Behaving

Since I’m supposed to be on my best behavior, I’m going to have to change the story. You see, I was writing this fantasy for Sam, back when he was in the Army, basic training at Fort Bliss (I know, right?). Anyway, I cooked up this story where he snuck me into his barracks to entertain the troops, a one-woman USO, if you will.

I’ve written the first three chapters of it, 24 guys in his platoon, brothers to the end, all for one and one for all, all that happy horseshit. And, duh. In real life, never! But this is fantasy, and I don’t mean the kind with dragons.

I’ve written stories for Sam since I was fifteen. Lascivious Lila, that’s me. So, anyway, we’re talking and telling stories again, which we do from time to time, usually in the midst of or on the brink of some great change for one or both of us. Catalysts, that’s what we are for each other, vehicles of great change, and, oh, the explosions.

So we’ve been all up in each other’s phones for about a month now, and, oh, the tales we’ve woven. It’s been exhilarating in so many ways. Before you get all judgy with me, my husband knows about Sam and me, and he understands. Sam’s other relationships are his business, not mine. I have zero say in whether or not he’s upfront about me with his girlfriend. His ex-wife (ink isn’t quite dry on that divorce) wanted me to have never existed, for Sam to have never loved me. He’s well shut of her, thank God. Their divorce may have had something to do with her snooping through his emails and believing my stories were nonfiction (but come on—does she really believe that we fucked in the chapel at the church I grew up in? Absurd.). That’s another story for another day.

The point of that is that Sam and I had to cut contact while he got divorced, and that took a few months. Honestly, I was surprised when he reached out before the divorce was final. He was having surgery, so he got back in touch with me before going under the knife. Things like that matter to me. Up until then, he and I had starred in all of my stories, exclusively until last year. That’s when I got him started with a little ménage a trois. We’ve progressed to full-on orgies in what I call revengerotica, which is basically just revenge porn, except that I refuse to use cum in that spelling as a verb. It’s an aesthetic issue for me, not a moral one. It simply looks misspelled as a verb to me in that form, so I eschew it.

Oh, back to my stories for and with Sam. See, he was in Desert Storm. Airborne. Iraq. I don’t know any of his war stories. He promised last year that he would tell me when he’s ready, and I’m encouraging him.

I figure that I do a series of barracks stories (according to Sam, it’s my fault he had to live in the barracks. If I’d married him, he’d have been able to move off post), I can lead it to when he was deployed. I’m starting with basic training, then we’ll take it everywhere he was stationed. I’m going to figuratively fuck a lot of soldiers before I get what I want, and I see no reason not to enjoy it.

Here’s the problem—Sam just got a promotion (and transfer in about a month or so), and he’s playing beat the clock with things that need to be done before he leaves for the Midwest. That means he can’t be distracted by Lila stories right now, and I haven’t even finished screwing his basic training platoon. I mean, the drill sergeant hasn’t even walked in yet. I’ve only had one shower to wash off the jism from the first dozen dudes.

So now I have to simmer down and put my barracks story on hold. Sam’s training the guy who’s taking over his current position, so he’s with someone all day. When he worked alone, we’d often find some time for fiction during breaks. We’re in different states, btw. Same region, but a good three-hour drive. It got intense a couple of weeks ago. I made him come in his pants five times one day, allegedly caused some chafing. My stories are good, but I love Sam, and I want his promotion to go well, want nothing but the best for him. That means I can’t tell him any stories for a while, so I’m pouting a little.

You see, when I first started writing these stories, I was the sole author. Last year, around this time (Persephone rising and all, spring fever), Sam got into the threesome stories, and enjoyed suggesting third characters. This year, we’ve taken it much further. Sam’s now suggesting scenarios, characters, settings, costumes, and different kinks to work out. Also, I used to only give him complete stories, from setting to denouement, but this year, I started sending incomplete drafts and completed them in real time. My monologues have become a dialogue, to the degree that they’re not my stories, they’re our stories.

I’ve always enjoyed writing them. Until last year, they were unsolicited, something I did because I enjoyed it, enjoyed creating a scene and making it as real and sensory as I possibly could. Being asked for them was a tremendous ego trip, and this new thing of being live and creating in the moment has been the most amazing rush I’ve ever felt, but I was on hiatus and had ample time to give to these stories. I don’t suffer from the delusion that it will come around again, that it did once is a miracle in and of itself. I’m simply grateful for it, the most liberating experience of my life.

In the spirit of being supportive, I told Sam that I’m not naked in his barracks in Texas. Instead, I’m having tea in a parlor with my ankles crossed and my pinky in the air. That’s the wonderful thing about writing—you can be anyone anywhere anytime you want. Care for a scone?