"Hey, Jack!" I called out. "Didn't see you at mail call! Did you get a letter from your girlfriend?"
Jack shook his head somberly, and then broke into a grin. "She sure did!" His black hair framed his fair skin and made his white teeth shine even whiter. When he threw his arms back behind his head to show his cleverness, even the sloppily fitting fatigues managed to outline his pecs that were just a little too perfect for comfort...if you know what I mean. I did what I always did when Jack's body tempted me to forget how the Army treated being a little too fond of your buddies...I resorted to insult.
"You son of a bitch!" I chortled, shaking my head. I walked over to my cot, which was next to Jack's where he was sprawled out full-length and plopped down on it in a sitting position like a patron at a movie theater. "Come on, give!"
"With only you for an audience?" Jack wanted to know.
"Huh? Oh, all right." I said. I went to the tent door and leaned out, yelled, "Hey, everyone, Jack's got a new letter from Sheila!"
A chorus of obscene catcalls sounded out. In a short time, a good dozen guys were surrounding our cots, and I had a guy sitting on either side of me. I got front-row center for Jack's letters.
You see, Sheila was a girl of, shall we say, formidable imagination. Jack was kind enough to share them with us poor galoots who either didn't have a girl or whose girlfriends had no clue as to how to write to her boyfriend when he's camped out on a desert surrounded by guys in long robes who all want to slit his throat. What a guy needs in that situation is a few warm words from his girl, and he doesn't want to hear about her mother or her friends or her new clothes. He wants to hear what Jack's girlfriend wrote, what she planned to do to him in bed when she got hold of him again. Sheila's imagination was both varied and vivid, plenty of guys groaned as Jack read to us from her letter, how she was going to undress him slowly, how she was going to fondle him at first, how she was going to take both her tits and squeeze his cock between them, and rub them back and forth and.... Plenty of guys would have to walk out of the tent afterward bent over to hide their erections, and the half-dozen Port-A-Johns we had would fill up and have lines with the guys who weren't planning on anything but a place of privacy while they expressed their liquid appreciation of Sheila's imagination. Jack was unanimously lauded as the luckiest son-of-a-bitch of the entire Fourth Company and probably the entire damned Army in Iraq. When Jack finished his tour of duty and went home in another eight months, we were going to miss his letters a hell of a lot.
When Jack had us all ready, he proceeded to open the letter. One dirty fingernail dug into the small place of the flap where the envelope didn't quite seal, and then he'd tear it open with a slow, easy motion, then hold it to his lips where he'd purse his lips and blow to open the envelope wide, then reach in. Every time, at that point, he'd say, "You sure you guys want me to read this to you?"
"Hell, yeah!" we'd all chorus in near unison.
"Well, then...okay." Jack would then clear his throat a couple of times...or maybe more than a couple; this would earn him some vulgar urging to get the fuck on with it.
This time wasn't different from prior times in any important detail up to then, when Jack would begin to read the letter.
"Dear John." he began, and I frowned. She always had called him Jack, or Jacky-Darling, or Jacky-Poo.
"I've been keeping something from you because I wanted you to be happy. I know you are fighting so hard and that you depend on these letters. But, John, I can't continue to deceive you like this. It wouldn't be fair to you...." That was when Jack trailed off and read silently.
I don't think any of us needed to know what Sheila said next. I started making quiet shooing-away motions to everyone and the guys took the not-very-subtle hint and left. Their grumbling started a little too close to the tent. "That poor bastard." and "She shouldn't have done that to him." and "I guess we should have figured the bitch was just leading him on." came through loud and clear as they walked away. One less joy in their lives just got shot to shit!
All their words were sympathetic to Jack. I don't think that there IS a good time and way to break the news to a soldier in the field--who's getting shot at on a regular basis--that you found yourself another guy. When would you tell him? While he's getting on the plane? While he's over here, and his letters home to you all tell you that you're the main thing keeping him alive? Or do you wait and tell him when he gets back, and wants to just hold you and never let go? Sheila's answer was eight months before he was to come back. Before that, never a hint in her letters. I guess her answer was as good as any...which is to say, rough as hell on the guy.
I looked at Jack, who had finished reading the letter (it had only been one page this time, which should have alerted us; Sheila's missives usually wandered on for four or five pages, miniature porno tales) and was lying again with his hands behind his head. But the smile which normally adorned his face was gone. His face was so...so neutral, it was almost frightening.
"Hey...Jack." I said tentatively.
Nothing.
"Jack, I'm sorry, man." I said. "Really sorry."
Still nothing. I reached out to touch Jack's shoulder, just a comfort motion. When I did...well, you know to watch out when you touch a soldier who's seen action, if he's not expecting it, he can lash out at you. But Jack hadn't seen enough action, nonstop action, that is, to develop that instinctive reaction.
But I got it from him when I touched him. He lashed at me, hard, and if I hadn't had my own training in hand-to-hand fighting, he could have hurt me damned bad. As it was, I ducked back and blocked the diminished blow from him having to extend full-body, and said, "Hey, hey, it's me, Jack, its' me!"
His face wasn't neutral now. Pain, real pain, contorted it into a near Halloween mask of agony. Jack got his body under control, dropped back to the bed, and now his arm went over his eyes. "Shit!" He moaned. "Shit! Shit!"
"It's okay, man, it's okay." I said. "It happens. You're not the only guy it's happened to. I mean, having a crowd around when you got the news isn't any fun, but shit, all the guys are on your side. You know that. We all got your back here."
Jack's face was working now, first mad, then about to cry, then fearful, then...I don't know, it was all flickering across his face.
I did the only thing I could think of, I jumped on top of Jack and I got him in my arms and I held him. Just as hard as I could, my chin on his shoulder and his on mine, and he was flailing, and then he steadied down, went still. Then the shuddering and I rolled off of him, keeping hold of him and lay beside him, held him while he cried.
I didn't think any less of Jack for crying about Sheila dumping him. Hell, losing a girl like her, I'd be crying, too.
"Shit!" he said when he was done, or mostly done, crying. He was wiping his eyes with his fingers, so I think he was over the worst of it. "Now what the fuck am I going to do?"
"Well." I considered this. "Most guys go out and find themselves a hooker and get themselves laid."
"Option number two?" Jack asked with a hint of the old smile there. We were in a camp in the middle of the fucking desert, and the closest we got to a leave was the opportunity to walk away from the camp and spend some time in the desert...which lost its luster when you remembered that guerillas could be out there ready to pop you if they could. Our company was due to be rotated to another camp, this one closer to civilization, in another month. But it did leave the old "find a hooker" option not worthwhile.
"Get drunk." I offered. That was at least doable, even in the desert, enough liquor found its way onto the base to let me dig it up for Jack if he wanted.
Jack considered this, shook his head. "Nah. I been drunk before. It's no good. Got to do something else."
"Don't give up on the hooker yet." I said. "You got friends in this company, we could make some calls...."
"Any woman I lay is just going to remind me of Sheila, and I don't want that right now." Jack rejected that idea.
"Well." I said. "In that case, I guess the best thing I can think of is to sit and talk with a good friend about it. Just as long as you want to talk."
Jack considered that. "Well, that's pretty close."
"How close?" I asked.
"What I need is to have sex with the exact opposite of Sheila." Jack said. "As different as I can get."
I was suddenly very conscious of having Jack in my arms. I let go and got up and stood above him, him lying there looking up at me. "What can be more different than a hot-looking babe?" I asked. "Someone like an ugly old toothless grandmother, maybe?"
"No." Jack said, and his hand came up and took mine in it. "Someone like a good friend."
"Jack?" I said, but it wasn't a question, it was...wonder.
"Someone to wash it all away." Jack said to me and his eyes were like liquid holes, into which I could dive, and sink slowly all the way down to the endless, bottomless depth. "Someone to make me feel worthwhile again." His skin was golden, his teeth were pearls. "Someone to love me, just the way I am right now."
I had been holding my breath and only just then realized it. I let it out in a long exhale. As I did, a sense of...release came over me. Like an unlocking of a long-locked double-wide door, the door sliding aside to let in the light, the sun, the flowers of the garden beyond. Like the unlocking of the gates of Paradise, a place where everything is beautiful and everyone is happy and everything is all right, always, forever.
"I think I can handle that." I said, and that sounded inane to me.
But Jack just smiled wider and said, "I'm sure you can."
I just had to kiss that face, that smile, make it part of me. Jack's lips were just as soft and friendly as they looked. Smoothly as melted butter, they slid over mine and Jack kissed me as I kissed him...hungrily, needing, craving. I went from leaning over him to kneeling on the ground beside his cot, all without letting go of that warm, so warm mouth on my own.
Neither of us dared make our sounds too loud, we were in a tent, after all, and surrounded by people. Those people were giving us our privacy, but if they heard sounds of anything other than talking and comforting, they'd violate that privacy. But there's a lot you can do without needing to make noise, or getting undressed much, or even talking about it with each other.
I worked my hands over Jack's body, covered with his clothing, but feeling it just the same. His own hands played over my body, and I couldn't feel any difference between the contact between his hands over my cotton t-shirt and pants and the contact of bare skin to bare skin. It was Jack, he was touching me, I was touching him...it was enough.
I reached my hand down to his pants fly, the buttons there were large, green Army buttons, and I could get them though the oversized buttonholes they inhabited without much effort. That's on purpose, I understand--if you're wounded, your buddies need to be able to get your clothing off you without a lot of hassle. But it made it easy for me to open the fly that enclosed Jack's privates, and to fish into them and find the boxers and their open fly and inside that...a warm, moist paradise! My hand bathed in that warmth and it was the elixir of immortality, the feel of the velvet-like skin that held his seed and his vitality and his life.
It took a bit of time for my hand to sort out the thick folds of skin into their components, I actually had hold of one of Jack's balls for a moment, thinking it was his cock, but then I realized my error (Jack just grunted when I squeezed (not too hard), and maybe thought it was part of my sex play with him. Then I found his cock, or rather his foreskin, a thick fold of empty skin, and then inside that, the knob of his glans.
I touched it, and the glans was sticky and rolled under my fingers, and Jack smiled into my face, and I kissed him again, and the glans began to grow for me. I had been wondering if Jack was, well, underendowed, but as it firmed up, it lengthened until a respectable size was seeking out the light.
I got my hand around it and Jack sighed and moaned into my mouth as I pumped on it, bringing it from semi-solid awakening into full vibrant turgidity.
Yeah, a nice, solid cock, the one that Sheila had written about so long and so lovingly. She had spoken of waking it up and kissing it until it was sitting up like a trained dog on its hind legs, ready for the treat. She had scorned it for being away from her for a matter of several months, and had sought out another pet closer to home. Now, this trouser-dog was all mine.
Well, little pants-puppy, time for your treat, good dog, good dog! Give us a kiss!
Salty and sticky, the glans was primed and waiting as I touched my tongue to its tip. In that slimy topping was the strong male juices that were born from Jack's loins, and now they gave themselves to me, the fluid replenishing itself as I lapped it from his glans-slit. Soon, my entire tongue was moistened with his precome, and I let the man-meat's liquid spur my saliva to life, and the wetness that my mouth produced, I lavished onto Jack's pud as I slid my mouth down over him.
"Mmmmm, yeahhhhh!" Jack moaned softly (softly, nobody else must hear!) to me as I worked the length of his cock down my gullet. "That's it, that's what I need, take it, take it all. Wash Sheila away from it, wash it all away."
I began to work the cock up and down, slowly, then faster as my throat adjusted to the presence.
"Oh, God, yeah, take it, all of it, make me forget Sheila ever sucked on it." Jack gasped. "Make me forget all about the bitch!"
That was easy, sucking on Jack's prong had been the stuff of my dreams ever since we'd been assigned to the same tent. I began to realize why Jack, who had once stripped down to briefs easily, began to wear his full clothing all the time, even in this hot climate. Jack had picked up on my desires for him, and had removed the temptation from me by keeping his body covered. That was why the Muslim women dressed as they did, to remove all temptation from a man who saw their bodies. The Army uniform was just as form-concealing in its nature. Maybe we weren't as different from each other as we thought we were.
But Jack had known I wanted him, and long as he'd had Sheila waiting and her letters to warm his thoughts and dreams, I hadn't tempted him. After all, don't ask and don't tell. But when Sheila was gone, well, there I was, ready to service him and help him drive her away.
Jack's hand reached down and his hand caught my basket, palped it. I paused in sucking his cock just long enough to reach down and undo my pants buttons for him, and then his hand had my cock in it and he was working me while I slurped on him.
A kindness from a straight--or nearly so--guy to the man who was servicing him, I took it as that and didn't press for more. I wasn't here as Jack's lover, I was his therapist, giving him that all important post-relationship sex that lets a man begin to rebuild his morale and restore his sense of self-worth. Sheila didn't want Jack, that was okay, I wanted him, and I had him now.
I was going to enjoy this while it lasted!
I caught Jack's balls in my hand, and noticed they were close to the shaft...he was close to ejaculating. Not much time left, I judged. Let my own desires wash over me, then, I told myself, I had Jack's hand pumping on my dick and he was doing a fair job of it, I could splat my jizz on the ground this time. Go on, body, you don't get that much joy in this life, not in this Army, not in this land...go for it, take it all, take it now, or you'll be pumping yourself with only a memory to warm you! If you want it, do it now!
I looked at Jack's face, what I could see, he had his head thrown way back and I was looking at the bottom of his chin, a triangular point above a smooth surface. But from the area beyond this chin-mountain, came the sounds of a man in rapture. Feel the soft silken skin in your mouth as you work it, feel the warm pressure of the fingers as they jerk you, feel the solid, palpable presence of a man beneath you on the cot, the very aura of him stroking your skin, if you'll let it, it will fuel your fire, it will stoke your stove, it will clutch your climax and send it hurtling into your brain like gasoline into a flame!
"Uh, huh, uh, uh, uh, uh, guh-h-h-h-h-hhhhhhh!" Jack's stifled scream of orgasm gave me the warning I needed, I was ready for the hunching upwards of his hips as he bucked back and forth suddenly, the heat his dong suddenly put out, the rush of his pearly juices as his dick sprayed into my mouth with mighty clumps of hot male spunk, I was ready and I gulped him down as fast as I could. You weren't getting this, Sheila, it was mine, all mine, and I was keeping it, take that, you heartless bitch!
My triumph over the distant female who had dominated everyone's fantasies was all my own cock needed to reach its climax, I gulped the hot salty spray and I shuddered, my brain exploded and I squirted like a dog atop a bitch, forward and hard, shoot it, shoot it all, yeah, shoot it, and my vigor was rewarded by the audible splats of spunk as it hit the bottom of the cot.
Done, panting heavily, I sucked the last livid love-juice from Jack's cock, and when it was all drained out, all of it, the dick deflating and folding back into itself as I had found it, I let it go and sat up on my heels, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, regarded my artwork below me, one hot, hunky soldier, now sucked dry, lying blissfully near the torpor of sexually satiated sleep. And then Jack looked over at me and smiled.
"Thanks." he said to me. "Just what I needed."
"Glad I could help." I said.
"Yeah." Jack said. "It's a start, anyway. Damn that whore, anyway! Why couldn't she have done it a little at a time, instead of sending me off those steaming notes of hers all the way up until the point she dumped me?"
I remembered my own epiphany of earlier. "I don't think there's any good way for a girl to dump a man who's away from home and living in a battle zone." I said. "No means no, no matter how you say it and when."
"Maybe." Jack mused and his frown was a storm on his normally placid face. "But I'm sure going to miss those letters she sent to me. So will everyone else."
That gave me an idea. "I guess we'll find something to take its place." I said.
"Maybe." Jack buttoned himself up. "I'm going to take a nap now, if you don't mind."
"I'll leave you alone." I agreed and took off. I spent the next two hours at a table in the mess hall, poring over my solution to Jack's woes.
And the next day, I watched as Jack came in and saw the letter lying on his bunk. "You got a letter." I gestured.
Jack looked at it, grunted, and then opened it up. Read it over. "What the hell do you think about this?" he asked me.
"Want me to call the guys?" I offered.
That smile returned. "Sure. Why not?"
I opened the tent door and hollered, "Hey, everyone! Jack's got another letter from Sheila! She's made up with him and sent him another one of her special letters!"
We got a bigger than average crowd for that, as you might guess. Jack sat and began to read, of the apology for being foolish enough to write that letter breaking up with him and then mailing it, and then launching into one of the raunchiest letters you can imagine.
I could imagine it. I wrote it, and Jack knew it. But hell, long as nobody else figured it out, Jack could save face in front of his buddies and continue to regale them with the promises of what was waiting for him when we all got home. Meanwhile, Jack could heal, and I would continue to garner the side-effects of his need to feel wanted by quietly reaffirming his self-worth with my little services.
Jack was going to be getting "Dear John" letters for quite a long time to come.