Procrastinating... at least I'm doing *something* related to writing...
.
His eyes glaze over and he reaches for the bottle. His best friends have been discussing for ten minutes whether they prefer girls with bigger inner lips or smaller. Each one enumerating the pros and cons (and a few names he wished he never heard) enthusiastically until they focus on their task and pencil them in, in moderation, on the diagram. At least they know better than to ask which he's dealing with, not that he knew enough to pay attention. Satisfied that they have just enough detail, they thrust the paper in front of him and begin to explain foreplay. Eventually, they rescue the bottle, lest they have to repeat the discussion.
.
.
Walking the fence was supposed to be the worst of being at the fence. It took four days to travel the perimeter, on foot, looking for something, anything to make it feel worth while. And that meant camping out at the three check points, just three people all wishing they were back at the barracks. But it suited him just fine.
.
.
Day 1, what was all the fuss? Sure it got hot and they had to walk single file and there were spring mosquitos , but they had nets on their hats. Day 2, in a never ceasing down pour that drowned him and blinded him, that touched on the complaints. Sleeping on damp floors in damp sleeping bags, that irked him. Day 3, cold and windy and still in wet pants and jacket, the chafing between his thighs put everything in perspective. 3 days down, 28 left to go.
.
.
He thought the stories in the lockerroom were exagerated. But the fence is like a breeding compound. Something about the boredom, the lack of alcohol, the close quarters turned the most descrete men into bunk hopping whores as if no one was watching, listening, or getting off to their escapade. He honestly couldn't imagine what it looked like with two girls on one guy systematically riding him, luckily there was a demonstration. It was educational.
.
.
It burns. Her first recognizable thought is that both legs and her back and each arm burns. Not like fire, but like mint cream heating and cooling tingling flesh. It burns and she cannot move or ease it as it intensifies under every pore.