Tonight I write about necessity. I write about needs and the need I have realized I have for a woman's touch. My job isn't as physically dangerous as many others. My job is more mentally and emotionally draining than anything I have ever done and I don't think I have been doing too well at handling it.
It's not the bombs and the bullets that get to me near as much as just having to sit here and get shot at and not be able to do a damn thing about it. My job isn't physically dangerous most of the time, but I hear of death and destruction all day. Some of the bad stuff is on my own guys, most of it just an hour or so away when it used to be two. Sometimes though, like last night, the danger is so close I could have hit it with a stone.
At least on the road they get the chance to fight back. When the bad guys shoot, our guys get a chance to shoot back. They get the chance to get scared, get mad and release it in bullets down range at our enemy. I don't have that luxury however. Most of what I do I cannot talk about. Most of what I feel inside, I choose not to talk about. It is so hard for me to accept fear as I feel as a man, it shows my weakness. I am not too proud to say though, that I get nervous and scared when the rockets start blowing up around me.
Last night, I did not have my armor close by when we were attacked. The first rocket zoomed overhead and exploded in the field next to where I work. I grabbed my helmet and quickly hopped under my desk, knowing my armor was not there. One of the macho guys laughed as he stood there looking at me and asked what the hell I was doing under the desk as he put on his armor. He strolled around and made wise cracks about how if a rocket hit us, the desk wouldn't help. He may be right, to which I replied neither would his armor. So, he stood there joking as we took more rockets. He said, "When it's your time, it's your time!" I agreed and told him that when his meathead was split in half by shrapnel, I was taking his armor. My family may be told that I died in battle and that will be tragic, but they will not be told that I died in battle because I walked around and joked about my fate not being my own. I told my friend that if God wants me, He will have to come under the desk to get me.
So, you ask what taking cover under a desk has to do with a woman's touch. One thing I have come to realize is that I haven't been with a woman in so long that I am well beyond missing the sexual aspect of a relationship. What I have come to realize, more than anything, is the comfort and security that only a woman can provide. I feel much like a boy running to his mother when he is scared or hurt because he knows she will protect him and make him feel better. I realize that I am just a boy running lost, looking for someone to hold and comfort me. Last night, more than anything, I needed to come home after a hard day's work and snuggle into the safety and security of a woman's touch. I needed to pull in close to her bosom and wrap her arms around me… not a word to be said.