Copyright 2003 Frank Downey. No use whatsoever without permission.
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LETTERS TO BRIAN
By Frank Downey
January 4th, 2003
To: PFC Brian Johnson
Kuwait
From: Rhiannon O’Roarke
Framingham, MA
Dear PFC Johnson,
Hello. My name is Rhiannon O’Roarke, and I’m a senior at Framingham High School in Framingham, MA. We are one of the schools participating in the "Write A Soldier" program, and that is where I got your name. I wanted to write to someone that was an enlisted person and on the ‘front lines’, and your information said that you were in the infantry.
I am writing for what might seem like an unusual reason. You see, I have been protesting against this war. I think it’s the wrong war at the wrong time. I’ve been active in the protest movement, going to the demonstrations and all.
There has been a bit of a conflict in my house about this. My parents are both divided on the war. However, my Dad thought that I was getting too involved in the anti-war arguments. He thinks I should look at both sides of an argument. He’s like that. Then again, he’s usually right.
So, that’s why I decided to write to you. You’re there. If there’s a war, you’re going to have to fight it. How do you feel about it? I really am curious. I don’t like the reasons for this war—but I have great respect for the people that wear our country’s uniform. I wanted to know what someone in your position thinks about all this.
Also, what do you, and your friends there, think about the anti-war protests?
Thank you,
Rhiannon O’Roarke
January 9th, 2003
To: Rhiannon O’Roarke
From: PFC Brian Johnson
Dear Ms. O’Roarke.
Thank you very much for writing. Mail is always appreciated here.
Boy, you ask some tough questions though!
It’s like this—if you have a job, you do what your boss tells you to, don’t you? Even if you don’t like it. If you don’t like it enough, you get another job. But you still do what your boss tells you to.
It’s a little different in the Army, since I signed up for a 4-year hitch, and can’t quit until that’s done. But I still have to do what the boss tells me to.
I’ll admit that you probably have more information on the causes and whys and wherefores of the war than I do. When you’re a grunt on the ground, you stick with your assigned duties. I was sent here straight from Korea. Considering what North Korea has been up to, I think I’d rather be here!
I don’t know. Listen, Saddam is evil, I think we all know that. Is he a danger to us? I don’t know. Is it our business? I don’t know. The weapons of mass destruction thing worries me, though I don’t think the inspectors from the UN are being given enough time. And trying to tie Iraq in with 9/11 worries me, because that strikes me as hyperbole.
I guess I’m mixed. I don’t think taking out Saddam would be the worst thing we could ever do, though. If we get rid of that vermin, and free his people, maybe it’ll be all worth it.
As for the protests—well, that’s what America is about, isn’t it? I’m Black. My parents participated in the March on Washington when they were only teenagers. They heard Martin Luther King speak. Without non-violent protest, a lot of what was accomplished for my people never would have been. I just hope that those protesting against this war remember the Vietnam protests. My Dad was in ‘Nam. When he got back, he got spat on—just because he was in the military. As I said, I’m just a grunt—I don’t make decisions. I hope the people back home remember that.
I hope this helped answer some of your questions. If you feel like writing again, please do so. I’d enjoy it. You seem like a bright, concerned young lady. You’re a senior—what is that, 17? 18? (I’m 20). I don’t care what side you’re on, being interested while still in high school is good. God knows I wasn’t. You learn a lot touring the world in a USA military uniform. Anyway, as I said, I’d like for you to write again. The only people that write me are my parents!
Sincerely,
PFC Brian Johnson
PS: Massachusetts? Is it snowing there? It certainly isn’t here in Kuwait! Then again, it doesn’t snow much in Macon, Georgia, either (which is where I’m from). It snows in Korea, though.
January 15th, 2003
Dear PFC Johnson,
Thanks for your reply. To take the last question first, yes, it’s snowing like the dickens here right now! I actually like snow—some of the time. Though I admit that I liked it more before I got my driver’s license.
I’m 17, but I’ll be 18 on February 23rd.
I understand what you said about doing what the boss tells you. But I liked what you had to say about your feelings on the war. It is confusing. Sometimes, though—at least from over here—it seems like we’re getting a hard sell on whatever theme the Administration thinks it has to sell. It’s scattershot, and that worries me. It seems like blind lashing out—revenge for 9/11 or something—that they’re desperately searching for a rationale.
I agree with you about Saddam. But I also don’t know if it’s our business.
You said you’re in the Army for four years. When is that up? Are you going to stay in or are you going to do something else? I’m filling out college applications now. Boston University is my first choice. I want to go into education.
The only person that writes you is your parents? Well, we can’t have that! I’ll just have to keep writing. I love my parents, but if I were a gazillion miles from home, I’d want to hear from someone else! I guess you don’t have a hometown sweetie in Macon, then. <G>
I’m a great admirer of Doctor King. That’s very neat that your parents were there for that.
I have two older brothers, and Framingham is west of Boston. It’s OK. I go to Framingham North High School.
Thanks for your reply. I hope you can write back.
Sincerely,
Rhiannon O’Roarke
January 22nd, 2003
Dear Ms. O’Roarke,
Great. I’ve got a pen pal. I love it! And, no, no hometown sweeties. My buddies from back home occasionally write, but guys aren’t much for letters. Until they get in the Army and get shipped off to Kuwait, then they know better!
I went into the Army for college money, and that’s where I’m going when my hitch is done. August of 2004. I don’t know where I’m going to go to college yet, but I want to go for communications.
I have two older brothers, and I have one younger brother and two younger sisters. Which is why I had to go into the Army to make money for college. My family isn’t rich. Dad is a carpenter, Mom’s a nurse. They do OK, but with six kids….
It’s hot and dusty here. And there’s not much to do in the off-hours. I read as much as I can. Which is why mail is so good.
What do you like to do for fun? Hobbies, anything like that? I play piano. That’s what I miss most of all, actually—except parents and friends—there’s no pianos in the desert. My musical tastes are a bit strange—I like playing ragtime especially. Also old rock and roll and blues. I listen to a lot of that stuff, too. Then again, I listen to hip-hop as well. Do you go out a lot? Social butterfly? Fourteen boyfriends?
So. Are your parents serious Fleetwood Mac fans or did they just like the name? <G>
Best,
Brian
January 30th, 2003
Dear Brian,
Your letter made me crack up!
Yes, and yes. They’re serious Fleetwood Mac fans, and they liked the name. It can get annoying, though. Everybody sings it to me!
I have a few friends. Reading is actually my favorite pastime. I like going out with my few close girlfriends, out to eat or to the mall, but I’m not a party animal. And no boyfriends at the moment <G>. I made the mistake of going out with the same guy for a year and a half. It ended last summer, but I was "out of circulation" for too long. And, no, it wasn’t that it was so long that was a mistake—it’s that he was an asshole. Ah, well, enough ranting….
That is a lot of kids! Your parents were busy! <G>.
My Dad’s the officer at a bank. Mom’s an insurance agent. We’re comfortable but not rich. Then again, there are only three kids! Both my brothers are in college right now, that’s kind of a strain, but my oldest brother is graduating this year, so at least Mom and Dad won’t have all three of us in at once!
I don’t play an instrument. I act in the school plays, though. I always get what my drama director calls the "Rosie O’Donnell" parts—you know, the female lead’s sidekick. Never the lead. Always the sidekick. That’s OK, though.
What with this war going on, I’ve been reading too much newspapers and websites and such. I need to read some trashy romance novels, to give my mind a break!
Do you have a picture of yourself?
Speaking of old-time rock and roll pianists, wasn’t Little Richard from Macon? Oh, OK, I admit it—my Dad told me <G>.
Best,
Rhiannon
February 5th, 2003
Dear Rhiannon,
There’s a picture enclosed, me in my military finest. Do you have one?
I know about trashy romance novels. My sisters leave them around all the time. OK, so I’ve read a few. Some of them aren’t bad. But, hey, I’m a guy, right? I’m picking my way through a Tom Clancy right now.
Yes, Little Richard is from Macon. I can bang away at "Good Golly Miss Molly" pretty well. Can’t sing, though!
Why did you stay with an asshole for a year and a half? Or is that too personal a question? I had a girlfriend for most of Senior year, but it ended when I hitched up with the Army. She was going to college and wasn’t willing to wait. That was OK, though—it was amicable.
We set up a makeshift basketball court in camp. Some of the guys play soccer, too, but I’m not much for that. I like hoops. Something to pass the time. Since we’re not actually at war or anything, we do a whole lot of waiting around. There’s a lot of just talking. We get together and talk. Usually about things I can’t go into in a letter to a nice young lady like yourself! But sometimes about the war. There are more guys over here that share your doubts than you’d realize. But, we’re all resigned. I think we all believe we’re going in, no matter what.
Acting is very cool. One of my best friends in high school did it. That’s hard work.
Malls. I must admit, I miss malls. Bet you thought you’d never hear that from a guy, huh? <G>
Best,
Brian
February 10th, 2003
Dear Brian,
I got your picture. Articulate, nice, and gorgeous. Flutter, flutter <G>.
Oh, don’t worry about what you say. It’s obvious that your parents raised you to be a gentleman, but don’t bother. I have two older brothers, remember? I know what you talk about. Sex and girls. Sometimes I’ll bet you even talk about girls and sex <G>. I have heard it all, believe me.
Yeah, it’s a personal question, but for you, I’ll answer it. I didn’t know he was an asshole. I thought we were in love. Speaking of talking about certain things, he was my, you know, first. I thought it was bliss. Until I walked in on him fucking another girl in our class. Turns out that wasn’t the first time, or the first girl.
I enjoy the occasional Tom Clancy, actually. Is there anything you need? Can you get packages there? I could set up a book care package for you and your buddies, if you’d like.
Here’s a picture. It’s last year’s class picture, but I look the same.
I was talking to my Dad about writing you. He asked me if I liked you, and I said I did. He asked me if it changed my opinion, and I said, yes—but not in the way you’d think. I want the war less now. Now that I know someone over there. But, I think you and your buddies are correct—I think it’s inevitable.
Best,
Rhiannon
February 15th, 2003
Dear Rhiannon,
You’re beautiful. Thank you for the picture.
I hate guys that do what your ex-boyfriend did. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I couldn’t conceive of doing something like that to someone I cared about.
As for the offer of a care package—that is VERY generous of you. And it would be well appreciated, let me tell you. One of the guys said that if you sent over some new books, he was going to name his rifle after you. I told him I didn’t think you’d quite appreciate that! Anything, anything at all, the newer the better, if I’ve already read it, someone won’t have. Thank you.
Yes, Momma and Daddy raised me with old-fashioned manners. But, yeah, I’m sure my little sisters have heard it all, too! You know, the talk gets raunchy. A lot of the guys do have girlfriends, and sometimes wives, at home. They miss ‘em, of course. They talk about what they want to do with them when they get home. In great detail <G>. My manners prohibit me from saying any more. <G> I’m sure you can connect the dots, however. Since I don’t have anyone at home, I can only participate vicariously.
I’m looking at your picture again. Your hair and eyes are stunning, you know. One of my buddies saw it and said, "Where do I get a pen pal that looks like that?"
Why does knowing someone over here make a difference? I’m just curious why that would matter.
Best,
Brian
February 19th, 2003
Dear Brian,
I have rewritten this letter twelve times. I don’t know if I should say what I want to say. But, then I said, to heck with it.
First of all, a couple of my girlfriends had the same exact reaction to your picture. And then I told them you were sweet, respectful, smart, witty, all that good stuff.
When you were talking about what your buddies discuss about their wives and girlfriends, and you said you had to participate vicariously—well, I wish you wouldn’t. I wish you’d participate for real. You do have someone at home, who’d let you.
I’m blushing from head to toe. I thought this would be easier in a letter!
Why does it make a difference that I know someone over there? Because now I get to worry.
Yours,
Rhie
PS—care package is in the works
February 20th, 2003
Dear Rhiannon
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR RHIANNON
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!!!!!
I would’ve sent a card, but I couldn’t find a Walgreens in the middle of the desert <G>.
Haven’t gotten your latest yet, but didn’t want you to think I forgot your birthday.
Best,
Brian
February 23rd, 2003
Dear Rhie,
I don’t know what to say. I really don’t.
Except for two things. First of all, don’t worry. Second of all—I’d never say anything to my buddies about what I’d like to do to you. Because that wouldn’t be right. Because I haven’t told you. And I’m not sure if I can do that in a letter.
Yours,
Brian
February 28th, 2003
Dear Brian,
YOU REMEMBERED MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! Do you know how sweet that was? Just the letter was the best.
As for your other letter. Well, I’m not going to be able to keep from worrying, I’m just not. As for the other thing, well—I’ve enclosed another picture. I took this one myself on my digital camera. You can’t show this one to your buddies, not that I’d ever expect you to, you’re too respectful for that.
Brian, you have to understand, I do not just do things like this. I’m drawn to you in a way that I can’t completely understand. I just am. I just wanted to talk to someone over there, see what they were facing, hear their stories. I didn’t plan on this. But it happened, and it’s not going away.
I didn’t know a series of letters and a picture could make me want someone this badly. But they have.
I hope you don’t think I’m crazy.
Yours,
Rhie
March 4th, 2003
Dear Rhie,
You know, it’s a good thing I wasn’t cleaning my weapon when that picture dropped out of the envelope. Because I would’ve blown my head off out of shock!
You are beautiful, all over. I want to run my fingers through your hair. I want to look in your eyes. I want my hands on your breasts, and my mouth on your lips, and then I want to move my mouth down to your breasts, and then lower……and lower still…..until you scream my name.
I didn’t plan on this, either. I knew I liked you, but I was trying to be respectful. I can’t, not holding in my hand a nude picture of this beautiful, lively, smart, wonderful girl that somehow managed to find me.
Unfortunately, I can’t return the favor. Not here. You’ll have to use your imagination.
No, you’re not crazy. I want you so bad it hurts. And it took me by surprise as much as it did you.
Yours,
Brian
PS—we got the books. They’re being vigorously passed around as we speak. I’ve been ordered to include a "YOU RULE, RHIANNON!" from the whole unit.
March 8th, 2003
Dear Brian,
I just read your letter.
You have no idea how wet you made me. I was soaking. Drenched.
If I wanted you to be respectful, you never would’ve gotten that picture. There’s a time to be respectful. You were, when you needed to be. That time has passed.
I took your letter up to my room. I got undressed. I ran my hands all over where you said you were going to put your mouth. I imagined it was you. I have a very good imagination. When I came, I screamed your name.
Then I thought of my hand, going down the front of your pants, finding you, stroking you. Then taking your pants off, and pulling you into me. Pulling you down on top of me. Letting you in, letting you drive into me. And screaming my name as I screamed yours again.
I want to break your eardrum with it. I will be waiting patiently until I can.
Yours,
Rhie
PS—by the way, I heard from BU. I got in! And I’m glad you all are enjoying the books.
March 12th, 2003
Dearest Rhie,
I’m an unusual guy. How so? I like afterwards.
I think of rolling off of you, and then pulling you close. Stroking your hair, looking in your eyes, whispering all those words that lovers whisper in the afterglow. Running my fingers down your arm, stroking your waist, your hip, your thigh. Pulling you close so that your breasts press up against my chest. Putting my lips onto yours. Saying all those things that need to wait until we’re in person.
Then I think of rolling on my back, pulling you on top of me. I’m ready again, we’re ready. I think of you straddling me, riding me, your face flushed, your eyes closed, as you reach for your pleasure. I think of you collapsing on top of me, hugging my chest, as you recover, me still hard and still inside. I think about two warm bodies finding out everything there is to know about each other.
Yours,
Brian
PS—congratulations on BU! Do they have a communications department?
March 16th, 2003
Dearest Brian,
There’s a place near my house. It’s secluded. It’s a small grassy clearing surrounded by trees. Nobody goes there. It’s my private little spot.
I want to take you there. I want to lie with you in the grass, as I take all your clothes off, one by one, praying we don’t get discovered. I want to lie in the grass as you take me, with all your might, with the trees overhead and the birds singing and the wind in our face and the sun on our bodies.
I want us to hurry, to rush, as we fear being discovered. I want you to drive into me, taking me over the edge, following me. I want to curl up in your arms in the grass as we listen for sounds, hearing nothing but the birds and our own breathing.
I want to take you to my secret place—and I want to make it ours.
Love,
Rhie
PS—yes, BU has a very well-regarded communications department.
March 20th, 2003
Dearest Rhie,
I got your latest. I wish I could respond. I wish I had time. I wish I could linger over the words you wrote, and take myself there, to your special place, in my mind.
But I can’t. Invasion is imminent. We could be heading for Iraq as early as tomorrow. We’re all getting ready.
Please continue to write. They’ll get to me. I can’t tell you how often I can write back, but I’ll do it as much as I can. Do not be alarmed if you don’t hear from me right away. Look, this is morbid, I know, but—my parents have your address. If anything happens to me, they will get in touch with you.
But nothing’s going to happen. I have your picture. I keep it with me. Don’t worry, because that picture is going to bring me home.
I love you,
Brian
March 24, 2003
Dearest Brian,
I’m scared. I’m sorry, I admit it. I’m scared.
We’re watching it on TV. I think I hate the embedded reporters. I keep looking for you, even though I know what a longshot that is.
Be safe.
BU’s giving me a partial scholarship. Mom and Dad are thrilled <G>.
I love you,
Rhie
March 30th, 2003.
Dearest Rhie,
The mail’s keeping up pretty well.
We’re getting close to Baghdad. We’ve seen some fighting, but not a lot of it heavy.
You are scared? I’m not exactly calm. I told one of my buddies yesterday, "Figures. I find the girl who may well be the love of my life. If I get wasted out in the middle of this fucking desert before I even get to meet her, God’s gonna have some ‘splainin’ to do."
I can’t write long. I wish I could. I say goodnight to your picture every night. Close your eyes, and maybe you’ll hear me.
Love,
Brian
April 5th, 2003
Dearest Brian,
The love of your life? Can this happen to two people who’ve never met? I guess so, because I feel it, too.
Not God. God’s got nothing to do with this. If something happens to you, it’s George Dumbya Bush who’s going to have some ‘splainin’ to do, as far as I’m concerned. That warmongering over-testosteroned idiot. I know, I know, he’s your commander-in-chief. I’ll shut up now.
Stay safe. I say goodnight to your picture every night, too.
Love,
Rhie
April 15th, 2003
Dearest Rhie,
We’re in Baghdad. And it’s chaos. There’s no power, no water. Saddam’s regime is gone, but nobody knows where Saddam himself is. The looting here is ridiculous. People are looting everything they can get their hands on. There’s no authority here, except us, and they don’t want us shooting at civilians, obviously. But it’s chaos.
At least we’re not on the move. We’re in barracks. So I can lie down at night and look at you, and think of the day when I’ll be able to take you in my arms.
Love,
Brian
April 30th, 2003
Dearest Brian,
I confessed. To my mother.
She knew something was up, because she’s seen my reactions to the war coverage on TV. And she knew a lot of it was worry about you. She told me, "I know you’ve got a friend over there now…."
And that’s when I told her. I told her you weren’t a friend; that we were in love.
She reacted better than I would’ve expected. I showed her your picture, she’d not seen it. She’s concerned, of course, that we’ve somehow fallen in love by postman, but less so than I would’ve expected. I let her read some of your letters. No, not those letters—some of the earlier ones, when you were doing the respectful southern gentleman bit. She likes you.
I’m glad she knows, actually. She’s more sympathetic to the way I feel about the war coverage on TV.
She did say to me, "How did you get yourself into this?" I must admit I agree. I’m sprouting grey hairs.
Be safe, please? I need you.
Love,
Rhie
May 15th, 2003
Dearest Rhie,
I’m glad your mother knows. I hate asking this question, but in the world we live in, it’s a question that still needs to be asked. Does she mind that I’m Black? Race means not a whit to me—nor my family, my older brother’s fiancée is Cambodian—but, I need to warn you, if your family minds, things could be difficult.
Things are still chaotic here. I’m beginning to at least partially agree with you. This was a way for the administration to show off their muscle. If they really intended on making Iraq into a functioning country, you’d think they’d have a plan. I don’t see evidence of one.
I also loved how the President declared the war over. Sure. He’s not here being shot at! There’s snipers, guerilla bands, etc. If the war’s over, bring me home, dammit!
Love,
Brian
PS—what’s your phone number?
May 25th, 2003
Dearest Brian,
Do you think they’d give you an emergency leave to take me to my senior Prom? Ah, well, it was worth a shot <G>. It’s in five days. I’m going with a friend. He’s a good friend, but nothing more than that. He’s also a decent dancer, so at least I’ll be able to twirl on the dance floor and not have my toes stepped on.
Just think, in two weeks I’ll be a high school graduate. Are you supposed to feel smarter? <G>
No, my mother—nor father, for that matter—care at all that you’re Black. They’re concerned about how we met. They’re concerned about how real something that happened this way can be. They’re also concerned, let’s face it, that I’m only 18. Luckily, I’m level-headed for my age. I think you know that from my first number of letters. They know I don’t fall in love with guys I only know from letters at the drop of a hat, or anything. They’re not concerned about what color your skin is. They couldn’t care less. Mom thinks you’re very handsome <G>.
My phone number? 508-555-5976. Why? Can you call? That would be fantastic!
Stay away from snipers!
Love,
Rhie
June 12th, 2003
Dearest Rhie,
Everything’s the same here. It’s still chaos. Yes, I’m glad Saddam’s regime is no more. I’d like to think they had a clue for what was to replace it. And the Iraqi people are turning on us, because they’re getting fed up. I don’t blame them.
Call you? I’m working on it. No promises, but I’m working on it.
I forgot to tell you. I knew yours, but I forgot to tell you mine. It’s my 21st birthday today. Have a drink on me <G>.
Did you have a good time at your prom? I wish I could’ve been there. I hope you had a good time nevertheless. By the time you read this, you’ll be an official High School Graduate, so congratulations. Any special summer plans?
Love,
Brian
June 27th, 2003
Dearest Brian,
It was so good to hear your voice! Oh, I can’t tell you how good that felt. I only wish we had some privacy, so I could tell you what I’m going to do to you when you get home. Ah, well.
And that call from your parents? That was really nice! Your mother is great. And your Mom and my Mom had a nice little chat. I think your Mom reassured mine that you are a nice, respectful Southern gentleman.
We’ll just keep it to ourselves all the luscious things I plan on doing to that respectful gentleman the minute I get my hands on him!
The prom was fine. Paul is a good friend, and a good dancer, but there’s nothing more than friendship between us. So it was loose and casual and we had a good time.
This summer? Working at the ice cream shop near my house, as usual. College spending money and all that.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR BRIAN
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!
Your present is right here waiting for you. It’s wrapped in a pink bow. Or is that a pink pair of panties? <G>
Love,
Rhie
July 23rd, 2003
Dearest Rhie,
It’s been a while since I’ve written. It’s been a bad couple of weeks.
You need to understand something. My parents are hysterical. Actually, talking to you helped Mom. I talked to them shortly afterwards, and it was the least hysterical she’s been. But she’s sick with worry, and, though I know you worry, you’re not like her.
What happened is going to make you worry more. But I need to talk to someone about this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I need to. And I can’t do it to my parents.
Jimmy Gadreaux, my best friend in the unit, is dead. He was killed by guerillas about a week ago. I saw them before he did, and managed to get one of them, but I couldn’t get the second one before he got Jimmy. I just didn’t have long enough.
Jimmy was from Iowa. He was a big, gangly blonde Iowa farm-boy type. He was funny, kind, a good pal. He’s the only one that really knew about you. He’d keep telling me, "Now you have someone to make it back for."
He did, too. He had a girlfriend in Iowa. A big family. He was nineteen fucking years old.
And here we are, deep in Iraqi shit, while the administration of this country blithers and dithers, and my friends get shot.
I’m sorry that I had to lay this on you. But I had to.
I want you in my arms, and I want it now. Damn this war.
Love,
Brian
August 14th, 2003
Dearest Brian,
Do not be sorry! You tell me anything you need to! Jesus, I’m sitting in this nice suburban home, with my biggest worry being whether or not I’ll like my roommate when I get to college! And you’re there. You tell me anything you need to. I’ll cope.
Yes, I worry. Yes, I’m worried more now. But I’m going to worry until you’re at home and in my arms, anyhow. It doesn’t matter. I have it easy.
I am so sorry about your friend. It’s just such a waste. And it must have been horrific for you to be right there. I want to hold you in my arms, too, and comfort you. And it kills me that I can’t.
I love you. Be safe. And tell me anything you need to.
Love,
Rhie
August 27th, 2003
Dearest Rhie,
I’ve found out a lot about you over the past eight months. What I didn’t find out until your last letter is how strong you are.
What you wrote means more than I can say.
Your letters are getting me through this. Understand that. Every time I get a letter, it gives me a reason to get through his hell and get out of here.
I love you,
Brian
PS—you’ll be at college before I hear from you again, so good luck! Study hard.
September 14th, 2003
Dearest Brian,
Here I am in college. This place is so big! I got lost for the first three days <G>.
My roommate is cool. Her name is Erica, and she’s from your neck of the woods, kind of—she’s from South Carolina. She asked me who I was writing to, and I told her "my boyfriend that I’ve never met." Of course, I had to explain that! Instead of looking at me like I had three heads, she said "Ooooh, that’s so romantic!" I like her already. <G>
There’s parties galore at this place. I’ve been to a few, just to mingle, though I’m not a party animal. But you could get trashed seven days a week if you wanted to. And, of course, there are all the temptations of Boston. I’m an innocent suburban girl. Ha ha!
My classes are good, so far. I’m talking mostly required "core" courses this semester, to get them out of the way.
It looks like things are calming down a little over there. I hope so.
I also went down and joined the campus volunteer office of Howard Dean for President. <G>
Love you,
Rhie
October 1st, 2003
Dearest Rhie,
Rooming with a southern belle? Cool! Then you’ll get used to the accent and the ‘y’alls’ and stuff before I get home!
Things are calming down here. It’s not danger-free, but it’s better. It’s still pretty chaotic.
I’ll have to look into Howard Dean. I’m not voting for Bush, I can promise you that. Not after this.
Innocent? You? Not when you’re writing letters!
I have to confess. I messed up. One of my buddies, Tommy Gingras, accidentally saw that picture. I’m sorry. It might make you feel better that he whistled and told me I was a lucky man! He didn’t know that we had never met until I told him. His reaction was rather like your roommate’s, though!
Study hard.
Love,
Brian
October 17th, 2003
Dearest Brian,
I forgive you. Though I was slightly mortified that someone else saw it. Though what he said was nice!
When I got your letter, I gasped when I read that part, and Erica asked me what was wrong. I laughed, and said, "oh, it’s minor," but I told her what it was. She said I’m a complete scamp for sending you a nude picture of me!
And I’m glad, in the midst of all that you’re going through, that you still look at it.
Classes are a bit hectic, but I’m coping. I’ve made some new friends. I’ve even gotten hit on! Of course, I keep turning them down. Don’t you worry about that!
And I’m as innocent as they come! Hee hee.
Love,
Rhie
October 31st, 2003
Dearest Rhie,
First of all, I have no claims on you. I wouldn’t feel right making them until I can hold you in my arms. What you do when we’re apart is none of my business.
But, OK, I’m glad you’ve been turning your suitors down!
As for looking at your picture? Every day. Even when things were at their worst, every day. It’s what keeps me going. I imagine holding you like that, my arms around your waist, moving down to your derriere, holding you close to me. I imagined my hands coming around to the front, stroking you. My lips on yours, as I touch you in your most intimate place. I imagine pulling you down onto the bed with me, still stroking, still kissing, still rubbing our bodies together. I imagine all that, every time I look at that picture.
I love you,
Brian
November 13th, 2003
Dearest Brian,
Oooooh, what you do to me!
You hadn’t written a letter like that in a while. I know why—you’ve been preoccupied—but it took me by surprise. I had to hunt all over for a pair of clean panties!
I put my hands where you said you wanted to put yours. I stroked like you said you wanted to stroke. I came like gangbusters, thinking of you.
That is the claim you have on me—that you can do this to me in a letter. When you’re not even here!
Love,
Rhie
November 24th, 2003
My dearest, dearest Rhie,
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!! And I mean that more than you realize. Because I’M COMING HOME!!!!!!!!!!
I’m getting rotated out of here in a little less than a month. I’ll be stateside on December 18th, just in time for Christmas. And I have 30 days leave, before I have to report to my next—and most likely final—duty station (Texas, by the way.) I have to go to Macon for Christmas, I’m sure you’ll understand that. But sometime around the first of the year, I’m coming to Boston. I might need some help finding a place to stay. But I’m coming to you, finally.
All my love,
Brian
December 3rd, 2003
My dearest Brian,
Oh, my poor roommate. I think I just gave her a coronary. When I got your letter, I screamed!
And, yes, of course you have to go to your family for Christmas. As long as I get a little time.
Oh, I’m going to be counting the days!
Place to stay? You’re staying at my house! It’s all been arranged. I talked to my parents about it already. You can stay in my oldest brother’s old room. And that’s only because my bed isn’t big enough for both of us!
I love you so much!
Whoopeeeeee!!!!!
Love,
Rhie
PS—Merry Christmas To ME!!!!! <G>
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January 23rd, 2004
Dearest Brian,
How’s Texas? Are you all settled in?
Oh, man. I can still taste you. I can still feel you. I can still feel your touch, I can still feel you inside me. And you’ve been gone for a week!
That first time, when you took me up into my room and made love to me, that will be imprinted on my brain for the rest of my life. I didn’t know it could be so fantastic. When you touched me, I came almost right away, you know. And when you pushed into me, all I felt was pure joy. I waited so long for you. What a lovely thing to learn that the wait was more than worth it.
And, look, I guess it was easy for me to believe I could fall in lust through letters. Falling in love? That took a bit longer. And then you were here, and I found that being with you out of bed was as good as being with you in bed. Well, almost <G>. But it was so wonderful just to talk, next to you on the couch, cuddling, holding hands, instead of by letter.
Oh, well. I guess we’re back to letters for a while anyway! At least you’re in a safer place, so I won’t have to worry so much.
We talked about so much, and it was wonderful to realize we want so many of the same things. But, there’s one thing that didn’t come up. I couldn’t ask. But, since you left, it’s been burning me up inside. What happens in August? I think we need to be together, but I don’t know what your plans are. But I want to work it out.
After having you here with me, I do not want to let you go!
I love you, forever,
Rhie
February 7th, 2004
Dearest Rhie,
I can still feel you, too. And taste you. And I also never knew making love could be like that!
But, this is just a quick note. Just to put your mind at ease. We didn’t discuss future plans, because I was hoping that it would work out the way I wanted it to, and I’d be able to surprise you.
I can now do that.
I will be attending Boston University in September. After I get out of the Army, we don’t ever have to be apart again.
I love you, forever,
Brian
----The End-----