Dear Kitty,
Sorry that it's taken so long to write, I hope this letter finds you well. Since June, things have been steadily getting worse. I suppose by now you've heard that we've had some shortages. Please don't worry about me on that note. Daily I thank God that I never took up drinking or smoking because while others are hard pressed to find good boots or a blanket, I can trade my rations of cigarettes and alcohol for a high price. No my dear Katherine, I haven't turned to that. I will forever be yours and yours alone (Please stop thinking I'm a womanizer. I'm a one gal type of guy). It's shocking though how cheap flesh can become when the women need food. My unit seems to have noticed and I'm ashamed to say that I've been the only one of us to abstain. Husbands tell me they are only relieving their stress and that the girls (and trust me, they're girls) mean nothing to them. But for all my complaining, I can't judge. That's one of the reasons I want to write to you. You see, I'm not made of marble and though I try to act it, we both know I'm not stoic. As you'll see, this is the best confession I can give since it is not to a Father but to who I've wronged. Without excuse let me admit that I have masturbated to your memory.
At first, when we came here I planned on being chaste until my tour was over but after having been with you for three years now I found that my desire for purity was vastly outmatched by my desire for you. Still though, for three months I held strong through constantly keeping myself busy and praying in between duties but Kitty, this place, this job, it's not for virtue. Smoking and drinking had no appeal as the vices' toll was visible on the sinner but God Kitty, if I told you of the moans I'd hear on patrol past the ghettos, if you heard the men talk about the girls the way I did, and if your body was constantly reminding you how long it had been like mine was, then you might understand why every night was the hardest part of my day, why my showers suddenly became much more formal and rigid, and why every brush of my uniform against my inner thigh reminded me with longing of something sweet I rubbed against long ago. But this doesn't change anything. I've still seen you not as my love but as a way to love myself. Please forgive me, I'm sorry. But that's not all, it's to my infinite shame that I'm not sure I can stop. Please try to understand that I'm afraid I am too weak to be chaste and please try to take comfort that I think only of you.
Forever Yours,
Fredrick
I don't know why I felt like writing this but I did and I hope anyone who read this enjoyed it.
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