Call Me Jill Monologue

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Call me Jill. It 's not my name, though it has been my handle for a while now. If you hanker to know of it, the first thing you 'll beg to understand is where was I born, and what was my lousy childhood like, what sort of monsters my parents were, that Dickensian sort of crap. Fuck that! If you must know the simple truth, I 'm an authentic Man in Black, the real deal. That 's all you need to know.
Some years ago – never mind how long precisely – having little money and despite some 'spiritual ' gifts, few obvious prospects due to my gender and stature, I decided to enlist in the service. I 'm unsure what I expected, have a few adventures and see the world, I suppose. Better than hooking – not that there 's anything wrong with that.
They weren 't
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Yeah! Spiritual gifts!
Even as a teenager, I was strong and quick for my size. With intense physical training courtesy of the service, I became stronger and quicker. Several muscle-bound jarheads standing a head taller and massing twice my weight became quite surprised. I never met anyone I couldn 't take in a fair fight – not that I fight fair. There is only one important rule in a fight – Win!
No one I couldn 't take, save this one particular muscle-bound hulk. It was, oddly, love at first sight of a sort, I suppose. Those few whom I allowed to know me well would be shocked at that. Whatever strange roll of the genetic dice gifted my spiritual gifts paid Fitz the bonus jackpot. He can bench-press a Buick. Literally! I 've seen him do it. He also has other extraordinary talents a lady appreciates.
Love? I dunno. Maybe. Yeah, shocked me too, I 'm not given to squishing in the masculine presence. Then again....
The service treated me well, honed lightning reflexes, schooled weaponry and marksmanship, plus tools from knife to computer. I took every advantage.
I had expected with my spiritual bent, Boot Camp would pass easily. I was mistaken! I quickly learned happiness often consists in getting enough sleep. Just that, and
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