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Semper F***

By: DrSqueaky



"Don't go down this block," Major Wood commented, nodding to his left "it goes past the Russian embassy, they record everything." It was a good thing the top brass was giving the Major a few days to show me the ropes before I replaced him on this assignment; we weren't even half through our patrol yet, and there had to be a dozen places I had to know to avoid. That's just one of the dangers of being someplace where you're not supposed to be; it's vitally important that no one can prove you were there.

"Have they launched any attacks recently?" I asked as we turned the corner on the next block.

"Nah," he replied, "I think they're on their heels and reeling—but don't be surprised if OUR guys launch another offensive soon." I nodded and silently fell in step. 

I can't tell you where this conversation took place because, as I said, I was somewhere where officially I wasn't supposed to be. Suffice to say was in a small, eastern European, former Soviet bloc country that was having a border war with a neighbor that, to an outsider, might as well have been its twin. The G7 viewed the whole thing as beneath them and refused to acknowledge the conflict; I don't know if any Western sources even reported there even was a war on. Yet for reasons I don't know—really, it's not that I can't tell you, it's that I have no clue myself—the State Department wanted to make sure that this side, not that side, came out on top in the conflict. So the CIA made sure this side had plenty of guns and ammo—Russian-made, of course, to hide our involvement—and sent in a handful of U.S. Marines as advisors to assist the marginally trained and largely uneducated military. Our involvement had to be absolutely secret—if our existence became known, the Pentagon would deny any knowledge of our presence in the country and would hang us out to dry. Those kinds of stipulations really didn't bother me; as a single guy with no girlfriend or family to speak of but a taste for adventure, I was making a career out of assignments like this. Major Wood had held this post since the onset of US involvement, but now he was being recalled to Washington, so this rotation would be mine for the foreseeable future. 

We continued down the block when suddenly I burst out "Wow...look at THAT!" In the next block, coming out of a nondescript concrete warehouse just like every other building in this neighborhood, had popped a tall, slim, very beautiful girl. Her hair was brownish with blonde highlights and she was wrapped in some sort of dressing gown and had a cigarette in her mouth. She fetched something from a small but brand-spanking new euro-Ford and just as quickly popped back into the building. I'd had a lot of assignments in burqa-wearing countries recently, so even from a distance she was the hottest thing I'd seen in a long time. 

"Yup..." he said appreciatively. He glanced my way for a second, reading my face, then added "you know who that is, don't you?"

I looked at him like he had just asked me to recite the Declaration of Independence in Arabic. I just got here; how the fuck was I supposed to know the locals by name? Reading my dumbfounded expression, he laughed "you don't, do you? Well, as it happens that's the next stop on our rounds. Now you'll get to see what really keeps the economy of this little burg running..." I had no idea what he was talking about. 

Arriving at the warehouse, we entered through a door at the far edge of the building. Inside it was a big wide open expanse inside, piled high with dusty crates of who knows what. There could have been old Soviet nukes in there for all anyone knew. As we walked towards the middle of the building, I became aware of frequent flashes of bright light somewhere ahead—almost like a strobe, only irregular. Then I heard a voice, and it struck me that it was speaking English: "Nice...now a little forward...good...and smile...and now give me that look—yeah, that's the way..." We emerged past a ceiling-high stack of crates to find a photo studio had been set up in the open space in the middle of the floor. Against a fake backdrop, the girl from the parking lot sat on the ground, naked except for a loose shirt that was unbuttoned and carefully situated to make sure that her perky breasts were totally exposed for the camera. She sat with her legs apart, spreading her pussy lips wide with one hand while leaning back on the other, giving the camera a heart-stoppingly sexy look. 

"Safety patrol!" Major Wood called out. Suddenly aware of our presence, the girl snapped her legs together and drew them up to her chest, hiding the naughty bits she had so enticingly displayed to the camera moments before. 

"Hey, Woody!" the photographer called, looking over his shoulder. Turning back to the model, he said, "uh, take five, OK Zasha?" She nodded and dove for the dressing gown I had seen her wearing from afar, now crumpled on the floor just beyond the view of the lens.

"How's it goin, Nick?" the Major asked jovially, shaking the photographer's hand. 

"Pretty good...Zasha's a real pro, easy to work with," he replied. "two more days of shooting and I can get the hell out of here." 

"Goin' home?" 

"Nah, not for another couple weeks, but I'll be a lot farther from the front," he continued, "things look like they'll be pretty quiet til then?"

"Should be pretty quiet I think, no quick unscheduled exits this time," he answered. "By the way, I'll be shipping out in two days. Captain ------ here will be relieving me."

"Nice to meet you," said Nick, shaking my hand like he was meeting someone's buddy at the corner tap. He wasn't what I had imagined a porn photographer would be like. 

"Call me Tom," I answered. 

Nick and Major Wood chatted a bit more. I stole glances at Zasha—she was even more beautiful up close, one the most beautiful women I had ever seen in the flesh. And man, had I ever seen her in the flesh, if only for a tantalizing instant. She paid no attention to us; smoking another cigarette, she was yakking rapidly into a new-looking cell phone. 

"Well, we'd better continue on our rounds...see you later," the Major called as he headed back down the hallway to the far end of the warehouse.

"Keep me safe!" he called out after us, only half jesting, getting ready to resume shooting. 

Reluctantly I dragged myself away; just watching the shoot would have been the closest thing to sex I'd had in at least a year. But as always, duty before pleasure. Once we were out of earshot, I asked "we're seeing him later?" 

"Our rounds pass through this way twice," he answered, "not because it's fun to watch, either; I wasn't kidding about the economic importance of porn. No one will admit it, of course, but it's one this country's five biggest export commodities."

"Export commodity?" I asked incredulously. Let's just say it wasn't the way I usually thought about that particular subject.

"Look, regardless of what you might think of it, porn equals cash," he explained. "There's a few local shooters, but mostly producers fly in guys from other countries to set up shop for a week or two and shoot local girls. They usually do stills in the morning, then bring in the film crews for the afternoon. It's not just here, you know—every one of these new eastern European republics, if they were honest, would have to admit that pussy was one of their chief exports." 

We passed through the door to the outside and continued down the street. I looked over my shoulder; her shiny bright blue car stood in sharp contrast to the dingy, drab Soviet-made sedans and trucks elsewhere on the streets. The advent of capitalism had not as yet produced car washes, either, it seemed.

"It's a good deal for all sides really," he continued. "The producers keep coming back because they can get hotter chicks for the same cash. For the girls, it's the only means to getting a better life. In the states, a girl as pretty as Zasha might find a rich husband or try her luck in Hollywood, but around here porn is pretty much her only option. Take off your clothes, maybe screw a guy or two and even an unknown can make as much money in a day as she would working three months in the factory. And if they become popular enough to land their own websites they can make a LOT more. Zasha's one of those—she's got her own site, only in the business she's known as Jamela. Even if her cut on the site is only ten percent, she'll easily clear six figures. Only a handful of people in this whole goddamn country make that kind of money. Her site is pretty well-known, which is why I thought maybe you might recognize her." 

Just thinking about her posing was starting to make walking uncomfortable, so I changed the subject. "So you think they're going to launch an offensive soon?"

"Within a week, I'd bet" he answered. Then he explained that in our role as advisors we had two primary objectives: one, try to keep the troops from doing stupid things that would get them killed. And two, make sure that NO atrocities are committed. As he put it, "the U.N. and Red Cross are ignoring this little conflict. It's vitally important that it stays that way. Got it?"

"Yes sir!"

"You might think it shouldn't be that hard to do," he noted prophetically, "except that both sides like to take each others' women as spoils of war."

There was considerably more activity in the warehouse when we passed through it again two hours later. There was a full video crew: multiple cameras, light guys, everything. Nick still carried his camera, but mostly he was directing now, and Zasha/Jamela was far to busy to notice us. She was straddling one guy's dick while a second filled her asshole at the same time, and she was loosely holding a third in her mouth. She was looking back at the camera, trying at Nick's behest to bend herself in such a way that her tits could be seen hanging down without obstructing the view of the two dicks penetrating her. "The down side of being big enough to have your own web site," Major Wood commented, "is trying to satisfy the insatiable demand for new material." With that we silently turned and continued on our way. 

-----------------

The Major was off by a day. On the eighth day after my arrival that the army launched an offensive strike. Their objective was to capture a small city near the border. The military's rhetoric was that this town was rightfully theirs dating back to some Count in the 12th century. They conveniently neglected to mention that it had been captured by force then, too, and only held for about 10 years before reverting to the other side. 

Although I wore a large white banner over my fatigues with the words "International Observer" in red, bullets and explosions are blind so I stayed with the rear guard, listening to radio reports of troop movements. I spent a lot of time in the back of an ancient Jeep, watching 3-D maps of the town on my military laptop and occasionally radioing in advice—simple things like beware of snipers on such and such street because it can be seen from the church bell tower. The two armies clashed out in the open streets, but their army was not expecting that this would be our target, so they were slow in organizing defenses. Consequently, we controlled a good chunk of the city before we met any real resistance. Citizens fled from our advance, but some were either slow to respond or didn't have time to escape and now found themselves on the wrong side of the line and were reduced to hiding in the safest places they could find. 

We advanced fairly rapidly through the southern half of town, but when we got to the river, where access was restricted to three narrow bridges, their defenses were able to stem our attack. By controlling the bridges they were able to draw our advance to a halt. Both sides shot away at each other across the river, gradually leveling the real estate on either side but doing minimal actual damage to either force. As night fell, the commanders elected to hold their positions for now and allow their troops to rest for a second push the next day. They may as well have come right out and said "let the looting begin." because that's what happened. Soldiers broke into stores looking for money, liquor, or drugs. The USMC would never have stood for such shenanigans, but as if I needed reminding, I was a long way from home. Disgusted, I marched up and down the main streets as the melee continued, making sure that the soldiers' mayhem was restricted to property. A few of these rocket scientists had the bright idea of burning places down, until I screamed at them "You idiots...you'll burn down the city with us still in it!". At least, I hope that's what I think said, based on my 10-day crash course in the language. 

A few blocks up, I noticed a number of soldiers rushing in and out of a small apartment building. A lot of them were jabbering as they came out, much of which I think translated as "check it out." I thought I had better be the one checking it out. I squeezed past a number of soldiers and soon found what all the fuss was all about—there were two terrified girls in the tattered remains of bikinis on the floor, hands tied to a heavy table, being gang-raped. Perhaps they had the bad luck of sunbathing on the roof when the attack came; now their were hands groping them everywhere and men taking turns shoving their dicks into mouths, pussies, or whatever they could get their hands on. Major Wood's "spoils of war" comment resounded in my head. I tried to convince myself that this wasn't international incident material, since invading armies had been raping conquered women for thousands of years. The reality was that the one of me had no chance to reign in the collective lust of two dozen horny soldiers.

Something else was also going on in the room at the end of the hall. With a disgusted snort, I headed down the hall to see what was going on there. At first all I could see was a tightly drawn circle of men all standing around something. I pressed in and found another young girl, no more than 20, blindfolded, top torn down to her waist, being used as a bukkake target. The men groped her while jerking themselves, stuffed their dicks into her mouth, or attempted to fuck her closed fists. Her face and upper torso were already splattered from multiple ejaculations, and there was no end in sight—it seemed that for whatever reason they wanted to cover her in as much cum as possible. 

Shaking my head, I headed back down the hall to the first room. Before I even got there, however, I heard high-pitched cries. A different guy was fucking one of the girls, but while his dick was in her box what really seemed to be getting him off was slapping her, hard, in her defenseless face. The other guys had kind of backed away from him, which just encouraged him. Her face was streaming tears, and she was petrified. Without even thinking of what I was trying to accomplish, I pulled my sidearm—my only weapon, given my role here—grabbed him by the hair, and held the barrel right up to his temple. "Have your little fun if you must," I snarled as best I could given my tenuous grasp of their language, "but if you harm an unarmed civilian, you're going to have to answer to ME!" I gave him a little shove for emphasis as I let him go. He fell forward, catching himself, then in one quick motion whipped up, pulled up his pants, and glowered at me. I stared right back at him. I was grossly outnumbered, but I was here at the request of his government—their commanders would not take kindly were they to hurt me. Cliché though it may be, the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

Behind me, I heard one of his buddies saying "Sergei, let it go." Cursing me and Americans in general, he made a point to brush into me as he headed down the hall to the bukkake room. I made out the last name "Stovlich" on his uniform as he went by.

I looked around at the others; each turned away as I turned my gaze at them. A lot of them suddenly lost interest in screwing the two poor young girls and headed down the stairs. One, however, saw this as his opportunity to have one to himself and dove in. Feeling the need to de-escalate, I turned and left.

Walking down the street, I felt bad for those three girls. I felt reasonably confident that they wouldn't be physically harmed after my confrontation, but they might end up knocked up, or worse—I knew many of the soldiers frequented the prostitutes that plied their trade near the base. Major Wood had told me "you'd be amazed what you could get a pretty decent-looking girl to do for 50 American dollars...but don't blame me if you come out of it with a permanent souvenir." It would be a miracle if they DIDN'T catch something after getting laid by 20 or 30 of them. I was brooding, lost in thought when my wandering down the looted streets took me past what had been a pharmacy. I remembered that penicillin was used to treat syphilis, and thought that maybe I could get some to those three teens once the men had had their fun, maybe it could kill whatever social bugs the soldiers left behind. My heart sank when I walked through the frame that had once been a glass door—the floor was littered with the large bottles used to fill prescriptions. I waded through a sea of pills to the counter, about to give up, when I realized that originally, they had sorted alphabetically. Most of them probably didn't fall far from where they had been stored; it wouldn't hurt to look around a little. I found where the penicillin belonged, bent down and started wading through bottles. Most of them were meaningless, one of them seemed to ring a bell deep in the back of my head, enough that I retrieved it and read the label again: Mifegyne. Mifegyne, mifegyne... I smiled when I remembered why that name rang a bell. Stationed in Germany shortly after enlisting, the old-timers told us that if we got in a jam with one of the local girls, there was place we could get Mifegyne—better known to us as RU-486—to get yourself off the hook. I could think of a couple of girls who might find that useful right now. I continued searching until I also found the penicillin, then headed back towards the gang-bang den. 

I got there just in time to see the Sergeant rounding up his reluctant and sheepish-looking troops and marching them back towards camp. I walked in and found the poor girls still tied to the table, sobbing. Their sobbing increased as they saw me, and one gasped in panic when she saw me draw my knife, not realizing I meant her no harm. I cut the ropes holding them down, and they both rolled up into the fetal position, hugging their knees and sobbing. I tried to talk to them in our side's language, but despite sharing a border they didn't comprehend. I had better luck, to my surprise, using English, which one of the two seemed to understand well enough. I pulled the two bottles I'd rescued from the pharmacy out of my pack. "If you don't want to get pregnant," I said slowly and loudly, patting a pretend belly to help communicate, "take two of these." Then I shook out a number of the antibiotics, saying "take one of these a day for ten days and maybe you won't catch any diseases." The both nodded dumbly, no doubt in shock from their ordeal. "Now go find some clothes and run as far away from here as you can!" They didn't need to be told twice.

Now the cum-covered girl. She might not need RU-486, but she was DEFINITELY going to need a towel. There was a bathroom down the hall, which I opened in search of a towel but immediately closed. Apparently, celebrating one's victory included taking a shit on the enemy's floor. Further along, though, I found a reasonably unsoiled towel on the floor. Picking it up, I realized some guy had wiped his dick in it—just more of the same, in this case, so I picked it up. When I opened the door to the bukkake room, I almost bumped into the blindfolded girl as she knee-walked across the floor. She started saying something I didn't understand—she must have figured out she was alone and was trying to find her way to the door, although how she was going to open it with her hands tied to her ankles I don't know. I pulled out my knife again and cut through her ropes. As she wriggled her wrists and ankles free of the rope, I began wiping her cum-covered face with the towel, at least enough so that I could take the blindfold off without a cascade of goo falling into her eyes. I handed her the towel and undid her blindfold; standing, she worked silently to wipe more of the gobs of cum from her body. 


Semper F***



When she stood up, I saw she was moderately tall and slender. She wore a miniskirt with what was left of her shirt, and her thighs were youthfully thin. Her slender calves led to a pair of pink canvas shoes, eastern bloc knockoffs of old Chuck Taylors. Her belly was flat, but her hips had a very appealing curve to her cinched waist. Her breasts were smallish but stood out proudly with the firmness of a woman that has just reached maturity. She had one hot little body.

I'm not entirely positive of what happened next, but I think it went like this. I saw that there was a load stuck to the back of her skirt, and tried to brush it off with downward strokes of my hand. Not able to see what I was doing, she thought that I was tugging down on her skirt. She was of the mindset that the only way she was going to live through this was to let the soldiers do whatever they wanted to her, and so she interpreted my brushing as trying to tell her to take her skirt off. Next thing I know, she undoes the button and zipper on her skirt, tosses it to her knees, and drops her drawers as well. "No, that's not..." I started to say, but she never looked at me—she just dropped to her knees and unzipped my pants. "No, stop..." I said—but at the same time, my dick was erect from the sight of her body. I reached down to guide her hand away from my penis, but she interpreted it as my helping pull my pants out of the way so as to free my penis—and when she got my drawers down, it sprang out from my zipper like a jack-in-the-box. Without hesitation, she wrapped her lips around my junk—it was just another dick to suck. Half-panicked at the thought of how many germy knobs had just been in there, I pushed against her shoulders to get her mouth away from my dick, and in my alarm pushed harder than I intended. Still not looking at me, she again misinterpreted my action, thinking I was telling her to lie on the floor and be quick about it, so that's what she did. She rolled onto her back, lifted and spread her legs, and began to rub herself. I imagine she was trying to get herself at least a little wet to minimize chafing, since she expected to be imminently penetrated whether she was ready of not.

I tried to speak, but conflicting thoughts prevented anything from coming out. Part of me still wanted to say "no, I'm not going to rape you." But another part of me was now beside itself with lust. It had been a long time since I'd last had sex, and now this woman was laying naked on the floor before me. Cognitively I knew she wasn't rubbing herself because she wanted me, but at a deep physiological level I couldn't help but respond as if she did. Torn between logic and lust, a series of almost evil thoughts ran through my head. One, her box had not been fucked yet; I could fuck it without being exposed to the collective germs of the Third Army. Two, officially I wasn't here. Even if this girl told everyone in the world she'd been raped by an American, no one would believe her, because there were no Americans here! I'd been asked once, hypothetically, would I rape a girl if I was sure I could get away with it—I never imagined I'd actually be in that situation. As I fought with myself, my eyes remained transfixed on the girl she rubbed her clit with her fingers. 

She was just so sexy lying there... I REALLY wanted to fuck that slender belly, and there wasn't a damn thing in the world stopping me except myself. Hell, she was totally expecting it. I rationalized to myself that if I had sex with her it wouldn't be rape because (1) she expected it, (2) she was masturbating in preparation for it, and (3) she had done nothing to communicate that she didn't want to have sex with me—well, except for the fact that she never looked at me even once. Without consciously making the decision, I found myself loosening my buckle, pulling down my pants, kneeling between her open thighs. I was literally trembling as I lined my dick up with her slit—not from fear, but from excitement at the thought of penetrating those milky white thighs. My dick brushed against her hand; she responded by lifting it and lying it next to the other above her head in a submissive posture, as if saying "do what you have to do." And so I plunged in and fucked her, half-mesmerized by the exquisitely female body before me. It almost felt like it wasn't me, like I was watching someone else fuck her, even as I tensed up and filled her belly with jizz. 

I rolled off her quickly as soon as I was done and zipped up, hoping that no one had seen my indiscretion. I pulled out the bottles and repeated the speech I'd given the two girls earlier—only she didn't understand English like they had. Her eyes widened at the "International Observer" emblazoned on my chest, but although I tried every language I knew, I could not convey to her what I was trying to give her and why. I tried to mime being pregnant and then crossing it out, but she had no idea what I was trying to convey. I was only successful at getting her to understand that one was "Mifegyne" and one was "Penicillin." I could only hope she had some way to figure out what they were for, but really, why wouldn't she just throw them all down the toilet? I had just screwed her; for all she knew, I was trying to poison her. She definitely was just wanting me to go away, and I didn't blame her. 

Eventually I decided that the best I could do for her was relieve the stress of having to deal with me. I wasn't very proud of myself as I went out to search for the command post. I had come bringing medicines with the intent of doing a good deed, trying to erase a little bit of very large wrong. As I trudged, I couldn't help but feel like I had caused more harm than good.

---------------

Next morning, the offensive resumed. I was in a foul mood after what had happened last night, fueled by guilt over my role in it. At first it was the same stalemate as before. I did some digging in my 3-D maps of the area and found there was a railroad bridge about five miles down river. We sent an expeditionary force to it and did an end-around, allowing us to attack the flank of the city defense. Momentarily caught off-guard, we were able to take about another quarter of the city and wrest control of one of the three city bridges. The last corner of town, however, was built up the side of a hill, and they were able to regroup their defenses using the advantage of altitude. By mid-day, we were stalemated again. And so that I night I was patrolling the city again, seeing what the soldiers were doing to, um, amuse themselves. We were now occupying positions north of the river, but since the entire zone was easily viewed from atop the hill, there was no open looting like the day before. Instead, clusters of soldiers went from building to building, breaking and entering individual residences, helping themselves to whatever and sometimes whomever, they found along the way. 

I made my way down the street, heading in the direction of a large, glass-encased apartment or condominium building, one of the tallest in the city. It helped nullify the altitude advantage to be in the building, but mostly tall buildings usually equal high rents, so I was pretty certain it would be swarming with our guys looking for good stuff among its units—and residents. As soon as I entered, I could tell the buzz was coming from the 12th floor. Eerily reminiscent of the night before, there was a stream of guys coming and going from the third door on the left. When I went to see what was going on, I experienced a major déjà vu. A group of men were huddled in a circle around a beautiful blonde woman who was sucking dicks as fast as she could. I panicked for a moment, remembering how the previous night had ended, but I quickly realized that this scene wasn't quite the same. She was neither tied up nor blindfolded; she was willingly sucking one man after another, although with no sign of any enjoyment. She wasn't as young as the girls the night before, but she was more beautiful and wore makeup that suggested she knew how to capitalize on her appearance. She reminded me immediately of Zasha; she wasn't as tall, but she was just as lean, just as beautiful, and had much bigger tits. The Zasha/Jamela connection was reinforced by the girl's provocative attire—she had been wearing a halter top, now pulled aside reveal lovely full, round breasts, with a very short, tight miniskirt and towering heels. It also struck me that maybe this girl had experience at sucking multiple dicks simultaneously. She didn't wait for someone to stuff their dick in her mouth; she took control instead, moving quickly from one cock to the next, keeping all of their dicks aroused with just her one mouth and two hands, almost like a plate-spinner trying to prevent any plates from falling. I thought about Major Wood's comment that porn was a big source of income in all of these countries. When I realized that all of the soldiers seemed to be addressing the girl by the name Aleska, it seemed a pretty safe assumption that this girl was a porn star, too. 

There was another, more pressing problem though."You idiots!" I screamed in their language, "you're in plain view of the picture window! Easy targets for a sniper!" They all turned at once—and lo and behold if one of them wasn't Sergei Stovlich. 

"Go home, you stupid American," Sergei challenged, in English, walking in a broad circle away from the others, zipping hastily. "You are afraid of a stupid WINDOW? With blinds closed?"

"All they would need is for one of them to have an infra-red scope..." I seethed. My words were cut short by a powerful explosion right outside the window. Everyone hit the deck while I scurried back into the entryway from which I had come. I knew immediately what had happened "Oh yes...they might have rockets, too. Aren't we lucky, they shot a little low and it detonated on the outside wall. If it had hit the window clean, it would have sailed right through and detonated on that wall," I said excitedly, pointing to the back wall of the apartment, "and we would all be dead. Now does anyone else have any stupid questions?"

As quickly as they could, the men all grabbed their shorts, then their guns, and crawled out into the hallway and down the stairs. The girl didn't need to wait; as soon as I said "we would all be dead" she was up and out the door, bare breasts and all, at surprising speed given the size of the heels she had on. The men quickly followed her out into the hall. When everyone I could see was out, I peered around the corner to see if I'd missed anyone. I saw Sergei was lying face-down on the ground, his back covered in bright crimson from shards of shattered glass. In the process of trying to show me up, he alone was close enough to the blast outside to be hit by its full impact. "Sergei...do you need a medic?" I yelled out. There was no reply. He was either dead already, or too stupidly proud to admit to me he needed help. Well, I wasn't going to stick around—one way or another, his pride had been the death of him. I certainly wasn't going to weep for there being one less woman-beater in the world.

I peeked around the corner once more, and saw a second rocket in the distance and closing fast. No more time to wait. I leapt out the door and fell flat on my face in the hallway. It didn't even have time to register that I had landed on top of something when the hallway exploded from the impact, showering everything with a fine mist of plasterboard and propelling a large, modern stainless steel refrigerator halfway through the opposing wall. Again I was fortunate, as the apartment's firewall had directed most of the blast in a straight line and away from me—or should I say us, for by now I'd realized I'd partially landed on another person. I looked down to see who it might be, but as I did my brain had already processed tactile information that registered as the unmistakably soft press of female breasts. Aleska had been the first one out, so I was beyond surprised to find her still lying in the hallway. I suppose it had been her apartment, but still, why wouldn't she have just run down the stairs...

"No talk now," she replied in English, "follow. I know safe place." Standing, she quickly re-racked herself, then grabbed my hand and started pulling me towards the stairs. She led me downwards, moving quickly but not letting go of her grip on my wrist. I could have broken her grip, but I was afraid they might aim a bigger missile our way and take out the whole building—if she knew a shortcut to a safe location, I was happy to let her lead the way. She led us down to the ground floor, but then instead of heading outside she turned down the hall and stopped in front of an ordinary-looking door. She proceeded to knock on the door in a peculiar cadence, like a code, then spoke some words, the only one of which I understood was "Aleska" before stepping back. A huge chunk of wall, including the entirely of the door and frame upon which she had knocked, swung outwards as a steel blast door opened. 

"Cold war bunker," she told me knowingly, "my friends Gustav and Andrei live next door, in apartment that once belong to Communist party leader. They find entrance by accident." She chattered rapidly with a young, well-groomed, over-cologned, vaguely effeminate man with a short haircut before leading me down a long steel spiral staircase into the bunker proper. 

"Where are you taking me," I asked her, shaking my hand free of her long-nailed grip, "and why?" 

"You are American, yes?" she asked. I shrugged non-committally. I didn't want to let on that I was an American, but since Sergei had already ratted me out, there wasn't much point in denying it. Besides, I couldn't speak her language at all. "We must speak. I wish to make deal with you." I wasn't looking to make any deals with the enemy—even if the enemy was smoking hot and had unbelievable tits. But because she was all of these things, I allowed myself to be led into the bunker to hear her out. 

The bunker had been built to house hundreds of people, but held only a handful of Gustav and Andrei's friends. I felt like I'd been teleported to Greenwich Village for a second, but Aleska pulled me past the communal rooms into a small hallway. There, to my surprise, was a private room with a queen-size bed and a small dresser in it. "Party leaders always get special treatment," Aleska noted. She led me be the hands now to the bed, where she led me to sit while standing before me. It was really my first good look at her, and man, she looked like a million bucks. She had blonde hair with even lighter blonde highlights; it wasn't clear if either was natural. Her large, proud breasts demanded attention; her stomach was flat and accentuated by a cute little belly-button ornament, and her hips and waist were curvy. Her legs were lean and shapely as she stood with them apart, defiantly, before me.

"You know who I am?" she challenged.

"Everyone seems to call you Aleska," I commented.

"Yes," she chuckled, the --s sounding more like a --z in her accent, "I am Aleska—but you not answer question. Do you know who Aleska is?"

"Um, no," I said, although I had a pretty good guess.

"I am big porn star in your country," she confirmed unashamedly. "On Internet zese are famous," she continued, pulling her halter top aside and gently caressing her breasts. She gently touched her nipples her long-nailed index fingers to ensure they were at full attention. "Aleska real, all natural," she continued with a little pride, looking at her own cleavage with satisfaction, juggling them lightly with her hands to prove, by their uniform consistency, that they were not silicone. They were impressive in size and damn near perfect; while maybe not THE largest breasts I'd ever seen, they were as big as any I'd seen on a girl that was so lean everywhere else.

"Very impressive," I admitted, finding it hard to take my eyes off of them, "but what does that have to do with me?"

"We know newspaper lies," she replied, not obviously at first relevant to the question. "We know we are losing war, and you being here proves what people have been saying—U.S. wants that we lose war." In her accent, "losing" sounded like "lou-zinc." "I want you to get me out of country."

"Look, Aleska," I protested wearily, "I appreciate that it's rough here, but I can't..."

"You no wear ring—you not marry, yes?" she interrupted. "You marry Aleska, I get out of country."

"Marry?!?!?!" I exclaimed incredulously.

"I know men," she said, bending over, putting her hands on my knees, and leaning into me in an uncomfortably provocative manner. I'm sure she did know men; it was hard to keep focused on her face with that prodigious valley of heaving flesh right under my nose. "I know your kind of man. You are career military. No wife. No kid. You want family, but you never stay in one place long enough to meet woman. You tell yourself someday, but deep down you know it not happen as long as you in military. Aleska is right, yes?" I was suddenly very, very uncomfortable—she had me pegged almost to a tee. My failure to deny was all the proof she needed. "See, Aleska know. If you have family, army no send you here. You are strong but lonely military man. When is last time you have sex you no pay for?"

Last night, I thought, but that really didn't count. 

"Aleska very good at making man not feel lonely," she continued in a softer tone, now gently stroking my lower thighs. "Aleska know what man like. Aleska want make deal with you—best offer you ever get in your life."

"What's that?" I asked. Her stroking my thighs was making me hard, yet I wasn't stopping her. Those amazing tits, hanging downwards and swaying gently, were all I could think of. "America," she explained, "Aleska want to go. I have producer want that I come to America, have work for me so I can make big money. I have some money, but here nothing to spend on! And now my apartment is just hole in wall, yes? Ah, but there is problem...I no can get Visa. I think whole country no can get Visa—America want we lose war! Aleska stuck! But you can help. I not marry, you not marry. You marry me, I get Visa!"

"Aleska, I've just met you—I can't marry you," I said astonished. 

"Of course I not expect you just say yes," she replied with a twinkle in her eye, "you just meet me. That is why we make deal. My end of deal, you marry so I get Visa. Your end of deal," she continued, "I give you what man want. Aleska make love to husband whenever he want... wherever he want... as often as you like. You want sex? Just say word, Aleska have sex with you. Two time a day, six time a day, twelve time a day, no matter—Aleska do. You want blow job on train? Aleska get on knees and suck. You want, how you say, butt sex? Aleska bend over and grab ankle. You want tie me up and spank? Is OK with Aleska, too. I give you sex any time you want, any way you want!" Her hands were now rubbing all the way up and down my thighs, reaching ever closer to my now raging erection. Then her voice turned very sultry, and she purred "I know what you thinking. You thinking I no love you, I no can marry you. You know what happen to man marry for love? Aleska watch, Aleska see. Everything good for year of two. Then wife have one, maybe two kid. Wife now mother, too busy, lose interest in sex. Man have sex maybe one, two time in year. Maybe wife get fat, too; she no look like she used to. Man unhappy, look for something else. Maybe on Internet. Aleska have website, full of men who once marry for love. They wish they could be marry Aleska. Aleska love sex, all the time—and Aleska no get fat!" She took one hand and ran it along the smooth, toned muscles of her belly for emphasis, "man who marry for love...all he can do is look at picture and wish he marry woman like Aleska. You...you have chance to do what others dream about—you have chance to marry Aleska! And Aleska NEVER say no to husband!"




Semper F***



I was captivated. She had steel blue eyes that she trained on me, drawing me in. Those perfect breasts, hanging there—I couldn't deny I would have loved to suck just one nipple, to taste their perfection. Her hands were now focused on the bulge in my pants, the rest of my thighs forgotten. Her hands stroked my erection with just the right amount of force. My thought processes were stalled by the pleasant sensation. 

Aleska smiled slightly; she knew I was listening. "Is big proposition, I know. I no expect answer now. I tell you Aleska sex so good, but how you know? Only one way to prove!" And with that she dropped to her knees. She undid my pants and released my erection. She raised her eyebrows sexily when it emerged, saying "Ooh, is very nice." She kissed my tip, then licked it gently while looking up at me the whole time. "No worry. I just have tests, I no have disease," she proclaimed. That was good, because I was under her spell; sexual hygiene was the furthest thing from my mind. 

Flashing me one last look, she turned her head downwards and my dick disappeared into her throat. Oh, man, she knew how to suck. I'd never been blown by a porn star, obviously, but it seemed that there were certain tricks to the trade that got passed on from starlet to starlet. I'd never felt such strong pleasurable sensations from oral sex. But Aleska didn't stop there. She sucked me entirely with throat, no hands at all—her hands she used to continue kneading her breasts and tweaking her nipples. I couldn't stop watching her do amazing things to me—just like she wanted. Like a moth to a flame, I slowly reached my hand forward until it brushed against her nipple. She gladly deferred to my hand, continuing to play with the other herself. I touched the nipple; it was just the way nipples should be. As for the breasts—I was surprised by how much heft there was to them, especially since they didn't sag at all. Before I knew it I was palming and squeezing her famous breasts in my hungry hands. 

"You like," she said, spitting me out, as a statement and not as a question. "All men like when Aleska suck. But there more." She stood up, very close to me. Sexily, she lift up her miniskirt, under which she wore a tiny thong. Like dirty laundry, she gruffly pulled it aside, revealing a neatly hairless crotch. With her fingers, she rubbed the sides of her vulva. As they engorged, she pulled on them, parting her opening. In no time she was holding her pussy lips wide open inches from my face, stroking her own clitoris with her fingers at the same time. I could smell the musky scent, increasing in intensity by the second. She ground her hips in small circles—I don't know if I believe she was really getting herself worked up, but if she wasn't she was an actress of Academy-award caliber. "My pussy itches for your dick," she purred. It sounded like a line from a movie—but it turned me on anyway.

No man could have resisted the intense sexual pressure she generated. My dick felt like it was trying to leap out of my lap to reach her pussy. I hadn't promised anything; this was, it seemed, a free taste of the goods, not unlike a drug dealer hoping to get me hooked. If I was being lured in like a prize fish, well, I'd already let her lead me down into a closed bunker, so I was already caught. I may as well enjoy the bait. She kept grinding that wet, spread-open pussy inches from my face, daring me to taste it. With a little sigh, that's just what I did. I closed my eyes, leaned forward maybe an inch, and stretched my tongue towards her slit. I felt the hard knot of her clit right in the middle of my tongue and tasted wetness all around. The smell of sex engulfed me like a cloud. I heard her moan "oooohhhh" when my tongue touched her pussy. Again, I didn't really believe it was genuine, yet it still turned me on. 

She only let me lick her for a minute or so. She pulled her hips back and leaned forward, cupping my face in her hands gently. "You very good...my pussy like you. But now is time for you to sample merchandise, not other way round." It seemed odd to refer to oneself as merchandise; there was a lot about being a porn star that I didn't understand. But while I pondered, she was moving; she brushed past me and moved onto the bed. She paused for a second to untie her top and remove it completely, then lay on her back, hiked up the already-lifted skirt, and spread her shapely thighs wide. Well, I'd come this far; I got up, pulled my pants down to my knees, and crawled over to her waiting body. I pointed my dick at her opening and easily penetrated her—she was already well-lubricated from top to bottom. It also gripped me tighter than I expected—I guess I'd expected that a porn star's pussy would be loose and floppy from excessive use. Instead, I realized she had tricks here, too—there was some kind of muscle she was contracting that squeezed her walls around me, providing an exquisite combination of unabetted penetration and pleasurable resistance. In other words, she was an AWESOME lay.

As I got busy, Aleska started talking. "Oh...that's good...more...you're so much bigger than I expected...oh...fuck me...fuck me deeper...oh...that's so good...give me more..." My mind told me it was all pornstar bullshit, but my dick didn't care—it sounded real, and damn if it didn't drive the little guy on that much harder. I looked at her and found that she was staring at me intensely with those steel-blue eyes. Somehow, the fact that she kept staring at me lustily the whole time she was talking like that made it feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn't entirely acting. I guess it didn't matter—it was feeling damn fine on my end.

Aleska moved slightly; she put her feet down on the mattress and lifted her hips slightly upwards. It took the slightest adjustment on my part to accommodate, and in no time I was pumping her for all I was worth again. I didn't realize at first that she had moved for a reason, but it gradually dawned on me that I couldn't see her left arm. I then realized it was because she was laying on it, and looking down discovered she was laying on it because she was using her fingers to actively stretch her anus. She already had one finger going in, and was working on a second. "What...are you...?" I said, even as I figured out what she was doing. 

"I get ready," she purred with a gleam in her eye, "you must try backside too." 

"That's OK, that's not really my thing..." I trailed off. True, her pussy was outstanding, but the truth was I'd never had the chance to do anal before, and didn't want to embarrass myself trying it for the first time with a pro. She saw right through me—I guess she really did know men.

"Oh, is better!" she said excitedly, "butt sex is new to you, yes? Excellent—I show you. I know you will like!" 

I didn't really say anything, but I did pause. Needing no further encouragement, she extricated herself from beneath me, rolled over and reached for the nightstand. Pulling open the drawer, she found a huge tube of KY and pulled it out. How on earth did she know she would find a tube of lubricant in the drawer? I thought. Then I remembered the effeminate and highly polished appearance of the two guys who controlled the entrance to the old bunker and drew my own conclusion. 

She turned to present her rump towards me, resting on all fours—well, three of four, as she had taken a generous lump of jelly and was rubbing it in and around her ass with her right hand. "Is very tight," she teased, pressing her fingers into her own ass. "When three finger fit, big enough for you." I was mesmerized; the shaved pussy, now red and swollen from excitement, beckoned to me, and yet watching her ply her own ass open with her fingers was equally enticing and completely new for me. One thing was sure, I had no trouble staying hard as this beautiful woman exercised her most private orifices just for me. 

Two fingers fit easily now, and she was working on the third. Keeping her fingers in her ass, she turned sideways, looking to suck my dick to prep me. She looked up at me and flashed her eyebrows, cooing "I see you have no problem staying hard." With a slight smile, she swallowed me anyway. I gulped—never in my wildest fantasies had I imagined that I'd have a woman sucking my dick while prepping her asshole for me to fuck, let alone a woman this beautiful. I thought back about Major Wood's comment about porn attracting the prettiest girls in countries like this because there was no alternate route to success for them, and I understood why the producers would keep coming back. Aleska was easily the prettiest girl I'd ever fucked, and now I was about to stick my dick up her ass. This was a once in a lifetime experience I thought—well, it would be, unless I took her up on her deal, in which case... I stopped myself from following that line of reasoning further, or I might just end up taking her up on her offer.  

Aleska stopped sucking, still stroking me expertly with her right hand. She turned her back to me again, backed up a step, and guided my dick to the stretched entrance to her rectum. Holding me steady, she pushed backwards against it. Even stretched the tight anus put up resistance, but with the generous lubrication it was not unpleasant. And then suddenly, shlup, I was past the resistance and my dick was in her ass. The sphincter formed an ultra-tight ring, stimulating me intensely as it slid along my length. She was still doing all the work, shifting back and forth against me. I wasn't fucking her ass with my dick so much as she was fucking my dick with her ass. Well, can't let the woman do everything; now that I had general feel of it, I rested my hands on her hips and began thrusting fiercely. "Oh, yes, fuck my ass," she called out. She reached her left hand between her thighs and rubbed her clit furiously as I slammed into her ass. 

It felt amazing, yet I wonder if the very idea that I was butt-fucking a porn star that brought me so quickly to the throes of climax. My lustful plunges racked her body with every stroke, but she just rocked back and took the next one. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some sort of movement below her. Cocking my head to the side slightly, I realized it was her beautiful breasts, hanging downward and swinging back and forth like an erotic pendulum. I let go of her hip and reached for one; it fell neatly into my hand and felt wonderfully soft and heavy in my hand. I kept fucking her butt, holding on now to her right breast. Feeling me hold it, Aleska straightened up. Stretching her left arm as far as possible to keep it on the mattress, she twisted her torso and reached behind her with her right, hooking it around my neck. Now I was not only holding her right tit, but I could see the wonderful smooth skin and the pointy pink nipple while I held it, all the while accompanied by high-pitched squeals from Aleska. The sensations were unbelievably intense. My strokes in her ass got shorter and quicker as I stared at the perfect breast in my hand while fucking her sphincter. I tensed up and exploded in her colon, uncharacteristically emitting a guttural grunt as I came. I had never, ever had an orgasm that intense.

We both collapsed onto the bed, me on top of her. She wiggled herself free and worked her way next to me. Sitting up, she took my shrinking member into her hand and began to suck it again. "I knew you would like," she purred with satisfaction, "now is clean-up time." That was indeed what she seemed to be trying to accomplish—sucking and licking my dick clean like a perverted cat. I rolled over to accommodate. 

"You see," she said proudly, eyeing my spent penis like a hunter's trophy, "I tell you Aleska best sex you ever have. And?"

"I can't lie," I answered wearily, "that WAS the best sex I've ever had."

"Sex with Aleska always this way," she boasted with pride. "Just think—you make deal, you have sex with Aleska like this—any time you like."

I had to admit it was pretty tempting to take Aleska up on her offer. Of course, once we were married she could reneg on the deal at any time—but if saying yes meant even one more crack at her in the sack(no pun intended), it might be worth it. I hadn't had even a girlfriend in two years, and I expected to continue to be assigned to non-family-friendly duty. It wasn't like I would be losing out on a chance at true love by marrying for, well, for sex. "So if I took you up on your offer—and I'm not saying I will—how long would this marriage last?"

"Stay marry until I get green card," she said confidently, "from what I read on Internet, maybe three year? After zat...who knows? If you want divorce, I give you divorce; if you want I not fight you. I probably must pay you something in settlement. On the other hand, if you want stay marry...maybe we stay marry..." She was playfully running her long, red-tipped fingernails along my chest as she spoke. 

I wondered how much money I might stand to gain in a divorce. It didn't matter—my only interest in even considering her offer was the sex. "I don't know, Aleska, that's asking me to make a pretty big commitment. I've known you for, what, two hours?" 

"Is big decision, yes," she agreed, "so no decide now. For now, just take me with you. After battle end, you go back, then decide. I go with."

"Aleska, I can't just take a non-combatant along with me—especially an enemy non-combatant!" I protested.

She said something I didn't understand, and I looked at her blankly. "As I suspect—you no speak my language. I be interpreter. That give you reason to take me with."

This was crazy. I couldn't take an enemy citizen into the field; for all I knew she was a spy. But her line about interpreting for me hit a nagging chord of guilt. The girl I had fucked yesterday—it would be my fault if she got knocked up. I sure could have used an interpreter to explain the purpose of the pills I was trying to give her yesterday. And if I took her with me, I'd be able to keep fucking her of course. It was crazy, but this whole fucking situation was crazy—in the middle of battle somewhere I wasn't supposed to be, I just butt-fucked an international porn star in a Soviet-era bunker and had the best lay of my life. I was a solitary secret advisor with no one around to answer to; my day consisted mostly of sitting in the back of a jeep looking at a laptop—it really WASN'T highly sensitive duty. I might actually be able to keep her around. And once we returned to our side of the border, I could easily keep her hidden in the house provided by the government. There was an outside chance it could actually work.

In the end the promise of mind-blowing sex made me consider it, but my guilt from the night before led me to give it a try. "OK," I said finally, "as it happens, I have use for an interpreter. I'll take you along, for now, as an interpreter. I'll decide on your offer later."

"Good," she smiled gleefully.

"But," I continued, "you have to look the part. My presence here is supposed to be top secret—I can't have you walking around behind me, turning heads and stopping traffic!"

She seemed to like my compliment, smiling and saying "you're very sweet—but remember my apartment is now big hole in wall. I have no other clothes to wear." In her accent, "other clothes" came out sounding like "ozer cloze." 

"Do a little shopping around the building," I replied, "by now the guys should have broken into just about every unit. See if you can't put together something that makes you look at least a little like a soldier." 

"Yes, sir," she replied in mock salute.

Aleska obeyed the letter of the law, if not entirely the intent. She swept up her hair into a camouflage baseball cap she had found, but the big gold hoop earrings she wore with it were hardly military. She even found an old army shirt, but she had tied it in a knot that allowed a couple of inches of her flat belly to show. "It was too big," she shrugged. Only a few of the buttons were buttoned, revealing a white tank top with a swooping low neckline underneath that displayed quite an eyeful of cleavage. She found a Capri-length pair of camouflage pants, possibly one size too small because they fit her as tight as a glove. She also traded in the heels on another pair of mock Chucks, this time in black. She looked like she meant business while looking like a million bucks at the same time. She had found a backpack for her other outfit; I had less luck finding something I could use to write on fabric. I finally ended up painting "International Observer" on the back of her army shirt with silvery-white nail polish. 

When I emerged from the building two hours after entering it, with my new interpreter in tow, nothing had changed. I checked in with HQ, who really had nothing to report. They told me they didn't expect much to happen until tomorrow and told me I should find a safe place to bed down for the night—so right back into the bunker we went. Aleska even found a bottle of wine—it wasn't very good, but it was wine, and it was with Aleska. Then she lay back obligingly while I drilled her like a oil derrick until unleashing a gusher of white crude into her pussy.

--------------

Aleska was NOT used to getting up at 0500, but she grumbled for just a moment before sucking it up, getting dressed and following me out into the breaking morning light. I wandered back across the river and reported at HQ. Of course, the first question they asked was SHE was.

"I am interpreter," she answered for herself in our side's tongue. I was surprised how easily that satisfied them; being easy on the eyes clearly had all kinds of benefits. As the generals went off their separate ways I mentioned to Aleska that she was the first person I'd met that could speak the languages of both sides of the border. "When producers come to town," she explained matter-of-factly, "girls cross border to work. If you know how speak local language, you just make up name and sign on dotted line. I not just Aleska, I am also known as Zola... Jeza... Ana..."

"OK, OK, I don't need to know all of your porn star names," I interrupted. I loved what she could do in bed, but it made me very uncomfortable to think about the lengthy sexual history through which she had acquired those skills.

"You ask," she shrugged without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Aleska clearly was comfortable with the fact that she was a porn star, whereas I was not.

The battle, meanwhile, was just as stalemated as before. They defended the top of the hill, and with no exposed flank to exploit we were unable to advance. Since there was no movement, there wasn't much need for me, so I took the opportunity to search for the girl I had fucked two days before. First I went to find the building where the gang rapes had taken place. Every apartment building south of the river looked the same to me at first; finally I recognized the pharmacy where I'd gotten the pills from and retraced my way from there. Aleska was all excited because she was able to recover a treasure trove of makeup from the pharmacy floor, having lost all of her own when her apartment was blown up. She didn't complain once about the added weight in her backpack. 

There wasn't anyone left in the apartment building by now anymore, but I swept through the apartments one by one hoping to find a picture of the girl I was looking for. When finally I found her face in a family portrait, I took the picture, frame and all, and showed it to Aleska. "I need to find this girl ... I have something I need to give her. Where have the residents gone?"

"Either to relatives elsewhere in country or to refugee camp," she answered.

"Take me to the refugee camp," I said.

"But...is behind enemy line..." she protested.

"That's OK," I answered confidently, pointing to the banner on my uniform, "I have this. And, in case of emergency..." I reached into my pack and pulled out two United Nations armbands. The state department had wisely provided them to us secret operatives for particularly sticky situations; there was supposed to be one on each arm, but we would have to make do with one each. I was pretty sure their MPs wouldn't notice the breach of protocol. "Put it on," I instructed, "we've just become refugee camp inspectors."




Semper Fi!



To The Reader: Some scientists postulate that more than one universe exists. In fact, there are those who believe that there may be an infinite number of parallel universes that exist side-by-side. This would mean that an infinite number of you exist, in multiple different universes. This theory is so popular that a movie was actually made about it - 2001's The One, starring Jet Li.

This story is written based upon the idea that more than one universe exists. While that wild photo shoot was occurring in Palm Desert in The Wild Blue Yonder, who knows what could've been going on in another one of the universes. This story contains many similarities to The Wild Blue Yonder; however, it is more than just a re-write - it is definitely a story that stands on its own.

Furthermore, with the exception of Hugh Hefner and Larry Flynt, all characters and occurrences in this story are entirely fictional. This story is not designed to be a true portrayal of military policy; however, the author has tried to make this story as true to the military as possible.

*

In December of 2008, Hugh Hefner, publisher of Playboy, approached the Secretary of Defense with a proposal. Hefner wanted to do a Playboy featuring the Women of the Military. However, he knew that were military women to appear nude in Playboy during their enlistment period, it could jeopardize their standing within the Armed Forces. For all his foibles, Hefner has always been known as a man who would go out of his way to make sure that his Playboy models were well taken care of and that nothing he did would be harmful to their careers.

After a great deal of negotiating with the Defense Department and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Hefner got the go-ahead to do his issue, provided that none of the women were dressed in actual military uniforms at any point during the shoot, and that no military equipment was visible in any of the pictures. In addition, of the individual service secretaries, only the Secretary of the Air Force was willing to go along with the plan. Nonetheless, eager to do his issue, Hefner readily agreed.

When Hefner did the issue, he not only tastefully portrayed the Air Force, but he portrayed the diversity of the Air Force. In February 2009, Warrant Officer Amy Carson (African-American), Sergeant Michelle Tran (Asian), Tech Sergeant Kris Warbington (Caucasian), Lieutenant Nicole Kenna (Navajo), and Airman Rachel Gomez (Hispanic) appeared in Hefner's "Women of the Air Force" issue. It was the best selling issue of Playboy of all time, and provided unprecedented publicity for the United States Armed Forces. Recruiters nationwide reported a 56% increase in 18-25 year old male walk-ins between February and May of 2009. By the end of June 2009, the US Armed Forces stood at a place where they could've easily handled two major regional conflicts simultaneously – almost entirely thanks to Hugh Hefner publishing twenty-five pages of tastefully done nude photographs of women in the US Air Force.

My name is Gunnery Sergeant Aaron Le'Garte, United States Marine Corps (retired). I grew up with Kris Warbington, going to elementary and high school with her. However, when we graduated, we went our separate ways, with her going to Ft. Dyess in Texas for Basic, and me heading to Marine Corps Recruiting Depot San Diego. It had been a few years since I had seen her, but I most definitely saw her when she appeared in that February 2009 issue of Playboy!

Several copies of the issue were readily available at Camp Lejeune. In fact, I heard rumors that the commanding general even had one. We thought it was strange when the five women all received honorable discharges on exactly the same day - June 1, 2009 - but we figured, at least they didn't get court-martialed or anything of that nature.

Around that time, my older brother Jason, the chaplain at Beale Air Force Base in Sacramento, called me up and let me know about a bit of a stink that was going on out in northern California. Apparently, Kris had been assigned to Beale, and when she was discharged, the commander at Beale, a General Mae Durban, had kicked up such a stink over it being a cover-up and an excuse to get the Playboy five out of the Air Force that she had nearly jeopardized her own career. But it went away quickly, as do so many scandals in the military (trust me when I say that the Abu Ghraib scandal was a very rare exception to the rule!).

One day in July, I was called to my commanding officer's office. I knocked before entering, as is protocol, and when I was given permission to enter, I went in, saluted, and said, "Gunnery Sergeant Le'Garte, reporting as ordered, sir!"

That was when I noticed a very familiar looking old man sitting next to the general. I couldn't place him, but I could swear I'd seen him before. I quickly recognized him, though, when General Cunningham introduced him as Hugh Hefner, publisher of Playboy and Playgirl magazines.

After the general gave me permission to sit, Mr. Hefner started to ask me some questions. "I understand you're coming up on the end of your contract pretty soon here, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, how would you like to make some extra money and get some national exposure?"

I should've guessed something was up when General Cunningham smirked at that remark, but I didn't think twice. "I'd like that, sir."

"Well, then, Sergeant, I would like to do an issue of Playgirl that features a member of the military - kind of the counterpart to the Playboy Air Force issue. The base doctor recommended you, but I figured I should come check out the potential model for myself."

"Uh... I see, sir," I replied. What the fuck?!

"So," Hefner continued, "what I would like you to is stand up and strip."

When I hesitated, General Cunningham leaned across his desk and said, "Do it, Sergeant."

Well, there it was. Order from a flag officer. "Yes sir."

In under a minute, I was stark naked in the general's office. Hefner began looking me over and taking notes.

Now, I must say, I'm quite proud of my physique. I stand 6'3" tall, and I weigh in at 190 pounds - most of it muscle. I have a good amount of definition in all my muscle areas - torso, abdomen, arms, and legs. My tan is fairly even - although some of it was out of a bottle. But the thing I'm most proud of - my cock. When limp, it hangs about seven inches long, and when it's erect, it gets up to about eleven inches long and is nearly as big around as my wrist. I've gotten stares in the showers since I was about thirteen, and I've never had any problem getting a girl into bed.

Obviously Mr. Hefner approved, because after I got dressed, he said, "Well, you'll definitely do. You'll be getting a call to let you know when and where the shoot is."

The shoot was done in late July, right before the end of my contract, but the pictures were released in the September issue - distributed on August 15th, one week after the end of my contract.

It was the best selling issue of Playgirl ever - fuck yeah! - and it caused a spike in female enlistment in the armed forces. Boy were they going to be disappointed when they got to boot camp and had Don Knotts as their drill sergeant (believe it or not, he used to be a Marine drill sergeant - reportedly once the most feared drill sergeant on Parris Island!).

Shortly after the release of the September Playgirl, I received a phone call. The caller? Larry Flynt, the Sultan of Smut himself. He thought that the Air Force Playboy and my Playgirl were pure genius - and wanted to royally one-up Hefner.

The idea was that I would appear in a simulated sex shoot with one of the Playboy five, but he wasn't sure which one yet. Now, for the uninitiated, simulated sex involves what looks very much like sex but actually has no penetration by genitals or fingers, nor is there any mouth-to-genital contact. He set the shoot for September 26th in Palm Desert, California. I would have moved back to L.A. by that time, so I readily agreed.

So, very early on the morning of September 25th, I left Canoga Park (L.A. suburb, also known as the SoCal Porn Capital) for Palm Desert. On the way there, though, something very strange happened. As I was passing through Redlands, a Ford Explorer that looked identical to mine pulled in front of me. Then I noticed something even more strange - it had my Explorer's license plate! Now, I knew that that was impossible, because I was driving my Explorer. What the hell was going on?!

I tried to pull up next to the other Explorer to identify the driver, but it matched me move for move - almost as if the driver knew exactly what I was going to do. This continued for about ten miles, and then the driver took the Yucaipa Blvd. exit. Then, something really strange happened. As the Explorer rolled to a stop at the stoplight, it just seemed to fade out of existence. Now, I couldn't tell if it was just the early morning light playing tricks on my eyes, but I was certain I had just seen the impossible. However, I was going seventy-five miles per hour down Interstate 10, and it wasn't as if I could just turn my head to look back. So, I continued toward Palm Desert and tried to forget about it.

About forty minutes later, I arrived at the site for the shoot. I was still a little disturbed by what had just happened, but I did my best to put it out of my mind. As I stepped out of my Explorer, I heard an electric whir. Turning, I saw Larry Flynt rolling up in his wheelchair.

"Sergeant Le'Garte," he said in his nasally voice. "So glad you could make it. You're running a little late, though, so if you'll follow Miguel here, he'll take you to your trailer for makeup and costume."

Miguel was a flamboyantly gay Hispanic man of about 25. As he played with my hair and applied the necessary makeup for the photo shoot, he started talking about all kinds of random stuff. After about ten minutes, though, he said something that really broke into my comfort zone.

"Yeah," he said, "I really loved your Playgirl issue. You've got a great cock!"

"Uh..."

How the fuck was I supposed to respond to that?

"Thanks, I guess..."

Awkward silence fell and remained there for the next fifteen minutes, as he finished up. As he was finishing, I heard what sounded like a semi pulling in. Standing up, I opened the door and looked out.

Yep. It was a semi. But it had a cargo unlike any I had seen before. This trailer was carrying a huge aircraft - it looked like retired Air Force, except for the fact that it was painted black and said "HUSTLER" in bright silver letters up the tail. "Holy shit," I said. "That's a huge fucking plane."

"Aaron," Miguel called, "you still need to change into your costume."

I turned around. Miguel was holding what looked, honest to God, like a real military uniform. There was a pair of desert cammie pants, a gray physical fitness t-shirt that said "Hustler" on it, and a pair of freshly polished black combat boots. I crossed the room to him and took the uniform. "Thanks," I said.

I turned my back to him and started to take off my t-shirt. Then I realized something.

Turning around, I saw him staring at me with a huge shit-eating grin on his face. "Uh, could I get a little privacy here?" I asked. I was a little uncomfortable with this!

"Oh, yes, my apologies," he stammered, turning red. He almost tripped as he exited the trailer.

Alone, I took my time getting dressed, pulling the PT shirt as tight as it would go and tucking it in, and making sure the cuffs of the pants were tucked into the tops of the boots, flaring them out properly. Checking myself out in the full-length mirror, I executed a crisp about-face and marched out of the trailer.

As I exited into the bright desert sunlight, I heard a voice from the next trailer over say, "Holy shit, it's a B-58 Hustler!"

So that's what the plane was. But more than that, the voice sounded familiar. Really, really familiar. Like, I went to school with that voice for thirteen years familiar.

Turning slowly to my left, one look confirmed it. Kris Warbington was my co-star for this morning. "You have got to be fucking kidding me," I muttered under my breath. All through high school, Kris was pretty much the only girl I had ever gone after who I had failed to get. And she was a MASSIVE tease, too. Having been my friend for so long, she knew exactly how to turn my crank and knew exactly where to stop to leave me unbelievably frustrated. And this was just going to make it even worse. I was going to have to pretend to have sex with her, but I wasn't going to actually get to fuck her? What kind of bullshit was that?!

She looked fantastic, though. Her hair was shorter than it had been in high school, bobbed at the shoulders - probably from being in the Air Force. Her 36C chest and her unbelievable ass just seemed all the more accentuated from four years of military training. She was wearing a shirt much like mine, except it was cut baby-tee style, and was ridiculously tight across her chest. She was also wearing a pair of forest-cammie pants, except that they had been cut off so short that part of her ass cheeks were exposed. Combat boots like mine finished the ensemble.

As I was standing there staring at her, she turned, and saw me. "Oh my God!" she yelled. "Aaron! Is that you?!"

"Hi Kris," I said with a bit of a wave.

Dammit. Thank you very fucking much, Larry Flynt.

Speak of the devil. Flynt came rolling up at that moment, as Kris and I approached each other. "Do you two already know each other?" he asked, with a puzzled look on his face.

Do we already know each other. I was more than willing to bet that this bastard had intentionally set this up this way. But, I played along. "Elementary school, middle school, high school," I replied. "We've known each other for way too long."

A big shit-eating grin broke out on Flynt's face. "Then you shouldn't have any problems with each other. Let's go to work!"

Fuck.

Or rather, NOT. God damn Larry Flynt's black soul to hell.

At that point, Flynt called for silence. He announced that he'd be directing the photo shoot personally – something unprecedented. Apparently, he wanted to personally one-up Hefner on this one.

At 8:15 AM, the shoot got started. It started with Kris by herself, still clothed. The first few shots were of her sitting on the edge of the wing of the B-58. After that, they had her recline on the wing, with one leg up and bent at the knee. They did a few shots, alternating between her left and right legs. The final shots they did with her fully clothed were of her on her hands and knees, facing away from the camera, and looking back over her shoulder.

After that, she was instructed to remove her t-shirt. She did this, revealing a blue, white, and black winter-camouflage pattern string bikini top underneath. She was then instructed to pull her shorts up as far as she could and roll them waistband down to her pubic line. When she did this, a good third of her ass cheeks were revealed. My cock was starting to wake up. I could feel it starting to harden, and it wasn't supposed to be hard yet, so I started thinking about other things. The line from the first Austin Powers movie, "Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day!" started playing through my head. EWWW. That was enough.

After a few shots of just her dressed like this, I was told to enter the shoot. After a few "intro" shots, I was instructed to kiss Kris. Didn't have to ask me twice. Flynt had us do a few shots kissing, and then he instructed Kris to remove her shorts.

When Kris removed her shorts, she revealed a very skimpy thong that matched her top. Call Flynt a smut master, but at least he pays attention to detail and does his best to make costumes fit in. After a few more shots of me and Kris kissing, with Kris's shorts dangling from my left hand, I was instructed to remove my shirt. Kris then moved to kissing my chest for a few shots, followed by a few shots of me fondling Kris's breasts. Oh damn. Those are some nice funbags.

Kris was then instructed to remove her bikini top. As she did so, her 36C breasts spilled out. And damn, what breasts they were. I mean, yeah, I'd seen them in Playboy, but they were just all the more incredible in person. They appeared to be almost identical, and were just as tan as the rest of her body, which meant she'd been doing a bit of nude tanning since the Air Force gave her her walking papers. My cock started getting hard again.

For the first few shots of the next set, Flynt had me move behind Kris and cover her breasts with my hands. Apparently, he didn't want his "readers" getting TOO excited just yet. He then had Kris turn her head and look up at me. After a few shots like this, he had me reveal Kris's breasts. Damn, just when I starting to have fun.

But, then, I was instructed to squeeze her left breast with his left hand and place my right hand inside her bikini bottom. Okay! As I slid my right hand into her bikini, I felt nothing but absolutely smooth skin down there. Damn, she put a lot of work into that, I thought. My middle finger brushed her protruding clitoris, and she gasped a little. Hmmm, I thought. Take advantage?

Yes indeed. Just barely enough for it to even be considered motion, and so little that nobody else would notice, I started to rub Kris's clit. I saw her cheeks begin to flush and saw little tiny drops of perspiration start to roll down the back of her neck. And then Flynt called for a new position - apparently, he had enough shots in this one.

As I withdrew my hand from Kris's bikini bottom, she looked supremely disappointed. As she turned to face me, Flynt directed me to kiss and fondle Kris's tits for a few shots. Well, once again, I didn't have to be asked twice. I went right to work, twirling Kris's nipples with my tongue and sucking on her tits almost like a little baby. I could tell this got an immediate reaction, as I heard her gasp, and then heard Flynt say with a laugh, "Cool it, Aaron, we don't want Kris cumming quite this early!"

So I backed down a bit, and once his photographers got their shots, Kris was instructed to kneel, put her hand on the now very obvious bulge in my crotch, and kiss my washboard abs. When she touched my cock, it jumped a little, but then calmed down. Flynt's photographers got a few shots of that, and then I was instructed to remove my pants.

When I pulled down my pants and my now eleven inch long, angry, erect cock came into view, Kris's eyes went as wide as dinner plates. "Ho-ly SHIT," she whispered.

I looked down at her with a smartass grin, as if to say, "See what you were missing all those years?" She just gave me a look back, as if to say, "Shut your fucking mouth."

Kris was told to take hold of my cock, and make it look like she was giving me a handjob. Flynt took a few shots like that, and then told her to act like she was giving me a blowjob. This time, nine different cameras took close to a hundred shots – some from the front, with my cock positioned right in front of her mouth as if she was about to suck it in, some from behind her, some from behind me, with only part of her head visible, and some from just over the edge of the B-58's wing, catching only from her nose up, making it look as if she truly was giving me a blowjob. All the movement of her hands on my cock was making it a little difficult to concentrate, so I just closed my eyes and tried to think of something else.

Once the blowjob shots were done, Kris was instructed to sit on the edge of the B-58's wing and lay back. Once she had done so, I was told to pull her thong aside, revealing her pussy, and start act as if I was licking her pussy. This time, only four cameras were involved – one was behind my head. There was a camera on either side of us, and when they were taking pictures, Kris was instructed to lift her legs up so that my head would be hidden. The fourth camera was above and behind Kris, and it caught only from her waist up. For those pictures, she was instructed to close her eyes and pretend as if she were in ecstasy.




Semper Fi



MID FEBRUARY 1945

Captain Mike Adams awoke in a cold sweat, it was early dawn. He sat upright and took a deep breath as his heart raced. Sleep never came easy and when it did it was filled with night terrors. Squinting in the low light at his watch, it was 4:45 in the morning. Adams rose from his cot and dressed, stepping out from his tent. The sky was pink and a warm breeze cooled his sweat soaked scalp. Taking his time, enjoying the dawn, he made his way to the company HQ tent.

"Morning Captain," A sentry said as he walked by.

Adams gave the soldier a breezy salute. 

Adams mused silently to himself, "Captain! That will take getting used to."

He entered the tent and sat at his desk.

Adams had been given the commission out of necessity. Adams's Company was part of the Marines 1st Division. He had been a lieutenant, in command of a platoon during the invasion of Peleiu that prior September. 

The Brass had predicted the island would be taken in 4 or 5 days. They were wrong. 

Because of Japan's well-crafted fortifications and stiff resistance, the battle lasted more than two months. The price of victory had been high. The 1st division was badly mauled and had suffered 70% causalities and the survivors would never ever be the same again. 

The division had been taken off the front line and had returned to Hawaii to rest and be rebuilt.

His company was now back to full strength, a mix of old salts and new recruits. Adams trained and drilled the men without mercy. They had Japan on the ropes but the war in the pacific was far from over.

The night before Adams had taken in a movie with his men. Before the movie started, they had watched a news reel. The men cheered and whistled at the news that the allies were poised to cross the Rhine and the war in Europe was reaching its conclusion. 

Then the news reel showed films of the invasion of Iwo Jima and the men grew silent. It was a grim reminder that their job was not done. 

A staff officer had told Adams that the fighting on Iwo Jima was fierce and progress was being measured in yards, and once again Marines were dying at alarming rates. 

Pearl Harbor in Hawaii had recovered from that devastating air strike by the Japanese and was full of transport ships. The scuttlebutt was that the 1st division would be shipping out soon to fight again, but where?

Mike could read a map and had a good hunch where they would be heading, but being just a Company commander and for security reasons would only learn their destination once the task force was out at sea.

Martha Simmons sipped her drink, then looked at her watch and let out a sigh. A Naval Nurse, she now held the rank of lieutenant. Before the war she was a nurse in San Francisco and a newlywed. Then in 1940, a car accident took the life of her husband. She grieved for months, then carried on her life working. Once more trying to get her life back on track. 

December 7th 1941 changed everything. After that attack on Pearl Harbor, she answered her country's call and joined the Navy. Now 4 years later, her job was training Naval corpsmen, medics who went into battle with Marines. She took her duty very seriously. These young men she trained and the techniques she taught them could mean life or death to a wounded soldier.

Martha smiled to herself recalling how she had met her now very late date, Captain Mike Adams. Part of the medics training was classroom and the medics from his company would show up limping from sprains, bruises and were battered or exhausted. 

Seeking out the infamous captain, she tried to give him a piece of her mind. His callous uncaring demeanor and sarcastic remarks enraged her and she took her complaint to her superior who sat her down and told her what had occurred at Peleiu. 

Her Superior was a surgeon who had been there. He told her of the carnage, the oppressive heat and the lack of fresh water. He told her about the repeated attacks to take the ridge that had led to appalling casualties and many dead marines in the span of 10 days. Reaching for a file he read Martha the final butcher's bill for taking the Island. 1300 killed, 5450 wounded and 36 missing in action. 

She left the meeting stunned and let the matter go. Then a few days later at the restaurant she was now at, he had approached her and apologized for his behavior and bought her a drink. One drink led to another and she began to see his human side. Mike was funny with a wry sense of humor and very handsome. Though only 30 years old, his dark hair showed streaks of grey at the temples and his eyes were of a man who had seen death face to face.

Martha smiled as she saw Mike enter the restaurant and pause at the bar to greet some fellow officers before making his way to her table. Giving her a peck on the cheek he sat down.

"Hey Marty, sorry I am late, but duty called," Mike smiled.

"Semper Fi," Martha said rolling her eyes affectionately. It was the short version used by US Marines of "Semper fidelis," the Marine's Latin motto meaning ""always faithful" or "always loyal."

"Semper Fi," Mike echoed smiled in toast and took a swig of the beer Martha had ordered him when she arrived.

Over dinner they engaged in small talk about their duties and current events. Martha reminded him about the big USO dance that Saturday night. Martha loved dancing and was looking forward to it.

The USO, United Service Organization was set up in 1941 and provided military personal free entertainment and recreation.

"You better not stand me up Captain Adams," Martha warned him.

Mike took her hand and said quietly, "Might be the last dance for a while. We got orders."

"Oh no Mike," Martha said in almost a whisper holding his hand tight.

Martha knew better than to ask details, and Mike would never tell her. He might not even be privy to the 1st Marines' destination. She had feared this news and had hoped this horrible war would be over before it happened. 

The couple finished dinner then took in a movie but Martha could not concentrate on the film. Her mind was going every which way. She had been dating Mike for about 6 weeks and their relationship was moving to the next phase. Was it love? She was not sure but she cared for Mike dearly and treasured their time together. 

When Mike dropped her off at her apartment, they kissed goodnight and she ran up the steps. Relieved her roommate was asleep, she flopped on her bed and cried, muffling her sobs with her pillow. She didn't want to lose another man she cared so deeply about. She eventually fell into an exhausted sleep.

SATURDAY NIGHT

The dance was being held in an enormous Air hanger on the base. The couple had agreed to meet at the dance and when Martha showed up with some of her girlfriends the party was in full swing. Officers and enlisted men from all branches of the military mingled 3 deep at the long bar and buffet.

The men looked smart dressed in their uniforms and the girls had all made the effort to pretty themselves up.

Martha was no exception. She was lucky enough to have managed to get her hands on a pair of fine tan nylon stockings. They were difficult to find, what with most nylon manufacturing going towards the war effort and making parachutes and uniforms and such like.

She wore the tan stockings with a floral blue and pink dress. It was sleeveless with a shallow vee neck front and back. It hugged her body to her waist and then the skirt part flared out. Its length reached mid-calf and showed off her curvy figure to perfection. She wore black lace up shoes with a one inch heal which matched her handbag.

Captain Adams spotted her immediately even among the crowd. She was to him the prettiest girl at the dance. He ordered himself a beer, a rum & coke for Martha and waded through the crowd to her.

She saw him too and admired him. He looked handsome in his uniform. They found a table and chatted awhile before Mike asked her to dance. They both doused their "Lucky Strike" cigarettes and moved to the dance floor.

The large band began playing the Glenn Miller hit "In the mood." The dance floor quickly flooded with couples all doing variations of the Lindy hop, a popular dance at the time. Loose dancing circles began to form and couples took their turns in the middle to show off their unique dance moves. When it was Martha and Mike's turn some of his men were stunned to see their "no nonsense" Captain was such a good dancer! Martha's moves were even better!

"Check out Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers!" A Gunnery Sergeant from Mike's Company yelled out over the music.

The song ended and after a brief pause, the band broke into another hit song, "The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B." 

The place went wild with couples dancing in complete abandon. After a few more dances and quite breathless, Mike led Martha off the dance floor to the bar for fresh drinks and then back to their table. 

A panting Mike tugged at his collar and suggested the couple step out for some fresh air. A breathless Martha nodded in agreement. 

The couple walked out of the hanger and walked along the tarmac hand in hand till they came upon a bench looking out over the ocean. It was another warm and pleasant night in Hawaii. Mike placed his arm around Martha and the couple were silent, enjoying the breeze and just being together. 

After a while, Mike turned to Martha and spoke. "A penny for your thoughts Lieutenant Simmons?" Mike asked.

"I am in love with a Marine." Martha blurted out. She was, she was sure of it. Why else would she be so upset he was about to leave her and worst... might never come back. She kept those latter thoughts to herself.

"Well," Mike took a deep breath, "I am in love with a navy nurse." Mike confessed. He had been for some time.

The couple stared at each other both not quite believing their revelations. Then they began to kiss passionately holding each other close. 

After a long kiss, Mike suddenly got on one knee in front of Martha and handed her a small jeweller's case.

"Martha will you marry me?" Mike asked quietly.

"Yes. Mike Yes. Do we have time?" Martha said her voice almost breaking up with emotion.

Mike shook his head, "No. No time. I am leaving soon Marty. Will you wait for me?"

"You know I will Mike, but let's not wait for our Wedding Night. I want mine tonight. I want you Michael Adams. Let's go to my place." Martha whispered.

"What about your roommate?" Mike asked, a bit taken back on what they were talking about.

"She is working the night shift at the hospital all week. We will have the place to ourselves till 8am." Martha replied.

Mike smiled. No way was he turning down such an offer from such an incredible and beautiful woman. He took hold of her hand.

"Let's go," he decided. The couple almost ran to Mike's Jeep and then drove on to Martha's Apartment. 

He parked outside and they ran up the steps. Mike had to give a helping hand with the key to open the door for Martha began to tremble, unable to slot the key in the lock.

"I haven't ... not since my husband..." she stumbled over her words trying to tell Mike that this was not her normal behaviour. She was not a loose woman. She did not sleep with just any man who came along.

"Shshshhh," Mike reassured her. "I know already." He helped her line the key up.

Martha felt a rush of love for this man. The door opened. She shut it after them and led him to the living room. 

"Now where were we?" Mike asked rhetorically, pulling her into his arms and they kissed each other passionately in the middle of the room.

Martha slid her hands up his arms to settle on his shoulders. His skin was warm and the muscles in his arms took her breath. She softly caressed his ears and neck before pushing her arms out straight so her biceps rested gently by Mike's ears. The effect was sensual as she kissed his neck and in effect allowed him full access to her breasts brushing softly against his chest if he wanted.

Mike let her kiss him but then in a split second, he crushed her body to his. His arms slid around her back and behind her head to angle it better for a deep and passionate kiss. His tongue quickly claimed hers as they touched. He found her zip on her dress and he lowered it slow but with purpose. The dress held loose on her body.

Martha felt her sex flood with heat and it began pulsing with sexual desire. She felt his cock harden against her stomach through his trousers.

They pressed into each other, their bodies heated and the air was tinged with a desperation not just of their need but also of the circumstance. The possibility that death could intervene too early and prevent them making beautiful memories together, to prevent them ever feeling this sexual need for each other ever again, to live their happy ever after. 

Neither wanted to live without it, neither wanted to feel that desperate loss. Silent pleas went up to the heavens to keep them both safe. 

They clung to each other, grinding, stroking and breathing each other in. Mike's hard thigh slipped between her legs to tease her. He moved her head around like he owned her but Martha didn't mind. She had never been kissed this passionately or this intensely before. 

They both had tonight and they both wanted this memory to last a life time if need be.

They broke the kiss and she nibbled his ears and ran her tongue down his neck. Mike groaned. 

"Do that and I won't be able to control my actions," Mike warned softly.

"That's the point," Martha murmured in his ear, tonging it gently, "I don't want you in control. I want your hot, raw, marine lust." 

She was being naughty and Mike loved every second of it.

He growled like only a good Marine could, "Semper Fi baby" he grunted and added a warning, "Be careful."

Martha chuckled paying no heed and replied, "Carpe Diem." 

She stepped out of her dress and lowered to her knees, upright in front of him.

She undid his trousers, felt inside for him and began fellatio on his pulsing erection.

Mike smiled, moaned at her first touch and shut his eyes - "Seize the day". He liked Martha's answer a lot. 

He liked that tongue of hers. 

It was sharp, witty and she knew how to use it well!

Martha slowly leaned forward so her head was just an inch or two in front of Mike's erection. She slowly bathed the tip of his cock in hot breath. His cock bounced slightly and his breathing became more rapid. She was rewarded with a few drops of precum slowly seeping from the little slit in his helmet. Martha ran her tongue along her lips sexily, then leaned forward and flicked her tongue out and slowly wiped the tip. She was greeted by an audible gasp at the first touch of him and then the sweet salty taste of his precum hitting her taste buds.

Completely entranced at this point, Martha extended her tongue and began to circle his bulbous crown. Mike throbbed and clenching his jaw. She slowly slithered her tongue down the underside of the shaft and worked her way back up to the head. After doing this a few times, she allowed herself to pause at the sensitive underside of the head. She flattened her tongue and slowly bathed the underside of his rock-hard knob. After a moment she slid her tongue back down to the base of his shaft and on to his hairy ball sack. Mike groaned when Martha took each of his large balls into her mouth and massaged her tongue around them.

She listened to his moans of pleasure and knew she wanted to feel his cock in her mouth. She slid her lips up the veiny length of his shaft and found his cock tip had leaked more precum. She licked around his helmet one more time, lapping up the delicious taste of him and exploring his ridges. Then slowly, Martha slid his big knob between her lips and into her mouth. She drooled onto his cock and slowly began to slide his shaft in and out of her mouth. She licked furiously as she moved back and forth, gradually taking more and more of him into her mouth. 

At this point, Mike became more vocal moaning, "Mmm, oh baby." "That's right, just there!" 

He was overwhelmed by the stimulation Martha was providing him. He instinctively moved his hips in time with her.

Martha continued to move his big cock in and out of her mouth, occasionally stopping to lick around the head and lap up the increasing amount of precum. Mike moaned when her hands began to join her mouth on his body. Her hands felt his buttocks and then slid down to massage his aching balls while she still bobbed up and down on his pulsing cock.

"Oh God. You don't know how good this feels." He groaned. 

Martha took this as her queue and slid her lips all the way down the length of his cock until the tip was prodding the back of her mouth. She repeated again, up and down, then slowly worked the head into her throat. 

Mike half-moaned, half-gasped in delighted surprise. Martha had of course had experience of this with her husband who had taught her well and she drew on that knowledge to stimulate and excite Mike.

She started working his entire cock in and out of my throat, which stimulated more and more saliva. Mike moaned more audibly and louder. She pulled off his cock and tasted more and more precum which pumped out of him. She knew he was building up closer and closer to orgasm. She wanted to work him up to a frenzy and an overwhelming release.

She bobbed on him some more and then slowly took the entire length of his cock down her throat. Instead of pulling off, she held it in her throat and licked his scrotum. A trick taught to her by her husband. She had to hold her breath while she did it but the result was worth it. This made Mike's breathing become even more rapid and his moans even louder. He had never had that done before!

Overcome with lust, Mike put his hand on the back of her head and started pushing her head up and down as he thrust his hips to pump his cock in to her head.

Martha was in heaven moaning on his cock, loving the reaction she had caused. He fucked his pulsing rod in and out of her mouth with increasing intensity. His groans turned into lusty growls. His cock oozed precum and his breathing was heavy and vital. 

Suddenly, Mike froze with his cock pulsating in her mouth, fighting for control of his lust, and he let out a loud guttural roar. 

"Bedroom now." He growled and with that he picked Martha up like a babe in arms, "Where?" he demanded to know.

She pointed and he kicked the bedroom door open. 

He stripped off his clothes in a rush and pulled Martha's underwear off unceremoniously. There was only one thing on this Marine's mind and that was to impale his future wife till she screamed his name in pleasure.

Mike placed Martha on her back on the bed. She leaned on her elbows watching him undress with a thrilling purpose. He removed her underwear, expertly and quickly disposed of it on the bedroom floor. He crawled up the bed, spreading her legs open as he did so. They were both naked as he pushed upwards and she slid down a little until they were in a missionary position in the middle of the bed. Her legs were bent slightly at the knees above the mattress and he was between her spread thighs. His hands slid under her upper back and his palms cupped around her shoulders. 

She was panting a little, thoroughly excited. It had been a good while since she had had a man on top of her like this. Her eyes stared into his with an expression of excitement and nervous anticipation. Mike looked back and then at her slender neck, full round breasts and rosebud nipples. He groaned and kissed her, grinding gently on top of her. He enjoyed her nude body caressing him.

His hips started to move and his cock prodded and teased her pubic mound. Their eyes locked, lost in the feel of each other.

He probed her vaginal entrance with his cock. She was slick and ready for him. Without warning, he thrust and slid into her very snug, very warm and very slippery sex. They both moaned in delight as he joined with her, still keeping their eyes fixed. He decided not to ram her but to keep the rhythm slow, deliberate and sensuous. 




Semper Fi



Martha started pushing with her hips and legs and met each probe of his throbbing cock. Her arms moved around his back and she caressed him lovingly. He kept moving his hips and broke eye contact to give her breasts some kisses, then he sucked her taut nipples, rubbing his tongue ravenously on each one. 

Martha moaned and her eyes closed. She felt the tempo of his sliding cock increase and she compensated with her own rocking, squirming and thrusting movements. It felt so good, so glorious. It had been so long, so very long. It really was like her first time all over again!

He gave her stretched neck a moist necklace of kisses. He pushed his face into her soft, dark hair. 

He kissed her ear and panted, "Martha... I... can't last... much... longer."

"I... don't want... you to." She panted, her words in sync with the thrusts and her own movements grew more urgent as their genitals mashed together. 

Mike's cock picked up speed and force. His hands cupping her shoulders held her tighter. He began to growl like a lusty animal. He thrust harder and they both heard the "thap thap" sounds of his groin meeting hers. A few seconds later, he was pounding his cock as deep and forcefully into her as he could. He was a male in lust mode and his pubis teased her clitoris, driving her wild.

Her hips responded in kind. Martha recognised the signs and knew she was getting close to orgasm.

Her voice was breathy and urgent, "C'mon, baby... I want you so much. I want to make you cum... cum for me..."

Mike shoved in deep again and didn't pull back. He savagely ground his cock inside her and his groin against her pussy. She felt perfect around him, tight, wet and warm. Just perfect. His body clenched tight. 

Martha knew Mike was close to climax. She flexed her legs, pushed her pussy to grind her clitoris on Mike's pubic bone. She wanted to tip over that exciting precipice with him. 

She yelled when he roared and flung herself off the cliff to free fall with Mike into sexual bliss. 

Waves of tingling pleasure coursed through her. She felt her pussy begin quick convulsions around his hardness.

He felt the build-up and then he pulled out to erupt all over her pubic hair and tummy.

They both moaned their euphoria.

Mike shifted and bought his torso down to Martha's. He rose on his elbows and smiled into her eyes. His forearms slid under her shoulders so his palms could cup the sides of her face. 

He looked into her eyes for a few moments, then his face lowered. His mouth met hers. His tongue slowly slid between her soft lips and caressed her tongue. Hers started to move too and an oral erotic dance began and grew into a deep loving kiss. 

Her arms encircled his neck. His hands slid to the back of her head. She pressed her body towards him and both felt the sticky cum smearing on their bodies. He liked feeling her turgid nipples pressed into his chest. 

He was glad he was here with her before he had to ship out. 

He flexed his cock on her tummy and felt her skin flutter in the same spot. He felt her tremble under him and smiled. She was experiencing an aftershock.

"I love you Martha," he told her.

"I love you Mike," she answered.

They kissed and made love twice more during the night before falling into a sated and contented sleep in each other's arms.

APRIL 1945

Martha awoke and like she did every morning and every night, she looked at a framed picture on her bed side table. It was a picture of Mike. Martha had taken the photo on a beach date they had a few weeks after they had met. 

Mike was sitting on the beach with a beer and waving at the camera. What she liked best about the image was his little sexy smile. It was the only photograph she had of him and she prayed every night that it would not be the last.

Martha showered and dressed and went to the kitchen. Her room mate Donna sat at the table finishing her bowl of oatmeal and listening to the radio. She tried to engage Martha in small talk with little success.

"Oh Marty, I know it's easy for me to say, but try not to worry. It's eating you up girl." Donna said.

"I know, I know. It's the not knowing, that's killing me." Martha sighed.

"Well try and eat something and I will see you at lunch, ok?" Donna said putting her bowl in the sink.

Martha nodded and poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down. Coffee was taken off the rationing list in 1943. A good thing for Martha, she was living on it of late.

Alone in the apartment Martha was lost in thought when the radio got her attention. 

"Now the news. The war department has just announced that the largest amphibious assault in the Pacific War has begun!

On April 1st combined forces of Army and Marines landed on the Japanese held Island of Okinawa. The island is only 340 miles from Japan and will give the allies a base for the final push!"

Martha got light headed and almost fainted hearing the news. Her thoughts went to Mike. 

"Please keep him safe," she prayed.

Pulling herself together, she went to work. By the time she got to the hospital, the news had spread fast and everybody was talking about it.

MAY 1945

Martha was a nervous wreck. Only one letter from Mike had arrived and was dated March 12th. It was more a note than a letter. Mike told her he was busy and all was well. He missed her very much and had received a few of her letters. 

Every night Martha bought a newspaper and with pure dread poured over the war news. Censorship was tight and most reports were vague at best. Mike had told her he had put her name on his contact list if the unthinkable happened and she had nightmares about getting the dreaded telegram of his demise. 

LATE JUNE 1945

Martha was at the hospital when her room mate Donna ran up to her and told her she had just heard on the radio that the battle was over. Martha couldn't believe it. They hugged each other with tears of joy. She prayed Mike was okay and she would hear off him soon.

When Martha arrived home that night, she opened her mail box and there was a rubber banded bundle of 6 letters from Mike! 

With excitement and mixed emotion, she went to her bedroom and sat on the bed and arranged them in post mark order. The last 2 envelopes were mud stained and water damaged. 

For the next hour she read each letter. In the 1st few letters, Mike sounded upbeat and positive. By the time she got to the last two, Mike mentioned heavy fighting, incessant rain and fanatical resistance by the Japanese enemy. He was tired physically and emotionally of the loss of many of his men and the burden of leadership.

LATE JULY 1945

As Martha was getting ready for work she heard a knock on her door. There was another knock as she approached the door.

"Yes?" Martha asked.

"Telegram for Martha Simmons," the voice said on the other side of the door.

Martha felt sick. She began to shake. A trembling and white Martha unlocked the door.

"Sign here Ma'am." The Western union man said without emotion. She wondered how many of these he had had to deliver as she scrawled her name on his pad.

Closing the door, tears filled her eyes. She walked into the kitchen. She set the telegram on the table unable to open it and sat down on the stool, rocking herself in her worry.

Donna came out of the bathroom drying her hair with a towel.

"Who was that?" Donna asked.

Unable to speak, Martha just pointed to the table and at the dreaded telegram.

"Oh Marty," Donna sighed, putting her arms around her friend.

"You read it." Martha croaked out between deep ragged sobs.

Donna tore open the envelope with dread and read for a moment. Martha watched her face intently trying to gauge her reaction to the content. 

Time stood still and seemed so long as Martha waited for Donna to say something. After what seemed to be an eternity, Donna looked at Martha and spoke.

"Well it's not from the War department!" Donna said with excitement, handing the telegram to Martha to read for herself.

Snatching the telegram from Donna's hand, Martha read it.

"Marty...stop

In hospital in Saipan...stop

Leg wound...stop

Will recover...stop

Returning to Pearl soon...stop

Miss you...stop

Love Always Mike...stop

As a tidal wave of relief ran through her body, she looked at Donna.

"Wait till I see him, I am going to kill him for scaring me like that!"

Both women laughed at what Martha had just said. They jumped up and down in joy. Mike was alive. Hurt but alive.

SEPTEMBER 20th 1945

VJ Day had been announced to the world on August 15th 1945, then on September 2nd the formal surrender of Japan had taken place in Tokyo. 

After Martha had received his telegram, Mike's letters became more frequent. 

Mike wrote that he had been hit in the leg with shrapnel from a mortar round, then taken aboard a hospital ship, then back to the island of Saipan to recover. 

Martha was now waiting for Mike to return home. At the Pier, Martha chain smoked as the ship finally docked. Unable to sleep. she had been there since dawn with hundreds of other impatient people. 

The base band began to play and the crowd roared as the Marines began to disembark off the ship. 

Tears were in her eyes as she saw the men, home from war, meet and hug their loved ones. Emotions and joy were raw and high.

Martha's heart skipped a beat when she spotted Mike! He was thinner than she remembered and he was limping slightly but still able to carry his sea bag on his shoulder. He looked so handsome and just like a marine should look. 

Martha pushed her way to the front and Mike spotted her and smiled. 

Dropping his bag, he held out his arms and Martha, crying with joy, ran to him. Her man was alive! Her man was home!

Mike managed a, "Hey Marty," before she flung her arms around him hugging him tightly and they kissed. It was a kiss of joy, of gladness but most of all of love.

Following the kiss, her face buried in his shoulder, whimpering. No words could express the deep emotion they both felt right there and then. 

Mike held her close and caressed her hair and said nothing. 

After a while, with emotions more in control, he lifted her chin up with a gentle hand. Mike looked at her face and then in to her beautiful eyes.

"Sorry I'm late darling but duty called," Mike said, smiling at her.

With a balled fist she hit his shoulder playfully, "Semper Fi," she answered, rolling her eyes with affection.

His smile broadened, "Semper Fi," he agreed and dipped his woman for another kiss in the middle of the crowds. 

All around them were joyful cheers, happy music from the base band, flag waving and rolls of celebratory paper strewn about on the floor and still rippling and flying around in the air as people threw them up in jubilation.

The War was over. Peace was here.



Semper Fi, Baby



Author's note: This is my way of saying thanks to all the military service members and their families who sacrifice so much on our behalf. I'd also like to express my appreciation to the members of the military who took the time to read this over to make sure it was accurate and in good taste.

****************************

Steven is stunning when he’s naked. He’s standing at the window, the streetlamp bathing his body in bluish light. I try not to move so he doesn’t know I’m watching him. He sighs heavily and leans against the sill, his hip jutting out slightly, the light caressing his tight ass before surrendering to the darkness below. It is cold for March, and his skin carries the slightest texture of goose bumps. Cold or not, Steven always sleeps in the nude at home.

I know why he can’t sleep. It’s the same reason I can’t. The digital clock glows in the darkness. It’s two o’clock in the morning. His orders are to be on base at 7 a.m., ready to ship out. It’s not as though we haven’t been through this before. I was seven months pregnant when he was called up for Desert Storm. But this time it’s different. For some reason, this time it seems more urgent and more dangerous.

I am the last person on Earth you would envision married to a Marine. I was always a bookish overachiever, the one everyone thought would be a doctor or a lawyer, or at the very least, married to a doctor or a lawyer. But my senior year in college, my roommate invited me to her family’s beach house for the week-end on Topsail Island, not far from Camp Lejeune.

It was late September, the tail end of hurricane season, so it was fairly empty on the island, save for the locals. Saturday night was “Ladies’ Night” at the Beach Bum, so we decided to wander over that way. Unfortunately, all the other “Ladies” on the island had wandered over that way, too. It was hot and crowded and smoky. I took my drink and ditched Carrie, who had managed to get into a heated game of pool, and headed out for the beachside patio.

I was leaning on the railing, enjoying the warm sea breeze blowing in my face, when a slightly drunken voice interrupted my reverie.

“You know why Marines make the best lovers?” The voice asked me.

“Let me guess,” I replied, not bothering to turn around. “Because they’re the first in and the last out?”

“Oh, so you’ve heard about the Marines?” He continued.

“I don’t know anything about the Marines,” I said, still not looking at the owner of the voice. “But I’ve heard the Coast Guard is ‘Always Ready’.”

A sharp laugh came from somewhere next to the drunken voice. “Surrender now, Diaz,” the laughing voice said. “This one’s out of your league!”

“What do you mean, she’s out of my league?”

I finally turned to look at Diaz. “I think he means that the little blonde at the end of the patio is giving you the eye.”

“Oh, yeah?” Diaz asked, turning to follow my gaze. 

“Yeah,” I told him. “Why don’t you try that line on her? I bet she’ll think it’s clever.”

“Good idea,” Diaz said, wandering off in the direction of the blonde. His friend was still behind me.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, turning back to face the sea. “Don’t you have any corny military pick-up lines up your sleeves?”

“Ma’am, the only things up my sleeves are my arms, and I’d be honored if you’d allow me to put them around you for a dance.”

I finally turned to face the man behind me. He was tall and well muscled, with gleaming blue eyes and a dark, regulation crew cut. “Are you for real?” I asked him.

“Why don’t you find out?” he challenged, extending a hand to me.

There was something charming in his soft Southern tones that appealed to the cynical Yankee in me. For reasons I’ll never really know, I took his hand and let him lead me to the small dance floor at the other end of the patio. One arm encircled my waist and he held my hand in his, pulling me close. He smelled of soap and sea air, clean and safe. I rested my head against his smooth cheek and swayed with him to a slow song. A year after that dance I married him.

Now, sixteen years, three children, two car payments and a mortgage later, I’m lying in our bed watching him worry. I can faintly make out the tattoo on his right arm. It’s the Marine Corps logo, the Eagle, Globe and Anchor. Above it is written “God. Country. Corps.” Underneath it reads “Semper Fi”, the Marine Corps motto, Always Faithful. He has another tattoo as well, but I can’t see it from here. It’s on his abdomen, just above the hairline, centered directly over his penis. It reads “I Dream Of Jeannie,” and it’s written in the shape of a heart. That’s how he told me he loved me.

“Steven?” I say, softly.

“Jeannie, Baby. I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, coming to the edge of the bed. He leans over to caress my hair, and his dick is tantalizingly close.

“You didn’t wake me. I couldn’t sleep. But you need to get your rest. You’ve got a lot ahead of you.”

“I can’t sleep either, Baby. I’m too keyed up.”

“Well, Captain. You know the Corps’ remedy for insomnia, don’t you?” I ask, slyly.

“No, Ma’am. Why don’t you refresh my memory?”

“Well, I’ve heard a round of P.T. will leave you good and tired.”

“That it will,” he agrees. “But I’m not sure I’m up for it, Baby. I’ve got so much on my mind.”

“See,” I sigh, playfully. “I knew I should have married into the Coast Guard.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Yeah, you know, sometimes Semper Paratus beats Semper Fi.”

“We’ll see about that,” he chuckles softly. He straddles me, placing his hands on either side of my head. Then he kisses me forcefully, his tongue invading my mouth.

He knows this will arouse me. It always does. I run my hands down his back to his ass, the solid muscles rippling under my touch. The intense physical training imposed by the Marine Corps keeps him strong in battle and strong in bed. My hands caress their way up to the back of his head, newly shaven, soft and fuzzy. I love the feel of him, all of him. 

He shifts to pull the sheet off me, then slides his hand under my t-shirt, cupping my breast firmly. He kneads and pulls, drawing my nipple out, sending a shiver to the deepest part of me. I want him so badly. His other hand draws my shirt up, and then cups my other breast. He squeezes, pushing them together, twirling my nipples in unison, until I let out a little moan.

I can see him smile as he lowers his head to my breasts. He kisses them, first one, then the other. He draws my nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, still working the other one with his fingers. There have been times he’s brought me to orgasm simply by doing this alone. He moves his lips to the other nipple, caressing it with his tongue before gently biting it. He draws his lips down and pulls it in, creating a forceful suction. His tongue swirls around my nipple, and my legs open involuntarily.

Steven slides his hand between my legs and pulls my panties down, then dips two fingers into my warm wetness. I moan and whimper as his fingers slide in and out of me, his mouth still working my breast. He can feel me sucking his fingers, begging them to go deeper, and he pumps them harder, faster. When he feels that I am on the edge, he stops and whispers, “Turn sideways, Baby.”

After all these years I know he means for me to lie across the bed, and I quickly oblige. Steven grabs the panties which have settled around my ankles, and yanks them off, tossing them across the room. He pushes my legs open and parts my nether lips with his fingers. His tongue teases my clit, and I pant softly, “Oh, oh, oh…”

My hands clutch at the sheets as his tongue works me, gliding over my clit, plunging inside me. His lips surround my button and he starts to suck, sliding his hands up to play with my nipples. He is sucking hard and his hands knead my breasts forcefully. The licking and sucking and kneading leave me writhing and moaning, desperate for a moment’s respite from the intense sensations. But Steven is strong and I’m not going anywhere. 

Without warning, I feel release. My eyes roll back in my head and I start to shake. White lines and starbursts form against the darkness of my eyelids. My hips rise off the bed slightly and I cry out. When the moment passes, I hear Steven chuckling softly. He reaches up, grabs the edge of my t-shirt, and wipes his face. Then he gently eases it off over my head.

“We never do seem to have a towel handy, do we Baby?” I love the way he says “Baby”. Not with the gritty edge of a Yankee, but with soft, drawn-out diphthongs honed in The Carolinas. 

“You should have been a Boy Scout. They’re always prepared.”

“But not nearly as much fun.”

I gently push Steven onto his back, then begin to nibble my way down his body. My tongue dances over his nipples while my hand searches out his dick. “Mmmm…” he sighs as I grasp it firmly, then draw it up and back with a steady rhythm. I kiss the scars that trail from his ribcage to his hip, several large commas ending in a sizable starburst, mementos of the shrapnel that tore into him in the desert so many years ago. I reach the tattoo and trace the letters in my name with the tip of my tongue, causing his dick to jerk in my hand. Finally, my mouth reaches its destination.

I lick my lips, then slide them slowly down his shaft. He groans deeply and absentmindedly puts his hand on my neck. I withdraw, allowing my lips to rest on the head of his dick. My tongue dips in and out of the hole, then sweeps around the line of his circumcision. I purse my lips tightly, and rest the tip of his cock against them, opening them slowly with strong resistance to finally slide down the length of him until he’s almost in my throat. Steven has told me it feels like anal when I do this. So I do it again. And again. And again, until he’s hard as a rock and moaning.

As much as I love his fat cock in my mouth, I don’t want him to cum just yet. I draw my lips up over the shaft one last time, lick off the sweet drop of nectar at the tip, then quickly straddle him, impaling myself on his dick. “Yesssss…” he whispers, more like a guttural hiss.

My movements are small and intense. I move ever so slightly, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, slowly drawing myself up the shaft of his cock, and just as it’s almost out of me, I descend once more. Squeezing, sucking, I lean back and rest my weight on my arms. Steven’s hands grab my hips and he thrusts up into me. Without warning, he pushes me onto my back and swiftly repositions himself between my legs.

His strong arms press my legs wide open, and his rigid member penetrates me forcefully. I grab my legs to keep them open, to allow him to plunge deeply into me. His arms rest beside my head, and he pins me down with the weight of him. His thrusts are powerful and persistent. I am all sensation and energy, his relentless pounding drawing me towards the crest.

“Tell me now, Baby. Semper Paratus or Semper Fi?” There is a gleam in his eye; he knows what my answer is, what it will always be.

I bite my lip and whimper, refusing to say it. The drilling gets harder, his iron rod pistoning furiously.

“Semper Paratus or Semper Fi?”

Again I refuse to answer, drawing the game out, daring him to fuck me until I shatter. I draw my knees up and grab his solid ass, squeezing him, pushing him, willing him as deep as he can go, and then a bit farther. He groans, reaming me fiercely. I have reached the summit.

“Semper Paratus or Semper Fi?”

“Semper Fi, Baby! Semper Fi!” I cry out, the electric shock reaching my brain. The explosion is devastating, wracking my body with convulsions, shooting my hot liquid down his shaft and over his balls. It only takes a moment for him to join me, shaking, moaning, filling me up with his sweet, sticky juices.

His weight still pins me to the bed as I wrap my legs around him. My arms encircle him, as if this could somehow keep him with me forever, somehow shield him from what lay ahead.

“I love you, Jeannie,” he whispers in my ear.

“I love you, too.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A persistent hiss plays at the corner of my brain. I struggle to remain in this deep, comfortable sleep, but the hiss won’t go away. It is the shower. My eyes snap open and I glance at the clock. 5:30 a.m. I fight the urge to drift back to sleep, and throw the covers off. The chill air wakes me up. I grab my robe, tying it snugly around me for warmth, locate my slippers under the bed, and shuffle off to the kitchen to make coffee.

We don’t say goodbye at the base anymore. It’s too difficult on the kids, and, to be honest, it’s too difficult for me as well. Somehow, I convince myself that when I shut the door behind him, that it’s just a normal day; that Steven will be home for dinner. It’s a little game I use to get me through the day.

The shower has stopped, and soon Steven will stop by each child’s room to spend a few minutes and say goodbye. As the coffee drips, I prepare him breakfast. He normally doesn’t each much in the morning, just cereal and coffee. But it’s become my little ritual to make him something substantial before he goes away for any length of time. It makes me feel better, so he indulges me.

I am just laying it all out on the table when Steven finally enters the kitchen. “So what’s on at the Waffle House?” he asks lightly.

“Scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon, cheese grits, English muffin, orange juice and coffee.”

“Good, Lord woman! The Navy’ll toss me overboard for an anchor, you feed me that way!”

“I’m trying to fatten you up so you’ll float.”

Steven laughs as he sits down to eat. I’m too apprehensive to eat, but I join him with my cup of coffee. I love to see him in his everyday uniform, crisply ironed, bars gleaming on his collar. And the sight of him in full dress blues takes my breath away. But I hate the sight of him in battle dress; I hate the camouflage and the clink of dog tags. I understand it’s all part of the package, but I hate it anyway.

Apparently, our early-morning wrestling match has helped Steven work up quite an appetite. He makes short work of his breakfast, then sits back with a contented sigh. 

“Jeannie, Honey, I don’t know how I’m gonna look at an MRE after that meal.” He smiles and sips his coffee. After a moment he asks, “You know where all the paperwork is, right?”

“Steven…”

“I’m just making sure…”

“After sixteen years married to the Corps, of course I know where the paperwork is. I just don’t want to think about it right now.”

“It just makes me feel better to know things are in order in case…” he lets the sentence drift off, unfinished. It’s quiet for a moment, then he adds, “Jeannie, I need to tell you something.”

“What?”

Steven looks up from his coffee and says, “From the day I met you, there’s never been anyone else. Not once. Not a prostitute, not a one-night stand, not anything, not ever. It’s only been you.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I need for you to know.”

“Always Faithful.”

“Always.”

“Well, for the record, you’ve been the only one for me, too. Except for that battery-operated boyfriend under the bed.”

Steven chuckles softly. “I envy him.”

“I could stash you under the bed, too,” I offer.

“Sometimes I wish you could.” There is a loud knock on the front door. “That’s Henderson,” Steven says, getting up from the table. “Hey,” he adds. “Thanks for telling me.”

I just smile. “Where’s your gear?”

“On the porch.”

We walk to the door, then he turns and puts his arms around me. The embrace is so tight I can barely breathe. “I love you, Baby,” he whispers in my ear.

“Then make sure you come back to me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

When he finally releases me, I can’t speak. I just mouth the words “I love you.” Steven kisses me on the forehead, and then he’s gone. I rest my head on the door, and release the breath I’ve been holding.

“Semper Fi, Baby,” I whisper softly. “Semper Fi.”