Dear Soldier Boy (11 page)

Excluding this situation, which I really don’t understand, what has gotten you so upset? I really hope Mark isn’t right, but, even if you are having some sort of PTSD or something, I’m still here for you. I know soldiers often have a difficult time coming back, and I’m ready for it. I’ve been reading books about it and prepping myself. I don’t care if you have off moments. I’ll just be happy to share moments IRL with you. We’re so close to November, I can almost taste it. I can’t wait to see you and touch you.

I’m so excited for Steven, and Luke, and their baby girl. That is the most wonderful news. I can see us now, visiting them and San Francisco, but I agree, we will have to wait until the spring. Have you ever lived in DC? It gets pretty cold in the winter, but I think we are going to make a good time of saving on the heating bills in my house. I can’t wait for you to see it. And be here with me.

Thank you for the birthday gift. I’m not going to send a photo of it yet. I need to know what you are upset about first. Please tell me, and don’t worry if it was just a moment or something, its okay. I love you anyway, and will be here for you and your moments.

With Love ,Your Civilian Girl,

Vivian

Chapter Twenty-Four

From:
[email protected]
Sent: 6/18/16 22:02
To:
[email protected]
Dear Civilian Girl,
As you can see, I have forwarded Mark’s
email.
Can you see, now, what I’m talking about with
him? I had to read all that about you, and it killed me. That was very kind of
him to council you on my current mental state. So fucking professional of him
to imply that I have had a psychotic break. I’m fit for combat, but I’m
delusional. Is he a psychiatrist as well as a desk jockey? Christ, that man is
busy, and yet he still has time to write to my woman every day. It is time for
him to find his own.
To
answer your question, I’m not having a moment, because that would imply that it
was some ephemeral thing that drifts in and passes as quickly as it came.
What I have lasted too long for that, and it
scares me, because sometimes, I think it is not going to pass. Maybe this is me.
Maybe everything that has happened has turned
me
into this person I don’t recognize, and I don’t like this person, this
new me.
Timing is everything. I think about that a
lot now, how even seconds can alter the course of your life in unalterable
ways. If this had happened last year, any of this, us, Mark’s letter, my
reaction would have been different because I was different. I was stronger
then. Better. I wish you knew the man I was, not this version.
That man would have laughed at Mark’s
letter and seen it for the sick fantasy it was. The woman he was describing
wasn’t you. I know that. I was so busy being angry, and hurt, and guilty, I
missed it. Mark doesn’t know you. Despite his full-scale attack on your
personal life, he doesn’t really know you. He knows the flirty Vivian, the fun
Vivian, the Vivian that says outrageous things and leaves me open-mouthed at
some of the stuff she comes out with.
But there is so much more to you. There is
the soft, insecure side that apologizes, and regrets, and is saddled with enough
guilt to break her. I know that side; even from 7,000 miles, I have seen more of
you than Mark. He can’t take that away from us.
So, let Mark give you dogs, and compliments,
and whatever the hell he can think up next, because I am going to give you a
home, and babies, and a future. He can’t take that away from us unless you let
him.
And you won’t, Civilian Girl. I see that now. Nothing he does or says can
change what I feel. I don’t think you had sex with him. It’s not you, not the
Vivian I know. But here is the thing, even if you had slept with him in a
moment of weakness, or loneliness, or horniness, or insanity, or whatever, we would
be OK. I would care, of course, because I care about everything when it comes
to you, but it would not change what I feel. I will keep loving you, and missing
you, and wanting you, forever.
I’m sorry. I did something I asked you not
to do. I told you to stop listening to Mark, but that's exactly what I did. I
let his bullshit fantasy mess with my head. In my defense, it doesn’t take a
lot to mess with my head anymore.
I used to be strong. I had mental
fortitude—that is what I told myself, anyway. But now, I wonder if I just hadn't
been tested enough to know how weak I actually am. Was it all an illusion?
I really hope not, but the longer I am here—not in Afghanistan, but here in this headspace—the more I think I was just
really good at lying to myself.
I'm working on being the man I thought I
was. I want to be that man for you. He was strong. He was what you deserve. I will be
that man again, or maybe I will be that man for the first time, but I will get
there. I don’t know how long it will take, but I will get there.
But in the meantime, I need you to be strong
for both of us. Will you do that for me, Civilian Girl? When I’m stupid, and
insecure, and irrational with fear, will you be the strong one?
I know it's a big task. I wish I had
something to offer in return, but all I have is me—a broken man. I admit, it is
a pretty crappy deal for you, but I will spend the rest of my life trying to be
good enough for you. That is all I have to offer, Vivian. Please say you will
take it.
There is no one else. There hasn’t been
anyone else since I met you. I’m not sleeping with anyone, but I don’t mind you
asking if you need that reassurance. I will happily end every letter with a
promise of chastity. No, strike that, I will promise abstinence, because
sometimes, I have moments when you’re with me, and I imagine you touching me,
loving me, and there is nothing chaste about those. I need a new bottle of
lotion, while we are on the subject.
When I get home, there are things we need
to talk about. I can’t do it in an email. I'm scared about telling you, because
I’m scared that with every secret I tell you, I have given you another
opportunity to realize you can do a hell of a lot better. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m
not good with uncertainty. I like black and white and regiment. I can’t even
blame it on the military, that is just me.
You will discover that about me soon
enough. There are lots of things left for us to discover about each other. For
starters, I hate mess. You asked me, once, if I was messy but I didn’t answer. No,
I’m not messy. I am fastidiously tidy, to the point of neurosis. I will, without
a doubt, follow behind you, straightening papers, and making sure all the spices
in the cupboard are in alphabetical order and face the right direction. I will
drive you crazy with it. I drive everyone crazy with it.
Second, I can’t watch a movie if I miss the
start. Even if it is just the opening title, I will have to change the channel
or walk out of the movie theater.
Third, I always pre-eat before I go out for
a meal so I don’t look like a complete glutton when I’m at a restaurant. Don’t be offended if I make a sandwich before I sit down for a dinner you made;
it's no reflection on your cooking ability or lack thereof. Can you cook? I can
make one dish, chicken stuffed with cheese and wrapped in Parma ham, so I hope
you can cook, or we will be eating that every night. Please tell me you’re not
a vegetarian. If you are, I will learn to make tofu. It is still quasi-vegetarian if I stuff it with cheese and wrap in it ham, right?
There are so many things I want to do with
you. I am keeping a list. And only the top 97 involve sex, so relax, woman, it’s
not just your body I’m after.
I want to go running with you. You can run
a marathon. You don’t know it yet, but you can. If you can do a 5K, you can do a
marathon. We will start training when I get home. Trust me, you will love
it…once it is finished. Like a lot of things in life, the memory of a marathon
beats the hell out of the reality. Now I am putting you off. Don’t be. We will build up to it, take it nice and slow
until we find your rhythm. Shit, I’m talking about the sex again.
I better go now. My body is responding to
the thought of sex with you in non-chaste ways.
Say hello to Duke for me. I’m glad you have
someone to keep you company until I get back.
Love,
Your Soldier Boy
P.S.
I almost forgot to add: I have not had sex
with anyone since we started talking. The dry spell continues. So, brace yourself,
we have a lot of time to make up for. And I apologize in advance if the first
time is um…quick. It has been a very long time. I’ll make sure the second time
is all about you. And send me the picture of you in the lingerie already,
woman. Consider it my birthday gift, because you missed it. February 3. And I am
31, by the way.

Chapter Twenty-Five

[email protected]
Sent 6/25/16

[email protected]

Dear Matthew,                                                                                                                

It’s taken me a week to write you back. I’m sorry for the delay. I had to wrap my head around this…everything. I could barely get through the email Mark wrote you. It was so gross. I’m thoroughly disgusted. I can’t believe he would do that. I do. I do now. But it was so creepy and mean.

I wrote him back yesterday. I told him I had read his email. At first, he denied it, but then he finally admitted to it and about Duke. Duke has never even been in Mark’s house. Can you believe that? Apparently, Mark bought him from a trainer and brought him directly to my house the day he left. I feel like such a fool.

I’m not a complete idiot. I did know that Mark was interested, and yes, it was nice to have someone to go to lunch with, but that would be the same for any of my co-workers. But I really had no idea that he had taken his level of interest in me to this point. It’s so sick.

I can’t even imagine what it was like for you to read his email. And I don’t want to. I don’t want to ever think about the idea of you with anyone else. I mentioned before that it would break me, and it would.

I appreciate that you can get through the idea of me being with someone else. But I couldn’t do the same for you. I just couldn’t. It would be too much for me.

On to Duke. My poor Duke. As much as it killed me, I told Mark to give me the name of someone he knew that I could bring Duke to. I didn’t want to give Duke up, but I didn’t want to keep him given his reason for existing. Mark said there was no one else who would want him, and that I could drop him off at the shelter, because he definitely wouldn’t want him. He said that Duke was only a means to get to me, and if that wasn’t going to happen, (which I assured him was not), then he didn’t care if Duke lived or died.

I couldn’t bring Duke to the shelter. I love Duke. But as much as it would hurt, I don’t want to keep him if it bothers you. I’ll find Duke a good home if you don’t want him here. Mark has sent me Duke’s papers; they are even registered in my name. Tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do it. If the situation was reversed, I’m not sure if I would be okay with you keeping Duke. So I’m going to let you make the decision, Soldier Boy.

Matthew, you keep saying you aren’t the man you were before or the man you want to be. Guess what? I’m not the woman I want to be. I wish I was better every day. I do. I wake up in the morning, and despite my bedhead, (which by the way that is a real thing, I should put my hair in a ponytail at night but I always forget and wake up looking…well bed head), anyway despite my appearance, I look at myself in the mirror and I try to find something in my mind that makes me a good person. I do. I want to be. I want to be a good person. And some days I don’t feel like one.

But back to you. I’m sure you don’t want to read a bunch of “I’m good enough” etc. mantra that I recite in front of the mirror, and no I don’t say it out loud, it’s just a thought and maybe it’s fleeting. Anyway, I’ll take whatever version of you that I can have. I don’t care. I just want you.

There’s something about you and always has been. Even before you wrote back, I had this feeling, this connection. And I know that sounds crazy, and you are probably questioning my sanity, but it’s true. I just felt it, and I still do. I feel so connected to you, this amazing man whom I haven’t even laid eyes on. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think I would recognize you in person. The photo of you on the mountain is too far, and the one of you by the tank, you’ve got your gear on, and sunglasses, and the sun is too bright. But I don’t want to see what you look like, not yet. I don’t want a photo of you. I want the first time for us to see each other to be this grand moment. I want you to whisk me in your arms because you’ll know it’s me. You’ve already seen plenty of me, which, by the way, I’m attaching the photo of me in the lingerie. Though, I did feel a bit weird having Luke’s name on the address form.

I love that you’re not messy. I’m not super tidy, but my house is pretty well in order. I’m attaching a photo of my living room so you can see where we’ll watch a zillion romantic comedies and sad movies. I love sad movies. I even prep myself for them. I have my bottle of wine, because I love wine, and I don’t want to mention this again, but I never shared wine or watched movies with him. Just for the record.

Anyway, I have wine and a big box of Kleenexes. I sit there and bawl, and it’s ugly. You might want to leave when I watch a sad movie. I don’t know why I do it, but I do. I guess it’s therapeutic. I just let the tears roll.

Can I cook? Matthew, you do realize I’m Italian, right? What kind of Italian woman would I be if I didn’t cook? I can’t even believe you asked me that. Anyway, yes, I can cook, and I want to cook with you, too. Because, there will be times where I might be sick, and chicken stuffed with cheese is not going to cut it. You have to at least be able to make me some chicken noodle soup and not the kind from a can. Yuck!

Speaking of food, I have a sweet tooth. It’s really bad, like go-to-meetings bad. When I’m feeling down—which isn’t too much, don’t worry, I’m not mopey—I make caramels.  Because I have no self-control, I eat all of them in one sitting. Which, by the way, I ate all of the chocolates you sent me on Valentine’s Day, on site. This is why they were not included in the roses pictures I sent you. Can you believe that? I really have a problem. Please don’t give me chocolates again unless you are going to be here to help me burn off all the calories.

I had to increase my mile count to counteract my indulgence, but a marathon, Matthew? I haven’t made it to a 10k; we need to be realistic about things. Besides, I’ve looked up marathon training, because I wanted to see what you went through, and how you did it, and there is no way that I can accomplish that!

All that time spent running? No, thanks. I want to spend that time indoors with you working on a different marathon. Let’s make miles and of endurance in bed (or not in bed). I’ve only thought about you in my kitchen, bathtub, living room, dining room…the list goes on. We don’t have to stick to the bedroom. I have thick curtains and walls.

You never mentioned your birthday. I feel horrible that I missed it. But also, you never mentioned how old you were. Matthew, you’re an old man. I don’t know if this can work. I said I was edging up on thirty, but that was somewhat of a joke. I’ve just turned twenty-five, and you are already over thirty? I don’t know, that’s a huge age gap. Can this even work? Is it even possible for you to run a marathon? Was that like, ten years ago or something?

I’m not sure if I should send you the lingerie picture. You might have a heart attack or something. Can your body even take it? Now I feel bad for teasing you so much. I wish I would have known, because I would have considered your health.
No, I can’t attach that photo. It would do you in. You’ve already run out of lotion, and that was a HUGE bottle. (Insert that’s what she said joke).

Do you even know what the lingerie looks like? Can I describe it to you without you blowing a vein or something? And Matthew, there isn’t really much to describe. The fabric, if you can even call it that, is lacking, to say the least. A string lines my waist, with a small piece of blue satin that meets right above my thighs. The top is sheer and mixed with thicker lace that really doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Are you imagining it, Matthew? Are you thinking about what I look like in this lace teddy? That’s what’s called, by the way. A lace teddy. The center of the top is connected by three ribbon ties, and I’ve thought about you taking them off with your teeth. Is that something you would do, Matthew? Would you use your mouth to pull the ribbons open, or would you use your hands? I want to know. I can’t wait to know. But that’s all for now. I’m not going to attach the photo, Soldier Boy, because I want you to use your mind to think about it. You know, the mind is a powerful thing, and I’m guessing yours can do a really good “job” without having a tangible photo of me. I wouldn’t want this email to be intercepted by anyone and have my photo seen by anyone else. Because I’m all yours Matthew, every inch of me.

With Love, Your Civilian Girl,

Vivian

P.S. I promise I’m not cruel. I sent you a care package. I hope you enjoy. XX

Care Package 4

Dear Matthew,                                                                                                                 June 25
th

I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself with the email, and I really wouldn’t want anyone to see my photo, especially not in lingerie. The roses photo led you to believe one thing with the placement, but lingerie is completely different. There is no wondering, it’s just there all of me, and I want that to be only for you. I’m even worried sending this to you. But, I put the photo in a sealed envelope, so I hope no one else opens it before it gets to you.

I was embarrassed to have the photos developed, so I bought a photo printer. Then, it would really just be a photo from me to you. I hope you enjoy. I took a few different angles so you wouldn’t have to imagine this time. I wanted you to give you a view of me, all of me. In lingerie—you'll have to wait for in person for the nudes.

I can’t wait to see you in person…like, really can’t wait.

Along with the photos, I’m enclosing several bottles of lotion. I don’t want you to run out again. Some more chaps sticks. I want your lips to be ready for me. Because I have this feeling that they will be on me for a long time, and I don’t want them to be chapped. It’s like I’m prepping you for a marathon. And I am, Matthew. I want you to be ready for a marathon of lovemaking with me.

I’m including another piece of the puzzle. You haven’t guessed what or where it is. I’ll give you a hint. It’s a game. My favorite one. I can’t wait to play with you. It will be fun.

And a jar of Nutella. I can’t wait to lick some of it off you. I hope you won’t mind?

You mentioned 97 items on your list of things you wanted to do to me. I’ve included a copy of the Kama Sutra and tagged some of the pages of the things I want to do with you.

With Love. Your Civilian Girl,

Vivian

Chapter 26

From:
[email protected]
Sent: 7/3/16 22:02
To:
[email protected]
Dear Civilian Girl,
Looks like Luke and Steven aren’t the only
ones expanding their family; we are the proud parents of a fur baby.
Congratulations to us! Of course I don’t
want you to get rid of Duke. It’s not Duke’s fault that Mark is an asshole.
I love dogs. My only concern is your
seventeen cats. Are they feeling displaced by their new canine brother? Adding
a new baby is hard on any family, but your girls are a pretty tight bunch. How
are they going to deal with me? Will there be room for all of us in your house?
I’m not a small man. Between the cats, and the Barbies, and our boy Duke, that is
a whole lot going on.
Your house is small and cute, just like you.
I’ve never owned my own place. I have saved enough for a down payment, but I
don’t know where I want to buy. Do you love DC? Would you choose to live there
if it weren’t for your job? Is that where you see yourself long-term? You know
why I’m asking. It might seem premature to talk about, but we should plan. I
plan everything. You want spontaneous, you’re going to need to find another
soldier. Besides, I won’t fit in your house, and Duke needs a yard. Think of our
four-legged child.
You have no idea how happy you made me when
you told me you can cook. And just when I thought you couldn’t get any hotter.
Woman, you are the full package. How are you still single? No wait, you’re not.
It's settled, you’re on dinner duty (except Thursdays, which will be chicken á
la Matthew night, you're going to love it), and I’ll take cleanup. I will take
your kitchen to new levels of clean.
Of course you are teasing me and refusing
to send a picture, you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t contrary. You could just
send me a picture and make me a happy man, but no. Are all girlfriends this much
like hard work? Or did I just get lucky?
But seriously, I look forward to the
package. While we are on the topic of care packages, could you please send some
baby wipes? I know it's  a weird request, but the dust here is horrific. There is
a dry, red haze everywhere, and at the end of the day, I’m covered. Well, my face
is. That is the only part of my body exposed during the day. The rest of me is
well-protected by 100 lbs of body armor and weapons. I used to hate the strain
on my back from carrying my pack day after day, mile after mile, but now, I just
think I’m in training for carrying all 350 lbs of my Civilian Girl. I am ready
for you. I never have to remind myself to put on my groin protector anymore, by
the way. I’m keeping the family jewels intact for you (you’re welcome), even
though my ass goes numb and I’m almost certainly cooking my testicles, which is
preferable to having them blown off. I
don’t know if you’re still checking your weather app, actually wait, yes, I do.
But your app won’t tell you the temp inside an armored vehicle. Yesterday, it was
122 F. Imagine how fun that is. Remember
when I was complaining about frostbite and my frozen balls? I miss those days. I’m
an old man, as you have so kindly pointed out. I can’t handle this heat
anymore.
I still have no idea what the third picture
you sent is. Twister? If so you are not allowed to play the naked variety with anyone else but me. I’m going to need some more clues. And what do you mean, you wouldn’t
recognize me? How many 6'4" guys with blond buzz cuts do you know, woman? Seriously,
look on Steven’s Facebook already. I think there is even one of me in my dress
uniform. Not going to lie, I scrub up pretty good. On a scale from one to
Vivian, I can pull off a solid seven. No, wait, don’t look. If you decide you’re
not actually into me, you still have almost five months to make your excuses.
My best bet is to do this blind and get you into bed straight away. After that,
you’ll be sold. I’m very goal orientated; I always get the job done. Yep, no pictures. Don’t even look at my face
until we’ve had a good few hours in bed. And I hear you saying, “But I’ll see
you if we’re in bed.” Not to worry, I have that covered; you’ll just be seeing
a lot of the top of my head between your thighs. Now, can you see why I attached
a picture of just the top of my head? Get used to that view, Civilian Girl. It
is a nice head though, right? Great head of hair for an old man.
And
on that note, I’m off to bed. Say goodnight to our son. Daddy loves you, Duke.
Love,
Soldier Boy
P.S.
Almost forgot. Still celibate. I feel we should
create a tally sheet. This is a long time to go without sex. Should we commemorate
it somehow?