by Ashley Pullo
Smiling, Natalie reaches in to kiss me. It’s a weird and exciting sensation to feel a person smile as they kiss you – and Natalie is a sensation I feel all over my body.
Her hand slides under the table and lands on my thigh. Making her way to the waist of my jeans, she whispers into my ear, “There’s nothing messy about the way you eat.”
Taking her hand from my pants, I move our joined hands between her thighs. Turning my body to shield us from the other diners, I then lift her skirt and thrust my hand against her tights. “I need it. It’s just so good and warm and I’m so hungry . . .” I’m interrupted by Natalie’s smirk and growing laughter.
“Are you talking about the barbecue or me? Because let’s be honest, this place is a tourist trap with mediocre meat.”
“If only there was a way to combine Virgil’s and Natalie,” I suggest.
Nat snaps her head back in laughter and pretends to fan herself. “Zach, your flattery needs some work.”
Shrugging my shoulders and snorting I say, “Sorry, ma femme, I’ve been with dudes for too long.”
Natalie picks at her salad and lowers her head. “Tell me what it’s like,” she whispers.
Furrowing my brows and shaking my head, I reply, “No way, Nat. This is our Christmas Fun Day – I don’t want to bore you with the details of the past few months.”
Her face serious, she adds, “Zach, I want to hear your voice. I will never grow bored of hearing your voice. Tell me a story about Germany.”
I take a swig of my beer and then wipe my mouth with a paper towel. Pulling Natalie into my arms inside our tiny booth, I rest my chin on her head. “Oktoberfest was a trip. Alcohol and schnitzel and bar fights. Seriously, it was exactly like that scene in European Vacation. And the village girls fucking love American Marines.”
“Oh, really?” Natalie shifts her head to look up at my face. “Like Heidi?”
I pinch her side and reply, “Ah, merde, ma femme! We’re not discussing meaningless sex. Deal?”
“Fine. Continuez sans Alpine sluts.”
“October was pretty good, boring, but okay. Basic weaponry instruction and fitness classes. Apparently, the terrain in Afghanistan is fucked up.”
Natalie runs her hand over my bicep and flutters her eyes. “You’re so buff. And pretty. I bet all the boys fancied you in the showers.”
I flex my arm and let out a shallow grunt. “Maybe that’s why every guy in my camp was getting assigned a mission – they were jealous of my body.” My smile fades as I continue. “But not me. I woke up every morning, made my bed, and reported for duty – day after day – until it was November. That was when things started to suck.”
I quickly pick up my beer to hide my anger. It was stupid of me to make Natalie feel uncomfortable. But she just looks at me, tears watering her blue eyes, and smiles.
“Fuck November,” she whispers.
“Yep. Fuck it. December is definitely better,” I add.
“I bet Germany is a winter wonderland in December!”
“It’s beautiful. The snow looks like untouched powdered-sugar, not like that brown shit that lingers on the streets here.”
Nodding her head, Nat asks, “What’s with that? There’s a mound of dirty snow on the corner of Broadway and Worth that has pizza boxes and coffee cups sprouting from it.”
“You need to see Europe in the winter.”
Pushing her plate across the table and throwing her paper towel in the mix, Natalie says, “Oh yeah? Convince me.”
“Well, there were roosters that roamed the countryside, shrilling before the sun made its appearance.”
“Why the fuck would I want to spend a holiday with chickens?”
Placing my finger on her mouth, I whisper, “Shh, ma femme, listen.”
“Go on.”
“I awoke every morning to the sound of life. It was repetition, but sometimes that sound was comforting – knowing that life goes on with or without me.” Natalie flinches slightly so I add, “Farmers brought our camp fresh eggs and slabs of bacon, and the mess hall served some of the best coffee. And you know what I realized?”
“What?”
“The best part . . . of waking up . . . was Folgers in my cup.”
“Ha ha,” Nat deadpans, jabbing my side with her elbow.
I smile, happy that she finds familiarity in my goofiness, and confirming that our love exists beyond our stories.
Regaining composure over my dark thoughts, I add, “Oh shit, I forgot that you won’t get my Krampus letter for a few more days – I even sent you a picture.”
“What the hell is Krampus?”
“Nat, it’s totally up your twisted alley. Men were dressed in costumes as the evil demon of Christmas, Krampus. Parents actually brought their kids to the village parades to scare the shit out of them – can you believe that?”
“That’s insane!”
“I have never drank so much in one night – and I may have pissed my pants.”
“That’s disgusting – please tell me the photo you sent doesn’t include that image!” Natalie exclaims.
Shaking my head I reply, “Nah, the picture is a snapshot of my new tattoo.”
“What tattoo? My mouth has been all over your body the past few days and I didn’t see a new tattoo.”
“It’s under my arm.”
“Lemme see!”
“Now? It’s under my arm – I’d have to take off my sweater.”
“If you were stupid enough to get a tattoo in your armpit, then I’m going to need to see it. Now.”
“Jesus, Nat. It’s not in my armpit.”
I glance around the packed restaurant but decide to just go for it. Pulling the navy sweater over my head and placing it in my lap, I watch as Natalie’s eyes expand in delight.
“Why Lieutenant Parker, what big guns you have.” Natalie runs her hand over my chest and smiles. “And your T-shirt is so tight and clingy!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Smiling with my crooked grin, I lift my arm and rest my wrist on my head. I study Nat’s reaction as her sexy smile turns to genuine surprise.
Her index finger moves to my arm like E.T. phoning home – it’s as if she’s scared to touch it.
I let out a sigh as her finger slowly makes contact with the cluster of stars – pink, yellow, and blue . . .
“Je ne regrette rien,” she whispers, reading the quote.
Lowering my arm, I squeeze Natalie into a hug and kiss her forehead.
“Je ne regrette rien.”
1400 hours
“Thank you for taking me to Virgil’s,” I say as Natalie and I walk hand in hand down Fifth Avenue.
“Eh, what’s not to love? There’s something very erotic about watching you go at a slab of ribs . . . the way your tongue licks the sauce from your fingers and then you dramatically suck off the tiny pieces of meat from the bone – hot.”
I grab her and bring her close to me, ignoring the customary flow of sidewalk traffic. Christmas shoppers zigzag around us, cursing under their breath. Taxi drivers press their horns, pretzel vendors scream, the Salvation Army bell rings, street performers sing – but all I can hear is her laughter. Ma femme.
“Let’s go see Santa,” Nat suggests with big, child-like eyes.
“Perfect. Macy’s?”
“No, at the fucking North Pole.”
We pick up some hot chocolate and roasted cashews on our stroll down Fifth, doing our best to avoid the crowds of people gawking at the window displays. Of course when we reach Macy’s, the line to see Santa is jammed packed with snotty-nosed kids screaming and crying. We’re the only idiotic adults without kids meandering through a candy cane village, but it’s moving rather quickly. Why? Because there’s like fifteen Santas hidden in different gingerbread houses. What a scam.
When we reach our designated North Pole, Natalie plops down on the iconic red velvet lap and waves me over.
“Ho, ho, ho! C’mon dude, you’re never too big for Santa,” he quips.
&nbs
p; I casually sit on the little bench next to St. Nick and cross my arms, trying to hide my enthusiasm.
“Have you been good this year?” Santa asks Natalie.
She adorably bites the inside of her lip and shakes her head. “Not really. But he has.” Natalie winks at me and I smile.
“Ho, ha, ha, the beautiful lady’s been naughty!” Santa turns to me and asks, “What can Santa bring you?”
I don’t even acknowledge him because a) he’s thirty and flirting with my girl and b) I’m looking at what I want.
“All right, smile for the camera! Folks, look at the camera. You need to look at the camera for the picture. Look at the camera. Look at the – oh fuck it.” The Elf takes the photo and Santa pushes me off his bench.
“Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas! Exit is to your left.”
I purchase the photo from the Elf and stick it inside my coat pocket. Natalie and I finish the whimsical candy cane tour and take a ride on the vintage escalators before rushing out into the pandemonium of 34th Street.
“What next?” I ask.
“Ice skating!”
“Ah, shit. Really?”
“I know you played hockey in high school . . . and later, I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue,” she whispers.
“Deal.”
2100 hours
“Zach, I’m so happy.” Natalie places my arm around her shoulders as we curl up on the sofa to watch Gremlins.
We spent the afternoon ice skating in Bryant Park. I only fell once, and Natalie decided to take that opportunity to straddle and kiss me. We received some applause from skaters and then a pimply-faced employee actually blew a whistle.
On our way back to the apartment, we bought a red Christmas tree (Nat’s choice of course) and some seafood paella from Gristedes. After two bottles of wine and a loaf of bread, we decided to screw dinner and just have sex.
“Kiss me,” I say as I pull her onto my lap. I’m leaving in the morning and I want to tell her, but instead, I keep my promise and simply kiss away the dread. Time has no meaning when I’m with her, but knowing that I will soon be without her is torture. Our lips part and she starts to cry. “Ma femme, please,” I beg.
“I wish, I wi—” she says between gasps of air.
“Tell me. Tell me what you want, but please don’t break my heart.”
She shakes her head firmly as I wipe away every single one of her tears. I cradle her in my arms under the red glow of the lighted tree and we watch the entire movie – in perfect silence.
2002-12-18
0700 hours
Twenty minutes of scorching hot water penetrating my skin and the only pain I feel is heartache. The moment I step out of the bathroom, she’ll know . . . she’ll know that I’m leaving her. Fucking, fucking shit!
I turn off the water and quickly dry myself off. I wrap the towel around my waist and dart into the bedroom. I’m going to tell her – I need to see her face when I tell her I love her.
I push open the door and yell her name excitedly, “Natalie! Natalie, I love—”
The bed is empty.
I run into the kitchen and shout her name. But there’s no answer. Her red coat is missing from the hook by the door and it suddenly becomes very clear. She can’t bear to see me leave and frankly, I don’t want her to. I slowly walk back to the bedroom to get dressed and pack my shit.
I smile when I reach the dresser and find a small plastic snow globe on top of a piece of paper.
My dearest Zacharie,
The cab company called while you were in the shower. They’ll be here at 8:15 a.m. to take you to JFK. They also mentioned some sort of $5-off-coupon that can be found in the Yellow Book, but I accidentally spilled a glass of wine on the phone book ages ago and tossed that mofo!
The snow globe is mine – leave it! Don’t worry, I got you one as well. Your snow globe is packed safely inside your sexy pair of black briefs. Did I ever mention you’re wasting a perfectly fine ass in the Marine Corps? You should really be modeling underwear – goddamn you’re hot!
There’s also a bottle of Virgil’s barbecue sauce wrapped in a pair of my recently worn red lace panties. Two things you LOVE to suck off your fingers . . . I know, I know – I’m a naughty girl!
Okay, so when you get sad or lonely, just remember . . .
I will be your light in the darkness and the pleasure during your despair. I’m more than just your star, I will forever be your beacon.
Come home to me.
xo Nat
2002-12-24
Camp Hammond
Kabul, Afghanistan
Lt. Parker-Operation Lab Coat
1600 hours
“Hey, Parker, you ready for hoops or what?” Dr. Harry Fisher is a dental surgeon with the Navy and my bunk mate – basically we’re fraternity brothers sharing a dorm room and serving our country.
My temporary home in Afghanistan is the most coveted base in the region. Camp Hammond is a Combined Forces base near the U.S. Embassy in Kabul. It’s known for its impressive amenities – like toilets, wifi and karaoke night. It was previously some sort of palace, but the military decided to pour cement and drop in a few shipping containers to accommodate the men and women serving in Afghanistan.
I work mostly with Navy officers in the medical unit, but we share resources and housing with officers from every branch of the military, and a small number of civilian administrators. Tonight we have a challenging playoff game with the dickheads in the Army, and then our holiday surf ‘n turf meal will be served up, desert-style. Don’t ask, don’t tell – the motto of the mysterious lobster in a landlocked country.
“Fuck yeah! I hate those guys,” I say, labeling a box of steroid cream. I don’t really hate anyone, but it’s important to keep an image.
“Damn straight! What time will you be done?” Fisher asks.
“Bro, I have like five hundred tubes to label and scan. I’ll meet you on the court around five.”
“Fucking assholes! Okay, I have a root canal and two bicuspid implants. Later, Parker.”
Fisher is from Texas but doesn’t have a twang or a drawl. In fact, most of the time he speaks like Eminem from the mean streets of Detroit. It’s all about the image, yo.
I finish up my last box of fungal cream and check off a few of the inventory requests to be shipped to Kandahar. Huh – that’s odd. Ten requests for Zovirax . . . awesome, a herpes outbreak. And, my work here is done.
I take my laptop into the adjacent storage closet to read my emails. An office chair was in here when I arrived, so I’m not the first one to use this space as a quiet retreat.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: Elf
Just so you know, the UPS guy asked me out. Stay tuned.
Chloe’s here! She’s staying with me until the New Year, but I’m trying to devise a sneaky plan to get her to move in with me permanently. Remember how I told you she’s on tour with a band? Well she is.
We’re going to Connecticut tomorrow, and I promise I will stop by and annoy your dad. Maybe I’ll tell him I’m pregnant and need some money for diapers and shit . . .
Hey, remember when I put your ball sac in my mouth and I sucked on your nuts like a greedy little squirrel? Good times.
Molly says “hi!”
I actually like putting your balls in my mouth. Hearing you moan like a woman is such a turn on.
I saw the movie Elf with Will Farrell. Hilarious! You would love it, and I heard a rumor that Peter Billingsley (the guy who played Ralphie in A Christmas Story) is in the beginning. I didn’t see him, but I was too busy shoving Junior Mints and popcorn in my mouth.
Okay, I have to get back to work before my VACATION!! Have a great game and kick the Army’s ass.
XO
Nat
PS-I turned the UPS guy down.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: UPS guy?
Nice try. I
know for a fact that the UPS guy is Raul Sanchez. He’s married with two kids and lives in Long Island City.
Hey, I read somewhere about this company that can make a plaster mold of a penis and then create a silicone dildo for your pleasure. Interested?
Tell Molly thank you for the cigarette lighter and the package of socks. Can you also tell her I’m not in 1970-Vietnam?
Chloe sounds hot!
xo
Z
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: Zach dildo
Of course I’m interested. Let me know when it’s in production . . . I’m sure there are plenty of people willing to fly to Afghanistan during a war to make a mold of your penis.
And maybe it was a FedEx guy. Don’t be jealous.
Okay, I have to pack now!
XO
Nat
I shut down my laptop and return it to its case. I really need to start some sort of electronics detox because in a few weeks, it won’t be this easy to just read an email on the fly. I hurry back to my quarters on the north side of camp after stopping by the bazaar for a last-minute gift.
Fisher and I have two beds, one desk, and a small sink and mirror. We also have a 13” television that shows crap from the Armed Forces Network. The room itself is actually quite accommodating for our needs and I try to focus on the positive . . . like my trunk full of pictures and letters from Natalie. She must write and mail a letter every day because during my short time here, I’ve become the envy of most of the officers in my unit. Not only is Natalie the hottest thing to invade the Post Exchange at Camp Hammond, she also sends things that require an explanation.
This morning I picked up two letters from Nat, one letter from Aunt Patty, and an envelope from Natalie full of homemade snowflakes with instructions to: throw them in the air like you just don’t care.
I change into my USMC t-shirt and basketball shorts and sit on my bed to read the letters.
December 19, 2002
My prince,
You’ve been gone for a day. Your Princeton sweatshirt is the only thing I have/had that smells like you. I slept with it, brought it to work, and wore it to the grocery store. Then I made the stupid mistake of wearing it to Starbucks. I was standing in line sobbing uncontrollably when a hurried customer spilled his grande bold all over my chest. Your sweatshirt smells like Sumatra. No more Zach smell. Je n’ai pas rien.
