Date: Sat, 29 Sep 2007 17:37:16 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Dear John Letter

			   THE DEAR JOHN LETTER
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
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"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.

				  THE END
		   Comments, complaints or suggestions?
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