tristane

So, a couple of days ago I found out why Bobby hadn't been in touch since we came back from winter training. I had thought it a bit odd, considering how his Sunday night suggestions up to this point had been as regular as clockwork since December, and now there had been two weeks of - nothing.
No texts, no MSN, not a word at all. I was almost beginning to think that he was angry with me for some mysterious reason, when the explanation revealed itself this Monday.

It was the first Network for Female Cadets meeting and we had decided to go for a swimming session to start off the semester. In the dressing room the new girl jokingly asked us if there was anyone in the village that we "fancied". Having spent the last six months with the guys and regarding them more as comerades than potentials, we shook our heads and then the question naturally went over to her.
The hint of hesitation before she answered spoke as clear as crystal.

And suddenly I knew. The pieces fell into place. The two of them talking before the Monday run. Them being friends on Facebook. It was all obvious.
When I called her on it, she couldn't for a second keep in the goofy smile of the newly fallen in love. I went with her home and we talked for a while, and when I got home I sent him a text jokingly telling him how I now understood why he hadn't been online lately. It was partly a nudge at him, telling me he had a lot of school work instead of telling the truth, but mainly I wanted him to know I was completely alright with it.
And I am. It surprises me too, but I actually am. It was a temporary thing from the start anyway. Despite how incredibly hot that body of his is, I never had any illusions that it would evolve into anything even remotely serious. No matter how snug a drive the air port car service hook you up with, deep down inside you are always aware that it is just a rental.

I left her place and went to bed that night with a distractingly bitter stinging in my chest that remained for most part of the next day, but, like the short pang of a bumped knee, I soon forgot it. When I remembered it again, the feeling had passed. The bruice had healed. Now I almost feel like I did in the beginning, when he still had his girlfriend and we watched movies and gave massages.
Perhaps we can get back to that some day,

Thus, concluding this to the global politics, economy and health care completely irrelevant post, I can only say that I really don't mind my 21 year old smoking hot booty-call getting himself a little girlfriend. She's a nice girl. She'll be good for him. They'll be good for each other.


Still, no matter what, there will always be this little gleeful person deep down inside of me that just hopes that she is really bad in bed.