26.
Sweetheart,
I hate that I’m not there with you. Hate that I wasn’t there to protect you, my brothers, my family. Hate that someone, no matter the intended target, intended to hurt others. I cannot express my gratitude that you were already at the clubhouse when it happened. I cannot bear…
I’ve memorized the pictures you sent, the lines of your brow, the curve of your cheeks, the kissibility of your lips. I feel as though I can recall your image in an instant, but every photo you send I find something I’ve overlooked before. The time when I will not need photos or my memory at all cannot arrive soon enough. My hands will traverse your body and know it as well as my own. My nerves will alight at the barest hint of your scent. Your taste, a craving I hope to never completely sate.
Shit got poetic and mushy. A man has time on his hands when there is nothing to do but think when Uncle Sam is being a dick. The government moves at a snail’s pace when it suits it. My military lawyer has petitioned for my Article 15 to be a Court Martial, allowing us to defend me properly against the absurd charges and shine a little light on the darker parts of my CO’s military career.
It seems I’m destined to lose sleep, worrying about and missing you, and hoping for the exact thing a soldier tries to avoid their entire career. It’s unnerving, but I trust my attorney, Jupiter, Mars, and the others that it’s the right course of action.
So, when my mind cannot take anymore, I pull out your pictures and I occupy myself with your image instead. You’re about 2 months along, give or take, how is your body changing? Morning sickness? How different will you feel when it’s our child you nurture and nourish beneath your breast? Or if the whole pregnancy experience isn’t one you wish to repeat because it sucks donkey dick, would you be open to adoption? Or do you see our future childless, spoiling nieces and nephews of our club brothers and sisters?
I just want a life with you. A future that’s filled with your laughter.
Shit, I got poetic and mushy again.
Let’s see how I can fix that…I remember vividly how your body writhed when I was between your thighs, the way it bowed with my hands on your thick nipples. Are your nipples more sensitive? Is the sensation different when you tug on them now when you think of me? Do you want my mouth on them, easing their achy fullness? Could you cum just from my hands and mouth on your nipples?
Perhaps that’s an experiment best performed with emotional support, words of sinful encouragement…a video call is in order, for science.
‘til then, tug and twist a little harder and think of me.
Elazar