Tues, 14 May 91
This will be the 9th letter I’ve written in the last three days. My hand is about ready to fall off (shame on you! Not because of that!
We went to a town called Suri yesterday; it is the largest town within 30km. The drive was long and twisty through deep, sheer, canyons. It was as if we drove through the Grand Canyon. The town itself is occupied by French and Spanish troops (both of whom have hospitals there); there is also a British-run food distribution center there. We made the drive in a Humvee (one of the Army’s new-style “jeeps”) and I rode part of the way sitting up, and outside, in the turret.
I woke up at 1am this morning to go pee. Then I couldn’t go back to sleep until 4am because I was so horny.
We went north to the nearest refugee camp today. It is maybe only five miles as the crow flies, but ten miles as the Humvee drives. There was a couple of Marines, and about 500 refugees there. It was in a beautiful valley about 6000 feet up, or about 2000 feet above us. The “road” was really little more than a goat trail and there abandoned vehicles scattered up and down its length.
I don’t know who is responsible, but someone is fucking with my mail. I know it is being sent to me (especially by you , and I know mail is arriving on my mountain, but no one on my team has recieved mail in the last four days. The conclusion is inescapable.
I hope I haven’t dumped on you too much in my last couple of letters. If I have, I promise to make it up to you when I get back.
I did laundry when I got back from our trip. I’ll probably take a bucket bath in a few hours (though I’d much rather be taking a shower with you.) *sigh* I’ve gone without sex for longer periods of time, but this is much harder. It seems as if, even across all these miles, I can taste your lips …
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