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Tonight I am home and though I’m here in body, my mind is elsewhere. We watch a film and it distracts us from the misery we both know exists. The film we’re watching is sentimental towards the end and it just extenuates how unsentimental I feel towards you. You’re my friend, I trust you with my life but I don’t like how I hurt you with my inability to love you the way you love me. I’m angry with myself, but I hide it well by being angry with you. The film is finished and already the mood is changing to one that makes me look at my coat, you notice and it makes you angry with me, you know me too well and you think I’ve created an argument so that I can storm out and be away from you, maybe I did but it wasn’t a deliberate act. You’re shouting at me now and I never have been very good at taking it well. It scares me and the fear makes me shout back through real tears. I storm upstairs and lock myself in the bathroom so that I don’t have to listen to you but you follow me up and you. "Do you mind?" she said, "it's how I go to sleep." Good night," I said, urging my body to calm itself and ignore the fact that a warm, young, lovely female was lying a foot away, wearing only a long shift. Most of me went along with the idea, but one part refused.'What's your name?" she suddenly said. "I should know who I'm in bed with." She laughed softly, the back of her hand against my hairy thigh.I told her my name, and she said, "I'm Emma, Emma Robertson. Our home's near Cambridge, but I've never seen it."I puzzled over that and heard her breathing slow. Her hand relaxed. After a bit, I slept, and the next thing I knew, she was punching me. "Wake up, wake up," she loudly whispered. "Germans."Dawn was creeping up the edge of the woods, and I quickly rolled out of bed, ignored my stiff cock, and went to the window. There were three of them, and they were roughing up the stable boy and pointing at the horse we had ridden in. I checked the pistol's pan, pulled on my britches with.
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