She and her husband used to watch the soldiers out jogging. "He's cute," she would say, and her husband might agree, might disagree, might--if he knew the man by reputation or personally--tell her something about the object of her interest: "Yeah, but he's an idiot," "Yes, and smart, too," "Ugh! He's ugly and mean!" It was fun, a way to entertain themselves while they walked their dog.
Now her husband is gone, 2,000 miles away, give or take, and she watches the soldiers jog every morning. She walks the dog to the exercise field and around it and then back home. Some of the soldiers she knows; they wave back and forth, and sometimes the ones who aren't busy come over to chat by the fence. It reminds her irresistibly of high school when they do, and so she has to fight not to giggle while she talks to them.
She is attractive; not a beauty, but with her infectious smile and that air of barely suppressed merriment, she grows more and more delicious as the men talk to her. When she walks away she is lovely indeed, with long shapely legs and full breasts, a trim waist and a high, erect carriage. The men look for her every morning, although she doesn't know that; she just knows that she likes men, and they have always liked her, too, for friendship if nothing else.
But it's difficult right now. Her husband is gone, has been gone for a few months, and won't be home for many more to come. She is lonely and, frankly, horny. So is he, but he's not really in a position to do anything about it; she, on the other hand, is surrounded by young men in excellent shape, many of them at the peak of their sexual drives, eager to chat and impress her. She is older than many of them, sometimes by as much as 10 years, but, I do enjoy looking at them, she thinks, and sighs, and walk on, her silly beagle dog gamboling at the end of his leash ahead of her.
The last time her husband called she told him these thoughts, making a joke of it. "Well, why not?" he had said, to her surprise. "Just be, you know, careful, and discreet... but why not." She had stuttered and stumbled for a moment, unable to think of any reply; said "Oh boy," and left the topic.
But wow, why not... It was not as though she would ever leave her husband. He was hers, inextricably bound into her and with her, and she knew the same was true for him. But damn, she misses sex. Masturbation, even with her toys, just couldn't approach the real thing. She misses the sweaty, messy part of sex, and the tender cuddling of it, and the pure sensuality of skin on skin. She is starving to be touched.
Her thoughts are interrupted. "Hey, Mrs. Kaye," says someone. It is a sergeant she knows well; he's married, and she is friends with his wife. He is jogging in place; he is not alone. Beside him is a new soldier, also jogging in place steadily. "This is Lieutenant O'Brien," says the sergeant. "Just got here. We're sponsoring him. This is Elizabeth Kaye."
The soldier nods politely at her, grave and civil. When their eyes meet she gets just a little flash of heat, and she looks away after a moment, her smile slipping just a little--she was looking at him a little too long, but he is worth the looking. "Oh really?" she says to Sergeant Moore. "Well, bring him by for dinner. Come tonight, if Marie can come, too." She smiles at O'Brien. He is tall, with black hair and dark, intense-looking eyes. Heavy brows, beautiful bones in his face, in nice shape as most of the soldiers are... his shirt is sticking to his chest just a little in the humid morning air. "How about it?" she asks him.
His voice is steady and not winded from his running. "It would be my pleasure."
