58 comments/ 100353 views/ 15 favorites Deployed, Tattooed, Transformed Ch. 01 By: sophist801 Note: This is my first submission to Literotica and is the first chapter of three. There is little sex in this first chapter. The focus is more upon the main character's discovery that his wife, while he was in a combat zone, gave birth to a child not his. * They say the only thing we can count on in our lives is change. Our life continues to evolve, change, transform, grow and move in directions we often cannot understand. I think it is often best we don't understand because our minds and hearts may never be able to reconcile what we hear and see with the emotions that have the power to make us do things we would never ever consider. For me, the last eighteen months had been a nightmare, a struggle for constant survival, literally. As a veteran of the Afghan and Iraqi conflicts I'd seen my share of blood and guts. I'd seen civilians dismembered by flying shrapnel and watched as fellow soldiers died cowardly (yet with honor) deaths at the hands of road side bombers and mid-night sniper attacks. I had endured 8 months of my second tour of duty and was finally being sent home, mainly because I'd been shot myself. Nothing serious, but enough for the Command to say it was time to go home. Yes I'm married to a most wonderful woman . . . married 16 years with one 14 year old daughter. So, I was looking forward to a home cooked meal and sleeping in my own bed with the woman I loved. As soon as I had my orders I sent an email to Jane (my wife) to let her know when I would be arriving. Her reply was "Paul, It's about time big boy! I've missed you so, so much! Janice (my 13 year old daughter) and I are already planning your homecoming party. Love you so much, Karen." My injury was a thigh flesh wound caused by a single bullet fired by a young man who, as it turned out, was drunk and angry with they fact he couldn't get medical care for his wife. In all my time in combat I'd been so careful so it was with some embarrassment that a drunk, angry Afghan would be the one to actually tag me. Sure to her word, Karen had planned a wonderful homecoming party. Friends and family turned out to welcome me home with and afternoon and evening of barbecue, beer and a local band. It was an absolutely wonderful way to come home. It wasn't until that first night at home that I got some idea of how things had changed. Karen was as loving and energetic in bed as I remembered. It was clear to me she made love to me with everything she had to give. The first thing I noticed that had changed was the fact she had cut her hair short and died it black. It looked good. It was the kind of haircut that accentuated her long lovely neck. The second thing I noticed was a single tattoo at the base of her skull, probably the reason she had cut her hair short was to let the world see the tattoo. I was again impressed mainly because the tattoo was the initials PMJ. The initials were done in a sweeping calligraphy style so they appeared tasteful and not clearly identifiable unless you looked closely. My full name is Paul Michael Johannsen. "I will always be yours and I wanted to do something that told the world how much I loved you." That was all she said as she through her arms around me as we embraced in the San Francisco Airport terminal. It was a wonderful gift. I felt like the luckiest man in the world and believed Karen was the absolute perfect woman for me. Following the welcome home party I needed to report to a doctor for follow-up care. Since Karen and I had bought a home in West Sacramento (to be close to family and friends we had grown up with). It was not a big deal. Since we had always gone to Dr. Wayne Lee it was easy to get an appointment to see him the day after I'd been Stateside. Karen dropped me off at the doctor's office then did a little grocery shopping, saying she would pick me up in about an hour. So I settled in to wait for Dr. Lee's medical assistant to call me. "Hello Captain Johannsen." Dr. Lee greeted me formally but with a smile saying it was good to see me. "It's now Major. And it's good to see you Doctor." "Well congratulations on your promotion! So what brings you to me after all these years?" "The Army has ordered me to get a wound checked and I was too lazy to make the drive to McClellan to see a military doctor. Besides, you always took good care of us." He'd been our family doctor for years and was a family preference. "Very good." So Dr. Lee listened to my heart, checked the wound that had almost completely healed and ordered blood work. He was being his typical thorough self. "Nothing out of the ordinary. You are in very good shape and the wound is healing nicely." I was getting off the exam table and putting on my shoes when he asked: "By the way, how is the little one?" The little one? I immediately assumed he was talking about my daughter, Janice. "Janice is doing well. She and her mother welcomed me home in style and she is getting good grades in school. I'm a proud father, for sure." "Not Janice, Paul Junior." I did not know a Paul Junior. "The baby that Jane brought into this world six months ago." Six months "ago" I was in Afghanistan and knew nothing about a Paul Junior and I was sure this was a mistake on Dr. Lee's part. "Dr. Lee. I don't have a son. Are you mistaking this Paul Jr. with another patient?" His look was one of astonishment. Then it was clear he was fearful he might have breached confidentiality laws by asking what he thought was an innocent question. "You can confirm that Jane gave birth to a baby boy six months ago?" My friendly banter was now serious and carried with it intensity, military focus intensity. I stood straight, pulled my shoulders back and assumed a rigid military stance that said "don't fucking give me any bull shit!" It is always interesting to watch people's reactions when a man in camouflage, body armor and is armed with an M16 confronts them. It can be menacing as hell. I was assuming that kind of stance. "Look, Paul, I may have misspoken . . ." Dr. Lee was trying to back-track as he realized he may have said something that was causing me great emotional stress. "Dr. Lee, tell me what happened, now." Whether it was fear I would strangle him if he didn't tell me what had happened or realization that I would get the information another way, he began to explain what had happened "Just a moment . . ." he said as he electronically pulled up my wife's records. All of his exam rooms were equipped with computers. "I want to make sure I am, in fact giving you information about your wife Jane. Then you need to understand you did not get this information from me, OK?" I understood completely. "Agreed." I had no reason to doubt Dr. Lee's word. Once he had Jane's electronic medical record he was able to confirm that Jane did give birth to a baby boy on June 16, 2009. (It is November 28, 2009) The boy was healthy, born via natural child birth and named Paul Michael Johannsen, Jr. Jane was referred to a Pediatrician, Dr. Kimberly Smith. Dr. Lee had not seen Jane since then and had no other information to share. I could not talk to Jane when she picked me up an hour later. I was in a state of shock and had not had time to digest the information that now was meant to be buried with some clandestine relationship I was assumed she had when, shit, when I was still her, just before being deployed to Afghanistan. If she'd been having an affair before I went into combat this last time I had not suspected a thing. Had I been so dim-witted and in love that I suspected nothing? "Paul, is everything OK? What did the doctor say?" I was not going to be good company for awhile, at least not until I had more information and had heard the story from Jane. "Everything's OK." Was all I said lying like I'd never lied before. It had always been difficult for me to lie to my wife so I don't even try. Bottom line Jane would know something was bothering me. I thought it interesting that I discovered this little bit of information so quickly upon my return. If I'd never been shot I'd still be in Afghanistan, I would not have needed to see Dr. Lee (which was a formality anyway) and I would probably go through the rest of my life dumb and happy. Shit, what I would give to be dumb and happy, again! Jane did not press me. If she was worried about me she held her tongue. I've never been prone to mood swings so I was going to have to address the "intel" (slang for intelligence information, often gathered covertly and often unreliable) I'd just received. Would she voluntarily share this information? No, probably not. Putting myself in her shoes I believe I'd bury the affair (or whatever the hell it had been) as deep as possible as quickly as possible then pray everything worked out. As we walked into the house I realized my daughter must also know of the child! The thought smacked me like an exploding grenade. Jane must have sworn Janice to secrecy (so to speak) knowing this knowledge would devastate me. This assessment was dead on. But to ask my daughter to be complicit in the cover-up, in hiding her affair and the baby, a baby that bore my name, made me instantly begin to seethe. My brow furrowed and my teeth were set tight to the point where my jaw was beginning to ache. My head felt like it was in a vice grip and there was no way to get loose. "Hi Dad!" Janice stuck out her hand to me, to shake my hand, as I walked into the house. Over the years shaking hands had become a special way for my daughter and I to greet one another. Neither Janice nor I had ever been too demonstrative when it came to affection. Hugs and kisses were rare. But the handshake was special to our father-daughter relationship. I just looked at her outstretched had, shook my head and walked into the bedroom. "Dad! What did I do now!?" I did not answer her as I retrieved a black magic marker from my desk. Yes, I was beginning to let my emotions, usually under control and reserved to tactical decisions, get the better of me. On the bedroom window that looked out onto our backyard and the small in-ground waterfall I wrote "June 16, 2009 PMJ". Then I walked into the master bathroom and wrote the same date, "June 16, 2009 PMJ". With the magic maker in hand, the cap tossed aside, I wrote the date on the wall above our bed in foot high scroll so it would not be missed. If the date was going to be forever imprinted on my mind, like a cancer, Jane and Janice were going to see it as well. There would never be any secretes between us again, that is if there was some remote chance there was a family to even worry about. By the time I made it into the kitchen my daughter, Janice, had disappeared into her bedroom. I could hear her crying as I walked by her closed door. "What's going on Paul!? You are acting weird, like you are suffering from PTSD!" In a way I was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder and it had nothing to do with being shot or seeing other people senselessly die. I thought it ironic that I'd been able to witness the violent and often senseless deaths of fellow soldiers but had "lost it" when it came to my wife's act of baby-making betrayal. I did not answer her, instead wrote the date on the mirror that hung above the fireplace as I continued to deliver the message that I knew and that a shit storm was coming. Jane had turned to start putting groceries away, obviously angry because I'd somehow done something to hurt our daughter. She was slamming cupboards open and shut, giving in to her own frustration at not knowing what was going on with me. Her cupboard slamming would soon be over. I then left the living room and wrote the date and initials on the dining room wall above the piano and then again on the wall outside of my daughter's room. As soon as Janice walked out of her bedroom she would know why I was so upset. This little tantrum of mine lasted not more than a few minutes. The house was marked and I was ready to go someplace and let Jane and Janice deal with the fact that I knew of the baby's birth. I tossed the magic marker onto the living room couch as I walked by. It would leave black marks on the near-white upholstery. I didn't care, it would leave a "mark" that would simply remind Jane and Janice of their conspiracy, so to speak. Knowing Jane had a baby, while I was gone, was a source of stigma for our family. Christ was marked with the stigmata but he bore his mark with love, pride and forgiveness. After all he was dying for our sins, a very noble death. There was nothing noble or honorable about what happened on June 16, 2009. For a moment I shook off a brief smile as I realized the baby, Paul Michael Johansson, Jr. was truly innocent. "No! Oh my God no!" The cry that came from Jane and the crash of glass hitting the floor told me she'd seen my "stigmata", my marking of the date on mirrors and walls so no one could hide the fact that something clandestine and sinister had finally caught up with the Johansson family. I tried to convince myself that I no longer cared about Jane and Janice but could not lie to myself. I was at a place where I loved and hated them with a fervent passion that could tear me apart, if I let it. I was not going to face them on their terms in the environment where they had tried to hide behind a wall of concealment. Within a half hour my duffle was packed and I'd loaded Jane's Volvo with all the gear I would need for a long deployment. (Being deployed so much lately I decided we did not need a second car so I was taking Jane's vehicle.) My daughter stayed in her bedroom the entire time I packed, thinking I was upset with her for some unknown reason. As I walked out of the house, now dressed in camouflage, I was proud to be of service to my country and would take refuge in the comradery the military afforded. Jane was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, her head resting against the refrigerator. I couldn't tell if she was alright, if she was crying or not. I just walked out of my home leaving the two most important people in my life. Being a Major in the military meant I would always have options and places I could be deployed, places far from West Sacramento, Janice and Jane. I had come home thinking I was home for good only to discover a battle (at least a battle that had hold of my mind and heart) more intense than the land mines and terrorist attacks of Afghanistan had swept through my life. Deployed, Tattooed, Transformed Ch. 02 It was almost four weeks before my new orders came through. The US Army was sending me to Germany. I really didn't care where they sent me; I just wanted to get as far away from my wife and daughter as possible. I know it sounds cold and harsh to not want anything to do with what should be the most important people in your life but I did not feel personally equipped or trained to deal with the emotional "stuff". I was trained to destroy an enemy with minimum casualties and adept at military science. But most importantly I am accustomed to being in command and giving orders. My short-notice re-assignment was a verbal request made to a close friend in Washington who held due influence and could make it happen. I didn't really care where I was sent, so long as it was someplace outside of the Continental United States. Heidelberg was a cushy assignment that allowed me (as an officer) to live on the economy (not on Base). When I left West Sacramento I knew it would be difficult, but not impossible, for Jane to get in touch with me. Hell, the military always knew where I was and knew any correspondence would be forwarded to wherever I happened to be. I could tell family I was back in Iraq and would still receive mail in Germany. I really had nothing to hide I just wanted to hide, to escape the personal sense of shame and humiliation. I was a proud man and would not talk to anyone about my discovery, about the child Jane had brought into this world. The only thing I did was work, exercise and suck-down warm German beer to help me sleep at night. It did occur to me that Janice and Jane were probably struggling as well but I was too caught up in my own pain to think of them. So I'd been in Heidelberg a little more than a month when the letter arrived from Jane. It was a long letter and included divorce papers. At first I was a little angry she would have the gall to actually serve me with divorce papers then realized that it probably was the only way for us to move on with our lives. We had stopped being a family and I'd made it almost impossible for us to sit down and "talk". Jane was citing irreconcilable differences and asked for nothing except support for Janice until she was 18. Her letter explained, in detail, her very brief affair with a man she worked with. Yes, she was sorry and regretted the affair especially since she became pregnant. She was in a quandary because she could not be sure who the father was. Either way she had the child and gave him my name at birth. If I had not been deployed Jane would never have been able to conceal the pregnancy. When she learned the baby was not mine, she gave the child up for adoption and had herself tattooed with my initials for everyone to see. She'd gotten tattooed to reinforce her commitment to me? I guess there is logic there but when I first read this it was hard for me to understand or accept. Getting my initials tattooed to her body was, as Jane explained it, a constant reminder of who she loved and belonged to. But now that she was asking for a divorce would she now let her hair grow long to cover the tattoo (which was on the back of her neck)? Would she have the tattoo removed rather than face the shame that now would follow? Why was I ruminating about her shame and guilt inspired tattoo? Being in Germany did not make it possible for me to talk to her (something I had avoided by putting and ocean and continent between us) about anything, let alone her tattoo. So why should I even care what she did or didn't do about her tattoo?! These were rhetorical questions more than anything else. I was, after all, trying to convince myself I no longer cared what Jane did. I read her letter wondering how someone could, out of guilt and love; mark their bodies in such a manner. Then again I would never have expected her to have an affair, even if it was an in-the-moment-giving-in to some sense of weakness. I reasoned with myself I have a couple of tattoos that were reminders of fallen friends and military conflicts. I would never be able to forget, nor did I want to forget. Was there really any difference between her tattoo and mine? She'd marked herself making sure, as things turned out with a permanency (more than the magic marker tirade). Now both of us would never forget what she had done! But now that I knew why she'd gotten the tattoo there was no reason to hide anything. God, this was a mind-fuck situation I could not fully get my head around. Give me the regimen of command and combat! Give me an enemy who carried an AK47 that I could stop with deadly force and I would be able to retreat and sleep that night. As a mother who cared about Janice and something called family, her motivation to get the tattoo was not much different than a combat veteran's tattoo. The big difference was that Jane's tattoo was motivated by shame. My tattoos were motivated by a desire to remember the dead. Yes, something between us had died! Was her tattoo nothing more than a way to remember what had died? Holding her letter and the divorce papers in my hand I quickly located another black magic marker in the bottom of my ruck sac (same magic marker?) and wrote across the divorce papers. "June 16, 2009. Can't hide from it but can't live with something I don't understand. No divorce until resolved. Paul." Then I sent the papers back to Jane. It was my first real attempt to understand and seek a solution. For a moment I thought returning the papers might give her hope . . . frustrate her . . . leave her in a state of purgatory . . .or send the message that you can't go through life shrugging your responsibility and covering up the dog shit. Dog shit stinks too much, especially since you've walked in it. Figuratively I'd stepped in it and had not cleaned off my boots. It also occurred to me that there really was little hope for us, for our marriage, for our family. I still needed resolution and divorce was not the only resolution. I also needed more information and felt ready to hear it. Besides, refusing to sign the divorce papers would further punish Jane. I was not going to do things on her terms. I needed to think I was, somehow, in control. After all I had not been able to control Jane sleeping with someone else but I could control what I did or didn't do Yes, yes I gave her my current address but said little else. I was keeping busy on Base, doing insignificant shuffling of paper behind a giant oak desk. I had evenings and weekends free to explore Heidelberg. At night I found refuge working out or cruising the red light district. I learned that I was more of a voyeur and was too paranoid about catching a disease, even with condom use, to "sleep" with a prostitute. No one sleeps with a prostitute. Prostitutes are there to relieve tension, to fuck, to walk away from without any need to feel or be responsible to anyone. I also realized I was still married and had not agreed to a divorce. There was no way to rationalize the reality other than to remain faithful to Jane. So, I found substitute affection in bars and coffee shops, always staying true to who I was and maintained values that went beyond one night stands. Occasionally, after working out at the base gym I would indulge myself with a wonderful massage letting myself get lost in the anonymous hands and fingers of a pretty Frauline. For a few extra Euros the Frauline would use her hands to give me much needed sexual release. When that happened I'd leave the massage parlor feeling anything but satisfied or relieved. Hand jobs have only one goal, ejaculation. I also discovered the on-line world of German pornography. On line surfing of German web sites was like being in a candy store and not able to make any choices (because the availability of candy was too diverse and plentiful!) There was also the fact I'd never used a computer for prurient reasons or for some sad sense of personal gratification, which wasn't gratifying at all! For several lonely hours at a time I'd find myself rubbing the skin off of my foreskin while developing an ache in my right hand as I'd continual click-and-scroll the wireless mouse, my guide to a world that seemed limitless. Eventually I would find a site that was free and featured mature woman in various stages of masturbation or carnal coupling, sometimes this site was a live webcam that allowed me to feed my voyeuristic need. The internet became nothing more than a way to find stimulus for late evening periods of masturbation. I would find myself unable to remain with one particular flash video or image to allow me to concentrate long enough to cum. I usually ended up going to sleep out of sheer exhaustion rather than from the release of endorphins that were supposed to ease my male brain into sleep. What was the bottom line? I missed Jane and the comfort of her loving arms, her sensuous mouth and the way she would warm her cold feet on my legs as we'd go to sleep at night. The thought of how she once comforted me evaporated when I pictured her with another man and then giving birth to a child not mine. When these thoughts invaded my regimented mind I'd quickly lose interest in even the best of the German porn sites. It was almost three weeks since I'd sent back the unsigned divorce papers, my brief note scribbled across the letter she'd sent me. It was late in the evening and I was on my way back to my flat after working out late into the evening then stopping for dinner at the Base Officer's Club. Usually I stopped at the Club for lunch but had decided to splurge and have a State-side style steak with a bake potato smothered in sour cream and butter. It was a cold night and I was feeling especially lonely. The Club provided me with the illusion of being in the States and I would be surrounded by like Americans. Don't get me wrong, GIs know loneliness comes with the job and that this isolation places strains on loved ones as well. It was the sense that there is someone waiting for them, a girlfriend, wife, mother or father who waited for them, sent those emails and letters and gave them hope for the day they returned. Take away the hope and you have a soldier who has nothing to live for except that very moment. What riled me most about Jane's indiscretion was the fact I was stateside when she conceived. Living on the economy also meant I usually did not get back to my flat until quite late in the evening, which suited me. After all there was no one I needed to go home to, right? My cell phone was turned off, something I'd gotten in the habit of doing so military-related contacts could not interrupt my evenings. If I'd left my cell phone on one Thursday evening I would have gotten the message Jane was in Heidelberg and on her way to my flat. Not being in any hurry to get back to my flat I walked in the chilly January night thinking, reminiscing, and basically wondering how this was going to "play out". It was dark on the doorstep to my flat. It was very dark and very cold. Only distant light from the Helga Strasse (not the actual street in Heidelberg) gave me guidance. It was so dark that, unless you knew the flat number, it would be very difficult to find but was possible with the aid of a flashlight, a little luck or the guidance of a friendly citizen who knew I was the only American living in the neighborhood. "Paul?" To say I was startled by the voice in the dark is an understatement. I almost stepped on her as I keyed the door lock. "Paul, is that you?" If I'd lost my eyesight I would have recognized Jane's voice anyplace. And if she hadn't said a word I would have recognized the way she smelled . . . and at that moment she smelled like she needed a bath' as well. I'd also gotten used to the European practice of not using deodorant, the way many obsessive Americans do, so it was not an odor that was un-appealing. "Jane?" Dumb question, I knew it was her immediately. "Yes . . . I tried calling . . ." "But my cell phone was off, I know. Come in, you must be cold." It was awkward having her suddenly show up on my doorstep. I wasn't sure I was ready to talk to her, to hear what she had to say. But then there was probably no good time for such a conversation and no way to ever be fully prepared. I put water on to boil to make, took her coat and took a minute to look at her, to really look at Jane. She'd lost weight, probably 15-20 pounds and looked exhausted. Her hair was matted on one side as if she'd slept on it. She wore a black turtle neck that clung to her skinny (skinny, for me is less desirable than slender) frame like a glove. She also wore a long scarf to cover her ears and neck. Her black jeans hung loose on her body, jeans that, at one time clung to shapely hips and ass. The overall impression was of a woman who was lost and in mourning. It also occurred to me she might have worked extra hard at getting her pre-baby body back to where it was before I was deployed and had lost more weight than intended. "It is good to see you Paul." I just smiled in response. It was a sad smile, as was hers. "There is so much I need to talk to you about. So much. And I'm afraid you will . . . " "Jane, we can talk tomorrow. For now, relax, enjoy the tea and get warm. OK?" I think I was trying to reassure her but realized that was not going to be an easy thing to do. I also needed a little time to regroup and make sure I was, so-to-speak, in command. I needed to be in control of my lived-in world. "Tomorrow is Friday and I need to work but will be home after 1600 hours. We will have the weekend to get caught up and figure out where we go from here. Sound OK?" I really did not want to engage in an emotionally charged discussion until I'd slept. I was more afraid of saying something I'd regret later. "Yes, that will work. Sorry . . . "After drinking half of the cup of tea I insisted she sleep in the only bed, a twin bed, in the only bedroom. I tried sleeping on the lumpy soft couch that came with the flat and ended tossing a sleeping bag down to sleep on the living room floor. During the night something unexpected happened as I tossed and turned on the floor. Loving hands and a hungry mouth told me Jane had pulled back the wool blanket and was proceeding to lovingly kiss and lick me to life. It was fellatio at its best, even if the lights were out and we were concealed by the black silence of the night. It did not take much for me to orgasm, something I had not been able to accomplish through internet-stimulated sessions of masturbation. I did not reciprocate or return any kind of affection. Until there was some sense of resolution I was not going to convey the message that things were "all right". I must have quickly fallen back to sleep, letting the endorphins engulf my being. I did not remember dreaming or feel Jane's return to the single twin bed. But for the first time in several months I fell into a deep restful sleep, on the floor. I was gone long before Jane was up Friday morning. She had just gotten out of bed and showered when I got home at 1620 hours. Seeing her with a towel wrapped around her only confirmed how much weight Jane had lost. What had happened to the love we once had or was it just lurking there, waiting for the door to be re-opened? We didn't begin our talk until we'd had a meal and were sitting at a little café I frequented. The coffee and pastries (since Jane had just woken from her own exhausted sleep breakfast food appealed to her more than a heavy evening meal) were very good and I was always left alone to read a paper, think, to let my what-if thoughts to wonder. Now Jane was with me and the what-if what-happened thoughts would surface for mutual discussion and revelation. "What happened Jane? What went wrong?" I didn't need to say anything else, we both knew it was time to tackle the elephant that occupied all of our conscious moments. "Remember Stan Cramer? He was the shipping manager who I worked with?" I nodded I did remember him. Nice guy even if he was a little frail and mousey. "Remember when I worked late a couple of Fridays back in October, 2008? That was when you went on maneuvers, maneuvers that were in preparation for your deployment?" I did remember. They weren't really maneuvers, but Jane never needed to know that. I'd caught a flight to Fort Knox (Kentucky) to be briefed regarding the Afghanistan arena. I also remember that when I returned before actual deployment Jane was insatiable in the bedroom. Now I understood why she was so insatiable. The sex, as I remembered, was absolutely wonderful! Occasionally she would surprise me, usually after Janice was off with her friends, and provide mind-blowing sex, sex that is possible only when two people love each other. I also remembered she'd done everything possible to make sure I ejaculated inside of her. She would start out providing me with a wonderful blow job then, as if sensing I was about to cum, hurriedly get on top of me to insure my seed was deposited deep within her. I never complained because I always believed vaginal sex that leads to a mutual orgasm is the most fulfilling and complete form of sharing. I nodded indicating I remembered when she had worked late. "Well it happened the second late Friday, when you were in Kentucky and found myself working with Stan. " She could have stopped the story here and I would have had more than enough information. "We went out for a drink after work. Stan, as you remember was going through a divorce, was living alone and frequently gave in to a deep depression." I did not like or respect this form of discussion. To use your depressed state as an excuse to get into someone's pants, married or not, is the act of someone who has the scruples of a puissant. You could almost predict the outcome before she even finished speaking, which did not make hearing her story any easier to hear. "That evening he began talking about suicide." If he was, in fact responsible for getting Jane pregnant, suicide would have been the honorable thing for him to do. Even if he'd been suicidal there was no respect in what he'd done or what Jane had let happen. Not knowing much about the medical nature of depression I was momentarily concerned the child, Paul Jr, might be prone to depression at a later date in his life, especially if the child did not have a living structure that was caring. The child could easily go through life feeling abandoned and rejected. Would the child grow up with a poor sense of self-worth? "He had a plan as to how he would kill himself and it scared me. I did not want him to be alone. I tried to get him to see a psychiatrist, to get help, but he insisted he would be OK if I just stayed with him for awhile. Please understand, this is not an excuse for what I did with Stan it is just a description of what happened, of what was going through my mind at the time . . . the sex itself I cannot even remember, it was so unremarkable." For me, it still did not excuse the fact she'd let another man have access to her body and then impregnated her! After all was it worth all the time carrying another man's baby? I had to admit to myself I understood why she did not abort especially if she thought the child was mine. "Then you got home from Kentucky two days later, and, well, I did everything possible to make you happy, to have your seed flood my very being. It was also a time I realized I loved you beyond reason. It was odd how that worked; a single transgression was all it took for me to realize there was no one else I wanted in my life and that I would never let another man seduce me." Jane was looking at the pools within pools of her coffee, not drinking, using the liquid to warm her hands more than anything else. Watching her I realized I still loved her dearly but was grappling with my male pride. "To formalize my commitment to you, as strange as this may sound, I went out and had your initials tattooed to the back of my neck. It was the tattoo artist who suggested I cut my hair short so everyone could see the tattoo, see my commitment to you. Yes, I know the act was motivated by shame and guilt. But the love made it possible for me to have such a permanent commitment inscribed on my body." I just listened. There would be plenty of time to ask the little inconsequential questions later. I was also a little surprised at how calm I seemed to be. Deployed, Tattooed, Transformed Ch. 02 "Then the nightmare of all nightmares occurred. I was gaining weight and had missed my period, twice. By then you had been deployed leaving me alone with the sinking thought that the baby might not be yours!" Jane lifted her head to look at, letting me see the circles under her eyes and the redness from spending too much time crying. "The nightmare was magnified when I realized the baby had a good chance of being yours! But you know why I was so frightened, don't you?" I nodded my head yes as I understood exactly why she was fearful. Stan has jet black hair, olive skin and Italian features. I am tall, blond haired and blue eyed. The likeliness the baby would look enough like me for me not to question things made it impossible for Jane to risk losing me. "Jane, the one thing that has caused me many a sleepless nights is how you managed to get Janice to stay quiet, to support what you did?" Jane took a deep breath before speaking then took a sip of her now cold coffee before looking at me. "I knew I could not hide being pregnant from Janice. At the same time I did not want you to know I was pregnant until I could confirm the baby was or wasn't yours. So I bit my lip and confessed everything to Janice, my affair, being pregnant, and not knowing what to do." So Janice had known all of the truth from the beginning. It still angered me that Jane would share this with Janice and not me! We had always been so open with each other! "It was Janice who suggested we not say anything to you until we saw the baby, until we knew it was ours. Janice was the one who pointed out that it would be too painful for you if the baby wasn't yours! And being in such an emotional state, needing as much support as possible, I accepted Janice's pledge to never reveal the truth to you. Janice, from the beginning was thinking about you first and about how to save our marriage." In retrospect letting a child bear that kind of responsibility, to harbor that kind of secrete, is far too much to let a child assume. I now knew she did what she did out of love and a sense of needing to protect me. I found this thought ironic because protecting people is what my job is all about! My daughter really was, my daughter, and one day may make a very good officer. How could a father not be proud of such a child? "You do realize you risked everything to hide this from me?" I was looking into her frail looking blood-shot eyes. "Yes, I know that now . . . I know that now." She was almost whispering. It was, of course too late to go back and simply be honest and up front with me. "And Janice? How is she now?" My question evoked even more deep-seated pain. For a minute I thought Jane was going to fall apart all together. "Janice is the big reason I decided I needed to make this trip, to talk to you, to confess and let you know we both love you so much." She paused to catch her breath before continuing. "A few weeks ago I took her to see a psychiatrist who put her on medications, mood stabilizers and anti-depressants. Janice blames herself for everything that has happened. She thinks that, because it was her idea to keep things from you that she caused you to leave. No fourteen year-old should bear this kind of responsibility and guilt, especially for my mistakes. No matter what the psychiatrist or I tell her, she continues to blame herself." Now I realized how devastating my leaving had been for my daughter! At the same time my family had not shared this information with me! "Where is she now?" My question was meant to be concrete. I wanted to know the physical location of my daughter. "Huh?" "Where is Janice now, this moment?" My question was not a trick question. "Probably asleep . . . it is early morning in California . . ." "Is she at home alone?" "Yes, no, I mean she is at home but Mrs. Jackson is staying with her." Mrs. Jackson is the neighbor woman who had befriended Jane when we'd moved into the neighborhood. "Janice, I am going to call home to talk to Janice. OK?" She just shook her head as she let the tears fall freely. "Then we are going to arrange for you and Janice to join me here in Heidelberg. Janice can go to school on base or attend a German school on the economy." "What did you just say?" Her question had the I-don't-believe-what-I'm hearing tone to it. "You and Janice are moving to Heidelberg as soon as possible." Janice was stunned. "I don't know if we can . . ." "This is not about what you think or want anymore." I was beginning to feel more in control of my family. "You have hidden this from me for too long and Janice, even if she was the one who suggested you keep this quiet. Janice should never have been in a position where she felt complicit or responsible for your mistakes. She needs to know this. She needs to know I love her dearly and that you are the only one at fault. Am I clear?" Jane was shaking and it wasn't because of the cold. What I was saying was dead on and she knew this. Janice could not be allowed to carry her mother's burden any longer. It was also important Janice know I loved her. I wanted to shake my daughter's hand. It was also important Janice be helped to make family decisions that included all of her family. No more decisions made in a vacuum regardless of the outcome over time. "Jane, there is one other thing we will need to discuss with Janice. The baby you had is Janice's half brother." I waited for Jane to catch up to my line of thought. "Whether you intentionally did this, gave up your son that is, you rejected Janice's brother in a way that may have shaken her sense of security. This needs to be corrected. The consequences for your actions, by making Janice complicit for your, ah, mercy fuck, have been devastating for Janice." I had to stop and take a breath so as not to let my anger destroy all attempts to help my daughter. And let Jane see what I was talking about. "By leaving her home alone may have reinforced the fact she must feel responsible and not worthy." Now that I knew the entire story I realized our daughter's mental health and well being was at risk, and I am no social worker. Jane, by not discussing her transgression and dilemma with me, when it happened, had endangered our daughter's life in a way that, for me, was not acceptable. Jane and I may never be able to salvage our marriage but we could set things right for Janice. "Oh, God, what have I done?" Jane's anguish was now complete. If she'd felt shame and guilt before this day, well, now the fear and anxiety could destroy her. If I'd been thinking about revenge before now, well, that kind of thinking was past, done, relegated to the realm of no longer important or worth the energy. It was more important to take care of Janice and create an environment where Jane and I could move on with our lives. I did not know what "moving on with our lives" meant. Deployed, Tattooed, Transformed Ch. 03 Jane and I did not speak much the next couple of days while we waited for Janice to arrive in (nor were there any more middle-of-the night in-the-dark surprises). I continued to report daily to my paper-pushing assignment on Base and was home in the evening. Jane and I went out in the evening to eat, mainly for the sustenance for our corporeal bodies, and we were civil. While I was concerned about the health of Jane and Janice I knew my future with Jane was bleak at best. Emotionally I did not know how to reconcile what she had done. It would have been different, at least intellectually, if I had been overseas and Jane experienced a case of loneliness and the "hornies", gotten drunk and had a brief encounter with some stranger. After all I am, and always have been, a combat soldier. I was not a therapist nor did I think I had been a very good father. Survival and winning battles had always been my focus. I did not know how to apply military strategy to support my family. I only knew what was now important. "Daddy!" It was so good to see Janice and was relatively easy for me to pick her out of the airport crowd. She looked so much like her mother, even down to the point of having lost weight. I knew that a little German food could change that in a hurry. "Hello Janice . . . thank you for coming." It really was good to see her. After un-characteristic hugs she pulled away from me to face me as she spoke. "Daddy, how could I not come? Besides I've never been to Germany. This is so cool!" It was good to see light in her eyes, a light I now wanted to foster and help grow. I just wasn't sure how to do this without causing Jane more heart-ache than she'd already experienced. Yes, I believed she was genuinely remorseful. Seeing Jane and Janice greet one another told me they were always be close. Their lives as mother-and-daughter were inter-twined with experience I would never understand (shopping, menstrual cycles etc.). This did not matter for the outcome of what I was about to do. First I needed Janice to understand that she was in no way responsible for what her mother had done and subsequently failed to do. Janice, though wanting to help her mother and spare me pain and anguish, should never have been given to feel like she was doing anything except supporting her mother. This was laudable. Second, at least in my mind, Jane made the mistake of letting her daughter "share", albeit indirectly, in her transgression. Indirectly Jane had allowed Janice to share in her infidelity and assume some of the responsibility. Third, when Jane got to the point where she realized her daughter's depression was severe enough to seek me out, she left Janice alone and flew to Germany, turning away from her daughter. The situation was emotionally complicated, yes? "Once we have had something to eat we will talk in a way we have not for, well at least since my deployment to Iraq and wounded. I have only one expectation and that is honesty. Anything short of the truth will mean sending you two back to the States alone and Jane and I immediately divorcing. Can we agree before we start that honesty is a must, regardless of how uncomfortable we are?" Jane and Janice nodded yes without hesitation. So I took the two most important people in my life to the Officer's Club for dinner before returning with what was still my family to my small flat in Heidelberg. "Jane do you want this marriage to work? Do you want our daughter to know her father loves her?" I was talking to Jane almost eyeball-to-eyeball. "Yes, of course, but . . ." "Look I have accepted a two-year assignment here. Do you want this to work or not?" I had to stop for a minute and think about what I was doing. I was not saying everything would be fine. Nor was I saying Jane, I forgive you. I was saying I love you enough to try and work through this. Most important I was making Janice the priority now that I understood how she blamed herself for what Jane did. "Oh, God yes! Yes!" What I'd been saying was catching up to her brain with sudden realization. "Then I need to know where Paul Michael Johannsen, Jr is now?" It was clear my question caught her by surprise. She had probably anticipated every other question by this one. "Paul Jr?" The frightened look on her face was not difficult to read. "Yes, Janice's half brother. Am I listed as the father on the birth certificate? Where is Paul Jr. now?" "Well, he's with, ah his biological father. I thought it was the best thing to do for the baby at the time." I think Jane was beginning to understand why I'd asked the question. "Your son, my daughter's brother, is living with someone who suffers from depression, possibly suicidal, and uses this to seduce married women? Why1? Who gave you the right to make the decision to give up a child I am responsible for?!" My disappointment and disapproval was evident and I don't think Jane had considered I would take this tack. "Paul, what do you want me to do? You weren't there! How could I . . ." She was near tears. "But I was there when you dropped you pants for another man, even if it was just a single time! If we are ever going to get past this you can never-ever make a decision that involves Janice and I without us." I kept bringing this back to Janice to emphasize that Paul Jr. was still her brother and Jane's son. "The right thing for you to do is make sure Paul Jr. is part of this family. Has the baby been legally adopted by the biological father?" "No, I don't think that hasn't happened yet. I think you, as the father-of-record, need to say it is OK for the baby to be adopted." "And it won't happen." Both Janice and Jane were stunned by my position. I'd had a long time to think things through and wanted to regain some sense of control. "To make things right means you will return to the States and make sure your son, Janice's bother, is where he belongs, even if it is not my biological son." My daughter's level of understanding was displayed with a slight smile. It told me it was the right decision especially if we were going to make it as a family. Paul Jr. was her brother and deserved more than to be abandoned by his mother and, indirectly by his sister. "I understand Paul. Thank you, thank you. I've felt so guilty since leaving the child with, with his father. It never felt right. Now I understand why but was so worried you would kick me out." Janice and Jane were now holding onto each other, tears of relief, even if they hadn't realized why they were so depressed. "There is one more thing you need to do." I waited until I had Jane and Janice's attention. "Yes, what is that?" I think at that point she would have walked through fire. "You need to return to the States to get Paul Jr. and bring him to Germany. Janice will stay with me while you do this. This will give me time to find more appropriate billeting for the four of us and get Janice enrolled in the International School." I took a sip of my cold coffee. "Paul, what if I can't do what you ask, I mean, what if I can't get Paul Jr. back?" I'd given Jane a task that might be very, very difficult. "Jane, I think you know the answer to that question. It boils down to you understanding what needs to be done to make things right between you and your daughter . . . then making things right with me. Paul Jr. cannot be an after-thought, a mistake you sweep under the carpet and leave with someone else to raise. You need to know I cannot hold a baby hostage for the mistakes two consenting adults make. In name he is my son and I will not shrug that responsibility." Jane and I did not need to speak about what had happened and what the consequences would be if she ever "strayed" again. But there was a more important question Jane needed to answer. "Jane, I've always loved you and I know my career has often taken me away for long periods of time. But you need to ask yourself if you still want to stay married to me. I ask this question because being married to me is also being married to the military. If you cannot accept this part of me, which means there may be periods of loneliness, then say so now and I will grant you a civilized divorce." This is something all military personnel, who are deployed for long periods of time, struggle with. The long periods of separation demand there be next-to absolute faith and trust in the people you love and who love you. This is very difficult to do when as, a soldier in harm's way, you only have your own thoughts to keep you company. "Oh, Paul, I don't have to think about what I want. I want you, Janice and Paul Jr.! You've just given me the opportunity to redeem myself and honor you, something I'd forgotten is so important for you. I will never make that mistake again. Never!" I was going to say something like, yes, I believe you, until the next time I am deployed. I held my tongue believing I would never have a combat deployment again and would be able to take my family with me wherever I was assigned. In helping lift the weight of depression and self-blame off of Janice's shoulder I'd freed Jane to deal with her own shame. I'd given her the opportunity to make things right. Something else changed almost immediately. Jane was back in my bed and was, at first a tentative lover, but then, so was I. We needed to find a way to transcend the mistakes, distrust, hurt and pain. We certainly were not going to consummate re-loving one another in my small flat, especially with Janice there. My solution was a trip to the French town of Strasbourg where we found a nice little hotel in the middle of town and proceeded to lose ourselves in the king sized overly soft hotel bed. What is it with the European penchant for soft beds that swallow you? It wasn't the sex that was transformative. The sex was wonderful and it was so good to have Jane by myself. It was the trip we made to the Cathedral of Notre Dam (not to be confused with Paris' Notre Dame) and our climb to the belfry of the Cathedral's single spire. From the belfry you can look in three directions and see France, Switzerland and Germany. It was there, arm-in-arm where we steeled ourselves against the cold and realized there was something much greater, more meaningful, than each of us alone. We did not need to speak about what were experiencing, feeling or thinking. We did not need to make any promises about what we would or wouldn't do if this ever happened again but the Cathedral was the perfect place for Jane and I to, in the Belfry of a church built in 1399, to renew our pledge to love one another. We were fortunate in that our lives had been transformed and we both knew this without saying a word. Three days later Jane flew back to the States to pack and go through the arduous process of getting her son, Janice's brother, and return to Germany. By the time she returned I'd found a small house not far from my flat and Janice was enrolled in the International School. No, everything was not "right" automatically. But within time the pain of what Jane had done subsided and Paul Jr. became "my" son, a son I'd always wanted. Whatever happened to Stan Cramer? I don't know and don't really care. I do know it is best I never, under any circumstances, meet the man who used his "depressed state" for the purpose of seducing Jane. Part of my "transformation" was being able to let go of the plans I'd made (in my head) to garrote the man, slowly. I now had a son to raise and I wanted to make sure he loved and respected Jane, Janice and I above all things. * Note: For those of you who expected this story to take another course, my apologies. It is, however, how the story concluded (or began, depending on your perspective) in real life.