Tommy and Tina

Feeling much closer to becoming a man than the day before, I reported for basic combat training.

Chapter 3.

After my return from basic training there were changes in Mom's interactions with me; it wasn't so much physical, as emotional. Perhaps understandably she was seeing me more as an adult. We worked together to develop a career plan for the next few years while I fulfilled my Guard commitments. Confident an academic calendar could be worked around a weekend warrior's schedule, with Mom's steadfast encouragement, in September I started classes at the local community college. They would not be completed.

The Army National Guard's 'One weekend a month, two weeks a year' is a slogan, not a guarantee. The Commander-in-Chief's 'Mission Accomplished' wasn't. My battalion was mobilized in November and we were sent for additional training. Returning back in time to celebrate Christmas with Mom, we had ten days together before my unit was to be deployed to Iraq.

The night before my deployment was painfully poignant. Mom was barely able to come to grips with what was happening. She was desperately trying, and not fully succeeding, to be brave. Two weeks a year away was bad enough for her- she most certainly hadn't signed up for me being sent to a combat zone for a year-plus tour of duty. Watching the nightly news she did not share her son's teenage-testosterone-driven opinion that he was invincible and bullet-proof. We'd never been apart except for my recent training and now her son was being sent overseas to an increasingly hostile and dangerous place.

We went out to eat, and when we got home we dressed for bed and the spent the next hours together quietly on the couch. Mom had changed into her white satin robe, it was sheer enough that the cyan panty and bra were discernable underneath. Mom looked especially desirable and beautiful tonight. Her petite breasts were fuller, and her nipples more prominent than they'd ever looked... not that a son should notice such intimate details about his mother. Time flew by and we held each other trying not to think about how long it would be until we were together again. Sharing hugs and kisses we slipped lower on the couch until we were lying face-to-face.

Running my fingers up and down Mom's back through her satin robe felt so erotic. Mom brought her face into my neck then moved up and kissed me, holding me tightly. Her perky breasts pressed firmly into my chest; it took herculean effort to keep from reaching down to caress them. Fidgeting to keep my painfully erect manhood from poking her we held each other like we never wanted to let go. The fewer remaining minutes we had left, the faster each one passed.

Reluctantly Mom said "Tommy it's midnight; you have to report to the Armory in eight hours."

We leaned into each other for a final, special, memorable kiss. Then, oh so reluctantly, we separated. Being above Mom on the couch, when rising up her breasts brushed from the top of my chest toward my waist. Through my pajamas I could feel my briefs-tented manhood move up her legs until it snapped, like an interlocking piece of finely crafted machinery into the junction of her legs and V-temple of her sex. Mom let out a sigh, our eyes met, we paused, momentarily frozen in place. It took all our strength to separate our bodies. That not-fully-understood feeling would be replayed in my mind every waking moment of my deployment.

After a very long and very cold shower I put on fresh briefs and I went to my bed. Half asleep I thought I must surely be dreaming when Mom got under the covers with me for the first time in ten or so years. She whispered "Please hold me."

While warmly embracing her it didn't take long to process the fact that Mom was wearing only her cyan panty and bra. The sensation of our bare legs touching, my hand on her bra strap, and her satin covered breasts against my chest was like an electric shock.

Sensing my reaction she said "I want to be as close to my son as a mother could possibly dare to be without crossing the line. It will be so long before I see you again."

She paused and softly continued "It's really wouldn't be sin to be in bed together like this if we don't make love."

She didn't sound too confident in her reasoning; it sounded much more like a question. Moving my hands up and down her back, the sensation of her satin bra strap over her bare back was enough to make the hair on my neck stand on end, not to mention what it did to the other guy. Not knowing what do or say, I held her tightly. Reaching up and putting my hand on the back of her head, gently pulling her face next to mine, we kissed. Can a kiss be both passionate and chaste?

"I love you, Tommy. You must take care and return to me. I cannot live without you."

Here I was an eighteen year-old virgin, in bed, under the covers, with the most perfect woman in the world. It seemed so normal and natural to be so intimately close; really, the most natural thing in the world. Mom's warmth, scent, breathing, sensuous body, and skin-on-skin contact was more than a little distracting; sleep took its sweet time arriving.

Too soon it was morning. We hadn't - I wanted to believe - sinned, so I thanked God for these past hours. I prayed for Mom's protection and to be safely returned to take care of her forever. Mom was soon stirring, we gazed into each other's eyes and our lips found their mark. Untangling ourselves was sweet agony. We reluctantly separated our bodies, and lastly, our lips.

After a quick breakfast and another round of hugs and 'I-love-you's', Mom dropped me off at the Armory.

After a last tender goodbye kiss I said "I'll write to you every chance I get."

"I'll reply to every letter. Put the back of each one to your lips to get my kisses."

I headed into the abyss. I dared not look back as I knew Mom was crying. The walk from Mom's car to the Armory gate was the longest journey of my young life.

Chapter 4.

When we reached our assigned base of operations, there was an immediate appreciation of the true depth and nuanced meaning of the adjective 'shithole'.

Quoting Google:

"shit•hole

ˈSHitˌhōl/

noun

vulgar slang

noun: shithole; plural noun: shitholes; noun: shit-hole; plural noun: shit-holes

1. An extremely dirty, shabby, or otherwise unpleasant place."

That about covers it. Even without mentioning the god-awful smells, suicide bombers, bullets and IEDs. God help us all.

Keeping my word I wrote to Mom and emailed and called her at every opportunity. Almost every day a letter would arrive from her - sometimes two - and any remaining room on each page was filled with "I love you" and images of hearts and smiley faces. She had been doing this for months. Poor Mom, she had far too much free time.

**********

An Army National Guard unit and its light equipment were being repositioned. Flying conditions were as ideal as could be hoped for in Iraqi airspace. Four CH-47 Chinook helicopters were flying single-file formation under blue skies to an outpost in southern God-Forsaken-Land. Three of them would reach their destination.

At the sound and shock of the initial impact and explosion, everyone onboard shared a common thought: seconds to live. As we wildly plummeted to the ground the images of my comrade's faces were etched into my mind.

Some men screamed. Some men sobbed. Some men covered their eyes. Some men made the sign of the cross. Some men were silent because they were in shocked disbelief. Some men were silent because they were so paralyzed by fear they could not articulate sound.

Facing certain death is a solitary experience, even when you are not alone. Each of us faced death in our own way, but no doubt each one of us was calling out to our mother. No man called out more desperately for his mother than did the son of Tina Silver.

**********

A busy waitress hears bits and pieces of numerous conversations, and pays them little heed.

When a unit takes casualties, word travels fast and people back home know.

Mom, as always, was working enthusiastically. Focused on her work she did not notice the whispering and concerned looks she was getting from customers and co-workers. Her shift over, she was almost out the door when a man she did not recognize caught her eye and pointed to his cup. Smiling, she grabbed a carafe and poured coffee for everyone at the table; "four helicopters" and "our guys from the Armory" were two more barely-registered strings of words.

Back at home and after a long day and another lonely meal, Mom was reading my most recent letter. Holding it close to her heart she then authored her loving reply. When the last "I love you" was squeezed in, the envelope was sealed and kissed. Retiring to her bed she turned on her nightstand radio. She wasn't paying much attention until the news anchor said "In other news, the Pentagon announced today that four Chinook helicopters came under attack by shoulder-fired rockets near the Iraqi city of Fallujah. One helicopter was brought down with heavy casualties. Further details are being withheld until notification of next-of-kin."

In a moment of shocked clarity, instantly connecting the dots, knowing only one group from the local Armory was deployed in Iraq, she barely made it to the bathroom before violently retching into the toilet. Sensing her life ending, she collapsed to the bathroom floor as her life with her son flashed before her eyes. Crying uncontrollably, the cold hard tile most cruelly accentuated her pain. With each passing hour her panic and anguish increased - she desperately prayed she would not be visited by members of the military carrying out the most dreaded of assignments. Mercifully, with loyal co-workers standing vigil, the next day she received an official call and was told I had been medevac'd to a field hospital in Balad, north of Baghdad. Days later, she was told that I was at the U.S. military hospital complex in Landstuhl, Germany.

One of the survivors, I had gotten off easy: a concussion; puncture wounds, numerous cuts, bruises and sprains; cracked and broken ribs; and a serious injury to my left eye. I awoke with no idea where I was, or how I got there. My right eye had been covered to reduce the movement of my injured left eye - blindness amplified my disorientation and fear. I heard distant female voices and called out "Mom, is that you? I can't see... Mom..."

Two nurses quickly came to my side to comfort me, and apprise me of the situation. I'll never forget their concern, gentle care, and kindness. Nurses: they do God's work, just like his angels.

The next day, when the staff were sure I had my wits about me they made a call for me to Mom. I thought it best not to mention the full extent and details of my injuries.

"Hi Mom... I love you... I'm in Germany... I'm fine... just a few bumps and bruises... I love you... I'm fine... I love you."

It was a short and one-way conversation. I talked, Mom cried.

The days in Germany dragged on in slow motion. My good eye now uncovered, I settled into the routine, steadily recovering. One fine day, without advance notice I was headed stateside. During a long flight on a C-17 Promise Keeper to Andrews Air Force Base, as I mingled with my fellow patients and tried to help out I came to realize just how fortunate I was. I vowed to never complain about anything. Ever. Arriving at the hospital, the first thing I did was to call Mom. It was eight in the morning for her.

"Hi Mom - I love you. I'm at Walter Reed... I'm going to be here for a while... I can't wait to come home to see you."

We talked until one of the staff motioned to me that it was time for me to go.

"Mom, I'll call you again tonight around 8 or 9 o'clock your time."

At midnight local I called her. Knowing she went to bed early, when she didn't pick up the phone I wasn't surprised, and I went to bed. When I woke up at 0600 I had hearty breakfast. At 0800, one of the staff asked "Who wants more coffee?"

"I do - outstanding idea!" was my enthusiastic reply.

A moment later, coffee was being brought to me by a beautiful, petite, black-haired angel streaming tears of joy. "Tommy" was the only word she could say.

Call me a momma's boy: seeing her made me cry too. The coffee was stone-cold long before we were finished hugging and kissing. Without hesitation or conditions, she had once again put her life on hold and traveled all day, night, and morning to take buses, trains, red-eye flights, taxis, and shuttles to be by my side. Mom spent every possible moment with me. It would have been so much worse without her loving presence.

After my retinal re-attachment surgery was declared a success I was told I would be discharged from the hospital. A patch would be needed to be worn over the eye, with extra care taken not to subject it to trauma. The surgeon told me "You got the million dollar wound." Meaning, not bad enough to screw-up the rest of my life, but it effectively meant my active duty commitments were fulfilled. I was given a Purple Heart and orders to report back to my National Guard Armory in 30 days.

Mom was so happy. With a smile warm enough to melt an iceberg she said "Tommy, I think it would be a good idea to spend a few nights at my hotel so you can gain more strength for the long flight home."

My head spun as I contemplated the possibilities. All I could say was "Mom, if we're together, where doesn't matter."

Chapter 5.

It was a short taxi ride though afternoon rush hour traffic from Walter Reed to the hotel. Sitting closely, we held hands and enjoyed our togetherness. Nothing needed to be said; we shared the same thoughts.

Mom had been treating me differently; the way she looked into my eyes; the way she placed her arm into mine when walking; the way she leaned against me when we stood side-by-side; the way she asked my approval for the decisions she was making; the way she referred to me to as her 'man'. Was I becoming the boyfriend and lover she never had? I fondly reminisced about our mostly-innocent yet oh-so-tantalizing night together before my deployment. Before hastily rushing off to the airport, did Mom pack her cyan satin panty and bra?

The hotel room was small, but comfortable, with a queen bed, sofa-bed, and TV. It was reserved for five more nights. Mom wanted to stay up and talk but it was late, and we had planned to go sightseeing in the morning. She concluded it was time for us to call it a night.

"Your ribs are still sore. You can sleep on the bed, it will be much more comfortable. I'll sleep on the sofa-bed."

My first choice for sleeping arrangements would have been quite different.

"Mom, my ribs are fine... really, they never felt better."

Smiling warmly, hands on hips, with mock indignation she said "Tommy, it's not nice to argue with your mother."

I gave her my best "Awww Mom" and went into the bathroom. After a shower and putting on clean briefs and a t-shirt, I got into bed. Leaning over she lovingly tucked me in and kissed me. Her lips felt warmer, wetter, and were held against mine longer than any previous kiss we shared.

"Rest, Tommy, you must get strong. I'll check on you after I get cleaned up and make up the sofa bed." I didn't think I was that tired, but wrapped in the luxury of my first civilian bed in ages, before she had even started her shower, I was asleep.

I awoke at zero-dark-hundred. Mom was spooned in front of me, my arm around her, reprising that glorious night before my deployment. She was wearing only a bra and panty - there was no need to turn on a light to know their color was cyan. Glancing around the room I could see the sofa-bed had not been made up. Iraq was halfway around the world and a million miles behind me. As sleep returned it was clear things were looking up.

An explosion. Noises, loud beyond the threshold of pain. Screaming, shouting, rushing wind, straining turbines, banging metal, tilting, turning and falling. Added to the cacophony of chaos a voice desperately shouted "Mom, I love you, Momma!"

A horrific sickening sound of impact and crushing metal. Suddenly, only the sound of muted sobbing and moans of pain remained. It was surreal. Everything became quiet. I found myself cradled in the arms of an angel who was lovingly holding me to her bosom. My angel spoke with a voice familiarized over a lifetime.

"I heard you call me. You knew I would answer and come to you. You are safe now Tommy, you are safe. Sshhh. You are safe with your mother. She loves you. She will never let you go. Sshhh."

She continued with her reassuring and caring words.

When I finally relaxed, Mom lay me down on the bed and whispered "Sleep, Tommy, sleep. Let me hold you. I love you more than you'll ever know. Sleep, Tommy, sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Looking up, my life with her flashed before me. Seeing her even through only one good eye, she never looked more beautiful.

She needed to know this: "Mom, all the way down to the ground all I thought about was you."

"I know Tommy. I know. I love you. Sleep Tommy. I love you. Sleep my beloved, sleep."

Mom's warmth, scent, breathing, sensuous body, and skin-on-skin contact was so comforting. Sleep arrived quickly. When I awoke, Mom was spooned in front of me. Her hand clutched mine to her satin-covered breast. She slowly stirred. Opening her eyes, smiling warmly, she made no effort to move my hand.

"Tommy, it is so good to wake up to you. I love you more than you'll ever know."

I savored the moment. After giving her the warmest of kisses, I moved back to bask in the radiant warmth of her beauty. The look on her face was pure angelic serenity.

"Mom, stay in bed. There's a coffee shop across the street; it's my turn to bring you coffee."

When I returned, Mom was still in bed, smiling sweetly, sitting up, bedsheets demurely held to her chest. What is it about serving coffee? The look on my beautiful angel's face made me shed tears of joy of my own.

Chapter 6.

We went sightseeing most of the day, then a light dinner. Arriving at the hotel we cleaned up before spending time on the sofa. Lying side by side, my hand was alternating between rubbing her neck and running up and down her back. Her body undulated to my every touch and she made no attempt to hide how much she enjoyed it.

"Tommy, after you were gone I felt so guilty about the way I acted the night before your deployment. I crossed the line again last night. A mother shouldn't be practically naked in bed with her son. It's against all the rules; it's so wrong."

"Mom, take it easy on yourself. Remember? You said it wasn't wrong if we didn't make love."

"Tommy, I'm not sure. There are rules, and if I didn't break them, I surely bent, dented, and twisted them."

I gave her the best 'no you didn't' look possible with only one working eye.

"When you had your nightmare last night I was so worried for you. I can't bear the thought you'll have another one without me close by... I think I should sleep next to you for a few more nights. Would that be alright with you?"

My heartbeat increased dramatically; I smiled and said "Like you said - 'it's not nice to argue with your mother.'"

"I think it will be best, but I'll dress more appropriately."

I wanted to tell her that wasn't necessary, but I said "It will be nice to have you near. Hopefully I won't wake you up in the middle of the night again."

I kissed her, and went to use the bathroom and shower first. Changing into briefs I went to bed and waited anxiously for Mom. She was wearing pajamas when she joined me under the covers, facing me with our arms draped over each other. We kissed and hugged. Mom caressed my face and gave me a passionate kiss. Running my fingers from her neck to the small of her back made her squirm with pleasure; from touch I could tell she was wearing a granny and a cotton underwear underneath her pajamas.