Page 3 of PS. You're Mine

Although I think I might take doing it all over again if I had to choose between that and teaching high school. I don’t know how you do it. Do you like it?

I’ve never been married and don’t have any kids. You? I don’t think your letter sounded like a dating site application. I actually thought it was the best thing I’ve ever received. It would make me really happy to get another one from you, Katie.

I can’t tell you much about where I’m at or what I’m doing, but I can tell you that I’ll be glad when I can come back home. I’m looking at places to vacation at for a while when I’m out—any suggestions? I’ve traveled the world, but I think a nice place to relax and call home sounds about perfect. I’m a homebody myself, which is strange because I’m never home.

Do you have any pets? I miss having a pet. There’s a stray dog that comes around here sometimes, but it’s not the same.

Let’s get serious for a second. Cookies. I’ll take anything you want to send me, but if I get to pick, I’m a chocolate, chocolate chip kind of guy. I’ve got a weakness for desserts, and the more chocolate, the better. I don’t know that I could share, though. I’m a pretty possessive kind of guy. Especially when it comes to things I like.

I think that’s all I can come up with for now. This is the first letter I’ve ever written to someone, so I hope I’m doing it right.

Can I ask you a weird question? What do you look like? It feels strange not knowing you and yet talking as friends. Maybe being able to picture you will help.

I’m about six-five with short dark hair. I’m pretty big all over, but I’m quick, so don’t let the size fool you. Hope that helps.

Can’t wait to hear from you,

Mark

SGM Gunner, USMC

PS…

I think for a second about what to write in the postscript. I want to put something that makes her smile, but then I’m afraid I might come on too strong. She seems like a nice girl, and I don’t want to scare her off.

Deciding to leave it blank, I seal the letter up and put it back in the self-addressed return envelope.

Now, I wait.



Chapter Three

Katie

“What’s this?” Tammy picks up the letter that has been sitting on my kitchen counter for three days now. I’m a little ashamed of how much wear the thing has gotten. Three days and I’ve read it probably thirty times.

“Drop it.” I point my cookie-dough-covered finger at her, which seems to have no effect, because she keeps reading the letter, a smile on her face. It makes me wonder if I looked just as goofy every time I’d read the thing.

“Wow. Six-five. That’s freaking huge. That’s more than a foot taller than you.” She eyes me up and down like she’s taking in my height for the first time.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m just saying he sounds like one of those guys who could pick you up and fuck you against a wall.”

“Your husband is barely six foot; how do you know anything about wall-fucking?” I tease, because Tammy herself is almost six feet tall.

“He doesn’t fuck me against walls, but he fucks me everywhere else.” She wiggles her eyebrows, letting me know that not having wall-fucking in her life isn’t that big of a deal. “I’m just saying, you could do some wall-fucking and tell me if it really works like in all those books we read.”

I giggle at her. Tammy is my best friend, and we’re about as opposite as two people can get. She’s tall where I’m short, she’s got blonde hair where mine is bright red, and I seem to have all the curves, even though she eats my cooking just as much as I do because she lives next door and is always stealing food right out of my fridge, even when I’m not even here.

But what really makes us different is our personalities. She loud and bold and doesn’t have one shy bone in her body. There’s no filter from her mouth to her brain, and I adore her for it. She talks about sex as much as I talk about baking. Maybe that’s another reason I’m still hanging on to my V-card. With all her sex talk, I often feel like I know all about it. Every single detail.

“Give it up already. Don’t make me beg. I only do that in the bedroom.”

“Pretty sure I’ve seen you beg for food.”

“Don’t change the subject. Who’s this giant writing you dirty letters?”

“That was not dirty,” I retort, but hide my smile by looking down and rolling the cookie dough into perfectly spherical balls. I’ve been so giddy over the letter. It’s as if it really was a love letter or something.

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