Dear Soldier Boy by Maxwell Tibor Read Free Book Online Page B

to keep it G-rated with you, and then you send me things to put on my balls. You’re killing me. I will be needing a remedy for blue balls next. Though, I see you covered that with the bottle of unscented lotion. According to the bottle, it is suitable for even the most sensitive areas. I will have to get back to you on that one. At the moment, I am bedding down with fifty other men. No alone time, so no need of lotion. But I thank you in advance, because we both know I will be thinking of you when I do get to use it.

Here is the thing, Vivian. I am incredibly attracted to you, like insanely so. It defies reason how into you I am. This makes no sense. Yes, you are beautiful, but we haven’t even met. And we never will.

It's my turn to feel remorseful and apologize for saying something I shouldn’t have. I really like what we have going on between us. Reading your letters is my favorite time of the day. I carry them with me and read them more often than I am willing to admit. Every day I get excited when the mail comes, because there is a chance there will be a letter from you. And the chime of my email is, quite literally, my favorite sound. It's like a drug; I get this hit every time you write to me, and I love it. I can admit that. It's what gets me through the day.

I know we joke about meeting in real life and making something of this, but we can’t. And no, it isn’t because of my job, though that is not ideal. Even in a perfect world, we would only see each other when I am on leave.

Even if I were stationed Stateside, this wouldn’t work, and it kind of pisses me off. No, strike that; it really pisses me off. You are exactly the woman I want. I can’t even say “kind of woman I want,” because I have never met anyone else like you. There is nobody else like you. You are outrageous, and funny, and so incredibly sexy, and somehow, you find my attempts at humor funny.

So, what is the problem? I mean, I want you, and you miraculously seem to tolerate me. Well, I am the problem. I didn’t want to tell you this, but I have been going through some stuff for the last few months. Basically, our timing is shit. If I had gotten your letter last year, shit, I don’t even want to think about it. Things would be different. God, they would be different.

You never asked me how I got your letter. Anyone could have gotten it. Why was I rifling through Dear Soldier letters? The shrink told me I should. Apparently, it is a way to stay grounded and in touch with the real world. This should have you running a mile in the opposite direction, the fact that I am seeing a shrink, the fact I need something to tether me to reality. Geez, I never wanted to tell you any of this.

But you deserve to know that I am not just jerking you around. Something happened. There was an incident—that is what we are calling it. Now, I’m probably scaring you. You probably think I'm a real whack job. God, it is nothing like that. Or maybe it is. Shit, it is war. That's what it is. Things happen. Mistakes. Shit.

If you’re still reading this, I’m sorry. I'm sorry for swearing. I’m sorry for jerking you around. I’m sorry for making you think that something could actually happen between us.

I had no right to ask you about the guy in the tux. Yes, I'm jealous. But I have no right to be. I have no claim on you, and I would be a selfish bastard to ask you to wait for me. Because you would not be waiting for my tour to end. You would be waiting for me to be the person I was before, and that just isn’t going to happen.

Vivian, you are amazing. I want you to be happy, and I know that will never be with me. I want to keep writing to you. I don’t want to give that up. Your letters have become everything to me. But we can only keep doing this if we both acknowledge where we are at. We need some ground rules. First, I don’t want to talk about the incident. Talking about it doesn’t help, and I don’t want that part of my life