“And I miss you like the deserts miss the rain.”– Everything but the girl
I couldn’t stop thinking about Jeremy since we had last said goodbye only days earlier. I truly believed that I had found my perfect man. He was everything I ever wanted. He kept on surprising me with more wonderful things in everything he said and did. Whenever I thought of him, I went all gooey inside and became aroused each time I thought about all the foreplay, sex and after play he seemed to dish out by the shovelful. And it didn’t help, of course, that for half a day after each visit, I could still feel Jeremy moving inside me.
I missed Jeremy so much, my flatmates didn’t provide the same stimulating conversation that we had, and they didn’t send me into another world like he did when we made love. I lay in bed one night re-reading Jeremy’s latest three letters. They were so beautiful. I loved everything he wrote in them so much that I became wet just remembering and imagining him doing what he said he would. He made me feel something that I’d never felt before, adored.
Jeremy’s last letter was especially amazing, not just how he described how it felt to be inside of me, which I loved, but also his description of his values and character. We were a perfect match. Although I didn’t think that he was “boring” maybe because I was on the same level of boring. All I wanted in life was to be happy and comfortable with my perfect man, which he was. I would rather be successful in my marriage and bringing up children – which were a long way off – than have had an amazing career. I rarely went out on the town and saw no reason why I would ever need to when I could spend the evenings in bed with my gorgeous guy.
It was difficult not to compare Alison favourably to my previous girlfriend. Easier still since Liz had now been going out of her way to make life difficult for me. Even more so since Liz had discovered the existence of Alison. It had taken a while, but word had eventually filtered through to her from either a mutual work colleague or an army contact from the camp. If it had been from work, then she would have also followed though her Signals Corps network, some of whom may have known Alison from Brigade HQ, or directly by asking questions of her Sig mates in the hope of digging up some dirt.
Liz was already pissed with me because I seemed to be okay with our breakup – but she didn’t know why I was. I don’t know if her original plan of moving out whilst I was in Queensland had been to make me suffer – because I was powerless to have prevented it – but when she learnt that I had already met someone she hit the roof. And when she discovered that it was during the same camp that she had dumped me she truly lost her shit. In her mind I had set out to cheat on her while I had been away on that camp which now legitimised her dumping and her rage.
But what I failed to remember until much later was, that in one of Liz’s rounds of quasi-feminist point scoring crusades, that it was her who had taught me the tactic of tagging your opposing player in touch football when you had the ball. If she hadn’t taught me that I never would have reached out that day in Queensland and touched Alison in the way that I did. Perhaps Alison already had me in her sights before I had but it certainly didn’t hurt my chances.
Suddenly I was the guilty party in the breakup and responsible for Liz moving out. I dared to still work in the same building, march in same army, live in the same city, and breathe the same air as her. It was all my fault. I was an officer consorting with a private soldier. Actually, that one was true. Liz even referred to Alison as a “floozy”.
I never needed Alison more than I needed her then.
I missed him so much that my heart began to hurt.
That was the moment that we knew that we were in love.