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The night was wet and cold but I didn't mind much for I was imagining the one whom I was waiting for being so wet and warm. I stood there under the covering at the train station waiting for the one who I had been writing while deployed during this war. She was my hope, the one I looked forward to hearing from every time there was a mail call. I had only one picture of her and she had only one of me. Every night I read her letters I looked at her picture and went to sleep dreaming of her, dreaming of making love to her. I knew she would be so soft to the touch, I knew that her lips would be sweet and supple pressed against mine and I knew she would be wet and longing with desire when I saw her, (for in her writing she would always tell me how hot my letters made her.) I stood there with my hands deep in the pockets of my trench coat breathing steam and waiting anxiously but patiently for the only one who could put a smile on my face during these past seven months. I saw a car pull up in front of the station and someone stepped out. A woman I could tell, but I couldn't see her face clearly for her umbrella was opened as soon as she emerged from the vehicle and she kept it down low blocking her face because of the wind. She was walking up the stairs towards me. She wore a white wool trench coat, high heels and she was closing the black umbrella once she was under the covering and just a few steps in front of me. I smiled, for she was even more beautiful than in her picture. Her dark hair was long and pulled back and her eyes, oh those bright brown eyes that seemed so seductive to me, she gazed at me with those eyes looking into mine. At first her expression was serious and I took notice of her flawless features. Her ...

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