in this stinking jungle. I have no idea what I'm supposed to
do. So I keep moving, silently as I can.  Searching. Searching for
something. Maybe I'll know it when I see it. Maybe when I find whatever it
is that I'm searching for, I will remember the mission, remember my
training, figure out what the fuck I'm supposed to be doing here.

No! Strike that! What WE'RE supposed to be doing here! I'm not supposed to
be alone. I'm part of a team. 'Force Recon' they call us. Matt is part of
the team, too.

 "Where the fuck is Matt?!"

"Where is my lover, my partner, my buddy?!"

"Why isn't he here?"

"Why am I alone?!"

Questions, always questions! But no answers! I know there are answers! I'm
supposed to know the answers. But I don't know them! All I know is that I
am alone and scared. I keep moving, always moving. If I could only find
some water. If I could only find Matt. If I could only find somebody to
help me get out of here!

I'm slithering through the jungle, not making a sound. I don't remember how
I know to do this but my body does. I keep moving, hoping to find someone,
something familiar. Suddenly, I hear the buzz of voices. Far away. I drop
into a crouch. I scan all around me. Nothing. But the buzz continues. I
can't hear what they're saying. I can't hear moving in the jungle. But the
buzz is there nonetheless.

Finally, I move again. In the darkened jungle, I see light up ahead. This
means a clearing of some kind. I approach slowly. I think the buzz of
voices might be coming from there, but I can tell no direction to the
sound. It is like the buzz is all around me in the jungle. Faint, but
there. I creep closer and closer to the light of the clearing. I crouch
behind some vegetation and try to see through the leaves into the clearing.

The clearing is small, just a place where the tree cover of the dense
jungle has failed to cover the ground completely. There is no movement in
the clearing. I begin to quietly skirt around it. half way around, I see
something. Something green but not vegetation. Something the same color of
green as the fatigues I am wearing. It appears tied to a tree. I circle
around to where it is. I approach cautiously. There is no movement. I
finally approach the front of the tree. It is a Marine!  He's tied to the
tree! His helmeted head is down and I cannot see who it is but the outline
of his body is familiar. I creep forward and rise next to him.

"Marine!" I whisper harshly. "Marine! Can you hear me?"

There is no answer, no movement. I reach up and push up the helmeted
head. That's when I see all of the blood covering the front of his body and
as I push the head up, I see the deep, wide gash in the throat! I look into
the dead eyes of the Marine.

"MATT!!!" I scream.

Suddenly the scene changes. I am no longer in the jungle. I'm back in our
cabin. But I'm still in uniform, I'm still carrying my rifle. I don't know
why, but I creep around the cabin as if I"m in enemy territory. I find
nothing. I hear no one. But I continue to investigate each area of the
cabin.  Finally, I quietly climb the circular stairs leading to the loft.

I hear the buzz of voices again. They are far away. Outside the cabin. I
can just barely hear them.  I cannot make out what is being said or by
whom. I look out the widows of the cabin but all I see are the lake and the
woods. Nothing out of the ordinary. No one around. But still I hear the
buzz.


I cautiously raise my head as I reach the loft. I see Matt! He's laying on
his side, turned away from me. He appears to be asleep. I move slowly and
quietly toward the bed. I don't want to wake him. But I notice that he,
like me, is in fatigues. This is curious to me. Neither Matt nor I ever
wear our uniforms here at the cabin. We hardly ever wear clothes at all,
especially when we're alone.

I lay my rifle down and slowly crawl into the bed. I move toward Matt and I
gently put my hand on his shoulder. He doesn't move. I pull at his shoulder
and he rolls onto his back towards me.  Again, I see the wide, gaping wound
where his throat should be and blood all down the front of his body. Again,
I look into his dead eyes.

"MATT!!!"

Now, there is nothing. I'm in a large open space. Nothing. There is no way
to describe it. It seems as if there is something at great distance, but
nothing is visible. I hear the buzz again. It is louder this time. I can
almost make out what is being said. I turn around. Nothing. No one. I'm
completely alone. I'm still wearing my fatigues, but I have lost my
rifle. I look down the front of me and I see blood stains covering me.

"HELP ME!!!"I scream.

All is darkness now. I can see nothing. I'm cold. That's all I can feel. I
do not know where I am. I don't know where anybody is. I can't remember
what happened. All I can do is feel the cold. It is down deep inside of
me. Cold. Right to the bone. Again, I hear the buzz. Louder this time. I
can almost make out what is being said. I strain to hear, but cannot. Then
it stops. I am left with only darkness. And the cold. Then nothing.

I'm aware again. I don't know how long it has been. I'm not cold anymore
but I still am in darkness. I hear the buzz of voices only this time, I can
barely make out what is being said.

"Blood pressure has come up, sir, but there's still been no return to
consciousness." one male voice says.

"Keep him on the same medications. I look in on him later. Be alert for any
sign of him waking up." another male voice says.

"Yes, sir." the first male voice again.

I try to talk. I try to move my mouth. I try to make sounds but nothing
comes. I'm exhausted by the effort and, again, there is nothing.

It is all darkness again. I faintly here noises. I cannot see. I don't know
where I am. I hear voices again. Far away. I try to move. The effort is
monumental but I feel my body begin to respond - slowly, sluggishly. The
effort causes pain to stab through me. I groan. I can hear my own voice!

Suddenly, there is a presence beside me. It is warm, male. I can smell the
scent of him. I freeze. I don't know who this is. Is he the enemy? Have I
been captured?

"Sergeant? Sergeant Meadows? Can you hear me?" his voice is low, but young.

I moan in response.

"Sergeant Meadows, can you hear me? Can you move your right arm for me?"
the voice asks.

I try to move my right arm for him. It is difficult but I finally get my
arm to respond to my command. It hurts and I moan again.

"That's good, sergeant! Can you open your eyes?" the voice now asks.

So that's why I can't see! My eyes are closed! I try to open them. My
eyelids feel as if they weigh a ton! Finally small slits of light
appear. Their brightness overwhelms me and I close my lids again.

"Come on, Sergeant. Open your eyes. Try." the voice comes, pleading this
time.

I try again. For some reason, I want to please the voice. I want to do what
it says. I gradually open my eyes. I can't focus at first and then things
begin to become clear. I'm in a hospital room.  I'm in a bed. I'm covered
in bandages. I look up and there is a young male. He's dressed in green.
Not a uniform. Like a surgical suit. A stethoscope hangs around his neck
and he's looking at me very intently. Green eyes. Beautiful green eyes. He
looks young and beautiful. I try to lift my hand to touch his face but I
cannot.

He reaches down and takes my hand, gently pushes it back down on the bed,
covers it with his own.

"There you are! You've been out for a long time, Sergeant. Do you have any
idea where you are?" he asks.

"Nnnn...nnnooo." I manage to croak.

"You're in Ramsdale, Germany. Your in the base hospital. You were flown
here after your mission. Do you remember anything about that?" he asked.

"Nnnn...nnnooo." I croak again. "Wwwwaaaatttt...rrrrr" I try to ask for
water.

"Water? You want water?" he asks.

I look up into his beautiful green eyes, pleading. He grabs a cup and I see
him pour water from a carafe into it. He then puts a drinking straw in it
and brings it to the bed. He gently slides his hand under my head and lifts
until my lips can reach the straw. I feel the cool liquid fill my mouth.

"Easy there, Sergeant. Just take it slow." he says.

I do as I am told. I drink the cooling water slowly. My throat feels so dry
that even the water at first doesn't help. He continues to hold the cup
while I drink it all. He slowly lowers my head back to the pillow and takes
his hand away. I'm sorry he does. I liked him touching me. I want him to
touch me again. I want someone to touch me again. Yes! That's it! I want
someone to touch me but I can't remember who! There is someone I want to
hold me and touch me. I just can't remember who it is.

All of this effort has been too much for me. I close my eyes and there is
darkness again.

"Sergeant. Sergeant Meadows."

I hear another voice. Male. Older. I open my eyes. He's standing there
looking down at me. He's tall. Somewhere in his 30's. Dark hair and a
moustache. He's wearing a green surgical suit with a white lab coat. A
stethoscope around his neck.

"I'm Doctor Anderson, Sergeant. How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Ooookkkaaayyy..." I manage to say.

"Do you have any pain?" he asks again.

There is pain in my chest which I now notice as well as in my legs. I try
to nod my head but suddenly I'm dizzy and feel like I'm going to throw
up. I stop moving my head and it passes.

"Yyyeeesss." I say.

"You've been very badly injured, Sergeant. You've been in a coma for
several months now. We didn't think you'd ever wake up. Believe me,
Sergeant, you're very lucky to be alive at all. Do you remember anything?"
he asks.

I try to remember. Nothing comes. I remember the dreams but that's all. I
don't think they're real.  But I have no way of knowing.

"Nnnoo." I say finally.

"Well, nothing unusual about that. Anyone who's gone through what you've
been through probably is better off not remembering." he said.

I couldn't understand what he meant. What had I been through? What had
happened? Why was I in Germany? I remembered that from what the corpsman (I
guessed he was a navy corpsman - the one with the beautiful green eyes -
that's who usually tends Marine wounded.) said last night. Or was it last
night? I didn't know.

"Now that you've come out of the coma, some of your memory will return
gradually. I won't lie to you, Sergeant. You've got a long road ahead of
you. Your recovery is going to take quite a long time. When you're strong
enough, we'll transfer you to a hospital back home." the doctor said.

Home. Where was home? Camp Pendelton. Troy. Matt! Where was Matt?!

"Mmmaaattt?" I asked.

"What was that, Sergeant?" he asked.

"Mmmaattt!" I said again.

"Matt? Oh, yes! Some of the nurses did record that you mentioned that name
several times. I don't know who that is but I'll find out, Sergeant. Don't
worry. We going to take care of you."  he said and then he left.

Where is Matt? What's happened? I was suddenly very afraid. I remembered
the dreams. Matt in my arms - dead. What did it mean?! Why couldn't I
remember?! These thoughts exhausted me and I went back to sleep.

It was several days before I could actually sit up in bed. I was still
being fed through tubes but they started me on soft foods. Pudding, Jello,
apple sauce, things like that. I was able to talk but barely. I kept asking
about Matt and they kept saying they weren't aware of any 'Matt' but would
find out for me.

A few days later, I was sleeping when I felt a hand touch my shoulder.

"Eric. Eric. Are you awake?" the voice asked.

It was a voice I finally recognized. I opened my eyes and Capt. Mitchell
was leaning over me.

"C-c-captain?" I said.

"Yes, Eric, it's me. How are you doing?" he asked.

I turned over on my back and raised the back of the bed so I could look at
him. He looked like hell! He looked like he had the weight of the world on
his shoulders and wanted to be any place on earth except in this hospital
room with me.

"Ok, I guess. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't really know what's
wrong with me. I don't remember anything." I told him.

"Nothing?" Captain Mitchell asked.

"Nothing. I'm told that I went on a mission, but I can't remember it! I
don't know where it was or how I ended up here in Germany? Was the mission
here?" I asked.

"No, Eric. The mission wasn't here. We transported you here because you
were so badly injured.  It's where all hostages are brought." he said.

"Hostages? I was a hostage?" I asked in shock.

"You were captured, yes. We almost didn't get to you in time."
Capt. Mitchell said.

"Captain, where's Matt?" I asked, now afraid of the answer.

"That's why I'm here, Eric. The doctors and nurses said you keep asking
about him. I know that you two were very close." he said and then
paused. "I don't know how to tell you this, Eric..."

I looked at him and I knew.

"You don't have to. He's dead, isn't he." I said, my voice hollow.

"I'm sorry, but, yes, Eric. He was killed. You two were captured
together. You were both tortured and they killed Matt. They'd almost killed
you by the time we got to you. We didn't really think you were going to
make it." Capt. Mitchell said.

"I wish I hadn't." I said, my voice flat.

"Don't say that! We lost 4 good men on that fucked-up mission! I don't need
to lose another one!" he said, his voice harsh.

I looked up and I could see the anguish on his face and tears falling down
his cheeks. I was shocked. I never thought I'd ever see a Marine officer
cry. I could feel the tears running down my own cheeks. I reached out my
hand to him and he took me in his arms and held me. We both cried for a
long time.

When we stopped, I asked him to tell me what happened. He told me that the
mission had been a failure almost from the start. Somehow, the drug cartel
had gotten word of our intent and were waiting for us. He didn't know a lot
of the details because agents from the CIA and the DEA had de-briefed those
left but had not allowed any of the men to remain part of the team. The
team had been disbanded and everyone was transferred to different
units. Everyone but me. I was the only one still in the hospital after all
these months.

Capt. Mitchell told me that from what he knew, Matt and I had been captured
by the drug-lord's personal army and had both been tortured. They had
finally killed most of them but the "Big Boss" had been captured3. They had
found me in the basement along with the instruments of torture that they
had used on Matt and me. I was hanging from pipes running across the
ceiling and Matt's body was below me. Capt. Mitchell said that when they
cut me down, I collapsed on Matt, sobbing. They had a hard time getting me
to let go of the body. When I did, I collapsed and they figured that's when
I went into the coma.

He told me they had carried me out of the jungle and put me on a plane for
Germany. He also told me that Matt's body had been returned to his family
and given a military funeral in his home town.  I asked him about Janet and
Troy. He told me that they were doing ok but had not been brought here to
Germany because there didn't seem to be any use while I was so ill. I also
got the feeling that there was another reason that he wasn't telling me.

"When do I go home?" I asked him.

"I have no idea. The doctor's say you're still in pretty rough shape. There
are still people who want to question you about what happened as well." he
said.

Oh! So that was the reason. Well, tough luck, guys! There's nothing I can
tell you.

"It won't do them any good. I don't remember anything." I said.

"I know. They were hoping that me telling you this much would trigger some
kind of memory for you." he said.

"No. Nothing. All I know is that Matt's dead. That's enough." I said, my
voice flat again.

"Look, Eric. You've got to get over this. Matt knew the risks going in. You
both volunteered the team, remember?" he said.

I looked at him as if I could kill him. He jerked back in surprise.

"The only reason that Matt and I volunteered for the team was it was the
only way we could figure out, at the time, that we could serve together
without gettin' split up! Now I wish we had!  He'd still been alive!" I
said quietly, my voice full of menace.

"Look, I know you two guys were close, Eric. I know how it hurts to lose a
friend...." he said, trying to calm me.

"A friend?! A fuck lot you know about it! Friend?! Matt was everything to
me! I wish I'd died with him! There is no life for me without him!" I said,
hot tears springing to my eyes again. "Go away. Just get the fuck out of
here!" I screamed.

He left. I lay there for a long time crying. I wanted to die. I wanted to
be with Matt. I didn't want to go home to a life without him. I couldn't
face that! Everything would remind me of him. Even Troy. As much as I loved
my son, I didn't want anything to do with him. I knew I would look at him
and all I would remember would be the times that Matt and I were with him -
at home, up at the cabin. I wondered if there was some way I could kill
myself, but I was too weak to even get out of bed.

That's when the nightmares started. It wasn't like the coma. I could see
clearly the basement we had been held in. I could see the face of the men
who tortured us. I could hear Matt's cries of agony and I would wake up
screaming. The young corpsman with the beautiful green eyes came running
in. I reached out and he put his arms around me and held me until I could
calm down. As I cried in his arms he held me and stroked my head - so much
like Matt used to do. Finally, he got me back to sleep.

But it kept happening. Every night I would wake up screaming and every
night that same corpsman would hold me and stroke my head until I calmed
down enough to again sleep. Even sleeping pills didn't help. Finally, I
refused to take them. I tried to just stay awake so that the dreams
wouldn't come. Then the young corpsman would come and sit with me, late in
the night.  We talked. He told me about his home. He was from somewhere in
west Texas. He was a Navy corpsman but was studying to become a registered
nurse. I told him about my home in Georgia.  He asked about my wife and
son. I told him about Troy. And then, though I don't know why I did it -
maybe just needed to talk to somebody about it, I told him about Matt. All
about Matt. I told him the truth that no one but me now knew. How much I
loved him. How much he loved me.  How much we meant to each other.

I told him about us meeting in boot camp and those first 10 months we had
together. I told him about us being split up and how much I missed him for
that time. I told him about Janet and how I had gotten her pregnant and had
married her. I told him how Matt had come back, beaten the shit out of me
and nearly left me. I told him about the cabin - about all the wonderful
times that he and I had there. I even told him about the picture that Troy
had drawn of us asleep in each other arms.  I told him all of it. And he
listened.

I was afraid, after I'd gotten it all out, that he'd report me. I'd find my
ass thrown out with a dishonorable discharge - after all, "Don't ask, Don't
Tell!". But when I finished, the young corpsman reached out and put his
hand on mine, just like he'd done the first night. I looked into his
beautiful green eyes and there were tears there.

"I only wish, Sergeant, that someday I find a man to love me the way you
and Matt loved each other." he said quietly.

I looked at him in shock! I wasn't expecting that reaction at all! I don't
know why, I guess I was so lost in my own grief that I didn't think about
him. Then all of his soft touches, his holding me, came back in a flash and
I realized why I had felt so comforted by him. Unconsciously I had reached
out to another gay male. But that was not the real shock. That came when he
leaned forward and gently kissed me on the lips.

"I'm not Matt. No one could ever replace him. But if you need someone, if
physical comfort can help you in anyway, I wish you would let me help you,
Sergeant." he said gently smiling at me.

"I think after that you should call me Eric." I said quietly, suddenly very
shy with him.

"Ok, Eric, as long as you call me Jeff." he said, his face breaking into a
big grin.

"Jeff, I don't know if I could even get it up right now but trust me, If I
can, you'll be the first to know." I smiled.

"I understand. My offer also includes a shoulder to cry on and arms to hold
you if you need them as well." he smiled back.

"I think right now that would be the most wonderful thing I could think
of." I said looking at him.

He got up and sat on the bed next to me. He reached out and put his arms
around me and I rested my head against his shoulder. His arms were strong
around me and I felt myself letting go and before I knew it, I was crying -
deep heavy sobs - against him. He held me and rocked me like a little kid,
all the while stroking me gently with his hand. I cried for a long time,
and he just stayed there with me.

Finally, I stopped crying and pulled my head off his shoulder so that I
could look at him. Those beautiful green eyes of his were filled with
sorrow. I knew that was for me. I leaned forward and gently kissed him. He
wasn't Matt, but he was male and he cared. And I needed someone to care
about me more than anything right then.

That's all that happened that night. He stayed with me until I finally fell
asleep, his hand in mine.  There were no nightmares that night. It was only
in the nightmares that I could really remember what happened. The doctor's
assigned a shrink to talk to me, but I didn't have much to say to
him. There was no way I was going to tell him much, anyway. I knew that his
records were open to the Marine Corps and I wasn't about to tell him
anything that would indicate what the real relationship between Matt and me
was. So I just claimed I couldn't remember anything - which was pretty much
the truth.

I didn't want to remember. I repressed everything. It still took several
months of hospitalization before I was finally allowed to fly home to Camp
Pendelton. Janet and Troy met me there. I was shocked to see how much Troy
had grown since I'd left.

Janet tried to help me, I'll give her that. But she had never really been
able to reach me emotionally and I walled her off completely
now. Unfortunately, I found myself doing the same thing with Troy. I found
myself blaming him for what had happened. If it hadn't been for him, I
would never have married Janet and Matt and I could have gotten out of the
Marines after our first hitch was up. He would then be alive and we would
be happy somewhere. At least, that's how my warped thinking went at that
time.

The first weekend I was home, I drove up alone to the cabin. I wanted to be
away from everyone and everything. But the memories there were too much for
me to handle. I remember I drove to a liquor store and bought two bottles
of Wild Turkey and a case of beer. By Sunday night, it was all gone. I
spent the entire weekend drunk and miserable. I seem to remember crying
through most of it. I don't know if that's true or not, but it's what I
remember.

That started the pattern. Every weekend, I would go to the cabin and would
spend the entire weekend drunk. I wouldn't even wait to get there. I would
start drinking on the way up. During the week, I would come home every
night and drink myself into insensibility. Only when I would pass out would
the nightmares not come. Sometimes, though, even with all the booze, the
vision of Matt, dead at my feet, would come and I would find myself
screaming in the night.

Because of this, and because I didn't want to be near her, Janet and I
stopped sleeping together at all. Most of the time, I'd just pass out in my
chair or maybe make it to the couch. I also started to have black-outs on a
regular basis. During these, I now know, I began to physically abuse Janet
and Troy. There were many mornings when I would come to and find myself in
the middle of the livingroom floor and Janet and Troy would be showing
bruises from where I hit them.

I also, despite all the drinking, became a sexual animal. I would cruise
the parks, dirty bookstores and gay bars all up and down the coast. Gone
were the days of making love. Now it was sex - as brutal, violent and dirty
as I could find it. Although I'd never been involved in the S/M scene, it
was easy enough to find guys who would beg to be abused by a hunky,
active-duty Marine. I even had several guys pay me to beat the shit out of
them. Easy money where I was concerned.

Funny thing was, I never tried drugs. Booze did it for me. I wasn't
interested in the cocaine and all that other shit. For one thing, they
catch you with that shit on you and you're bounced out of the Corps in a
heartbeat! For another, booze was still a helluva cheaper than other
things. Also, by only drinking, I gave myself a denial system. I denied
anything to do with my drinking as well. I certainly wasn't an alcoholic. I
just liked to get fucked up, beat my wife and son, beat up other guys and
fuck the hell out of them! No fucking problem!

Well, it was a problem, even if I couldn't admit it. I lied to myself that
I was still in control because I could still work, I could still teach guys
how to shoot a rifle. But most days, I didn't dare pick up a weapon myself
to demonstrate. My hands were too shaky in the morning to handle a
weapon. I also found it more and more difficult to get up in the morning
and make it to my classes after drinking and fucking all night long.

It seemed like no time at all (and like forever!) but it was actually about
two years and Janet had had enough of me! She divorced me. I said "good
riddance!" and I moved out of the base housing. I moved into a room in one
of the barracks and continued my drinking. Janet took Troy and left to go
back east somewhere. She never told me where. I was not allowed visitation
with Troy. She had a court order issued that didn't allow me to see my son
because of the abuse I had heaped on him and his mother. Until I was
confronted in court with the medical records of Troy and Janet both being
treated for injuries I had caused, I had no knowledge of being an abuser.

Now, you might have thought this would have brought me up short and
realized that my life was a mess and I had to stop drinking. But you'd be
wrong. I went right on, just like I had been, Drinking, fucking, beating
guys up. One night, I was in this little dive of a bar. At least that's
what the police told me. I ended up in jail having almost killed a guy in a
fight. They transferred me over to the base for the Corps' justice system
to handle me. Luckily, the JAG I was assigned was a young hotshot who
proved that the guy in the bar had attacked me first. I'm glad he figured
that out because I didn't know anything until I came to in a jail cell. I
got off, but barely.

The last thing that the JAG said to me as we left the courtroom where they
court-martial was held was that I had been lucky this time, but that if I
didn't do something about my drinking, I was going to end up killing
someone or dead.  I protested that my drinking wasn't a problem!

"Don't give me that shit, Sergeant. Maybe you can lie to yourself, but you
don't even remember what happened that night because you were too drunk!
I've seen you every morning, your hands shaking, you eyes bloodshot and
every day after lunch you reek of booze! Straighten your fucking act up or
you'll be bounced out of the Corps!" he said and just left me there.

I knew everything he said was true. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was a
fucking drunk. I looked back over the last few years and didn't like what I
saw at all. I'd lost my son because of my drinking - probably for good. I'd
lost all respect for myself. I'd become little more than an animal.  But I
didn't know what to do! I didn't know how to ask for help. I didn't know
where to turn.

As I left the courtroom, I passed by a bulletin board. Something caught my
eye. It was an announcement of AA meetings that were held off base. It had
a phone number to call for information. I don't know why I did it, but I
pulled the announcement off the bulletin board and shoved it in my
pocket. I then, of course, forgot about it.

Several days later, I was looking for my keys to the truck. I was always
losing them in my drunken state. Then, when I sobered up the next day, I
couldn't find them. I was going through a pair of pants when I found, not
my keys, but that AA announcement. My realization of my problem with booze
came back to me. Without thinking, I picked up the phone and called the
number.

There was a really nice lady who talked to me. She listened while I
haltingly tried to tell her why I was calling. She assured me that I'd
called the right place and that AA could help me - if I wanted help. She
told me she had quit drinking for over 20 years! I couldn't believe it! I
couldn't stop for 20 days! She was so easy to talk to, I started telling
her things I hadn't intended to tell anyone. I told her I was a Marine but
I didn't want to go to meetings where there were other Marines.  When she
asked why, I ended up telling her about Matt, our love and his death. She
understood then and suggested that since I had my truck, there were
meetings far enough away from the base that it was unlikely that any
members of the Corps would go there. She also shocked me by telling me that
there were AA meetings specifically for people who are Gay!

She gave me the address and time for a meeting that night - one that was
for Gay people. It was about 20 miles from the base and I figured, that
either no other Marines would be there or the one's that were - well,
they'd be Gay, too. I didn't wear a uniform that night, of course. Just a
black t-shirt and jeans. But with my hair cut in a 'high and tight' and
that close to Camp Pendelton, I figured there wouldn't be much chance of
anybody not guessing that I was a Marine.

I got to the meeting a little early but there were already people there. A
lot of them were older guys and there were women there as well. I'd never
known any lesbians so this was a new phenomenon for me. I certainly
attracted a lot of stares when I walked in. I just figured it had to be
that they recognized that I was a Marine. Then this tall, good-looking,
muscular blond guy about my age walked up to me and stuck out his hand.

"Hi! I'm Brian. What's your name?" he said, his broad smile full of white
teeth with bright blue eyes above.

"Uh...I'm Eric." I stuttered.

"You're first time here?" Brian asked.

"Yeah...my first time ever." I admitted.

"Never been to an AA meeting before?" he asked.

"No...never thought that I needed it." I said.

"Well, welcome! If you've got a problem with booze, you're in the right
place! 'Course I should tell you, Eric, this is an AA meeting that's open
to anybody but it has a special concern for Gay people." Brian said gently
but looking at me hard.

I guess he expected that I was some fag-bashing Jarhead who'd gotten in the
wrong place by mistake or might be there to make trouble.

"Then I am in the right place, Brian." I said quietly. "I qualify on both
counts."

Brian's face lit up in a grin and before I knew it, his arms were around me
in a big bear-hug. His arms felt so good around me! I hadn't really had any
kind of affection since I'd left the hospital in Germany and that corpsman,
Jeff. It hit me hard and before I knew what was happening, there I was, in
Brian's arms, holding on to him like he was a life-raft in a gale and
crying my eyes out on his shoulder. I was so embarrassed I wanted to sink
right through the floor! If Brian hadn't been holding me, I think I would
have run out the door and never gone back. But Brian just held me and then
he started stroking my head, just like Matt and Jeff did.

I got myself under control finally and tried to apologize to Brian.

"You have nothing to apologize for! I cried through about my first 5
meetings!" Brian said, smiling at me.

He sat me down at a table where he'd been sitting and went and got me a cup
of coffee.

"Here, drink this. AA coffee will cure just about anything while it eats
out your stomach lining!"  he grinned.

I took a sip of it, he was probably right.

"Brian...I...I...I don't know what to do!" I finally got out.

"That's ok, Eric. You don't have to know. That's why were all here. We help
each other to get sober and stay that way." he said.

"How long have you been sober?" I asked him.

"Almost seven years now. I got sober finally about a week after they threw
me out of the Corps."  he said quietly.

"You were a Marine!?" I asked, so grateful to have found someone who would
understand.

Looking at Brian, the way he was built, I should have figured he'd been a
Jarhead. He still kept his blond hair cut almost regulation length - not as
short as my 'high and tight' but close.

"Yes. I was in the Corps. They threw me out. I got drunk and made a pass at
another Marine. He didn't mind, but they caught us in the latrine late one
night and I was giving him a blow job. That was the end of my career. Of
course, I was drunk when I was doing him! He got thrown out, too.  We've
been lovers for almost the same amount of time I have been sober." he told
me.

"God! How lucky you were...uh, are to find someone who stand by you like
that!" I said.

"Yeah, I guess Mick really likes my blowjobs!" he laughed.

"I lost my lover." I said quietly.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Did he leave you over your drinking?" Brian asked.

"No, he was killed while we were on a mission." I said.

"Oh, fuck! I'm sorry, Eric. That really sucks!" Brian said, and I knew that
he really meant it.

About that time the meeting started. They read some stuff and then somebody
brought up a topic about drinking. I listened as people around the room
spoke. It was weird. People were telling things about their lives that I
would never say in a group of strangers. Some of it was really awful,
terrible shit they'd been through. But what surprised me most was the
laughter. It was like nothing that had happened to them was all that
bad. They just laughed it off. I couldn't imagine that.

By the time the meeting was just about over, Brian spoke. He told about how
he lived without a drink, one day at a time. He said some stuff that really
made sense to me. Then they guy who was like chairing the meeting asked
Brian to hand out the 'chips'. I didn't know what this was, but Brian stood
up and explained them. They were poker chips. Brian said that they
represented the fact that if we drink, we're gambling with our lives. He
said there were three colors: white, which was the first one and
represented from right now until 90 days without a drink; red, which was
for ninety days to six months and blue which was from six months to a
year. I couldn't imagine a year without a drink but I knew that Brian had
almost seven years without one.

Brian held up a white chip and asked if there was anyone new who wanted to
'give up the high cost of low living' and get sober. He looked right at me
as he said it and I knew he meant me. I felt really embarrassed and shy but
I got up and walked to the front of the room where he was standing. They
only way I made it up there was I just kept staring into Brian's blue eyes
and didn't look at anything or anybody else. He handed me the white poker
chip and put his arms around me and hugged me.

"Welcome to the Fellowship of Alcoholic's Anonymous, Eric!" he whispered to
me and then he introduced me to the rest of the group. "This is Eric, and
this is his first AA meeting."

Everybody applauded me! I was shocked! Why would people be applauding me?
I'd just admitted I was a goddamned drunk! But, I guess, they were, too.

The meeting ended with everybody in the room standing in a circle and
saying The Lord's Prayer.  It was powerful for me. I hadn't prayed for a
long time and certainly not with a group of people.  But it didn't feel
like praying in the church I grew up in. First of all, these were all
drunks, just like me. And second, they were all gay, just like me. None of
us would have been 'acceptable' in the church I grew up in. But from what
I'd listened to some of these people tell tonight about their own lives,
they knew a fuck of a lot more about how life really was than anybody back
in the 1st Baptist Church back home!

After the meeting, Brian took my arm and steered me over to some other guys
around our age.  They introduced themselves and one of them looked at me
and then looked at Brian.

"Well, you do always get the best looking pigeons!" he laughed.

"That's because I don't fuck around and show up late to meetings just to
make an entrance!"  Brian retorted.

They both laughed about this and I was confused. I didn't know what a
'pigeon' was, so I asked Brian when we walked outside.

"A pigeon is a term that's quickly going out of fashion in AA, thank God! I
hate the term. What it means is a sponsee - usually a newcomer that
somebody with some sober time is 'sponsoring'." he told me.

"Sponsoring, like into a club or something?" I asked, still confused.

"Kind of like that. A sponsor is someone that you choose for yourself who
is there for you.  Listens to you and helps you work AA's 12 Steps. You
heard those read tonight. That isn't important for now, however. Just you
not taking a drink for a while will be all you can handle.  Trust me!"
Brian said.

"I do." I said quietly, looking into his blue eyes. "Something about you
makes me trust you completely. Could you be one of those things for me?"

"One of those things? Oh! You mean a sponsor! You want me to sponsor you,
Eric?" he asked seriously.

"Yes. I need help. I don't know how I'm going to make it through this. I
haven't been without a drink in a very long time. I don't know if I can
quit." I was close to tears again.

Brian reached out and gathered me in his arms again. It felt so safe and
warm there. When his arms were around me, it felt like nothing bad was ever
going to happen again.

"We'll get through this together, Eric. None of us got sober alone. None of
us could! If I hadn't had my sponsor - and Mick - I don't think I would
have made it either. Hey look, why don't you come home with me and we'll
have some coffee and talk. Mick's there and I'm sure he'd like to meet
you. We don't often see any Jarheads - especially Gay ones! How's about
it?" he asked.

"Sure! Why not! I definitely don't want to be alone right now." I said
honestly.

"That's just about what I figured." Brian smiled.

"Brian, do you think I can make it?" I asked.

"Yes, Eric, I do. You're going to have to work real hard at it, it won't be
easy. I won't kid you about that. But you'll have a lot of people pulling
for you and willing to help if they can. And you know I'll be there for
you. And Mick as well. He's not a drunk, but he sure understands them!" he
smiled.

"Thank you, Brian." I said humbly. "This is the first time I've felt any
hope at all since Matt died."

"And I'm sure that lover of yours is up in heaven smiling down on you right
now." Brian said.

The End of Part 24 of MY DAUGHTER'S EX BOYFRIEND - ERIC'S STORY 8

I hope you enjoyed the story so far. If you did, write me at
rimpigfl@yahoo.com. I love to hear from my readers. Also, if you'd like a
listing of all my stories on the Nifty Archive, I'll be glad to send you
one if you request it.

Please don't send plot suggestions. By the time you read this, the entire
story is already written.

RimPig