View Full Version : Women of My Life (short; content warning)

April 19th, 2015, 11:08 PM
I've never been much of a ladies' man. I'm not very handsome, at least I have no reason to think otherwise, I'm not rich, well-educated, and I work in a job that has never been known to make a man rich, a job with a rather unpredictable life expectancy especially in these dark and violent times - not a good catch, in short. The women I have inquired about their opinions about me have characterized me as an oddity, someone who doesn't exactly strike as gruff and tough, yet instills unease and fear. Perhaps it has to do with my gaze, which many people of both sexes have characterized as unusually piercing yet unreadable, making people uncomfortable by seeming to be able to read everything while revealing nothing. Or perhaps I just don't know how to talk to womenfolk.

Either way, I've never been able to brag many amorous conquests like some of my brothers in arms (or at least what they claim). Only two, actually, asides from another two one-night stands. The fact that all these encounters were initiated in a heavy state of inebriation probably does me no credit either. Not that I agree with bragging about one's intimate affairs to begin with. Or perhaps I'm just envious of other lads' reproductive success instinctively, like any healthy male should be.

These two lasses, however, represent some of my sweetest memories. I don't have a lot of good memories from my younger days. Not because I had a particularly tough childhood or teenage years, rather because much of it was boring, dull and uneventful, one day being almost exactly the same as the one before or after. These two young women brought change in that, and that is why they represent my favourite memories, ones that I am fond of recalling as often as possible in these times of piss and shit.


Lately, I probably think about sex more than ever before. It's a kind of defense mechanism for me, keeping me sane through the maelstrom of misery and horror that a soldier's life in wartime typically is. Sick and twisted as it may sound, I try to think of their soft silky skin, the warmth of their thighs, the hot wetness of their womanhood and their moans of pleasure whenever I depress the trigger of my machinegun. Yes, I am thinking of my best fucks whenever I unleash a torrent of hot metal upon whatever unfortunate bastard happens to be on the receiving end. My mind pictures my cock pumping in every hole of the said girls as tracer rounds light up the air before me, and my mind remembers every time I've ever blown my load inside a girl even as my eyes witness another human being disintegrating into a mass of bloody shredded flesh through the gun sights.

Sick and fucked up as it may be, it has helped me to keep my composure, kept me from devolving into a gibbering wreck that many others untouched by bullets or shrapnel have become on the battlefield.


I remember the first girl as she was, not as how she probably is today. Sixteen years of age, tall, slender, with flawless milky-white skin and raven-black hair. Not her natural colour - her actual colour was the "Latvian grey", a rather typical hair colour for people of my ethnic background. And bewitching green eyes, slightly slanted, not enough to appear Asiatic, yet enough to be noticeable and create a certain exotic impression.

She was always impeccably dressed in a more or less typical Goth/metalhead attire, much of her clothes designed and sewn by herself. She was in fact studying fashion design. Her father was a former soldier, much like I am now. My mother called her "Cat" because of her catty looks, and the nickname stuck. She was shy about her body and unaccustomed to touch, yet the embrace of my arms made her feel safe and comfortable, enough so to give herself to me fully. I used to call her my forest dove among other things, both because dove was a reference to her last name, and because her soft voice, whispered into my ear in the morning after another passionate night reminded me of the voices of forest doves.

Things didn't work out between us eventually, as usually happens with teen couples. Although she betrayed me as much as a woman can ever betray a man, I just loved her too much to hate her for it, and she regretted her actions too much to just forget me too, so we eventually parted on friendly terms and still kept in touch from time to time. Last I heard of her before the war, she was married and raising a boy. I gather her husband is a decent lad. Even though I once wanted her to be the mother of my children, I figure it's for the best now that the world is tearing itself apart - at least her kids are going to have a father, while my bones rot forgotten in an unmarked grave in some god-forsaken piss-and-shit place nobody can even find on the map. Assuming they all aren't dead already, in which case it won't matter anyway.


The raven-haired girl with the voice of a dove and looks of a cat is my experience of pure love. My other significant woman of note was a love of pure lust.

We hooked up after a university exam, a bunch of my study mates celebrating the passing of an exam (which I passed quite well, given my hungover state) in the university dorm. Here, the dorm rules are quite strict, so parties usually don't get quite as wild as they show in American films about college youths. That doesn't mean they don't get wild, however.

Initially, I intended to hit on a completely different girl, only to learn she already had a boyfriend. Being respectful of another man's prerogatives, I relented and turned back to drink, when a certain young lass asked me if she could rest her feet in my lap, given the lack of space in the small dorm room with around a dozen of other young men and women carousing there. It continued with more drinks, a tickle on her feet, some kissing, and ended in her room. I will never forget the obliterating gaze of her roommate, a petite innocent-looking blonde who was trying to sleep, preparing for the next day's exam when we two barged in, drunk as logs and laughing loudly. It continued with more kisses, some skillful use of fingers, and an invitation to come over to my place the next day. While she seemed reluctant at first, she relented after a promise I'd help her with some schoolwork.

And so I would help with her schoolwork for the next two years. For the first four days, both of us hardly put pants on, only leaving my room for a quick snack before returning to exploring and enjoying each other. I recall my mother being quite upset about my failure to introduce my newfound sweetheart properly.

She was hardly a girl that could be called very attractive. Short in stature, with a large nose, attractive blue eyes, pale skin and Latvian-grey hair dyed raven-black, with an unusually deep voice for a girl of her dimensions. Yet she had that certain spark absent in so many others. Somewhat ironically, she gave in to my cat fetish, apparently a relic from my previous relationship, which led to her nickname of Tailpuss - the lass crafted herself a catgirl outfit, complete with naughty lingerie, corset, cat ears and a tail, made of a nylon sock. My favourite thing about her was that she was always horny, a very important thing indeed for a testosterone-laden young man like myself at that age.

This time, I fucked things up myself. Being more busy with carousing than studying, I eventually dropped out and ended on bad terms with my family (not to say I was disowned) who were paying for my tutorship and also the apartment where I and her were living. That, coupled with my growing depression and alcohol problem eventually ended things. The aftermath was me joining the army. Again, we didn't exacty part as enemies, and last I heard, she too was raising a son. Don't know how things worked out for her with the kid's father, but either way, she will at least have a son who will hopefully care for her when she's old, while all my dear mother will be getting is a letter with a black ribbon - if she gets it at all.


It's been what, six years now... In those six years, I haven't even touched a female within practicality, let alone engaged in any form of intimacy with one. That is my penance for failure, for failing my family and my last mate. And for fucking what... With things being as they are, I'll be lucky to live until the next weekend, if you could call surviving in this cesspool of a world for another day luck. Either way, I'm not ever going to break myself over a woman again - either because no woman in her right mind will want anything to do with the broken shell of a man that I will be if I live to see the end of it all, or simply because I will be dead long before then.

And yet, just at the time I thought my interest in the opposite sex had all but diminished and receded to the realm of memories, I've had the misfortune of falling for another woman.

She is brave. She has great communication skills, she is always optimistic and constantly on the move, seeking how to best manage and optimize things. She may be a bit chaotic, but her leadership skills are unquestionable. She has a great sense of humor. Granted, I haven't seen her laugh much lately, but that's just how war is - it changes people. She has a lot of qualities that I find lacking in myself.

Unlike my previous two loves, this one has flaxen hair - again dyed from the original nondescript Latvian-grey. Her eyes are deep as Lettigallia's lakes and blue as cornflowers in Semigallia's wheat fields. A pair of overaching eyebrows make her appear ever-interested and aware. Nimble and slender, she seems to be always on the move, sustaining herself with minimal food and sleep. She seems to be sparkling with youthful energy even though she is almost 10 years my senior. No pearl necklace can hold close to the beauty of her smile, a beauty that I rarely seen especially latey, unfortunately. Her nickname is Beast, for her seemingly inhuman, beastly energy.

Her hands are hardly a model for beauty - rough from an episode of frostbite and years of hard manual labour in the fields of her birthplace farmstead and in service of our country. But that only makes her more attractive in my eyes. What good is a supple-skinned well-manicured princess when all her well-kept hands really indicate is her utter uselesness to society, her lack of skill at doing anything that really matters? Frankly, I can't even think of anything anymore in civilian terms, looking even at romantic interersts with military pragmaticism. I see her hands and know she would make a good mate, someone who knows her way around a gun, a shovel, a wrench, or just about any other tool one could use in a household. Her only real drawback is, to my knowledge, her utter inability to cook - Beast subsists herself on cocktails of blended vegetables that resemble puke in colour and usually taste hardly better. Admittedly, wartime has made her much less picky about food.

There are, however, several things standing between the two of us, not the least of which is the fact that Beast is my captain. Our army doesn't have the luxury of practicing non-fraternization policies like some others do, but having a relationship and keeping things professional outside that could still prove problematic especially in times like these.

I sigh and treasure the toughts of her to myself again. Not thoughts of what I have or what I would want to do with her, but thoughts of just her, a Northern beauty, a valkyrie sent by the gods to lead us into battle, a woman that I love without expecting anything in return. Given how I may be called away by the gods any day in these dark times, I find it pointless to expect anything from anyone anymore.

I picture myself lying on a bed next to her. She is lying there naked, her back towards me. We do not do anything lewd. I merely run my hand along her body, feeling her skin and admiring the form of her body.


"One! Two! Three!"

Fleshy thud.

"Grab on his legs! On three!"

"One! Two! Three!"

Fleshy thud.

I hate body disposal duty.

April 22nd, 2015, 02:45 PM
It's bitter, so bitter that the mood I'm in fits this. Like licking corpse ashes. I can't say it'll be many people's tastes but if I'm honest, I'd like to see more of it. And, it's reminded me what is missing in my own current project. So, thank you.

April 23rd, 2015, 06:17 PM
When is this set?

April 23rd, 2015, 07:17 PM
An unspecified time in the near future, during WWIII. The protagonist is the same character that's featured in my other stories here.

April 24th, 2015, 07:10 AM
I'm not trying to be a jerk but who would want to read something titled, "The Women Of My Life (short; content warning)"? Not trying to be a [email protected], but jesus! The mystery is killed before it has even begun.

I didn't read your story, I might tomorrow. I'm guessing, dull obvious title, dull obvious story (with dull obvious sex).

May 1st, 2015, 11:20 PM
I agree, this one could use a more snappy title.

Still, if you had taken the time to read it, you'd notice it isn't at all about sex, nor that obvious.