Navy SEAL and Homeless Woman Ch. 04

Navy SEAL and Homeless Woman, Ch. 4

Christopher saves a homeless woman from being raped, beaten, and possibly murdered.

Continued from Chapter 3: Navy SEAL and Homeless Woman:

"You're a bunch of tough guys beating up a homeless woman. Let's see how you do against a real man and against a United States Navy SEAL retired," said Christopher looking down at his chest as if his nametag and/or medals were still there. "Something that I never give anyone, this is your one and only warning," he said. "Last chance, best you leave now before I hurt you three of you really bad."

Clearly not knowing what a Navy SEAL was, instead of leaving, they laughed while Christopher persevered.

"When we're done with you, your mother, if she's still alive, old man, won't recognize you," said the little man with the big mouth.

As if he was Billy Jack in the movie of the same name, a half-bred, American, Cherokee Indian, ex-Green Beret, Viet Nam veteran, and a master of Korean martial art, Hapkido, Christopher remained confident in his skills. In the way Billy Jack did in the movie, declaring in advance what he'd do to them before he even did it, having a bit of fun with them, Christopher boasted his actions. He wanted them to know exactly how helpless they were to defend themselves. He wanted them to know that there was nothing they could do to stop the beating.

"First, I'm going to hit your right temple with my right knuckle to render you unconscious," he said to smallest man. "Then, after simultaneously kicking the gun from your friend's hand by hitting a pressure point on his forearm with my left, steel toe, I'll hit him with a karate chop to his throat. He'll wish he was dead. Lastly, I'm going to hit your tattooed friend with an open-handed slap to his solar plexus that will cause internal bleeding and horrible pain. And," he said pointing an index finger in the air as if an afterthought, "there's nothing that you can do to stop me."

All three men laughed.

"Say what? Are you warning us? Are you threatening us? Are you crazy? Who do you think you are Bruce Lee? How are you going to hurt us really bad when I have a gun, my friend has a knife, and my other friend has a pipe," he asked while watching his friend pick up a pipe from the gutter.

The black man turned to him with a face full of anger to tell him that there's no man and no number of beatings that could set him straight to make him see the light. Only, he hasn't had a beating until he got one from Christopher. A real martial arts technician, punching him deep enough to damage a vital organs and to cause internal bleeding, Christopher could hurt him without so much as leaving a bruise or a mark on the outside of his skin.

The black man reached in his waistband and, as if he was a quick draw, pulled out a gun before walking over to the woman on the ground. Knowing he had a gun before even seeing it, Christopher already figured as much. Immediately, with him on high alert that there was a gun in play, he imagined kicking a pressure point in his forearm. He imagined the gun flying across the alley and breaking in pieces when it landed after he kicked the gun out of his hand.

"Leave her alone," Christopher said while surveying them and the alleyway as he dared walked even closer.

The man with the tattoos turned to confront him.

"Fuck off man," said the third man menacingly while making himself a bigger target by facing him and confronting him in a menacing posture.

Instead of turning his body to the side in the way of a boxer or a cage fighter to conceal his vulnerable spots, he left himself wide open to an assault. Dumb move. Apparently, they didn't know anything about fighting techniques. It was obvious that they've never had any training in hand-to-hand combat and have never been in a fair fight. Yet, the three of them against a retired, Navy SEAL is hardly a fair fight.

"Don't you know it's not right to hit a lady," said Christopher distracting them?

As was his plan, he distracted them by engaging their mini brains in conversation while stepping closer.

"Lady," said the smallest one? He laughed. "She ain't no lady," said the little one pulling a knife while the other two left her to walk up on either side of him. "She's a nothin' and a no one. She's nothin' but a whore. She's just another homeless bitch. Ain't no lady that would live and sleep in an alley with the roaches and rats," he said.

The tallest one opened his mouth to prove how stupid he was.

"Yeah, this was all her fault for stopping us," said the tall man. "She asked us for money and I told her that I'd give her five dollars if she sucked my cock," he said grabbing himself in the way that Michael Jackson used to do in his videos.

Not even interpreting the words, not hearing what he was saying, all that Christopher knew was that he was yelling and Christopher didn't like all the noise that he was causing. Without all the deafening noise and without the stench of death and burning vehicles, it was downtown Baghdad and it was downtown Kabul all over again. Suddenly as if under attack and he was, as if he needed to fight back and he did, it was as if it was all happening in slow motion. Knowing exactly what he was about to do, he was seconds from leveling the playing field and stopping the noise.

No doubt, they figured that he was just some sixty-year-old fool intent on committing suicide. If they only knew who he was and if they only they had seen him fighting in battle, they would have fled the scene already but they stayed there as if daring him to fight them. Fight or flight, Navy SEALS, even ex-Navy SEALS, and especially retired SEALS don't run. He's never turned down a mission.

Always able to stop the noise, as if he was Peter Graves as James Phelps in Mission Impossible, it was his accepted mission to save the woman now. Once a SEAL always a SEAL. SEALS are born to be SEALS. They never retire. Fighting is in their blood. Fighting is who they are, the best of the best, they're better than all the rest.

Once finished fighting and once retired, they just learn to blend until something like this happens and they can't blend, they just react. Trained to put his opponent down on the ground and to render him helpless, he was expert at overpowering, disabling, and killing. As if there was a trigger that set him in motion, his years of training reflexive and without thinking, a combative defense that never left him and returned to him in an instant, he was ready, willing, and able to punish all three of them. He was still a SEAL, one of the most dangerous men alive.

Besides, there was only three of them. More than just numbers, they were all lightweights, men who never had any hand-to-hand combat training. With only one knife, one gun, and one pipe between them, it wasn't a fair fight. Just wanting to stop the noise while saving the woman, he'd rather fight than flee. He wouldn't feel right until they were all down on the ground unconscious and bleeding and she was safe from them.

As if he was James Earl Jones as Sergeant Major Goody Nelson in Gardens of Stone, he gave an order.

"Make a hole and make it wide," he yelled while marching towards them and as if he was walking through a swarm of enlistees in the barracks with the commanding officer walking behind him.

The three men laughed again. Clearly, instead of thinking him as a threat, they thought that he was funny. Instead of thinking that he was there to demolish them, they thought that he was there to entertain them.

"What? Huh? What the fuck does that mean, make a hole, and make it wide?" The little man looked at him and laughed. "You're crazy old man but not too crazy to die."

Too stupid to obey a simple order, wanting them to stay just the where they were, he knew that they wouldn't move if he ordered them to move. Without a weapon in his opened hands, as if he were Achilles in Homer's Iliad running towards Hector, the Prince of Troy, and his two bodyguards, he took three, giant running steps towards the three defenseless men.

# # #

Navy SEAL and Homeless Woman, Ch. 4

Christopher befriended a homeless woman by saving her from continuing to be beaten, raped, and possibly murdered. He gave her money and took her to the diner to feed her. Protecting her, he now felt responsible for her.

# # #

With his hands and his feet moving too fast for the untrained eye to see and definitely too fast if you're the intended victim to defend against, Christopher level all three men in seconds. As if it was all a slight of hand and of foot, a card trick that needed to be seen in slow motion to see it, appreciate it, and enjoy it, the noise stopped immediately. Almost before it even started, the altercation was over. Having trained these very techniques thousands of times at home, in the gym, in the Dojo, and in combat, these three men didn't stand a chance against Christopher.

Even though Christopher already told them what he'd do to them and what to expect, they had no time to react. Before the smallest of the men could even react by reaching up his hand to slice him with his knife, Christopher struck as if grabbing a fly in midflight. In the way that he hit the little man on the side of the head with such speed and with such force, his right knuckle hit a bull's-eye on his right temple and he was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

As if it was all a choreographed danced, the offensive moves were seamless. Fluid in motion and all at the same time, he was the reincarnation of Matt Damon as Jason Bourne, in Bourne Identity, fighting the Zurich police in fast speed. When his hand hit the first man, his big, regulation, Navy issued, tactical boot had already kicked the second one. He kicked the gun out of the biggest man's hand by hitting a pressure point in his forearm with his steel toed shoe and while fracturing his arm in the process.

The gun went flying through the air and landed down the alley in pieces. The man watched his gun leaving his hand instead of looking at Christopher. Then, without a second delay, stepping into him, he gave him a quick an open-handed chop to the throat. The man fell to the ground in pain with two hands to his neck and gasping for air.

With a quick step and a side turn to the left, he moved seemingly without even thinking. As if he was a piston, squatting down and using his whole body to explode up with high pressured power, he flicked out his hand and doubled over the third man with a Karate shot with the heel of his hand to his solar plexus. Without having the time to even lift the pipe he was holding, down on the ground, it was a hit that would have stopped his heart had Christopher hit him just a little higher and a little harder.

Over in six seconds with one knuckle, one kick, one chop, and one open handed hit, it wasn't much of a fight. They would have had more of a chance had there been two more of them. He walked over to pick up the gun. Then, as if disassembling his weapon to clean it and reassemble it again, he removed the clip, emptied the chamber, and threw it all in a trash bin. Finally, he picked up the knife and broke it in two against the brick wall. He tossed that in the trash bin too.

Unless they were willing to jump in there and root around with the rats and roaches, he didn't think they'd retrieve their weapons to use on anyone else. Interestingly enough, it took him longer to disable the weapons than it did to disarm the three men.

The perfect scenario for him, he couldn't count how many men he's trained to face three, armed men in combat. These three, hapless men were nothing more than misfit, training dummies. Because they didn't know how to use them, their weapons were useless against him.

First rule, keep the gun close to your body and not at extended arm's length. Second rule, never point a gun unless you're going to fire it. Third rule, as the same with a gun, keep a knife close to your body, otherwise your attacker will just take it away from you and use it against you. Lastly, telegraph your intentions with your eyes by looking where you're going to hit someone.

Again, don't flash a pipe until you're ready to use it because your attacker will take the pipe from you and use it against you, too. With them never having read a book, he guessed they didn't know any of that. Nothing but amateurs, they broke every rule.

# # #

"Are you okay," he asked reaching down to help up the woman?

She looked at him as if he was crazy.

"No, I'm not okay. I was beaten and nearly raped by three men," she said.

A foolish question to ask after she received such a beating but one that was out of his mouth before he could think of what else to ask her. Her shirt was ripped wide open and her pants were pulled down to her ankles. He looked down at Susan on the ground nearly naked.

Her big breasts were exposed beneath her torn, open shirt. With her naked below the waist, he saw her blonde, bushy pussy, her flat, toned stomach, and the side of her round ass. Christopher felt as much sensitivity for the woman as he did sexually frustrated lust. Normal for him to lust over the naked sight of her, it had been a while since he had sex and he was horny by the naked views of her hot body.

He put an arm beneath the woman to help her to her feet, while she bent at the waist to pull up her pants. Christopher preferred big breasted women, especially big breasted, blonde women. She reminded him of Jennifer Nettles but with big tits. A homeless woman who looked at hot as she still did, he couldn't imagine what she looked like when washed and dressed and wearing makeup. Yet, even in her disheveled appearance, unable to advert his eyes from her nearly naked body, he watched her tits fall forward when she bent forward to pull up her pants.

# # #

He couldn't help himself from imagining those big tits hanging down in his face while he felt, fondled, and sucked them and before she blew him. She had at least D cup breasts if not double D cup breasts. Recoiling from his leering stare, no doubt knowing that he's already seen most of her naked body, she clutched her shirt closed in embarrassed shame and false pride.

Being that she was homeless and sleeping in a dirty doorway in an alley, what did it matter? Nonetheless, and no doubt, she was embarrassed that she wasn't wearing a bra or panties. She grimaced in pain when she reached her hand up to try and do something with her hair while holding her blouse closed with her other hand. Yet, there was nothing that she could do with her appearance until she had a shower and put on some clean clothes.

"Thanks," she said looking up at him with shock. She surveyed the three men motionless on the ground. "What happened to them? How did you do that so fast? I didn't even see you hit them."

He laughed.

"I needed to stop the noise. They were making too much noise," said Christopher holding his hands over his ears while shaking his head as if he was a disappointed and disapproving parent. "They were giving me a terrible headache with all the noise they were making. Christopher doesn't like noise."

The homeless woman gave him a curious look.

"Christopher? Who's Christopher? She looked around. I thought you were alone," she said looking around the alley before taking a step away from him.

With a street-smart look, she summed him up before grabbing for the wall with an unsteady hand.

"I'm Christopher," he said with a laugh. He looked at her again as if he was a doctor in an emergency room. "Are you sure you're okay," he asked?

He put a strong arm around her to steady her? She rewarded his kindness by unintentionally leaning the side of her blouse clad breast against his hand. She continued pressing her big breast against his hand to steady herself. Other than those three potential rapists, and other than men groping cheap feels of her in the food line at the shelter, it had been a long time since she felt the feel of a real man.

# # #

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said. "Thanks. I'm just a little dizzy. They hit me pretty hard and I haven't eaten in a while," she said.

He looked at her as if she was one of his recruits.

"Where did you learn to fight like that," he asked.

She laughed.

"I grew up with four, older brothers. All big men, even bigger than you, they taught me how to take care of myself should I need to defend myself," she said with pride.

She pulled away from him while rubbing her jaw with one hand and closing her shirt again while clutching her ribs with her other hand.

"I think he may have broken my rib when he kicked me," she said.

She grimaced in pain while tenderly feeling herself through her shirt with her fingers. He reached out his hand to feel her rib through her shirt. He felt her rib while she rested the weight of her big breast on the top of his hand.

"It's not broken," he said. "It's just bruised."

She continued gently rubbing her side.

"If I wasn't feeling so weak from not eating, I would have kicked their asses," she said.

He looked at her as if he was a battlefield medic doctor. Yet, having helped dozens of wounded men on the battlefield, he knew something about injuries.

# # #

"Breathe in," he said. "May I?"

She allowed his hand access inside her shirt. He unbuttoned her shirt and reached inside her unbuttoned shirt to feel her rib with an experienced fingers and a gentle hand. With her breasts so large and without her wearing a brassiere, he was unable to prevent himself from feeling the sides of her naked tits.

"Take a big breath in and then slowly breathe out. Does it hurt to breathe," he asked looking up at her instead of staring at her naked breasts?

Since she wasn't wearing a bra and her breasts were so large, when he reached his hand inside her open shirt to feel her rib, her heavy breast rested on the top of his hand. After having been groped most of her life by horny men, she knew that men don't need to use their fingers and horny hands to feel women's breasts. Men have breast sensors all over their bodies. They can cop a cheap feel of a woman's breast with their forearm, elbow, knee, leg, shoulder, back, and even with the back of their hands.

Yet, as his reward for saving her from the three men, she allowed him to continue to unintentionally, or deliberately grope her naked breasts. Solely from the firmness of her breast on the back of his hand, as if he was Sherlock Holmes on a breast investigation, Christopher deduced correctly that she was younger than she looked. In the way that she was holding her own in fighting them, he wondered if she was an undercover cop but if she was, she'd have plenty of backup watching her back.

"No, it doesn't hurt to breathe but it hurts to move, especially when I lift my arm," she said.

He continued feeling her side. Then, he removed his hand from inside of her blouse.

"Lucky for you it's only bruised and not broken," he said.

He reached his hand inside her unbuttoned shirt again to feel her rib again as his pretense to feel her breast again, if even only with the breast sensors on the back of his hand. She had big tits, really big tits, and they were as heavy as they were firm. With it having been a while since he felt a woman's naked breasts, he enjoyed feeling her naked breast resting on his hand.

"Thank you," she said.

She pulled away from him again when, no doubt, realizing that he was copping a cheap feels of her naked breasts on the pretense of checking her for injuries. In the way she was so shapely put together, in checking her for more internal injuries, he'd love to give her a complete physical exam from pussy to breast. She had a beautiful body and he wouldn't mind seeing her naked again. Only, she desperately needed a shower.

# # #

"You'll be fine in a week or so," he said reluctantly removing his hand from inside her shirt when she pulled away from him.