It was June 6th, her ex-husband's birthday; Karen Wilson awakened with a start and almost immediately fell into a state of depression. In fact, she had slept fitfully, the darkened hours measured in short, fleeting nightmares in which she kept seeing Jeff's bloodied face in death where he had fallen from an enemy shell; she had cried off and on throughout the night. It had been horrible. Now, she wondered where he was, if he was all right. He had been discharged when his tour of duty was up, that much she knew… and that was all she knew about him.

Eighteen months we've been separated… divorced… good Lord, is it possible…?

The lovely young girl swung from her bed naked, her long blonde hair an entangled mess from her sleepless rolling and tossing. She crossed the room to her vanity, her perfectly round and full buttocks quivering slightly with the movement; she ran a brush quickly through her lengthy, silken, honey-colored tresses. The raising of her arms lifted her firm and lushly copious, high-set, widely spaced breasts to a regal state, their rose-tipped nipples distending sensitively as she watched in the mirror before her. Strange, she meditated, how the mere thought of him could arouse her this way, yet when they had been together she had invariably frozen up…

He is twenty-five today, two years older than me… We would've been married two years… I-I wonder if he ever thinks of me…?

Subconsciously, she noted her slender waist and the way it flared into round, attractive hips. Her shape pleased her. Her stomach was flat and smooth as it should be, and her thighs were long, full-swelling, as did her calves taper admirably into thin, well-formed ankles. There was nothing fraudulent about her body, she thought proudly, no pads necessary, no defacing blemishes… and the soft golden down that sparsely covered her pubic mound denoted her natural complexion. The term divorcee did not fit her, she thought bitterly.