Navy SEAL and Homeless Woman Ch. 07

Navy SEAL and Homeless Woman, Ch. 7

Navy SEAL falls in love with a homeless woman.

Author's Note:

This is a Romance story. There is no rape in this story.

All characters portrayed in this story are over 21-years-old. There are no minors under the age of 18-years-old in this story. There are no sexual references to anyone under the age of 21-years-old.

# # #

Continued from Chapter 6: Navy SEAL and Homeless Woman.

"What about love at first sight," she asked looking up at him to see his reaction to her question? "Do you believe in that?"

She looked at him waiting for him to respond, and when he didn't answer her, she continued.

"Other than the Navy, tell me, what else to you believe in besides the United States military," she said with a laugh? "You don't think that some kind of cosmic attraction or magical force whether physical, spiritual, and/or emotional played a part in what happened tonight and with you interceding on my behalf to save me or do you?"

She looked up at him and smiled. He looked down at her while trying to read her. He had a much better chance of reading a Taliban terrorist than reading a woman, especially a woman who was so, very pretty.

"And I suppose you do," he asked?

Feeling more comfortable thinking of her as such, he looked at her as if she was a prisoner of war that he was interrogating.

"To be honest, seeing you only from a distance, I thought you were nothing more than an old, bag lady," he said. "Then, when I saw you in the diner," he paused not wanting to tell her that his heart skipped a beat. "I never expected you to be a tall, beautiful blonde."

Susan looked at him while understanding him more.

"Yeah, well, even if you don't believe, I believe in all of that mumbo jumbo. I think that fate had everything to do with what happened here tonight. Right place and at the right time, someone tapped you on the shoulder, and they weren't wearing a uniform other than wings and a halo," she said laughing.

He looked down at her as if unsure of her meaning.

"So, what are you saying?"

He looked at her as if she was a new recruit telling him that there was more to life than being a SEAL.

"Are you saying that there is more to all of this than me saving you, feeding you, and offering you a place to bunk?"

She laughed again.

"Duh? You asked me to bunk with you," she said laughing. "Wow! Right up there with asking me to be your woman, that's some serious shit for you. Next, you'll be making me a braid out of a terrorist's scalp and giving me that as a ring before pinning one of your medals on my chest," she said with another laugh.

He laughed, too.

# # #

"Wait. Hold on, now. I only asked you to spend the night...or two," he said looking at her. "I didn't ask you to be my woman. I didn't ask you to marry me. Where did all that come from about me giving you a ring to put on your finger."

Even in the frightful mess that she was, underneath her messy hair, her broken and dirty fingernails, and her makeup free face, he could tell that she was a beautiful woman. In the way that her blonde hair was wild, frizzy, and pulled back as if restrained when the rest of her spirit wasn't, she looked as if she just woke up from bed after a long night of sex.

She smelled of sex. She exuded sex. More than just sexy and shapely, she was the epitome of what every man wanted and sexually fantasized having in a woman. Tall, blonde, beautiful, and busty with big, blue eyes, what man could possibly say no to her?

He looked at her again and always more comfortable categorizing the women he knew, the closest women he could imagine her being like was Marilyn Monroe, Kim Basinger, and Christie Brinkley, only younger, shapelier, and more beautiful all wrapped up in one.

# # #

"Wait. Hold on, now. I only asked you to spend the night...or two," he said looking at her. "I didn't ask you to be my woman. I didn't ask you to marry me. Where did all that come from about me giving you a ring to put on your finger."

Even in the frightful mess that she was, underneath her messy hair, her dirty fingernails, and her makeup free face, he could tell that she was beautiful. In the way that her blonde hair was wild, frizzy, and pulled back as if restrained when the rest of her spirit wasn't, she looked as if she just woke up from bed after a long night of sex.

She smelled of sex. She exuded sex. More than just sexy and shapely, she was the epitome of what every man wants in a woman.

He looked at her again. Always more comfortable categorizing the women he knew, the closest women he could imagine her being like was Marilyn Monroe, Kim Basinger, and Christie Brinkley, only younger, shapelier, and more beautiful all wrapped up in one woman named, Susan Jill Parker.

# # #

Navy SEAL and Homeless Woman, Chapter 7:

With nothing else to give him, Susan rewarded Christopher with a blowjob for saving her life.

They spent the rest of their walk in silence, Christopher with his hands dug deep in his pockets with his eyes glued to the ground and Susan looking everywhere but at him.

"This is me, right here. It's a basement apartment. It's a little dark but I like it like that. When not putting on an interior light, no one can see me from the street," he said. "It's my very own, personal bunker," he said with a laugh.

She knew that there were steps leaning down to his basement apartment, but she could hardly see them. No doubt, with him feeling right at home, it was as if he lived in a bunker.

"It is a little dark," she said noticing the lack of lights needed to illuminate the steps when walking down to his apartment.

Steadying herself, she held onto the wall. Suddenly feeling fearful, she took a step back as if afraid. Scarred from what made her homeless, she had a reaction that she never expected.

"I got you. What's the matter," asked Christopher putting his arm around her slender waist?

She waved a hand in front of her face as if she was about to cry.

"I was flooded out of my basement apartment," she said. "After leaving my physically abusive husband, I had just moved from Boston to Hershey, Pennsylvania, in June of 2011. I was living with my Mom in a beautiful basement apartment, when only three months later, the Susquehanna River flooded.

Cresting more than thirty-feet over flood stage level, it was three weeks before the cops, the fire department, and the building inspectors allowed us back in the building to salvage anything. Nothing was salvageable. Floating in a soup of home heating oil and raw sewage, everything was ruined. There were dumpsters lining both sides of the street filled with everyone's ruined possessions," she said looking as if she was about to cry again.

He put his long, strong arm around her shapely shoulder and gave her a hug.

"Wow, that sucks. I'm sorry, Susan," he said. "Even with the few possessions that I have, I can't imagine losing everything I own."

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

# # #

"With us living in a basement apartment, the water was up to the second story of the building," she said looking up at the second floor windows of the house. "We had water from floor to ceiling."

She relived the flood again by merely talking about it. She had a look of sadness on her face as if it had just happened.

"Well, there's no water here," said Christopher. "You're safe here. I'm pretty far from the river and I'm on a hill. You're safe from water flooding us. If you want to worry about something, worry about being incinerated in a nuclear explosion," he said with a laugh. "Three Mile Island is right there," he said pointing to the four, huge, chimney stacks across the river.

Quite the site to behold, she looked over to where he was pointing.

"If the smoke stakes look so big from this distance, I can't imagine how big they'd look up close," she said.

He nodded his agreement.

"Fortunately, Three Mile Island is closed because of the natural gas boom," said Christopher. "Still, radiation is always a threat and is still a real danger. The experts say that the nuclear plant can withstand a plane crashing into it but that's what they said about the Twin Towers, too."

He laughed.

"I don't put much stock into what experts say about anything after seeing so many retired generals on CNN giving their biased opinions based on what they're told by the CIA to say," said Christopher.

Susan looked up at him.

"It's scary to see those nuclear smoke stacks looming so close. Aren't you afraid?"

He laughed.

"I don't even think about it," he said with a shrug. "When it's your time to go, there's nothing you can do to stop it." He led her down a flight of stairs, opened his front door, and turned on the light. "Well, this is it. Keep in mind that I'm a guy and I live alone," he said with a laugh.

# # #

Susan looked around the small room.

"It's so small and so neat. With your bunk there..." she said looking to the left and seeing a real Navy bunk. "And the couch over there..." she said looking to the right. "And nothing between them but a small TV perched on a small table in front of the couch," she said looking up at him. "This is hardly the bachelor pad that I expected you to have. Your apartment looks as if you just moved in or are about to move out," she said with a laugh.

He laughed, too.

"What? You don't like my place? It suits me just fine. It's efficient and organized. I don't have a lot of stuff to trip over to find what I need."

Susan remained silent while looking around the room.

"It's just that..."

He made a face as if insulted.

"It's just that what," asked Christopher?

She laughed.

"It's devoid of a charm or personality. It's devoid of a woman's touch. It needs a woman's touch," she said looking up at him with a laugh. "There's no color and no style. You don't have any rugs or curtains. With no personal items displayed, books, knickknacks, or trinkets, it looks too much like a barracks room," she said. "All you need is a footlocker and a metal locker," she said with a laugh.

He laughed, too.

"Actually," he said with an embarrassed pause. "My footlocker is by my bed," he said pointing. "And the metal locker is there in the corner," he said laughing at how ridiculous his apartment looked to a stranger but how familiar it looked to a Navy SEAL.

# # #

He looked around his room with a different eye as if noticing it for the first time. His place did look as if it was in transition. With one foot here and the other foot there, and his head stuck somewhere in the middle, it was then that he realized he still had his heart in the Navy.

She laughed.

"You recreated your barracks SEAL. Good for you," she said laughing again while saluting him.

After he looked around the room, he laughed, too.

"You know, now that you mention it, you're right. Except for the deletion of the metal walls, it does look like my old barracks," he said with another laugh. "Being that this is a basement apartment, I even have the little windows at ceiling height that I had in my barracks room when I was a drill instructor," he said.

She looked around the room again.

"Except for that Navy recruiting poster, you don't even have a picture on the wall," she said walking over to the poster to study it. "Where'd you get this? It looks old. If it's the real McCoy, it's probably worth a few dollars," she said.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"It is old, circa 1975, depicting a woman in a sailor's suit from 1917, saying, "I wish I were a man. I'd join the navy," he said with a laugh. And it is worth more than a few dollars," he said.

He looked at Susan. Difficult to take his eyes off of her, he couldn't believe that she temporarily agreed to bunk with him. He couldn't believe that she was here with him in his apartment.

"Early in my career, I did some recruiting when I was recovering from my last wound. Not much of a people person when I'm not slamming my fist in their faces, I'm not much of a salesman either, even if it's when trying to convince someone to join the Navy. I figure, if they want to join, they'll join," he said with a shrug.

He walked over to look at the poster with her.

"Tired of lazy, mama boys, unless I have a gun in my hand," he said with a laugh. "I'm not good at persuading someone to do what they don't want to do and to join something they're not ready to join. The last straw was when I threatened to kill someone for burning the flag in front of my office after they spit on my uniform."

She laughed.

"Threatened?" She laughed again. "You not the type to threaten anyone with words. I don't see you wasting your breath to threaten anyone. You're more of a man of action," she said remembering what he did in the alley to those three men.

He agreed with her by nodding his head.

"Okay, so when I escorted them off the property, somehow they accidentally tripped and hit their head on the concrete sidewalk numerous times when I was helping them to stand," he said with a laugh. "What's the matter," he asked when she continued looking around the room again?

# # #

"There's not much privacy," she said looking around the one bedroom studio apartment again. "Do you have a bathroom with a tub?"

He apologized with a sad, little smile.

"I do have a bathroom but I don't have a bathtub. I have a shower. It's in back," he said pointing ahead of him. "It's in the corner."

She looked to where he pointed.

"I see it," she said.

She looked around where she'd sleep before eying the couch. With him sleeping on the cot, no doubt, he'd offer her his couch, unless he has a blowup mattress, too.

"I could make something makeshift," he said. "I could stack some boxes or hang a curtain to give you more privacy, if that will put your mind more at ease," he said.

With him having already seen her nearly naked, she shrugged her indifference.

"Nah, that's okay. I'm used to not having any privacy in the shelter and on the street anyway, as you're well aware with those three men waking me up at one in the morning. With me sleeping in a dirty doorway with cardboard for warmth, this is so much better than what I'm used to having," she said with an uncomfortable laugh and a shrug.

She looked around the room again.

"This will suit me just fine. Do you have a spare sheet for the couch?"

He looked from his bunk to look at the couch.

"You can take my bunk," he said looking at his bunk with a guilty, sad look as if he was giving up his weapon or his dog for the sake of her comfort.

She shook her head.

"Nah, the couch, believe it or not, looks more comfortable than your cot," she said with a little laugh. "Besides, you're too tall to sleep on the couch," she said.

# # #

She looked over at his tightly, made bunk again.

"Did you steal that from your barracks," she asked laughing?

"Actually, it's my old cot with a new mattress. My buddies gave it to me as a present when I retired."

She laughed.

"You're kidding, right?

He laughed, too.

"Nope. I know. I was shocked as shit that they'd give me my old bunk. I couldn't believe it," he said with a laugh. "Thrilled, I was so happy."

She laughed, too.

"That's not what I meant," she said. "Never mind."

He looked at her as if not understanding her meaning.

"You mean why would I'd even want my old bunk back instead sleeping in a bed?" He laughed. "Much like Jean Reno as Leon in The Professional who slept in a chair with a handgun close by, I've slept in the same bunk with a gun under my pillow for nearly 30-years," he said with a sad laugh.

She nodded her head.

"Yeah, I understand now," she said.

He looked at her without apology.

"I'd rather sleep on the floor or on the ground, which I've done many times, than not to sleep in my bunk. After sleeping on that thing for so long, when not deployed, I'm so used to my little cot that I can't sleep in a regular bed," he said.

She laughed.

"No wonder why you're not married," she said under her breath and too low for him to hear.

Hearing her, he laughed, too.

"Believe it or not, much like my rifle, that bunk is my friend. We've seen some things together. Yes we have," he said with a sad smile on his face while shaking his head.

She looked at him sideways.

"I bet you even named you bunk," she said laughing.

He made a face before confessing that he had named his bunk.

"Don't be silly," he said before looking over at her and blurting. "Barb," he said with a laugh. "I named my bunk Barb, after Barbara a girl that I took to my high school prom when we were 18-years-old."

Susan laughed again.

"Barb? You named your bunk Barb? I can't believe you named your bunk Barb," said Susan shaking her head.

She gave him a smile.

"Listen, I'd never get between you and your bunk," she said waving her two hands as if they were flashing lights on a railroad crossing while stepping away from his bunk. "I'll take the couch," she said again before she started laughing again.

He looked at her with confusion.

"What's so funny," he asked?

He laughed, too.

"We are."

Not understand her meaning, he threw his hands up in the air.

"What do you mean?"

She laughed again.

"Listen to us? We're going on about your bunk. Neither one of us are any good at holding a normal conversation," she said.

# # #

He nodded his agreement.

"You're right," he said. "We are kind of a pathetic pair of misfits. With you sleeping in shelters, eating in missions, and wandering the streets is not normal. Then, with me spending years away from my country to defend my country and preferring this lumpy, old bunk to a real bed when finally home and retired is convoluted," he said smiling up at her. "Two of a kind, neither one of us is normal," he said with a laugh.

She laughed, too.

"It's like we were made for one another," she said giving him an interested look with a soft, genuine smile.

He laughed, too.

"You're not going to start with that fate and destiny crap again, are you? Because I don't believe in any of that stuff. What I believe in is the here and now and not in some Angel bringing us together," he said.

Having never talked to anyone as he talked to Susan now, he paused as if thinking what to say next.

"If you ask me, especially in the way I've been living and watching men dying, with all that I've seen in war and in battle, and all that you had to do is to somehow survive. If I believed in anything, instead of believing in angels, I believe in the Devil. There's no merciful God that I know who'd allow any of this to happen to anyone, especially to innocent women in children dying in war zones," he said.

He paused again to seemingly collect his thoughts.

"Don't even say that. I'm not a religious woman but I know enough not to open my heart and my head to the Devil because he'll walk right in and take you over. Positive thoughts is what got me through then and positive thoughts is why I'm here with you now," she said.

They looked at one another as if they were going to kiss again. No doubt, when she gave him the eye, she wanted to be kissed. Obviously, she expected him to kiss her. Instead, he looked at his watch. It's zero three hundred hours, I need some shuteye. I'm beat," he said.

# # #

She looked around for a towel.

"I need to shower, if you don't mind. Where are the towels," she asked?

He pointed to a small closet in the corner.

"In the closet. Help yourself," he said. "There's several clean towels in the bathroom, too."

She laughed as soon as she saw the towels.

"What did you steal these from the Navy?"

She came out holding a thin, white towel in her hand that read property of the United States Navy.

"Don't you have a bigger and a thicker towel?"

He laughed.

"The Navy throws them away anyway, so I take them. Besides, their towels are what I've been using for thirty years and all that I'm used to using. I don't like those plush, colored towels. Those towels are for women, faggots, sissies, and homos," he said with a laugh.