And it wasn’t just sex. It was the connecting we did afterward. I wondered if he could hear how much he actually didn’t enjoy his random soulless hook ups—calling himself a live action dildo wasn’t much of a compliment. They weren’t even his friends, even if he liked to use the label “friends with benefits.” Obviously his cheating ex had affected him badly, and he’d not gotten over it. But guys that went into the military didn’t like to admit that they were weak. Will had come home after basic training and I’d asked him why his feet looked like they had been tortured. Was it called boot camp because your feet took on the smell and look of a worn rubber boot? But he’d scoffed at my concern. His fucked-up feet were a sign of his achievements, I guess. I tried to get him to get a pedicure with me, but he’d said he wasn’t going to spend any minute of his leave having some chick paint his toenails. He’d never hear the end of it.
