I think we just need some lube. Okay? There’s some hand cream in my desk drawer. That should do the trick. That one over there.”“Hand cream? Wil... that be any good?”“It’ll have to do—it’s all I’ve got. I might be a slut and I might be a stereotype, but I don’t fucking carry KY in my handbag just in case I feel the need to get fucked up the arse. Now go get the damn hand cream, or put your fucking clothes on and piss off.”Pete hurried over to her desk and Carla couldn’t help but giggle at how his. Being in a combat area, even if I wasn't a front line trooper, was a scary thing. Originally there were two women in our 6-person squad. My friend Carla was killed by a roadside bomb when transporting a vehicle to a small town, south of Baghdad. When they transferred her replacement in, it was a guy, so I was the only female in the squad and so now there was no one that I could really talk to any more.I'm not saying that I didn't get along with the guys in my squad because I did. As I write. More

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