Lieutenant Crawley, Adam Crawley, was always deep in my stuff, asking me how I could pass basic and AIT and be so forgetful.“I’m a blonde, sir,”...I explained. “We are supposed to forget shit.”“Lt.” is what we called Adam Crawley. He was like twenty-four or so, and a West Point graduate, which meant he knew people in high places. Me? I was nineteen and from small town America, and when I say small town, our little mid-western town had a flashing yellow light and there were twenty three people in. It was far too expensive for me to have purchased myself but she often received things like that from suitors hoping to get a whiff of it between her legs. In contrast, I still had my clumsy black eyeglasses on and my hair was so tightly wrapped it was difficult to see how long it really was. My outfit was a cross between disinterested college student and boring housewife so that certainly would not generate any interest except in desperate males that had been sexually deprived for an extended. More

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