The Crystal Rainbow

By: Hank Horne
(© 2019 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

HHorne@tickiestories.us

Chapter 11
In the Warriors’ Words – Part I

The next day, Justin met with the veterans in the Residence Library to learn more about each one and how their experiences in the military were similar to other military men and how they handled their differences.  There were five veterans in each group to keep it more intimate and each had some time to share his story in the hour-long session.  Some of the other senior men at The Crystal Rainbow sat in with each group; Grant with Hassan attended the first morning session, and Jim sat in the second morning group; Majid with Dildar joined the third group after lunch, and Scotty with Harvey in the last afternoon discussion.

Group 1: 

Justin began each group with a bit about his tours of duty and how he kept up the charade of being straight.

“Nobody would ever suspect that I was gay at all.  I don’t really meet the stereotype.  I was good at my duties and a gay guy wouldn’t do the shit we had to do.  Hey, you’re a Marine.  You get all dirty and a pansy wouldn’t do that.  You don’t shower for weeks and live with dirt under your nails.  (In an effeminate tone) ‘Oooh, I can’t ruin my $50 manicure!’  (Laughter)   And if you’re gay, you’d have to shower by yourself so you didn’t pop a woodie with all those other hot naked studs around you. (More laughter and comments)  Although, if you’re going to hide, the Marines are a good place to hide.  Nobody, and I mean nobody is going to admit they’re fighting next to a fag.” (Continued laughter with applause)

“Tom, you’re Air Force, right?” Justin asked.

Tom, USAF

“Yessir.  Originally from Las Vegas.  How I would fit in was always in the back of my mind.  I was scared I’d slip up somewhere, sometime.  No matter how good a record I had, somebody could see something on Facebook or Twitter to give me away.  Or even see me out and about.  One word to the wrong people and my record would be down the chute.  A couple of my friends, both officers, were discovered.  There was a long, drawn out process for them once it was general knowledge.  With an enlisted gay man, it’s all over in about a week.  The paperwork is nothing.  ‘Sorry, son, you don’t meet standards.’ And you’re out on your ass.”

“Would you touch on the explosion?” Justin asked.

“Sure,” Tom replied.  “Five years ago, I was stationed at Ramstein Air Force Base in Kaiserslautern, Germany.  We had a Boeing VC-25A request emergency landing.  There were a bunch of Senators and Congressmen headed home from Bagdad.”

That got Grant’s attention.

“The pilots thought it was a fuel-line leak and wanted it checked out,” Tom continued.  “Every grease-monkey on base was assembled when they landed.  There must have been twenty-five of us waiting for the plane to land.  Baggage handlers unloaded their luggage and everyone on board was swept off to one of the VIP hotels.  Mitch and I huddled with the Flight Engineer to learn all we could about the warning signals.  We removed one of the panels to get to the fuel-line when it blew.  The panel hit Mitch full force in the face and the edge of it took my left arm off.  Mitch didn’t make it.  I was put on medical leave and eventually moved into an office.”

“When did you get your discharge?” Justin asked.

“That was a strange situation.  One of the Senators, a Senator from Maryland, I think it was, came to the hospital to see me before they left the next day.  He was very touchy-feely with me in the bed.”

“Oh, my god!” Grant muttered under his breath.  “Cal.”

“He told me to contact him when I could,” Tom went on.  “I didn’t think about that for maybe a year later.  One of the officers at Ramstein emailed me saying Senator Staunton had asked about me and wanted me to contact him.  After we talked a while on the phone, he said he got the feeling I wasn’t happy behind a desk.  He was right about that.  A month later, the paperwork came through giving me a full medical discharge with honors.  I still don’t understand it.”

“Tom,” Grant said.  “Senator Staunton is my godfather.  His son is my best friend.”

“Oh….  I wondered if he was gay,” Tom commented.

“He cares about young people who get a bum rap and if he can do anything to help them, he does something about it,” Grant replied.  “I’ll bring him up to date on your progress.”

“Thank you, Mr. Richards.”

“Tom, I’m Grant! Unfortunately, my dad ‘s not with us anymore.”

Tom smiled.  “Grant, thank you!”

“We’ll talk later,” Grant added.

“And for that error in judgement, your punishment will be to kiss his ass!” Hassan’s comment got laughs from everybody.

“Vaughn, how did everything go for you in the Coast Guard?” Justin asked.

Vaughn, USCG

“We had a great Captain,” Vaughn said.  “It was a pleasure to work under him.”

That phrasing got laughs from everyone in the room, much to the seaman’s chagrin.

“I’m from Astoria, Oregon.  I signed on when I finished college, my Naval Officer training and got an appointment.  President Clinton had just issued the Don’t Ask – Don’t Tell directive when I got assigned to my first ship.  The Commander held a meeting of everyone on board to discuss the ramifications of the directive.  There was this one Lieutenant JG who was well known as a whore-hound.  He would lay any cunt he could find and tell us about it.  When the Commander asked for questions, he raised his hand.  ‘So how do you get kicked off this boat for being a fag?’  The Commander look directly at him and said, ‘There’s only one way you can get off this ship for homosexual activity … Klinger! You bring me six Polaroid pictures with your identifiable face taking the six biggest dicks on board all the way down your throat!  Not just licking the tip but deep throating it.’”

Everyone in the room at the Residence went into convulsions of laughter.

“So every crewman on board started rubbing his crotch – and the guy turned all red,” Vaughn concluded.

“So what happened with Klinger?” someone asked.

“About six weeks later, he was off the ship and there were six very happy guys still on board.”

“Did you ever see the pictures?” someone else asked.

“Yeah, we did,” Vaughn replied.  The LJG who took the pictures took two sets – one set to give to the Commander and one set for himself.  There were some monster dicks on board and Klinger’s pictures looked like he enjoyed every one.  One of the men who got sucked off said he thought all those whores he bragged about were men and the pussy he talked about was man-pussy.”

“Maybe his man-pussy got used regularly too,” somebody commented and Vaughn agreed.

“After a weekend on the prowl, the guys in our unit would shoot the shit while chilling with an ice-cold beer,” the Coast Guardsman continued.  “What they had done, who they had laid over the weekend, how hot the chick was and how she wouldn’t suck or take it up the ass.  Some of the guys had found steady girls and enjoyed spending the weekend being very domestic in their apartments.  I would talk about ‘Jaimie.’  Jaimie and I would do things together and they would ask ‘Oh, how she’s doing?’ At times they would ask about our sex life, and I’d tell them, hey, it’s not really cool talking about my sex life with my future wife.  Then I’d ask, what if it was their fiancée we were talking about instead of just their current lay.  And they’d go, ‘Yeah! Okay.’ 

Justin asked him, “Vaughn, how did you lose your feet?”

“We were on a rescue mission in the Arctic Ocean several winters ago.  I spent too much time on the distressed boat in icy waters which froze my feet.  I didn’t realize anything was wrong until I tried to transfer back to our ship and couldn’t feel the floor under my feet or the ladder to get back on our icebreaker.  The medic started treatment immediately and radioed for MEDEVAC. By the time I got to Juneau, both feet were useless.  I spent the last two years as a desk-jockey.”

 “And people call us brownies!” Justin commented.  “Chad, you’re Navy, right?” he asked.

Chad, USN

“Yes, sir.  I’m from Cerritos, California.  I’ve always had the fear that people would find out about me and use it for leverage over me.  I’ve seen this happen to others – do this or I’ll put you on report!  There were a couple of people I worked with.  I really wanted to tell them because they were good friends.  I wanted to be a good friend too. I thought I could be a better friend with them if I could just be honest with them.”

“Tell us from your perspective how you lost your legs,” Justin urged.

“It was the morning of 12 October 2000,” Chad continued.  “We had just docked at a harbor in Yemen for a routine stop.  We completed our mooring about 0930 and began refueling an hour later.  Less than an hour after that, a small boat carrying explosives came alongside our port and exploded.”  He had to stop relating his story because of overwhelming emotion.

Everyone sat quietly and the men beside him put their arms around his shoulders.

“Sorry about that,” he said after a couple of minutes.  “I was below deck getting ready for lunch and a heavy serving bar landed on my legs.  I couldn’t move them.  Then I blacked out.  The next I remember I was being loaded onto a MEDEVAC and flown to a French military hospital in Djibouti.  My legs were gone before I was transferred to the Army’s Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany.  Ramstein.”

Chad had another pause before he spoke again.  “My two best friends both — both died that day.    Sorry.”

“Chad, I’m sorry to put you through that again.  But it tells the rest of us where you’re coming from.  Thank you for sharing with us and you know you have the full support of every man here!”  The other men nodded their heads or reached over to fist-bump him.  “Grayson, you’re a Southern boy - guy - no offense.  How did things go for you in the Army?”

Grayson, USA

Grayson chuckled.  “Yessir.  I’m from North Carolina, a town just south of Fayetteville in Cumberland County called Hope Mills.  I was excited about turnin’ eighteen so I could join up.  As soon as I graduated from high school, I went up to Fayetteville and signed all the paperwork.  After I got through Basic Training, I thought I’d like to be in one of the K-9 units ‘cause I had a big German Shepherd at home.  So I applied and they sent me over to the Persian Gulf to this little island country to train how to be a dog handler – the Army way.  I knew about takin’ care of dogs, but the Army always has their way.”

“There’s always the right way and then there’s the Army way!” Jim interjected.

“You got that right, sir!” Grayson continued, “I didn’t know about what really was going on in this unit, but I found out they had some history of corruption, hazing, harassment, gambling, drinking, drugs, and solicitation for sex.  I was raised a Christian and I just wasn’t interested in all that … stuff.”

“Go ahead and say it…Shit…with a capital S!” someone said.

“It didn’t have nothin’ to do with me being gay.  If you didn’t fit in, they’d say you was a fag or queer.  I didn’t deny it, I just ignored ‘em.  I didn’t stand up to them.  It was all of them against me, and it just got worse.  Simba sensed the change in me and he became more of a calming effect for me than a work dog.”

“Simba is the big Rhodesian Ridgeback?” Justin asked.

“Yessir,” Grayson continued.  “It’s interestin’ how I got to keep him.  They took him away from me and paired him up with a newbie who fit into their group.  The trouble was, Simba wouldn’t do anything for the new dude.  He just refused to follow any commands for anybody but me.  They were going to trade him out for another dog but I asked to see him before I left the camp.  His new handler brought him to see me on a leash.  He got half way across the field and saw me or smelled me, and he tore that leash out of the newbie’s hand and came tearing to me.  He knocked me down and was all over me, tail wagging, lickin’ my face and going crazy. I gave him a hand signal to sit and he sat immediately, tail waggin’ the whole time.”

The other men in the room cheered, and Grayson grinned big.

“I told those men I’d buy him and take him with me.  They agreed.  I asked how much and the Commander told me a thousand dollars – and a blow job for him.  I’d a done anything for Simba.  He kept me calm.”

“Did you blow him away?” Tom asked.

“You could say that.  I didn’t know at the time what it was called but I’d bring him almost to orgasm and then pull off him with some made up excuse.  Once I had a coughing spell, then a sneezing spell, then gasping for breath, and each time he’d be right on the edge.”

“Edging!” Vaughn said.

“You got it.  I thought he was going to go berserk before I let him come. I’d pinch and twist his nipples with my free hand.  I got tired of sucking so I pulled off as he was lettin’ loose with his load.”

“Good for you!” several men said.

“But that ain’t all.  Simba was beside me on a leash, with my arm through the loop.  I wasn’t going to let him go ‘cause they might have gone back on the deal.  So as the Commander was startin’ to shoot his load, Simba reached up and took his dick in his mouth and sucked out every drop!”

Everybody in the room was laughing, clapping, pretty much in hysterics.

“And he learned from you to do that!” Hassan commented.

“You just know it, sir,” the soldier said, grinning.

“Good for you!” Hassan added with two big thumbs up!

“Extra protein for him and no evidence to be found,” Grayson concluded.

“But you had already been diagnosed with PTSD,” Justin stated.

“That’s right, and I was already back in the states with Simba before the symptoms started to leave me and my medical discharge had been approved.”

“So, why did you accept our invitation to be here this week if you’re recovered?” Justin asked.

“Sir, I go everywhere I can to meet and talk with other gay men who’ve been in the military and let them know I’m ready and willing to help them get over the hell that being gay in the military can cause.”

Applause from all the guys in the room.

“I’ve already talked with most of the guys here this week and exchanged phone numbers, email addresses and postal addresses with them.  They’re free to contact me if they or any of their friends need to just talk or whatever.”

 “There’s hope for all of us!” Justin commented. “Thank you, Grayson, for your services, both then and now!  Colt, is that your given name or your nickname? And how did a Cornhusker get into the Marines?”  (Chuckle)

“Well, sir, we raised horses and I was always chasin’ the colts around so the nickname stuck.  One time, one of the little ones got mired in the mud during the rainy season and I pulled him out and carried him to solid land.  After that, I kept lifting at school for football and wrestling.  (Pause)  And … my full given name is … Warner Sherwood Fite.

“Riiight!  Warner Fite?” Justin dared to ask.

“Here?  Now?” Colt asked, as he raised his fists ready for a scrap, knowing Justin was messing with him.

“The wrestling mats are ready downstairs,” Grant offered.

“You’ve got wrestling mats here?” Colt asked in surprise.

“Just waiting for anyone who wants a match-up,” Grant replied.

“There are some more at the fitness center next to the Administrative Offices, and the grass behind the Lodge is almost limitless, until you get to the river,” Hassan added.

“One rule for using the mats — you wrestle nude … totally naked!” Grant clarified the rule.

“Wow!  You’ve got everything here, don’t you?” Colt asked.

Justin, Grant and Hassan nodded their heads.  “Everything we could ask for,” Justin replied. 

“I joined the Marines ‘cause if I was always going to be in a fight, I’d make it worthwhile,” Colt continued.  “One of the guys in school was from Iraq.  He had been fostered by a couple in our village.  We got to be friends because some of the guys would harass him because of his accent, his looks, his native language.  We had classes together and he’s a nice guy – we’re still friends.  So, one day, the crap he was always taking was too much for him and he started tearing up.  So, I stood up for him and dared the shithead bullies to be ready for a fight the next time they said anything to him.  We got to be good friends then and he taught me to speak Arabic. 

“So, when I enlisted in the Marine Corps, one of the questions I was asked was did I speak any other languages.  I told ‘em I knew a little Arabic and they went ape-shit.  After Basic, I figured they would ship me to the Middle East, which is exactly what they did, eventually.  I was given a crash course in the language, which was easy, and then deployed to Iraq as a Marine Corps Arabic linguist.  I thought, ‘Oh well, I won’t see much direct combat.’  I was attached to a non-offensive force, but soon enough my six-member team found ourselves in the midst of frequent rocket and mortar attacks.  There was one time when we under attack for five days in a row.

“After my second deployment to Iraq, I began to feel the … the trauma … of combat.  I’m still not totally comfortable with any type of siren, or shrieking, or whistling sound.  After a while, I tried to get some relaxation by travelling.  I didn’t realize how the unknowns of foreign countries would trigger anxiety — even social withdrawal.  I learned that this type of stress was common with PTSD victims.

“My sister and brother insisted that I go to the VA either down to Lincoln or up to Omaha.  They recognized the symptoms, so I went down to Lincoln.  It was closer and not as big a city.   My counselor was professional and good at telling me she understood, even though she couldn’t relate.  After a few weeks, my folks noticed the improvement, and after several months of therapy I was more like my old self.”

“Did your orientation come up in the therapy sessions?” Justin asked.

Colt laughed.  “Funny how that happened.  She was so great in the way she passed over that issue.  In the first session with her, she let me know that she was only interested in my symptoms.  The symptoms could belong to anybody – man, woman, black, white, Native American, Asian, straight, gay, bi, big tough Marine, Army nurse or pencil-pusher.  She was going to work with me.”

That brought a round of applause and encouraging comments from the group.

“So now, all I need is another big Marine to take me on for some weaponless exercises.  Anyone willing?” Colt asked, looking Justin directly in the eyes.

“I’ll check my schedule and see when I have a few minutes to whip some Marine ass!” Justin replied, returning the stare.

“Oooh!”  “Fight!  Fight!  Fight!” “I heard that!”  The comments went around the room.

“Okay, boys!” Grant said.  “We’ll schedule that later.  Anything else for this group?”

Everyone shook hands and hugged each other before they left.  Colt and Justin put a little extra test of strength in their bear hugs by trying to push-me-pull-you the other off balance which was unsuccessful, and then a friendly kiss.

After everyone left the session, Hassan followed Grant up to his office and closed the door behind them.  Grant took his seat behind his desk and Hassan sat across from him.

“So, what can I do for you today, Mr. Hassan?” Grant asked.

“There is something I’d like to talk with you, Majid, and Justin about, maybe tonight when everybody is at the Club.  An idea came to me during the get-together downstairs and I’d like to see what you all think about it.”

“Any clues?” Grant pressed.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to share it with the three of you together, because I’m sure Jamal and Aman have already read my mind,” Hassan replied.

“And they don’t have your permission to spill the beans!”

“Not that they wouldn’t if you insisted,” Hassan retorted.

“True.  So I won’t insist if you prefer to inform all of us at the same time.”

“Thank you.  And thank you for letting me sit in on the group this morning,” Hassan said as he arose to leave.

“Glad you enjoyed it!” Grant replied.  “You can kiss my ass – later!”

Hassan turned and blew a kiss to Grant, then walked out the door.

* * * * * * *

Group 2:

In the next group session, Jim sat in with Justin for the discussion.  Justin started off to set the tone of the conversation which included Chuck, Army; José, Navy; Brandon, Coast Guard; Dan, Marine Corps; and Jon, Air Force.

Chuck, USA

“My name is Chuck. I am an American Soldier from Scottsdale, Arizona, and I have PTSD. I refused to admit it to myself even when the Army doctors told me I had it in 2000. I refused to talk to anyone about it even when Army health professionals told me I needed to in 2001. I was afraid how Army leadership would react if I had that on my record. I was a Soldier, I just needed to tough it out.  And tough it out I did  —  until one day in May of 2004, nearly three years after I left the battleground.

“I don’t know what triggered the onset.  Maybe it was all the faces of all the wives, husbands, children who’s faces I remembered from telling them their father, their mother, their loved one wouldn’t be coming home again.  Maybe because it was the same time of the year when my uniform was covered with a seven-year-old Iraqi boy’s blood who was hit by an IED. 

“One evening, I felt like I was having a heart attack.  I would have gone to the ER, but I was a Soldier and would fight through it.  The next morning the chest pains started again.  I needed a medic or a doctor.  To me, a heart attack would be honorable for a tough guy but PTSD wasn’t!  I may have been away from the battleground, but I brought the war home with me.  I developed a close relationship with Jim and Jack. 

“Maybe you know them better as Mr. Beam and Mr. Daniels.”

There were ironic chuckles around the group, and all during Chuck’s story, José was nodding his head, understanding fully what Chuck had dealt with.

José, USN

 “The home that I came back to was nothing like the one I left,” he said.  “No one in my family was the same to me.  Something was missing in me and I couldn’t talk to anybody about it.  I’m José from Fresno, California, and I served in the Navy.  I’ve looked for other men who might have experienced similar experiences, and could feel the way I did.  There are many of them out there and while their experiences were rather different, the one thing we had in common was that — we were different — inside.  Not just being gay, but different from the way we were before.  We felt alone, trapped in our memories.  Sometimes we tried to ignore them, but that didn’t work.  We could only watch as the suicides went up.”

“They’re still going up!” Chuck interjected.

Brandon, USCG

“The Military leaders are trying to change the trend and they’re having some success.  There was a time when I wondered if my family would have been better off without me.  I was reluctant to get help for the way I felt, partly because I’m gay, and the Coast Guard could use that and my PTSD to target me.  I was actually afraid to get the help I needed.  Afraid they would find a PTSD gene, or … or something, and I’d be declared genetically dysfunctional.  I want to go home again, to the home I knew before.”

“Thank you, Brandon, José, Chuck,” Justin said.  “Hopefully, you will be able to go home, the home you knew before your life blew up in your face, before very long.  Dan, my brother Marine, how did you lose the legs that kept you ahead of the Brooklyn cops who were chasing all the time you were growing up?

Dan, USMC

Dan chuckled.  “In July 2002, I was on a reconnaissance mission in an explosives factory in Afghanistan when enemy bullets started flying.  While I was trying to get my unit to safety, I stepped on an IED that shot me into the air.  Blood formed under me, and my legs were mangled.  My guys put me in a helicopter that took me to the nearest field hospital. Medical staff put an oxygen mask on me and sedated me. I don’t remember anything that happened after that.

“Eight days later, I woke up in Navy Med. in Bethesda (MD). Both my legs had been amputated. I also lost part of my right forearm.  The way I see it now, it was more than just a bad day at work.  I spent months in a hospital bed without being able to do anything on my own.