A Few Good Men

I love a man in uniform. I had a brief fling with an army lawyer earlier this year, a fleeting romance which ended when he left for deployment. It was short, it was fast - of which he is neither - and it was magnetic. We both lived in the moment of our connection; when we were together, we were together and it was very hot, very heavy, and fed my soul in ways only a woman can understand. He was a fire that burned deep in the base of my belly, where all of my womanness thrives. He made me feel desired, delicate, and safe. The comfort of a man’s arms and the power behind his touch is an aphrodisiac I’m not ashamed to admit a craving for.

Our lives apart were just that - a part. We only existed together when we were together - without expectations. He was the standard, analytical-minded lawyer with the structure, disciple, & sense of duty I find so attractive in soldiers. It’s so opposite from me and my wildness. I know he loved my untamed hair & the way I tickled his back until he fell asleep. He told me once my “we’ll figure it out when we get there” mentality drove him mad, and I know that madness made him feel alive.

I’s funny how the reality of absence makes your heart pang and brain wonder “what if?” While I know the love affair was just that - a quick few months of attraction and affection - the finality of “goodbye. See you...probably never” is still wistfully sad. He is a beautiful human being. He made me laugh and was just different enough that I remained curious about him. He knew my body and how to make love to me the way I wanted and fuck me the way I needed. We learned about each other in pillow talk on the days we spent the entire afternoon in bed. We talked about our families, our friends, our fears and even argued in the nude about politics, which we resolved when I commanded him to lick my pussy until I came all over his face. I can count on one hand how many meals we shared in public - and the mornings he brought me coffee in bed are too many to remember.

I know exactly where we were when he told me his deployment orders. We had just spent an afternoon between the sheets and he was twirling a strand of my hair. His face softened, and when he met my eyes the lines across his forehead had deepened. “Babe. I’m leaving in three weeks. 9 months in Korea.” My response was a kiss to his forehead as I wiggled deeper into his embrace. Neither of us spoke. I needed to marinate in the moment and feel the heat of his body against my skin. The sun had disappeared from my room when he finally broke the silence. I watched his brain withdraw from the space between us as he explained his timeline and orders for Korea. I listened and traced the muscles of his back with my fingertips. When his words were gone, I rolled on top of him and kissed him on the mouth. I felt him harden against my abdomen and slid my pussy down to meet him. We fucked savagely for hours - like feral animals, hungry and insatiable. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so alive. I don’t remember falling asleep and I didn’t hear him leave, but I woke up in an empty bed with a dog tag on my nightstand.

I saw him once more after that night, when he came over one evening to say goodbye. We walked around my neighborhood holding hands, indulging the silence as comfortable space between us. I didn’t ask if he wanted to come up and he didn’t ask for an invitation - like we both knew it wasn’t bedroom intimacy that was needed. When he left, he wrapped his arms around me and gave me that squeeze I really love. The one where his chin rests on my head and his arms curl all the way around my back. The one that makes me feel safe. For three months we lived on a physical plane of pleasure; I felt more intimacy in sharing that goodbye than I ever felt when he was inside me. Not to say our sex wasn’t intimate, it was, yet feeling the life cycle of our fling unfold in a single goodbye was an intimacy I felt emotionally.

I told him I wanted to write and made some joke about reviving the art of handwritten letters, and he promised to send his address. We kissed; I held his cheeks with my hands and told him he’ll figure it all out when he gets there. He laughed and ran his fingers through my hair. And that was it - he climbed into his car and I blew him a kiss as he pulled out of my garage. I never got that address, and he never got my letter. Life is so wild. Sometimes lessons come as people who only exist in your story for a moment, yet their impression stays for a lifetime. I hope he is well and I’m sure he figured it out.