M left this morning for his whirlwind tour of “home”. I hope it goes better for him than he anticipates.
Last night included some serious sexin’. We’ve had the conversation a few times now that we don’t “make love”, we fuck. We like it hard and fast. But in those rare moments of a long or unknown farewell, we get about as close to making love as we ever would. We call it ‘the slow fuck’.
Last night’s slow fuck was near perfection. Well, they all are, really. M is not an intuitively emotional sort of person, pretty serious things have to happen before he shows his feelings outwardly. But when we’re slow fucking, I know exactly how he feels about me.
On a sort of side note. I know he’s getting emotional about the parting as well. He’s been kissing my head. That in itself is a hint, but the frequency is something entirely more telling.
I don’t have much else. I’m working this Saturday in lieu of getting next Friday off. I’m picking up M in the Capital, and then we’re going to spend the night and have some sexin’ and enjoy the city some before heading back to the base to spend the rest of the weekend trying not to burst into tears.
Oh, we also found out from a friend whose husband is deploying with M, that the chalk is leaving at 6pm. I was really looking forward to a morning farewell, then sitting watching my favourite movies (Bridget Jones’ Diary, Stranger than Fiction, and Love Actually were on the list), in my pajamas, and eating breakfast foods for each meal.
Nothing like an emotional enema.
I’m really starting to feel ill equipped for this. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.
h&v
