Superhero

I'm not one of those women who thinks of my husband as a hero.

I mean, yeah sure. He's a great guy and all. And he has superior skills at some things. Like his job. He is excellent at what he does both in his aircraft and on the ground. He's got the awards to prove it.

He is also excellent at balancing the needs of the mission and the needs of his family. In my ten years of experience as a military wife, I've seen very few guys who can do that well.

But, eh. So what. Yeah, yeah, he goes to war and all that. But big deal. From the outside maybe he looks like a hero, but to me he is just a part of Team Tuna, doing the best he can to get this little family through life as safe and happy as possible.

When it comes right down to it, who wants to live with a superhero?

They're always jetting off at a moments notice and leaving a mess in their wake.

On second thought, maybe he is a superhero. He sure is good at making messes.

And that thing he did the other night? Well, that was rather heroic. Not even twenty-four hours after taking a puck to the nads, he wanted to have sex. And he wanted me to blow him.

Is he crazy? I couldn't do it. I've always been a little afraid of what men have going on down there. I wasn't about to mess with that swollen mess. But apparently he's like the post office. No rain, nor sleet, nor puck to the jewels will keep him from his appointed round. He is Bionic Balls.

Now I know how he felt when I asked him to check my episiotomy scar.