It had been two months of hell. Well, hell when I wasn’t at home with Karen. She and I were growing closer in a way I had never been with a woman before. She wanted me in bed with her, and I had been resisting.

Most people would have smacked me and called me absolutely stupid to turn her down, but I didn’t want sex spoiling what we had.

What did we have you might ask. In my opinion we had a very good, and I mean very good, friendship. Not “friends with benefits”, but two people who meshed in just about every way possible. We had similar interests, we liked the same type of music, we read similar books and enjoyed going out to most of the same places. Neither of us liked porn very much (no plots), but erotica turned us both on.

I tried my best to be the perfect roommate. I didn’t make demands on her time; I cleaned up after myself all the time, and cleaned up after her. I prepared meals and didn’t bitch when she left a mess. I figured since she wasn’t asking me for rent, that the least I could do was to clean up around the house.

It helped that I enjoyed housework and I liked cooking.

I had been going out every day looking for a job that paid. Help Wanted ads, leads from the VA, job fairs all the avenues that one takes when looking for a job. I spent 50 hours a week simply looking for employment.

I consulted with professionals about my resume, the people in the Unemployment Office who help vets find work and temp agencies. I didn’t understand why I didn’t have a job.

I was told I didn’t have skills that the corporate world was looking for. I wasn’t a businessman, I had no high tech skills, and I didn’t have any corporate security skills. I could get an entry-level job doing something, but I didn’t want to start like that and lose what I had in training.

My routine became pretty standard. Get up at 4 AM, stretch out, run and exercise for two hours, then come back and clean up in the shower. Make breakfast and eat it, then by 8 AM get busy with interviews and job seeking. That would take me to about 5:30 or so and then come back, dinner, clean up, help Karen with her clients and then get into bed.

My bed damn it. I mean Sissy’s bed. I mean -- my bed. Alone.

Believe me; I’m not made of stone. It was very hard for me to sleep there night after night knowing that Karen was just a couple rooms away and that she wanted me as much as I wanted her.

I’m also not an animal. I used a lot of the discipline I learned in the Army and refused to screw up the living arrangement I had just to satisfy my cock.

But I went though a bunch of lotion and tissues.

“But sir, I am qualified. I have six years in the Army as a Ranger; I think I qualify as a security guard.”

The interviewer sat there with my application in his hand. “I understand that, but the problem is that being a guard is not the same as being a Ranger. We don’t have any positions that require someone with combat experience. An MP or a garrison soldier I could use, they are used to standing around and not doing much, but a combat soldier would get bored really rapidly, and then you would leave. That would leave me high and dry and right back where I am. I’d rather turn you down and hire the guy I need right now instead of two months from now when you quit.”

Well, at least he was honest with me. Most of the other recruiters had just blown me off and didn’t explain things. This guy at least had the cojones to lay it out like it was.

I sighed and nodded. “It isn’t anything I haven’t heard before. Thank you for your time.”

I started to stand, but he stopped me. “I do have a lead for you if you want it. I know a women’s shelter that needs someone to teach their self-defense course. I could put in a good word for you if you want.”

“Yes sir, please do.” He jotted down the number and address of the shelter and handed me the note. I thanked him and left to continue my search.

I figured that I would have to take it, but I wanted to explore all my options.

Three days later, I was out of all the potential jobs that I had scheduled to check for that week. Unless something odd happened I would just have to sponge off Karen longer. The thought twisted in my guts like a knife.

She had been so kind, so supportive, helping me understand what I wanted as opposed to what I needed. I felt guilt piling up daily. How could I ever repay her?

It was then that I found the card again and seriously reconsidered teaching the class. I figured I had nothing to lose by and talking to them and meeting them.

A couple hours later I found myself down at the public shelter, the one that you could find by looking in the phonebook. It had things you might expect, offices, receptionist desk, I could hear a meeting going on in the conference room and there was paperwork just about everywhere. It looked about how I expected it to an underfunded necessity that had far too many cases and far too few people who could help with time, skills and resources for the people who needed help desperately.

I found the lady I was interviewing with and she invited me in. I sat carefully on the older chair and waited for the interview to start. Once the chair quit protesting my weight, I looked the woman over as carefully as I would a potential problem in the field.

She was small; almost bird like, bright eyes darting from my face to my clothes back to my face and then my resume. Her dark hair was going gray piled on top of her head in an untidy bun with wisps of hair curling around her face and neck. Her clothes were neat and conservative, nothing trendy or fashion forward. She scanned my resume carefully and began by saying,

“Mr. Taylor, I’m Jeanette. We don’t use last names here. That could get dangerous. I hope you can get use to being called Gregory?” She sounded like a miniature Katherine Hepburn.

“No m’am but Greg if you don’t mind? Please.” It was like being grilled by a sharp aunt who didn’t miss a thing. I felt a flush rising in my cheeks and couldn’t understand why I was blushing.

One eyebrow rose, “Breathe young man, I don’t think you’re guilty — yet.” The bark of the last work would have made any DI proud. I jumped as expected. Then I think I surprised her.

I smiled and nodded. “Some really good officers can make a noncom feel undressed in church m’am if you know what I mean.”

She seemed to relax at that and nodded in return. “Follow me, young man.” Without another word, she rose, walked around her desk and headed out the door. Her steps were light and her pace surprisingly quick.

We entered a gym. Her rubber soled shoes squeaked as she went toward a pile of mats stacked in a corner. Before I reached her she had wrestled one to the floor and was grabbing another mat. I hurried to help her. “Good.” If this was her normal mode I sure wouldn’t have to worry about having my ear talked off.

“Teach me.”

“Ma’am?”

“Teach me. I want to take your class.”

“Yes m’am. Self —defense is important. You should know why. You aren’t going to be Bruce Lee when you finish this course, but you will be better able to handle yourself incase something foolish tries to happen in your vicinity.”

On uptick of her eyebrow let me know that the last statement would have to be proven or removed.

I took a long slow breath. “Sit down.”

I scanned the room for a minute while she found her seat on a stack of mats. I turned back to her and said “Close your eyes.” She looked skeptical but finally she complied.

“Miss Jeanette, you’ve been in this room a lot, you know where everything is. Can you tell me what you can use to beat me off if I decided to attack you?”

She started a bit and her eyes fluttered. “Don’t open your eyes. I’m not going to do anything, but I want you to do this exercise without looking around.”

She thought for a minute or two. “Um, I think I could start with hitting you with the ball near the volleyball net. I could hit you with the barbells, and maybe trip you with the rack of basketballs?”

I heard the interrogative at the end of her sentence. I nodded and said, “That’s good for a start, but what’s wrong with your shoe?” She looked a bit surprised. “Open your eyes now; we’ll go through each and every thing you could use in such an event.”

Over the next half hour, I pointed out how everything in the room could be used in the case of an attack. She could pull the volleyball net down on me, pull the pole supporting the net down and hit me with that, she could hit me with her belt or she could pull the mat out from under me.

Once we went through all that, I looked her in the eye. “Being attacked is about survival, and 90% of survival is being aware of the area around you. Almost anything can be used as a weapon to defend yourself, more importantly to delay your attacker until you get out of the area. That’s the first lesson.”

“Greg, you’ve impressed me. If you want the job, I’d be glad to have you.” She looked impressed with me.

I bowed slightly from the waist. “Ma’am, my pocketbook thanks you.”