Back when my husband was in the Navy, I used to tell other wives that, no matter how bad it seems, you never ever leave during a deployment, because deployments magnify all emotions and problems and then a few weeks after it's over, everything gets back to normal. And our submariners were nice and insulated from death, for the most part.
He's not hot for you, darlin', he's hot for life. He's getting ready to go to WAR. Got that? WAR. I realize most folks no longer grasp this concept, but he's about to go someplace where people who hate him and half their countrymen have decided to dedicate their lives to killing as many of the "other side" as possible. He's thinking about that, and how there's a good chance that he's going to get various parts of his body forcibly removed in a most painful fashion. He's wondering--probably not consciously--whether he's going to return with his manhood intact.
Which is to say--It ain't you, Jezebel, it's what's between your legs.
That's not love.
(It is, however, all I have to add to this discussion. So go back and reread the previous posts until they get through your head.)

