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  This is just a collection of stories from an odd life. I may not always do the right thing, hell, I'm not even sure I ever do the right thing, but it seems to work out and I have a lot of adventures.

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I Get Even

We were in KKMC (King Khalid Military City, Saudi Arabia) when we heard we were going home.  We’d been sitting around for a few months while the powers-that-be considered our fate and we were restless as hell.  No one knew if we’d be staying for another 6 months, re-deploying back to Germany, or sent somewhere new, so we were going stir-crazy.

Some General somewhere finally realized that keeping German and Russian linguists sitting around doing nothing was pointless, so he decided our unit was going to be decommissioned and the best place to do that was back at our home base in Germany.

We all had our reasons to be excited.  Some missed their kids, some were leaving the Army when we got back, others had pets, but for me, it was simple. I missed partying. I wanted bourbon, I wanted cider, I wanted women, and dear god I wanted the incredible street gyros in Sachsenhausen.

If you read the story of the French girl, you’ll remember that she was my girlfriend before we left and I had never responded to any of her letters. I still don’t understand the thought process in my pea brain that thought she’d be better off if she thought I was dead, and to this day I feel badly, but the end result was that I had no one to go back to.  I wasn’t worried since there were always plenty of girls available but I hadn’t counted on the thousands of guys who’d just spent months in a war returning to the same place, at the same time, as horny as I was, and just as determined to score.

After a 5 hour shower at my apartment, cleaning sand from crevices I had forgotten existed, I took a long nap and woke up ready to hit the bars. My goal was clear – I was going to find someone special beautiful, intelligent, funny and cool.  Ok, that’s a lie.  I wanted someone who would say, “Sure War, let’s go! Ravage me you returning hero!”

When I got to the Irish Pub in Sachsenhausen, I realized this was going to be harder than I’d thought. The bar was flooded with returning service members, so the girls there had their choice of guys, and damn, they leveraged it well.  At this point I had 3 choices.

1. You join the line for one of the hot chicks – Fuck that.  I have zero interest in standing in line with my tongue hanging out just hoping that when I finally get to the front of the line I’m going to hit the right combination and she’ll go home with me.  It’s just … well, undignified and humiliating.  Not just no, but hell no.
2. Give up – Hell with that.  There was no way I was going to crawl back to my apartment and fall asleep after what we’d just been through.  Plus, you have to strike while the iron is hot.  Many of the girls at the bars were looking for boyfriends and would be off the market after tonight.  This was pretty common, by the way. We used to joke that the German girls just wanted to live in the “Land of the Great PX (Post Exchange)”.
3. Compromise – Now there’s no shame in lowering your expectations in the interest of success.  Let the haters hate, but at the end of the evening when I’m having wild rollicking sex with someone new and the alternative is a hooker or “taking care of one’s own business”, I’ll take the fun bouncing girl on top of me every time.

Ok, so I made the decision to cut my losses and score, then scanned the room for someone acceptable.  In a dark corner I saw her.  Holy sweet mother of god.  Smoking ass.  Long brown hair.  Slender.  She was with two girls and I know that can be a pain, but nothing someone of my caliber couldn’t surmount.  Remember, horny + confident + just came back from a war = success.  I grabbed my Beam and Coke and headed over.  I don’t remember what line I used to broach their defenses, but they laughed, and I turned to see the object of my desire.

Did you know there’s a steak in Texas that’s 72oz?  Yep.  Four and a half pounds.  The Great Texan Steak House in Amarillo, TX will give it to you for free if you can eat the whole thing, that’s how big it is.  It puts other steaks to shame.  If you finish it, your name is put up on the wall with others who have accomplished the herculean feat.  Anyone attempting it eats on a raised table in the center of the restaurant, where everyone there can see someone crazy enough to try to eat a 72oz steak.  That’s how ridiculously large it is and it’s the largest piece of meat I’ve ever seen.

With the exception of this girl’s nose.  Holy god.  Think of a keel on a sailboat.  You know, that thing that extends deep into the water and keeps the boat from tipping over?  Pretend some evil genius fused it to this poor girl’s face.  I felt the wind when she turned to me.  It all became clear.  Yes, she had a killer body, but there was no way under normal circumstances I could have ignored the nose.  Fortunately, these weren’t normal circumstances.  I kept the shock off my face and continued to charm the three of them, slowly but surely focusing my attention on her.

Her response was gratifying.  She was surprised at first, probably because her friends were better looking, albeit chunkier, and I was clearly warming up to her.  I did my normal routine of funny and self-deprecating humor and when she snorted in laughter I felt twin blasts of warm air on my cheek.  But I didn’t care.  She was mine and that night she was going help me back into the groove.

Enter my buddy Ron.  Good guy, although a tad boring.  Girls liked him for about the first couple weeks, then they took off, mostly because while he was tall, dark, and handsome, he was also boring. So things would start off hot and heavy, then things would become strained and slowly taper off to nothing when the girls realized there was really nothing to talk about.  I’d seen it happen many times.  Anyway, Ron stumbled up, half-lit and irritated that he’d struck out all night.  He came up to find out how I was doing and if I’d had any success.  He knew my reputation, so when he saw the three girls and me, he arrived at the natural and accurate conclusion.  So, he leaned over and in what to him was a stage whisper, bellowed:

“WAR!  YOU GONNA BANG THE BITCH WITH THE BEAK?”

I watched her face turn beet red.  Her friends looked at Ron in shock.  My face fell.  In that moment I knew there was no recovery.  Her hands flew up to her nose as if to cover it, but that wasn’t possible, so she rushed off, her friends in tow.

“No, Ron, I’m not.” I said.

By now it was late, too late to try and start over.  The hotties were gone, the drunks were sloppy, and dammit, I wasn’t getting laid.  Thanks Ron, you rat bastard.  I vowed to get even.

My chance came less than a month later.  Ron had managed to find a really cute girl a few weeks after the incident but she’d already gotten bored of him.  I had talked to her a few times and played the clever card, so she already liked me.  I can’t remember her name so let’s call her something good and German.  How about Helga?  Sure, why not? Anyway, one night a bunch of us were back at the Irish Pub getting our drink on. Ron lumbered around getting Helga drinks while I made her laugh.  A few minutes later, he said he had to get up early and was heading out.  She told him she was going to stick around for a bit but she’d catch up with him later.  Hot Damn! I was in!  Not long after Ron left, I asked Helga if she’d mind giving me a ride home.  Of course she was glad to help.  We got back to my apartment building and I asked if she wanted to come up for a bit.

Now here’s the deal. It was nearly 2:00am.  Helga was sober as she’d only had a few drinks and those had worn off hours before.  She had to work the next day, so she wasn’t looking for a place to crash and sleep it off.  I didn’t have any coffee, hell, I didn’t even have a coffee maker back then. She’d been flirting with me all night, light touches, hair flips, coy glances and innuendo. I knew the deal and so did she. We weren’t there to hold hands, we were going to have sex and I couldn’t wait.

I don’t think she made it up the first flight of stairs before attacking me and her clothes were off before we got inside.  We were making out like crazy, almost frantically, and I told her my standard line:  “I don’t have any boundaries.  Tell me what you want me to do to you.  Anything your sick little mind can think up, I’ll do.  Just tell me.” She paused for a second, looked at me and nodded slowly in thought then a slow smile came over her face.  Uh oh…

Her fantasy was forced sex that turns her on so much she can’t help but get into it. I had pretend I’d picked her up and wouldn’t let her go home, physically restraining her while she tried to get away, then tying her up and having my way with her. Well ok then!  It turned out she was strong as hell and I had to actually work at it!  It was actually tough keeping her down but at the same time a huge turn-on.  Who knew?

I looked around for something to tie her wrists with and all I could find was the belt on my bathrobe.  It was standard terrycloth and wouldn’t rip, so I tied her up and went to town on her.  She was fun as hell, writhing around like crazy, trying to get loose but she went from “Nein, nein nein nein” to “JA JA JA JA” and when she came I’m pretty sure she woke the evil cleaning lady who lived in the room directly beneath mine.

All in all, I was pretty proud of the performance.  I untied her and as we were sitting there naked having a drink she noticed her wrists.  In all the excitement, my robe had pretty much taken the skin off her wrists.  She wasn’t bleeding, but she looked like a recently rescued hostage.  It was bad.  The worst part of the whole thing was there is really only one way to get those marks and everyone who saw them would know exactly how.  She took off and I went to bed.

I saw her a few days later at a party and she was there with Ron.  Her wrists were bandaged.  I managed to get her alone and asked her what the hell had happened.  She told Ron she’d fallen down the stairs.  He believed her and that was that.  I think they lasted another week or so, but it was all downhill from there.  I only saw her once again but that’s another story.

I repeated this until I left Germany a few months later.  I slept with every single one of his girlfriends.  And then I’d tell him.  He had no real emotional investment in them, so it was just funny.  If he had actually liked them I wouldn’t have done it, but he was just pissed that he’d wasted all that time priming them and I’d come in and pump them.  Several of his “girlfriends” he hadn’t actually slept with.  So he did all the legwork and I’d get laid.

He got out of the Army and I didn’t hear from him for a few years.  When I did, I heard he was in the building across the street from the one that was blown up in Oklahoma.  He was cut up pretty badly from flying shards of glass and really hasn’t been right in the head since.  I think he went back into the military, although I’m not entirely sure.  I do know he ended up working for Blackwater for a few years and has turned into a badass.

Somehow, I’ve haven’t run into him since, although my friends have.  It might be for the best. I’m still kinda irritated at him for cockblocking me that one time.  Some things you just can’t forgive.

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Warlizard has just released his new book, “The Warlizard Chronicles: Adventures with Vodka, Women and War” with over 200 pages of hilarious and bawdy, stories, anecdotes and advice.

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