3 comments/ 8423 views/ 5 favorites The Sailor's Wife Ch. 02 By: adamgunn The Shroud Stephanie woke, troubled by something, a noise perhaps. What time was it? After 10, she was late for work! No, wait, it was Sunday, everything's all right. Was she going to sleep the entire day away? Why not? She'd done it before. At least when she slept she was clear of the pangs of loneliness. She turned on her side, tugging at the flannel nightgown she'd wrapped herself in before she fell asleep, and gazed over the bedside to the portrait of her husband. The glass was cracked, and she recalled how it had been broken just the night before. Suddenly, she felt the tears welling. Unfaithful again! The memory of the young man came flowing over her, how she'd seduced him, attempting to assuage both her seclusion and the physical needs of a young woman. She felt a good cry coming on, the wracking sobs of a woman whose conscience wouldn't allow peace. Suddenly the noise returned, a banging on the front door. Who could it be? She roused herself, throwing a bathrobe over her shoulders to protect her modesty, wiping her tears with the bedsheet, and made her way to the front door. Through the peephole, she spied Chuck, the young man she'd invited into her bath and bed the night before. Cracking the door, keeping the chain latched, she asked, "What are you doing here?" "Hi," he replied. "Thought I'd come over to see you. Is it okay?" "Yeah, I guess so. Listen, I'll open the door, but don't come in for a few seconds, okay? I'm not quite decent." Then she remembered just how indecent she'd been when he saw her just twelve hours before. "Okay." Stephanie unlatched the door and left it ajar, then sprinted for the bathroom. She couldn't let Chuck see her this way, disheveled, teary-eyed, ugly. She heard him come in after her, and called to him, "Be a dear and put some coffee on, will you?" She began her toilet, only to be disturbed by a call, "How many scoops?" "Two," she replied. By the time she emerged from the bedroom clad in shorts and sweatshirt, brushed and perfumed, she was feeling a little better, not only physically, but morally as well. "So," she began, "how did you get here?" "I walked." "Walked? It's over five miles!" "Yeah, but it only took me an hour and a half. I can walk pretty fast, I was on the cross-country team in high school." Why was he here, she wondered? Did he expect her to strip, throw herself on her back again, and let him have his way with her? Luckily, he said the first words, and picked just the right ones. "I thought maybe you'd like to go over by the lake, or maybe up into the hills. It's a really pretty morning." It certainly was! But weren't they all in this wonderland they called California? The fog had already burned off, the picture window displayed a world filled with crisp images of trees and mountains. And here he was, just trying to be a friend. Maybe he wasn't like all the other guys who, she imagined, had only one use for a woman. "Sure, let's do something." Stephanie made sandwiches and put some fruit into a plastic bag. In the garage, she had Chuck put two bicycles onto the rack on her VW bug - she figured he could ride Glenn's bike well enough. Soon they were on the way up to the redwoods and began a long ride through the hills and trees. Forty-five minutes into their trip they were both sweating. Chuck pulled his T - shirt off, displaying the trim torso Stephanie had enjoyed so much the night before. She pulled off her sweatshirt, exposing the halter top and hoped he wouldn't notice her nipples, crinkled with the remembrance of last night's passion. A half hour farther on, they stopped in a high meadow overlooking Oakland and the San Francisco Bay below them. They spread the picnic in the grass, thirstily gulped the water from the jug and began to munch on the provisions. "Chuck," Stephanie began, spouting the words she'd rehearsed during the bike ride, "I want you to know just how much I enjoyed last night..." "Yeah," he interrupted, "It was great, wasn't it? You're really something." "But you've got to remember, I'm a married woman. What I did was wrong, I shouldn't have led you on. I'm a little ashamed of myself." "You mean..." "What I'm trying to say is, I like you, I like you a lot, but, well, I guess I don't want you to think . . . I mean, I just can't... It's just not right..." The carefully polished speech crumbled under the weight of her emotions, and she realized just how incoherent her thoughts were. "That's okay, Steph. If you can't, you can't. Just the one time was great. But, maybe, I could just hang around with you, if that's all right." It was the perfect retort, and suddenly the gloom that filled Stephanie's soul lifted. A friend was found, one who could be counted on. A rush of conversation followed. They discovered each other, what she did at work, the hobbies he had. They began to become comfortable with each other. The ride back took longer, interrupted by bits of conversation and frequent stops for views and water. Once Chuck put his hand on her shoulder, sending a thrill through her body, but she willed it to cease and almost forgot the physical attraction she felt for the youth. Returning to the house, she offered him a beer and put some chicken on the hibachi. For hours they talked, playing Yahtzee and cards, rarely remembering the passion of the previous evening. Finally, near sunset, Stephanie said, "Listen, why don't I take you home?" "Okay," he agreed. He rose first from the couch and offered his hand to pull her up. She accepted, and as she rose in the gloaming, she tripped over the leg of the coffee table and stumbled into his arms, her face next to his. "Thank you," she said, and then, suddenly, desired a kiss. She pressed her lips against his and they fell back onto the couch. His hand was on her breast, feeling the nipple through the bra, and she pulled him to her. He was on top of her, his crotch on hers, and remembering the feel of his penis within her, she was quite sure what she wanted. When he unsnapped her jeans and tried to put a hand down her pants, though, she recalled her resolve and cried, "Chuck, stop. Please, dear, don't." Waiting for him to respond, she was certain that if he didn't restrain himself, she wouldn't have the strength to ask again. But he did stop, and shyly got off of her. "I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have . . . ." "No, that's okay dear," she replied, closing her pants and straightening the rest of her clothing. "It's just that . . . ." During the drive back to Alameda, she reminded the boy that Glenn would be returning Thursday afternoon. "Well, maybe I could come over one night before then," Chuck suggested. "Maybe. Why don't you call me?" She dropped him off a block from his house with just a quick handclasp. He did call that week, and when Steph answered the phone they chatted, but she resisted the temptation of his company. She'd rather be lonely, she decided, than unfaithful. And if he came over, she was afraid this time she wouldn't be able to stop his advances, or was it her advances? Thursday evening, just after work, Stephanie was on the dock of the Naval Air Station, waiting for the aircraft carrier in a silky gown. Soon it tied up, gray and immense, and young men began to pour down the gangplank. She watched as Glenn joined them, a little late she thought, and there was something wrong - instead of the dress whites the rest of the sailors were wearing, he was in dungarees. They met on the dock, and she was in his arms, kissing him, fondling him. But an unknown something kept them at a slight distance. "Listen, sweetheart," he began, "one of the guys got detached, and they switched my section. I'm on watch." "Oh, no," she said, realizing he wouldn't be coming home with her that night. "I'm afraid so. But hey, if you want to come aboard for an hour or so, the chief says it's okay." And so, instead of getting into the car and heading for their retreat in the hills, she found herself climbing onto the ship, walking the passages, trying not to stain her dress. They entered his workspace - she'd been there a dozen times - and they were alone. "You've been all right?" he asked. "Sure, I missed you." And she was in his arms, and she knew she wanted him, desired his attentions. Her hands caressed his back. Their lips met. After a long kiss, she suggested, "Let's make love." "You mean..." "Right here. In back of those racks." "Honey, if anyone caught us, I'd get busted. It's not that I don't want to..." "Please," she begged, "It will be all right. You can lock the door, maybe there's somewhere else we can go." And of course, with perfect timing, the chief walked in. "Oh, sorry," he apologized as the couple broke from each other. "Chief, this is my wife Stephanie." "How do you do, ma'am?" After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the Chief looked to Glenn. "Don't mean to break this up, but we need you on a work party. Get down to the second deck ASAP, okay?" "Sure, Chief." After he was gone, they kissed once more. "Sorry, honey, I've got to go." And he escorted her back to the gangplank, with whispered promises that tomorrow they'd be able to care for each other's passions. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at 5:15, right after work," Stephanie promised. But as she descended to the dock, Stephanie felt not just disappointment and loneliness, but an overwhelming physical need. Soon she was in her car on Webster, and passed the string of fast food joints. Suddenly, she was pleased to see a familiar figure walking along the street. "Hey, Chuck," Steph yelled, pulling the car to the curb. Just the ticket to assuage her solitude. "Oh, hi!" he responded, realizing who was stopping to greet him. "I was just driving past. Can I give you a lift home?" "Sure!" He got in the passenger side, and Steph drove through the residential neighborhood. "I thought your old man was going to get home tonight." "Well, his ship pulled in, but he's got to stay on board tonight." "Bummer." "Yeah, real bummer. Listen, I need some company right now, someone to talk to. Do you need to go right home?" "Nah. What do you want to do?" "Can we just drive down to the beach?" "Okay." Soon they were in the parking lot, gazing at the lights of the City across the Bay. For a few minutes they chatted about inanities, but soon the depression returned to Steph and she began to weep. It was only natural for Chuck to put his arm around her, to comfort her. He remembered her warning, he didn't expect anything to happen, and when he felt her lips pressing against his, nibbling at the corner of his mouth, he was astounded and unsure of himself. But the instincts of love are not so easily dissuaded, and he kissed back. They embraced over the stick shift, and he allowed his hand to fondle a breast though the silky fabric of her dress. For her part, Steph was suddenly overwhelmed by passion. She wanted not so much to make love as to have a release of tension - hers, Glenn's or Chuck's. Her hand dropped to the boy's lap, caressing the ever-strengthening rod inside the slacks. She knew it wasn't safe to do it here, too many police, but there was one thing she could do for him. Unzipping his pants, she stuck her hand into his boxers, stroking his penis. She remembered how Glenn liked her to gently rub his dick, and the smoothness of the youth's rod reminded her of something else Glenn enjoyed, something she rarely performed because some part of the Victorian society she grew up in told her it was 'dirty.' At that moment she didn't care about rules, and so she bent over and took the penis into her mouth. The boy slumped back, letting her minister to him, and she licked the tip of the nearly virgin cock and let her saliva drip down, supplying lubrication for the strokes of her hand. Soon she was bobbing up and down on the prick, and he moved his hips in unison. Just a few seconds later, she felt the slight tremors that indicated he would be releasing soon. This was the point where she almost always backed away, letting Glenn spill his seed into the air, but this time she stayed with Chuck and allowed him to erupt into her mouth. Greedily she sucked the sperm from the young penis, thinking all the while of how it could be Glenn's, how much he'd enjoy this, but that he was too selfish to be with her tonight, and so she performed the act on another man in substitution. Soon Chuck was finished, and she spit the milky fluid into a tissue, futilely trying not to taste the acid, not to gag. "Did you like that?" she asked. "Oh, yeah," he moaned. "I'm glad. You better zip up," she said, as headlights swept the side of the car. Luckily, it wasn't a cop. She started the engine as Chuck rearranged his now flagging dick, and began to drive the few blocks to his house. She stopped on a street filled with adobe bungalows, a few houses past the one he identified as his and told him, "Glenn will be leaving in ten days. Give me a call then, okay?" She drove off into the night, thinking what she'd done served Glenn right. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The next day at work, keypunching, she realized she wasn't up to her usual efficient self. She kept thinking about what she'd done the night before with Chuck, and what she could do with Glenn that night. Concentration on her job was suffering. After the next clerk had verified three batches and corrected the dozens of problems, her manager called her in. "You okay, Steph?" "I'm fine, Mr. Donegal." "Did your husband get home all right last night?" "Well, no. He had the watch, and had to stay on board." "Oh. That's too bad." "I'm sorry I'm not at my best today," she apologized, hoping to placate the boss. "Don't worry about it. Everybody understands what you're going through. Listen, your boy is shipping out soon, isn't he?" "A week from Tuesday." "And the ship will be in port until then?" "Yes, sir." "Listen, if you want to take off a couple of hours every now and then until he leaves, just let me know, all right? It's pretty quiet here right now, and I'll let you make up the time after he's gone, okay?" "Really, Mr. Donegal? Oh, that would be so nice. Thank you!" "Don't worry about it. I was young once, you know. You just take care of that sailor of yours, okay? What time does he get off today?" "He can leave at 4:00." "Okay, then you leave early, and go get him." He thought for a moment that she was going to hug him, but she bounced out of the door. Her performance improved markedly. At 3:45 she packed up her purse and left to the cries from her coworkers of "Have a good time," and "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Instead of heading for Alameda and her husband, she went home and showered. She took her time drying her hair, applying make up, perfuming herself, and donning just the right outfit. By the time they'd arranged to meet, she was standing on the pier waiting for her husband, and the other sailors and dockworkers were leering at her. Glenn almost didn't recognize her, mainly because, like most men, he started looking at the bottom. Black high heels, nylons, red miniskirt and top, bare midriff, and a come-hither look. At first, he thought she might be a hooker, but when his eyes rose to her face, he took her in his arms and kissed her, winning the admiration of the onlookers. He couldn't wait to get her home. He drove as quickly as possible through the rush hour traffic, occasionally stroking her legs when he wasn't shifting the stick, gazing at her beauty, peeping into her cleavage. At long last, they pulled into the driveway, and chased each other up the stairs to the apartment door. Stephanie poured a beer into a frosted glass for her returning hero, and when she took it to him in the bedroom he was already reclining on the bed, garbed only in his boxers. "Come here," he requested, and she joined him on the bed. They began by kissing passionately, hungry for each other after their enforced separation. Glenn pawed hungrily at her bosom, stripping her of her bra and sucking gratefully at her nipples. A warmth kindled within her, not only from the physical attention she was needing and receiving, but also just from the closeness of her husband. Soon she was fondling his sac through his boxers, and he had removed her skirt, pleasantly shocked to discover she'd 'forgotten' to wear panties. His eyes and hands explored her thick bush. He was ready for her, three weeks and one very long night ready for her, and now he was so excited by her state of undress, just high heels, garter belt and nylons, that he forgot to continue the foreplay. He rolled her onto her back and began to sink into her. Stephanie wanted him to slow him down, to play with her a little more before the sex. Her sense of duty, however, told her not to interfere with his desire. She spread her legs wide and he pounded into her, shoving his manhood deep within her almost moist vagina. His movements caused the elastic of the garter belt to dig into her stomach, rubbing off a bit of skin, but Stephanie knew her place was to give pleasure to her man, so she endured the punishment. Too soon, his excitement and the friction got the best of him, and he spewed into his wife. Afterward, unsatisfied and no longer aroused, Steph asked, "What would you like for dinner, dear? There's ground beef, some tuna, or we could go down to the Safeway and pick something else up." "How 'bout let's go out? We could just walk down to Kelly's." "Sure." It was a bar and restaurant on Fruitvale where they went every once in awhile, when he was around and they had a couple of extra bucks. "And would you mind putting that outfit back on? You're awful sexy in it." While Glenn put civvies on, jeans and a shirt, Steph packed herself back into the getup he'd been so anxious to get her out of. "Hold on a few minutes, hon, and let me put some makeup and lipstick back on." Soon she was looking foxy again, and they strolled the three blocks down to the business district. Steph was glib, enjoying the company of her man, and she joked with him and held his arm warmly. But as they approached the door of the bar, Steph remembered the last time she'd entered the place, over a month ago. It had been without Glenn, and she'd left it with a man. For a second she froze, considering how she'd taken the guy home, gotten screwed - the first time she'd ever had a man besides Glenn. "You okay?" Glenn asked. Steph knew she'd gone white, and wondered if she'd throw up. "I'm fine. Just let me catch my breath." She plucked her courage, and they entered the joint. It was early yet, not quite 8:00, and the place was still a little quiet, just four or five guys and a couple of women at the bar, the tables not quite half full. The bartender was the same guy as that fateful night, but he showed no spark of recognition. They sat, and a waitress came by to take their orders, a hamburger for him, a fish sandwich for her. As they ate and drank a couple of beers, the place started to fill, the jukebox got cranked up, and a few of the couples began to move to the small floor. "Come on, let's dance," Glenn asked. "Okay." She couldn't move well in the high heels, but it didn't seem to matter. Every guy seemed to be looking at her, taking in her nyloned legs, short skirt, naked stomach, and haltered breasts sticking out towards her husband. She'd neglected to put a bra back on, and the frank stares of the men excited her - the nipples hardened and the entire place knew it. Four or five fast songs were played, and then a slow one, a dance where she could hold him close, and could feel him hugging her to him, as if they'd never be apart again. Finally she begged for a respite, her shoes were killing her. They sat, having a sip of the beers, and soon Steph excused herself and went to the ladies' room. After taking care of her bladder, she refreshed the mascara and lipstick, and made sure that her hair was brushed. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was pleased with the image, and thought that Glenn should be proud of his 'date.' The Sailor's Wife Ch. 02 Returning to their table, she walked proudly, and once again every man in the place watched her strut. She gave her hand to Glenn and they returned to the dance floor. As she was grooving, she took in the looks of her admirers, and then she saw him - the guy she'd screwed standing at the bar, a bottle in his hand, looking directly at her, daring her to return his gaze. She stumbled, and Glenn caught her. "Is anything wrong?" "No, I just need to get a breath of air. Let's go home, honey." "Okay. Just let me finish my beer, okay?" She wanted to scream, 'No, let's leave this very moment,' but being a good wife, she let him sit and sip the brew. Her back was to the bar, and she saw Glenn look up. Then she felt the hand on the back of her chair, on her back, and heard his voice. "Hi, I'm Jim. Mind if I take your lady out on the dance floor?" "It's okay with me. Go ahead, Steph." "No, just let me sit here." "Oh, come on, just one dance," the other man said. "Sure, just one, honey." And she found herself going back out on the dance floor, crowded by now, with this stranger, the one who'd been inside her. As they danced, Jim felt her back, then lower to her rear. She knocked his hand aside, hoping Glenn hadn't seen the advance. "Hey, you're a great piece of ass," the guy loudly whispered into her ear. "I wondered why I hadn't seen you around lately. Why don't you dump that dude and let me take you home again?" "Get away from me. That's my husband." "Oh. Shit, he doesn't know about us, does he?" "There's nothing for him to know, and never will be again. Now leave me alone!" Steph broke off the dance, and walked back to Glenn. She didn't sit down, just stood there, and pleaded, "Honey, take me home." "Sure." They left the bar, and once again, every guy watched her, hoping she'd be back the next night without the guy. The walk back was quiet, and although Steph felt a little teary, she refused to let the sentiment out. When they got back to the apartment, they stripped and got into bed. Once again Glenn was ready for her, and she accepted his advances. After a preliminary kiss and suckling of her breast, he moved down to place his mouth between her legs and began to lick her clit. Surprisingly, she found herself aroused. Was it the men who'd watched her, wanted her? As Glenn sucked and put a finger into her, she began to remember how Jim made love to her, how he'd been just a little rough. She remembered the pressure of his body on her, and soon she willed herself to climax. Thinking of Jim, letting Glenn work on her, she groaned and pressed her vagina up into his mouth, making him go deeper, positioning his tongue for her maximum fire. Glenn kept up the tongue action, letting her come, and then he climbed on top of her and entered her. As he thrust in and out of her, she accepted the movement, and pushed back. Soon, Glenn was straightening, coming himself, and Steph held him, drew him into her with her legs, making sure that his climax was as good as hers had been. At last he collapsed on her, breathing heavily, and she held his head, stroked his back. He rolled off her, and she turned on her side and put her head on his shoulder. "You're beautiful," he flattered, "every guy in the bar wanted to come home with you tonight, you know." And then, she couldn't hold the tears back any longer. Softly, silently, she wept, and Glenn held her, comforted her, kissed her eyes to wipe the sadness away. "Shhh, shh, it's okay." When she stopped sobbing, he asked, "What's wrong?" Was this a good time to tell him how she'd betrayed him, not once but twice? Was there ever a good time, would there ever be? After a few moments she responded, "It's just that I'm going to miss you so much when you leave again." "Me too, honey. Can I ask you a question?" She knew he could feel her nod. "Did you like the way the guys paid attention to you?" She knew she did, hungered for it even. "Yes, but I liked you being with me better." "Honey, when I'm out at sea, do you ever go down there?" "Just a couple of times." "Do the guys hit on you?" "Yeah." "What do you do when they do?" "I tell them I'm married, and they stop it." "Have you ever felt tempted to . . . well, you know." "Would you be ashamed of me if I was tempted?" "No, good lord, no. Hey, you're a beautiful woman." "Well, then, yes. I've thought about it once or twice." "But you've never done anything, right?" She hesitated, then lied, "No, never." "But if you had, you'd tell me, right?" "Of course! But I haven't, I haven't." She was stepping into dangerous territory here, and she knew it. So she brought out the ultimate weapon, a woman's tears. Once again he comforted her, and whispered, "I know you haven't baby. I just wanted to hear you tell me, that's all." She allowed herself to be comforted, and then they slept in each other's arms. The next day, a Saturday, a wonderful day they could spend enjoying each other's company. Steph was up before he was, and by the time he woke and splashed water on his face, she had the coffee percolating and slices of sourdough dipped in egg batter, waiting to become French Toast. The late morning was spent on a trip to Berkeley and a stop at Moe's Books. Glen bought two cartons of used paperbacks, fodder for the nine months of separation he and his shipmates would endure. Later that day, they drove across the Bay Bridge, parked near Market Street and strolled the streets of San Francisco. As they walked through Upper Grant Street hand in hand, they chatted about their families, their plans for what would happen after the cruise, when he was discharged, their hopes. Somewhere during their conversation, Stephanie asked, "Glen, why did you ask me about going to bars while you were away?" "Oh, that. I'm sorry honey. I didn't mean to accuse you or anything. It's just that there's this guy in my division, and on the last cruise he spent a lot of time with hookers in the Philippines. We got to talking while we were out this last time, and I asked him if his wife knew about it, or what she'd think of it. He just told me that it didn't matter, that his wife was probably out screwing too, like all the other navy wives did. It just got me to thinking, that's all. Last night you were looking so good, and the guys were checking you out, and I just wondered how you handled them. I'm sorry if I hurt you." Stephanie felt a gush of relief. So he didn't know, didn't really suspect after all! Wait a minute though, was he telling her . . . "Honey, have you ever gone out with a prostitute?" "What! No! I wouldn't do that on you." Prodded by a few of her questions, he told her about the scene in Olangapo where the carriers docked every month. About the hookers in the bars who wouldn't leave you alone until you bought a drink for them, sugared water. And then they'd sit there with you, trying to get you to take them to a hotel. When they realized you just wanted to sit and drink a beer, they'd leave you alone for a little while. "Did you ever think about taking one upstairs?" Stephanie asked. Glen blushed. "Well, yeah, I guess I have every once in awhile. But I've never done it." "Have you ever kissed one of them?" "Yeah." He looked ashamed of himself. "Once when I was real drunk, one of the girls sat on my lap, and . . . well, I'm sorry honey." "Oh, that's all right, baby. You get tempted out there, too." Later, Glenn bought her dinner at a dive down near Fisherman's Wharf, and then they took a cable car back to their car. It was a wonderful ride, up the hills into the fog, and Stephanie sat on his lap as the trolley sped around the curves and down the hills. When they returned to their apartment, Stephanie disappeared into the bathroom and put on a negligee Glenn liked. When she came into the living room, they made love on the floor, sweet rhythmic love, and it lasted for a very long time, ending only when Steph finally faked an orgasm. Afterwards, she laid face down on the floor, letting Glenn rub her naked back, and asked him, "Am I as exciting as those girls in the Philippines?" "Oh, Stephanie," he groaned sadly, "you're much more beautiful than they are." When she heard the pain in his voice, she realized how much the jest had hurt him. She sat up and hugged him. "I didn't mean that, dear. I was just joking." She felt him relax in her arms, and then a slight hardening in his dick. She decided she owed him, and bent to take his manhood into her mouth. He leaned against the couch and let her lick and suck him into a full erection, and, eventually, to a state of near orgasm. As she worked on him, and felt the first drops of clear liquid ooze from the tip of the penis, she remembered the last time she'd done this, to Chuck. She kept working on him, and decided that when he came, she'd let him have everything she could give him. But when she felt the first gush of sperm hit the back of her throat, it was almost involuntary - she released the cock from her mouth and forced him to release into the air. When he was done though, she wiped most of the sperm from the tip, and licked it, giving him a little more pleasure. As she brought him down, she heard herself say, perhaps a little guiltily, "Dear, if you ever did go to bed with a prostitute, just because you were lonely and missing me, I don't think I'd mind. Just as long as she didn't mean anything to you, and you remembered you were married to me." "Honey, I'm not going to do anything like that," he protested. "But if you do, it'll be okay." And that closed that subject. The next day, Stephanie told Glenn he could pick anything they wanted to do. She thought maybe he'd want to drive down to Monterey, or up to Mount Tamalpais or Muir Woods, but he surprised her; he decided that he'd like to go over and swim and sun at Alameda Beach. As soon as he said it, she blanched; why did he have to pick out the only other spot she'd picked a guy up? She tried to talk him out of it sweetly, reminding him of all the other things there were to do in the Bay Area, but he was adamant, reminding her she gave him the choice. She gave in, reluctantly, and when she picked out a black one-piece summing suit, he begged her to wear his favorite, the yellow bikini. By the time they'd packed the beach bag she was in a tizzy, thinking about how she might run into Chuck, but there was little she could do; she felt trapped. By the time they'd stopped by a fast food joint for lunch then headed for the beach, she was feeling better; what were the chances Chuck would be there, anyway? And she'd better learn to live with her mistakes, after all. For an hour they swam and played frisbee, then they sunned themselves on the sand. Glenn wanted to swim again, but Steph was warm and happy. "You go ahead, dear." She watched him playing in the bay, leaping in and out of the minuscule waves, and knew she loved him. Suddenly, she was startled by a voice behind her. "How 'ya doin'?" Her heart leapt to her throat. "Just fine. How long have you been here?" she replied to Chuck. "About half an hour or so. Is that your old man?" "Um-hmm." "He's leaving soon, isn't he?" "Next Tuesday." "Can I have a beer?" "No." Suddenly, she saw that Glenn was coming out of the water and would be approaching soon. "Listen," she said to the boy standing over her, "you better get out of here. I don't want my husband to suspect anything, okay?" "Sure. See you around." He lurked off, and before he'd walked 20 yards, Glenn was back, lying beside her again. "Who was that?" he asked. "Oh, just some kid." "What did he want?" "Nothing. Just wanted to know what time it was." "Was he trying to pick you up?" "Maybe. I told him to go away." "He was pretty young," Glenn observed. When Stephanie didn't respond, he said, "Looks like they try to pick you up everyplace, don't they? Can't say I blame them. You're beautiful, and sexy too. Particularly in that swim suit. It doesn't hide very much, you know." Stephanie smiled at him, and turned towards him. She stroked the chest hairs lovingly. "You like that, don't you, how I'm half naked?" "Yeah." "Do you mind if other guys look at me, too?" "No." "But you know my body is only for you, don't you?" "Yeah, I guess so," he replied. She thought she detected suspicion in his tone of voice. Stephanie wanted him to believe her, to accept her promise of fidelity, even though she knew it was false. His ambivalent response ticked her off. "What do you mean, 'I guess so?'" "Geez, I didn't mean anything." "Don't you trust me?" "Of course I do, honey." He should have stopped there, but he continued on, "It's just that I saw the guys last night, and that guy today, and I don't know, I just wonder, that's all." "So you think I'll go screw around on you?" "No, that's not it at all. Well, I mean . . ." He was flustered now, wanted to get out of the brewing argument, but he was trapped. "It's just that, I don't know, you're so sexy, and you'll be alone for nine months, and there's all these guys around, and, oh hell . . ." She sprang to her feet and began to angrily pick up the blanket, bag and her shoes. "Maybe I will go have an affair then! If I'm going to get blamed for it, I might as well do it, don't you think?" By the time he thought of a reasonable response, she was halfway to the car. When he caught up with her, he said, "I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean it. Please, forgive me." There on the sands of Alameda, he took her in his arms and kissed her, hoping she would forgive him. The rest of the afternoon and that evening weren't easy though. They both knew their time together was drawing to a close, and they silently worried about it. The work week went slowly by. Glenn had the duty on Monday and Friday, nights he couldn't come home. In their time together, the dinners, the evenings, the nights - some of them spent in making love - and the wakings, they counted the moments until he was gone. Nothing was said about other lovers, the subject had become taboo. She picked Glenn up on Saturday just after morning muster, and transported him back to the apartment. In the kitchen she asked him what he wanted for breakfast, and he didn't surprise her when he pulled her closer to him, sitting on his lap. Hungrily he stripped the clothes off her, revealing her midriff, then her brassiere, her breasts, with the rosy circles surrounding the proud nipples he chewed until they rose from the tit. Then he made her stand up and peeled her jeans and panties down, exposing her pubic hair to his sight, his touch. He got her to sit down on the dinette and put his lips to the deep gully. As he excited her with his tongue, she let her mind go, and images of another lover came into her fantasy. Her husband put his finger into her pussy, but it was someone else, and it excited her. Slowly she inflamed, and he stayed with her until she was gasping for breath, letting the pangs of passion overcome her, flow within her. He stopped and rolled her over until she was lying, face down, on the table, and he unzipped and entered her. Strongly he thrust into her, in and out, over and over again, and still she came, thinking not about Glenn, but about another man, any man. He was pushing her around, and she grabbed the far end of the table so she could shove back. Glenn kept lunging at her, burying his prick inside of her until it would go no further, pulling it out again and savagely pushing it into her again. She whimpered in pleasure, and then she felt him stop and go rigid, having his own orgasm, grunting as the spend poured into her. Her own come slackened, and she felt him resume the motion, this time less fervently, finishing himself off. When he released her, she turned to kiss him and he put his hand between her legs, feeling the slimy residue of their love making. Later, she scrambled eggs for him, dressed only in her birthday suit, letting him take in the sight of her mature but young body, hoping that when he was thousands of miles away from her, he'd remember the bliss. That day was spent as so many other days were, doing nothing in particular, enjoying the company of the other, being with their only lovers. That night, after they'd crawled into bed, Glenn attacked her again. Oh, there was foreplay, but Stephanie wasn't able to become excited, and when he finally climbed on top of her and put his prick at the entrance to her womb, she faked pleasure, hoping that he wouldn't discover the ruse. She tried to tighten her vaginal muscles around him as he bellowed in rapture. As he lay there, winded, she stroked him and told him how good he was. "Am I really?" he asked. "Of course you are," she fibbed. "Am I big enough for you?" It was the first time he'd ever brought up the subject, and it shocked her. "Sure, honey, you're just the right size for me. Why do you ask?" "One of the guys had a magazine on the boat last night, a real raunchy one, and the guys had really big ones. I just wondered what you thought, that's all. Do you think other guys might be bigger than me?" She remembered the two other pricks that had previously skewered her, how they'd seemed to be about the same size as Glenn, and just as quickly remembered that she could never, ever let him know about them. "I don't know, honey, how could I?" "But if some other guy was bigger, do you think you'd like him more?" "Oh, no, I love you!" she protested. "Do you ever wonder what another guy would be like, though?" "Once in awhile, I guess." "And . . ." He waited. "And what?" "Well, what would you like the other guy to be like?" As he asked the question, he put his finger to her button and started rubbing. This time the stroking, coupled with the fantasy brewing within her, began to bring a flush to her cheeks. "Do you really want me to tell you what my dream man would be like?" "Yeah," he whispered, putting a finger inside of her. For a few seconds she considered the question, letting the illusion rise, responding to his digit pulsating inside of her, and then she asked, "Are you sure?" "Tell me," he ordered. "He'd be a lot like you . . ." she began. "No, make him different than me." For a few seconds she hesitated, and then he encouraged her, "Maybe that guy in the bar the other night, the one who tried to feel your ass." "That guy?" Suddenly she remembered Jim. If this was what Glenn wanted, she decided, she'd give it to him. "Yeah, him. What would you do to him at the bar?" "I'd dance with him, some fast dances, and then a slow one would come on. He'd put his hand on my butt, and I wouldn't make him take it away." "Cause you want him, right?" "Yeah. Then it would be time to leave, and he'd offer to take me home." Glenn was continuing to push his finger in and out of her, and the friction was beginning to have the desired effect. "Uh, we'd get into his car, and I'd let him kiss me." "Would he try to feel your breast?" "Yes, he'd put his hand under my blouse and pull my bra down. Then he'd start pinching my nipple." The hand that Glenn wasn't using to stroke her clitoris stole to her tit and began to tweak the nipple, just as her fantasy man was doing. "Harder than that," she told him, and a quick twinge of pain and pleasure excited her. "Then he'd drive me home, and he'd ask if he could come upstairs with me." "Would you let him?" "Yes." She was pushing back at his finger, trying to get it further up, and then Glenn asked, "What would you do when you got into the apartment?" "We'd sit down on the couch, and we'd start kissing again. He'd pull my blouse off me and I'd take my bra off for him." This was exactly what had happened with Jim, she was reliving her first time with someone other than Glenn. "He'd start sucking on me, first one tit and then the other." Glenn mimicked her whimsy. "Then he'd go down further on me, and get my pants down." The Sailor's Wife Ch. 02 "Your panties, too?" "Yes, he'd take them both off." "Then what, after you're naked?" "Then he'd start kissing me down there." And Glenn went down on her, licking her clitoris, bringing her closer to eruption. "Keep going, tell me what he'd do to you." "Well, then," she gasped, "I'd say, 'let's go into the bedroom.' I'd get up, and he'd follow me in. On the way he'd take off his clothes." She was close, so very close, and she took a few minutes to experience the pleasure. Glenn kept eating her, pushing his tongue into her as far as it would go, then tickling her clit, until at last she felt the passion burst. For long seconds she writhed and Glenn kept with her, licking the button and once again forcing a finger into her in simulation of intercourse. Steph groaned, enjoying the way Glenn was touching her, remembering the other man. When his wife's breathing slowed he knew that he could stop, and so he moved up beside her and began to kiss her. She responded, and for nearly five minutes they spooned, holding each other tightly. Stephanie thought the game was over, and was glad - she wasn't sure she could go on. But then Glenn said, "So, there you are in the bedroom with him. What would happen next?" Suddenly Steph remembered the experience, how she'd pulled the covers down, laid on her back, and soon, without additional foreplay, he'd climbed on top of her, entered her and brought himself off. She hadn't come, hadn't even come close. But this time, since she was able to decide what her dream was like, she choose a different reality. "I pull the covers down, and I make him lay down." She pushed Glenn on his back. "And then, I get to feel what he's like down there." "Is he big?" "He's huge. He's so big I can barely get my hand around it. So I use two hands, and he's long, too." By this time, she was stroking Glenn just as she was doing to her mythical lover. "I like doing that to him, and then I start sucking on him." And she did that to Glenn, too. He was already hard again, thinking about what another man would do to his wife, and when he felt the lips around the tip of his prick, he started groaning. She went deep on him, letting it go back into her throat as far as she could without gagging, then bobbing her head up and down, letting Glenn get stiffer and stiffer. But then, when he was as rigid as he was going to get, and she tasted the first telltale drops of cum, she stopped, and started licking the side of his prick. "But he's so big, and so long, that I can't do that to him for very long. So then I get on top of him," she straddled her husband, "and then I let him FUCK me!" This was the first time she'd ever used the word with Glenn, or anyone else, the first time he'd ever heard her use any profanity. It affected them both the same way, and she ground her pelvis on his, making his dick fill her slit as much as it would. "And he'd fuck me and fuck me and fuck me and fuck me," she screamed. And she did fuck Glenn, and soon they were both coming together, he spewing his sperm deep into her womb, and she pushing down onto his prick, screaming in ecstasy. When he was done, she was still orgasming, and he grabbed her hips and helped her move on top of him. At long last she was through, and she collapsed on top of her real lover, forgetting about the mythological creature she'd conjured. "That was so good, baby," he cooed. And they laid together, feeling the others nakedness on their skin, enjoying the intimacy of the afterglow. Glen broke the spell. "Can I tell you something I've been thinking about?" He felt her nod in the darkness. "You know how you said that I could go see some of the girls overseas? Well, I don't think it would be so bad that if you wanted to, maybe you could invite a guy over once or twice." "You mean, for sex?" she responded, a little dumbfounded. "Yeah. Not a whole bunch or anything, and not too often, but one or two guys, it wouldn't hurt, I guess. It's not like everyone else isn't doing it." For a long time they laid there, holding each other, considering the cusp they'd just passed. Stephanie remembered the three times she'd been with another man, and she wanted to tell Glenn about it, to confess her sins. Just as she was about to unburden herself, she heard the unmistakable sound of a snore emanate from Glenn's throat, and she decided against it. The next day, the last weekend day they'd have together for three-quarters of a year, they drove to a park on the base for a crew family picnic. This traditional get-together was a time when the sailors could meet the women their wives would be spending all their time with while they were gone. In the past, Stephanie had taken it as an opportunity to show Glenn she'd have chaperones, but this time the gathering had a different atmosphere. Somehow, the women seemed to be more skimpily dressed, more seductive. The couples held each other, clinging to their lovers, but Steph wondered how many of the men would be visiting the brothels in their ports of call. And then she recalled the gossip she'd heard about some of the wives, how it was rumored that they had boyfriends on the other ships that docked while the carrier was gone, or sweethearts on the shore. She wondered if anyone suspected she'd already joined that group. In the evening they returned to their apartment. She could tell he was excited, ready. "I caught you looking at some of the wives at the picnic." "No, I wasn't. Really, honey," he protested, "Yes you were." She tickled him, letting him know she wasn't angry, didn't mind he had thought about them. "You were checking Betty out, weren't you?" Betty was large breasted bleached blonde, she'd worn a tight T-shirt to the party, and clearly she hadn't worn a bra. The gossip was that she screwed around like a rabbit when her husband was at sea. "You'd like to see what Betty has under her shirt wouldn't you?" He still wasn't sure of himself - they played sex games so rarely that he didn't trust her, wasn't positive it was safe to admit that he'd like to give attentions to another woman, just for variety or fun. "I don't know," he meekly responded. "Sure you do," Steph teased. "She has the biggest tits of any of us, hasn't she?" As she played with him, with his mind, she knelt on the floor in front of the couch and unzipped his pants. As she expected, the thoughts of another woman excited him. "You'd like her to do this to you wouldn't you?" He just watched her take his pants off him, and then strip her own shirt and bra off. "You want to feel her big boobs, don't you?" Steph cupped his hand, and placed her own breast in it, a smaller substitute for the other woman. "And then you'd like her to put her tits all around you, wouldn't you?" She encircled his dick with her own mounds, began to rub it with the smoothness of her breastbone. Every third or fourth stroke, she'd lean down and give the tip a little lick, exciting him further. For a few seconds, she took the tool completely into her mouth, and used the opportunity to take off his shirt. He assisted, pulling it over his head. She stood up, unzipped her jeans and let them drop to the floor. She stood in front of him, playing with her panties, pulling them down and then up again. "What do you think she'd look like down there?" For the first time, Glenn joined in the repartee. "She'd have just a little bit of hair." "I saw her once, in the showers." It was a complete fabrication, but Stephanie told the story with such conviction that Glenn believed her. "She's blonde down there, too. Just a little peach fuzz." Steph's panties joined the jeans, and Glen gazed at her body, completely naked, except for the wedding band. "You'd like it if she sat on top of you, wouldn't you?" He grabbed for her, and pulled her down. He fondled the breast, suckled on it. "Yeah, baby, suck on her tit. She really likes it when you do that. Do you want to put your hand down there, feel Betty's pussy?" Another word she'd never used! His hand descended, and began to feel his wife's, or was it Betty's? cunt. It excited Stephanie that her man was thinking about doing it to another woman. Glenn held his hand there, and she gyrated on top of it, exciting herself, coming dangerously close to release as she felt the finger in her pussy and the mouth at her nipple. "You'd like to stick your cock into her, wouldn't you?" "Yeah, I want to screw her." "Then do it baby." She reached down, positioned the prick at her entrance, and lowered herself onto him, feeling his rod impale her. "Screw her, baby, screw her hard." In the kneeling position, Steph could control the movements, could position herself so that with each descending motion she could irritate just the perfect portion of her insides with the dick filling her up. Combined with Glenn's biting on her right nipple, and his pinching her left, she soon felt the wash of relief begin deep within her cervix, spreading down to her toes and up through her breasts to the edge of her neck, making the small hairs on her back tingle with excitement. She was coming, a huge come, and for a few seconds she forgot about Betty, about Glenn, and let herself be satiated with pleasure. For once, Glenn held off his own passion, thinking about anything other than Betty, or Stephanie, or naked women. He let her go, let her move anyway she wanted to, and when he saw that her spasms were beginning to calm, he pushed her off him. "But then," he began, "when she'd had enough of that, I'd put her on the couch, put her legs over my shoulders and do it to her some more." And he positioned Steph to his whim, and kneeling on the floor in front of her he pierced her again, this time driving to his own rhythm, moving up and down for maximum friction on the head of his prick. Stephanie was still excited, and as he screwed her, she gasped in torment, in rapture. Soon he was joining her, releasing into her, letting her have everything his loins could produce. He didn't stop until every drop of his spunk filled her deeply in the act of love. He fell to the floor, sweaty and fatigued, and Stephanie joined him as soon as she was able to. "You liked the idea of screwing Betty, didn't you?" "Sort of," he admitted cautiously. "Don't kid me, you'd screw her in a second if you could, wouldn't you?" "Yeah, I guess I would." "And honey, listen, if you ever get the chance to, go ahead. I want you to, to... fuck... her if you can. You've never had any woman but me, have you?" "No." "But you're wondering what it would be like, aren't you?" "Yes." "Well, you should find that out sometime. Promise me something?" "What." "When you get over there, promise me you'll take a prostitute to bed. Okay?" "You really want me to?" "Yes, I don't want you to feel like you've missed something." He kissed her. "She won't be as good as you are. You're great." "But she'll be different. And, Glenn, listen to me. Are you sure you won't be upset if I go to bed with somebody else?" "Do you want to?" "A little bit. I wonder what it would be like, too." She held her breath, waiting for the answer. If he said yes, her conscience would be salved, relieved. And if he said no? What would she do then? "If you need to, honey, go ahead. But just a couple of times, okay?" The next afternoon, Glenn got off early, a parting gift from his chief, and they spent the day walking through Oakland, stopping into a pizza palace for a maudlin dinner, holding each other tightly while they watched television together for a very long time. Three or four times Stephanie was on the brink of explaining to Glenn how she'd jumped the gun, how other men had already visited their bed. But each time she tried, words failed her at the last moment, and finally they were making love for the last time. Early in the morning, Steph prepared a final breakfast for Glenn as he donned his blue uniform, and then they were off to the Naval base. As they drove through the tunnel to Alameda, Glenn turned to Steph and said, "Honey? You know how we sort of agreed to..." "Yes," she responded, understanding the subject completely. "Do you not want to do that after all?" What would she do if he changed his mind? "No, that's not it. But honey, if you do decide to do anything, don't tell me till it's all over, okay?" Once again, Steph felt a need to placate her husband, to make him feel as if he was the only man in the world. "Don't worry, honey, I could never do that with anyone else." She walked him from the parking lot to the dock, and they kissed one last time before he walked up the gangway. She stood there for an hour, waiting for the huge ropes to be cast off, for the tugs to begin pushing the ship out to sea. Three or four times she caught a glimpse of Glenn waving at her, and she silently wished him 'Godspeed.' When the carrier was turned and well out of the harbor, Stephanie began the long walk back to the car. Once again, loneliness descended upon her spirit. To be continued The Sailor's Wife Ch. 03: Regression This is the third installment of the Sailor's Wife series. It would probably be best if you've read the first two stories before this one. Please bear in mind that the timeframe of this series in the early 1970's. There are some anachronisms here, and to judge the story by the standards of the 2010's would be, I think, unfair. ***** Nine days! He'd been gone nine days already, and there were only eight months and 21 days to go. Stephanie had been good, even though she didn't quite know why. Maybe she was waiting for the ship to make its way to the Philippine Islands so Glenn would have the first chance. Or perhaps it was because she harbored, deep within her soul, a shred of hope that she could go nine months without being unfaithful, that she could just put that part of her life behind her. More likely, it was that she hadn't had a real opportunity to stray, not that she'd tried very hard. The first weekend Glenn was gone, she saw a movie with some of the navy wives, went to a "party" that her friend Joann threw. The cruises always started this way - the wives got together often, keeping an eye on each other - but then things happened, trips back home, work pressures, new acquaintances. Particularly new acquaintances. In the midst of it, she'd made a run over by Alameda beach, hoping to get together with Chuck, her college aged friend, but it was late in the afternoon and he wasn't anywhere around. She'd thought about going down to Kelly's bar, but she hadn't been in the mood to have just any guy flirt with her. She was lonely for just one man, the one she loved, and she knew talking or dancing with another guy who just wanted to pick her up wasn't what she wanted. So, despite the loneliness of the apartment at night, she'd stayed home working on a jigsaw puzzle of a California mission. And there she was, trying to find the piece with the pink flowers that had a strange shaped nib when the phone rang. She picked it up, and it was Chuck! "Hi, how are you?" she asked. "I was just thinking of you, wondering if you were ever going to call." "I've tried a few times, but you weren't home, or it was busy." "Well, what's going on?" "Not much. School started this week. College classes are hard, they're a real bummer. How have you been?" "Okay, I guess. A little bored. Work's the same." "Well, listen, could I come over some time?" he asked. "Sure. What are you doing tomorrow night?" She wanted to ask him over right now, but it was after 9:00, and she was afraid he'd have to leave quickly. It was a school night. After she hung up, she dithered for a moment, then decided to draw a bath and get ready for bed. As she stroked her legs with the rusty razor, wondering why she was bothering, she reviewed the 'agreement' she had with Glenn. He'd insisted she didn't need to be faithful to him, that it was okay for her to see other guys, and in return she'd said he could go to bed with a prostitute in the Philippines. Then she started thinking about Chuck, and began looking forward to the next night, the opportunity to play games with him again, have his company. Knowing that she'd have a companion the next night, she dropped off to a dreamless sleep. Mr. Donegal, her boss, came over to her keypunch machine the next day and asked, "Would you mind staying a little later tonight? We could use the help." "Oh." She remembered her 'date' with Chuck, but also that she still owed the company some time to make up for Mr. Donegal's kindness just before Glenn shipped out. "Well, I've sort of got plans right after work, sir." "Can you postpone them, Steph? We're really behind." She considered the request, or was it an order? But she couldn't reach Chuck, and if she didn't show he'd be left standing there. "What if I came in early tomorrow morning? Would that do?" "Sure, we can make that work." Mr. Donegal was a darling, he always tried to make everyone happy. "Tell you what, can you be here at six?" She nodded. "And maybe, just a half hour later tonight?" Reluctantly, not seeing a way out, she agreed. After work, she drove hurriedly to the rendezvous, hoping that Chuck hadn't thought she'd stood him up, was still waiting for her. Sure enough, he was sitting on the grass, his back to a palm tree, and he sauntered over to the car and hopped in. "Sorry I'm late, they made me work overtime." "Don't sweat it. I'm hungry." They decided to stop at a Chinese takeout, and when Stephanie began to get her wallet out of her purse, Chuck stopped her. "Let me buy, okay?" "No, you don't have to." "Please, guys always buy dinner on dates, don't they?" "Sure." He really was a nice guy, wasn't he? They drove up to the apartment, and as Steph got the plates out, Chuck looked at the uncompleted jigsaw puzzle. "Been keeping yourself busy, huh? Need some help on it?" For the next forty-five minutes, they sat on the floor, eating the sweet and sour chicken, and searched for pieces of the puzzle. Their hands would often meet as they hunted, and a few times their thighs would bump under the coffee table; neither thought much of the friendly touches. Finally, they were done with the repast, and Steph stepped over him to take the dishes to the sink. Playfully, she rubbed his thigh with a bare foot. While she cleaned the food up, Chuck continued to work on the puzzle. The phone rang, it was one of her navy wife friends, Joann. "Hey, do you want to go to a movie tomorrow night?" "Sure," Steph responded. They made plans to meet at the theatre. There were only 60 pieces or so of the puzzle left, and it looked like they'd finish it in no time. Steph came back over to the table, and playfully sat on the floor in front of Chuck, so that he had to reach around her to complete the task. While he was using his eyes to search the remaining pieces, he easily rested his hand on Steph's shoulder. Fifteen minutes later, Chuck reached over her to place the final piece into its slot, and they clasped hands in congratulations. She slumped back, resting her head against Chuck's shoulder, and sighed, "Boy, I'm tired, it's been a long week." He began to rub her temples, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the attention. After a few moments, he changed to stroking her neck, and then the bare skin below her throat, just above the first button of her blouse. For the first time, the caresses changed from simply friendly to exploratory. Stephanie considered getting up, bringing the titillation to a halt, but she was enjoying it too much; she let him continue. He fingered the edges of the fabric, tracing the border, and still Steph let him continue, her eyes closed, making no objection, but at the same time, not encouraging him either. When he slid the first button from the hole, she still failed to obstruct his progress, and he slid his hand under the cloth, feeling the sensitive skin where the shoulders met the breasts. Soon his fingers were attempting to reach to the bra, but the opening was still too small to allow him full access. For the first time, Steph moved. It was a very simple gesture with a very clear meaning - she unbuttoned the second button, then placed her hands on his thighs. Chuck moved his hand under her blouse and stroked the skin that met the bra, then fingered the silky fabric. He was still constricted by the blouse, so he casually undid the rest of the buttons and slid the front open. When he went back to stroking her skin, languidly enjoying the sensation and the view over her shoulder to her cleavage, she remembered how little experience he'd had in the arts of romance. He seemed to be enjoying himself, gently cupping a breast, stroking her belly, sniffing her hair, occasionally making a foray into the waistband of her slacks. She allowed him the boon, relaxing, not moving, letting him caress her. Before long, he was nibbling an earlobe. She twisted her neck and they were kissing gently, brief meetings of the lips, touching their tongues together, tasting the sweetness. For long minutes they cautiously held their mouths together, and then the busses became rougher, deeper. For the first time his hand delved inside her bra, tweaking her nipple, exploring the smoothness of feminine skin. Most of Stephanie's emotions were concerned with enjoying the attention, the petting, but another, separate part of her brain was considering the options. If she let this go any further, they'd be making love again. She was sure that's what he wanted, but did she? Did she need him in her bed again? Would it be cruel not to let him make love to her? What about his innocence, his youth? There was still her husband, did he really mean what he said about her needs, her desires? She was confused between the craving and the trespass. She broke off the kisses, raised and strolled to the refrigerator. "Do you want anything, a coke?" she asked, opening the door and letting the light spill onto her body in the dusky light. "Yeah, sure," he huskily replied. Steph got the bottle out and closed the door. She poured the soft drink into a couple of glasses, considering all the while what she should do, balancing her objections against her desires. Walking back to the boy, she realized her body glowed in the remaining light from the picture window, the whiteness of her bra shining phosphorescently. His longing gaze, the memory of his body excited her, increased her lust. Her decision was suddenly uncomplicated. She placed the glasses on the coffee table, letting him gaze inside the folds of her blouse, and then stripped it from her shoulders. Gracefully, she lowered her slacks, pulling them from her shins, and she stood in front of her lover. He gaped at her, the brightness of the bra and panties contrasting with the skin darkened by the fading light. "Do you want to go into the bedroom?" she offered. He took her hand and followed her into the darkness. They could barely see each other. 'This', Stephanie decided, 'is how I want it to be.' She reached to Chuck, pulled the shirt off his arms, and unzipped his pants and made him sit on the side of the bed while she pulled his shoes, socks and then slacks off of him. She climbed onto the mattress and he joined her. She curled into his arms, and they resumed. As he fumbled with the clasp of her bra, she kissed his eyelids, forehead and nose. When the fastener refused to give way to his inexperienced attempts, she reached behind her and performed the magic of unhooking it. He began to kiss the small of her throat, then further down, investigating the swell of her breast, lifting the heavy globe in his hand, pulling at the nipple. She stroked his neck, then his back, and reached inside his underwear to take his erectness in her palm, petting it. After her initiative, he put his fingers on her panties above her pussy and applied friction, kneading her sensitive area with his knuckles. He wanted to excite her, please her, participate in the act of love. Steph flipped to her back and pulled him on top of her. Their crotches met, protected from full contact by the twin cloths separating them, but he applied pressure, and mocked the movements of love. This was what she wanted, the excitement of the body's touching, but not locked, and she held his hips to her, reveling in the tension. It wasn't enough to bring her to orgasm, but it prepared her, and she pushed his head down to suckle on her nipples, twisted her groin so she could pull her panties off, and when she was naked, she pushed his head further down. He wasn't sure what she wanted, still being a virgin in this respect, but he was inventive, and he'd read a few articles in dirty magazines, so he took a guess and started licking around the edges, tasting the moisture emanating from her innards, exploring the crevice. He tried, he really did, but without education and experience he had little chance of satisfying the woman. But she was aware of his dearth and stretched the lips wide, exposing the button she needed him to irritate. He began to explore the newly opened territory with finger and lip, once in awhile hitting the mark, more often missing it. Still she wanted it, so she placed a finger directly on the clit and said, "Right here, baby." Once he'd been given a road map, he followed it and licked her button while she responded with moans and slight pushes into his mouth. 'What would she do if I bit it?' he wondered, and so he experimented. The additional friction was what she needed, and it set her over the edge. Lightning struck the depths of her mind, and her throat growled like thunder. Over and over again the orgasm swept over her, through her. Slowly the vibrations receded, and still Chuck licked and nibbled her nubbin until it no longer excited her, but started to rub her the wrong way. She pulled an arm, and he laid on top of her. She reached down and pulled the elastic of his waistband down, as far as she could reach, then he took over and kicked off his briefs. They were both exposed to each other now, he between her legs, the rod of his manhood inches from her chasm, feeling the heat of their desire. "Come on, sweetheart, nice and slow." She placed his tip just below her button and was gratified to feel him ease into her, slightly at first, just a hint of fullness between the legs, then a little more, sliding gently into her, just a bit at a time. Chuck had been waiting for this moment for weeks, since the first time he'd been with her. Then it had been sudden, explosive, and he'd wondered, afterwards, just what it had been like. This time he wanted to make it last, experience the sensations, so he held himself above her and entered her slowly, feeling the heat of her womb surround him, letting himself go deeper and deeper until he finally seemed to be buried in her and his pelvis bone met hers. Still he pushed, trying to see if he could get further, and when he was sure he couldn't, he pulled out until he'd disengaged and began the process of entering her again. Five times he performed the maneuver, amazed at the way the bottom of his penis warmed each time he sunk in, reveling in the sensation of the tip hitting a yielding barrier at the end of the stroke. The fifth time, instead of pulling out, he stayed within her, barely moving, and pressed himself upon her, concentrating first on the crush of her breasts under his chest, then on the sensation of the smooth legs surrounding his hips, how she kept her heels on the bedspread, listening to her breathing into his ear, and then, while his rod was deep within her orifice, he kissed her, placing his tongue deeply within her mouth, mimicking above what was proceeding below. Stephanie wondered at his hesitation. Glenn never treated her this way, and certainly Jim, her only other lover, had been in such a hurry to bring himself off their one time together that she barely felt what was happening. She reveled in the gentleness of Chuck's approach, and when he kissed her she sucked his tongue, letting him feel the roof of her mouth. Together they concentrated on the locking of their bodies, above and below. They broke the kiss, possibly because they were running out of oxygen, and she heard him whisper, "God, this is so great!" "Yes, baby, it sure is. Now, do me, slowly." As he began slow in and out movements, rolling a bit from left to right and then back with each stroke, she concentrated on the feeling of being alternately filled then emptied, and relished the ending of the movement, when he was as far inside of her as he could get. At that point, his pelvic bone pressed down on her clitoris, and stretched the skin around it, rubbing it. She made one small adjustment with her left foot, and the pressure became even greater, more enjoyable. She realized that she was going to come again, and she gave her secret away first by panting in her lovers ear, then by strongly tensing her vaginal muscles, and the rosy glow spread over her body and through her very existence. Chuck realized he was exciting the woman with his movements, satisfying her, and concentrating on what was happening below him, within her, he felt his vibration begin in the lower extremities. He tried to will it back, to make it cease, but it was too strong for him; continuing to stroke first out then in, he felt the sperm explode strongly, flooding the woman and fogging his brain at the same time. He reveled in the rapture, spilling more into her with each succeeding push, sending strong shocks through his legs to his toes, until fifteen or twenty impulses later, only remnants seeped from him. Stephanie stopped moaning, laid still holding onto him, and he sank onto her. For minutes, they stayed there, kissing, hugging. In unison, they rolled onto their sides. Chuck's penis was still firm enough to fill her, they managed to stay locked during the maneuver. She gently touched his neck, his hairless chest, kissed a nipple. He fondled her hair with one hand and a breast with the other. "Is that," he wondered out loud, "what it's all about?" "Uh-huh, baby, that's it. God it was great for me, the best I've ever had." "Really?" He was astounded. It had been so easy, so natural, and yet, somehow, it was better than the best thing that had ever happened to him. "Really!" she responded truthfully. For twenty minutes they continued to play with each other, their bodies linked, and Chuck began to respond again, the rigidity which had never really left returning to its previous iron-like state, and he began to push once more in and out of her. "Oh, you're not done yet, are you?" she smiled. And she twisted until she was on top of him. This time, it was she who controlled the pace, and she was in no rush. Up and down she rode, back and forth, circling, pleasuring herself and him in the process. She fondled his face, his arms, behind her to the testicles just below her opening that he was filling. She sat straight up on him, then sank so that her tits were being excited by his skin with each push, back up with her feet on top of his shoulders, causing him to be as deep in her as he could possibly go, then back again to a kneeling position. He could barely see her in the darkness, but he could smell her, and taste and feel her, and he took advantage of the situation, storing the memory of this night, one of the best of his life. A few times he thought he might orgasm again, but each time she shifted so that he receded from the precipice. When she began to breathe shallowly and then moan, he knew that she was satisfying herself again with his help, and when she was done he twisted her around until he was on top again, and this time he was so close that he rammed in and out of her, as hard as he could, until once again he spewed into her, less sperm than before, of course, but no less intensely. This time, they broke from each other, lying sweating and panting, touching each other slightly, completely contented. At last, she broke the silence. "What time do you have to be home?" "Ten. I've got an 8:30 class." She picked up the alarm clock and peered at it in the near blackness. "It's nine forty-five. Whew, we've been going at it for more than two hours!" "Is that a long time?" "Yeah, sometimes you do it for just a few minutes. It's best, though, when you take your time, like we did tonight." She bent over and kissed him gratefully, and he responded by pinching a nipple, sending a bolt through her one more time. "Stop that," she teased, "or you'll never get home." They dressed in the darkness, identifying the clothing by touch, playing with each other unashamedly. They held hands down the stairs and got into the car. On the drive, she took his hand and placed it between her legs, letting him feel her broiling pussy and she felt his semi-hard prick when she didn't need to shift. As they drove to the drop-off point near his home, it was she that proposed the next meeting. "Tomorrow night? It's a Friday, we'll have even more time." The Sailor's Wife Ch. 03: Regression "Sure. About 5:30, like tonight?" "I'll try, but my boss wants me to put in some overtime. I might be later than that. Try to wait for me, okay?" They kissed, and he got out of the car and walked down the street. Steph watched his ass as he passed under a street light. The alarm clock rang, as it always did, at 20 minutes to eight. Steph got out of bed, brushed her teeth and performed her other morning duties. Discovering that she was a little sore in the groin, she smiled when she remembered the exercise that caused the strain. She hunted around in her lingerie drawer for one of her better bra and panty sets. When she walked into the keypunch room, five minutes early for her 8:30 starting time, Mr. Donegal walked up to her, wearing an unpleasant expression. "Where have you been?" he asked, a little angrily. Then she remembered! She was supposed to come in early, at 6:00. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I just forgot, that's all. I'll work through my lunch hour." "You sure will. And you'll work late tonight, too." "Yes, sir," she agreed meekly, realizing that her job was on the line. When quitting time passed, she was still sitting at her keypunch machine, diligently pressing the keys, and Mr. Donegal came up to her, his briefcase in his hand. "Sorry I was so rough on you this morning, Steph." "Oh, it was all my fault. I'm really sorry." "That's okay. How long can you work tonight?" "Would 7:00 be all right? Then I can come in again tomorrow, on Saturday, if you want me to." "That'll be fine. I'll meet you here at 9:00?" "Yes, sir. Have a nice night." "You too. See you in the morning." Steph continued reading from the paper and punching cards, concentrating on not making mistakes, but worrying about Chuck with another part of her mind. Would he wait for her? When 7:00 came, she turned the machine off and packed up. Arriving at the beach, with relief she saw Chuck was still waiting for her. "Oh, I'm so sorry. My boss made me work, hope you weren't bored." "I'm fine." "Have you had dinner?" she asked. "Yeah, what about you?" "I'm okay, not very hungry." "What do you want to do tonight?" he asked as they sped out of Alameda. "The same thing you want to, I'll bet." And once again, her hand was in his lap. "Unless you're bored with that?" She watched him smile when he realized he was going to get laid again. They kissed at a stoplight, getting a honk in sympathy from a carload of guys behind them. As she unlocked the front door, Chuck boldly put his hand on her ass. There was no question about preliminaries - after she got beers, they walked directly into the bedroom. "Take your clothes off," she plead, "I want to watch you." The emotions she felt weren't quite love, not like she felt for Glenn, but they were tender, and quite strong. She sat on the bed as he quickly complied, blushing a little as she observed him pull his briefs down, letting his hard-on spring into the air. "Come lie down," she requested, and he did that, too. She still had her skirt and blouse on, and she lay beside him and they kissed. "Chuck," she asked, as she gently stroked the proffered tool, "is there anything you'd like me to do tonight? Anything you're thinking about?" He had been thinking all day, as he sat in class, about what this night might hold for him, and he had his fantasies. Many young men would fear that their dreams would be childish to an older woman, but Steph held his trust, and he felt he could tell her anything. "Yeah, two things, really." "Tell me." "Well, remember that night, when you picked me up and took me over to the beach?" She remembered. She'd wanted to make love to him, but there wasn't an opportunity, so she'd done the next best thing. "You mean when I gave you a blow job?" "Yeah." "You want another one of those?" "Uh-huh." He looked a little like a puppy with a new toy. "What else?" "Well, if you don't want to do this, it's okay, but . . . . " As he hesitated, she wondered what it could be. She already said she was going to give him head. Could it be dirtier than that? She'd heard about people tying each other up; that wasn't going to happen. Not up her ass! No way, she'd never let Glenn anywhere near that, and she wasn't ever going to either. Was this guy, this kid, perverted? ". . . well, I've never really seen you close up down there, and I was sort of hoping I could go down and look at you." Relief poured through her. "You just want to look? Not do anything else to it?" she teased. "Well, yeah, I mean . . ." She giggled. "Oh, you'll take care of me, don't worry. Now, let's see, where should I start?" She decided to do the tough one first, and she began by kissing him on the lips, then moving down to his chest, where she titillated his boyish nipples, getting them to rise, and then down to his navel. As she stuck her tongue into the small hole, she dropped her hand to the sac below his penis. It was smooth, almost hairless, and the nuts within seemed a little softer than Glenn's. In a moment she twisted around to where she was kneeling between his legs, his balls still in her left hand, and she was gently stroking the underside of the penis with her right thumb, hard. Suddenly, the ringing of the telephone disturbed them. "Ignore it," she said, and continued to fondle him. Five or six rings later, the intrusion halted. He responded to her touch, and she could see drops of pre-cum seep from the end. She liked looking at his dick. He was circumcised, just like Glenn was, and she decided the boy's prick was a little whiter, and maybe just a little thinner than Glenn. It hadn't felt like it last night. It filled her enough, more than enough, but it was interesting to compare. Soon she was licking it, firmly, all the way from the base to the tip, just the way Glenn liked. As she reached the top, she tasted the first drips, and decided that it wasn't gross, after all. Soon, it was in her mouth, and she was bobbing her head up and down, trying to get him to release. It didn't take long, he'd been dreaming about this all day, and soon she could feel the throbbing that indicated imminent release. Stephanie was planning to jump off at the last second, but Chuck did something Glenn had never thought of - in his excitement he put his hand on top of Steph's hair and pushed down. As he started to erupt, Steph could have let loose only by violent reaction, but she found, surprisingly, that she didn't want to, didn't mind the sudden filling of her mouth. She let him come, sucked it from him, stayed with him. In the midst of it, she tasted it. It was as if she'd never done that before, never tasted Glenn's sperm, and she found that buried somewhere in the stickiness there was salt and a little sweetness, pretzels perhaps. She decided, right then and there, that she liked the taste, and thought that when Glenn finally came home, she'd do that to him, and see if there was some variation, a slightly different flavor. He was done, and Steph released him. She got a tissue out and spit some of the come into it, but she swilled the remainder in her mouth, swallowed a touch of it. It wasn't so bad. She bent down to kiss Chuck let him taste himself, and he seemed to like her new flavoring. After she sipped a glass of water from the bathroom, she asked, "So, which do you like better, the blow job or being inside me?" "I don't know. You're hotter down there, but maybe it's a little wetter in your mouth. I like them both." "Good answer, so do I," she chuckled. "Well, now for your second wish." The bedroom was beginning to grow dark, so Steph clicked the sidelight on, then traveled to the end of the bed, in front of the dressing table mirror. Chuck reclined and intently gazed at her as she began disrobing. First she unbuttoned the cuffs of her scarlet blouse, then, hesitating only a little for effect, she opened the front and revealed the black lace of her bra enclosing the swell of her breasts. Soon the blouse was shucked onto the top of the dresser. The side of her gray skirt was unzipped, and it joined the blouse. She placed her right foot on the bed, unclasped the fasteners of her garter and slipped the nylon from her leg. Following suit, the other nylon was removed, and then the garter belt was stripped away, leaving her only in bra and panties. "Is this all you wanted to see," she teased, playing with the elastic waistband, "or should I take some more off?" "Take it all off," he pleaded. She turned her back to him, reached around and expertly unhooked the bra. Ever so slowly, she removed the straps from her shoulders, realizing that he was not only to see her back, but her front as well, reflected in the mirror. She didn't tease him too long, but removed the material from her bosom. She stood there, watching him in the mirror, letting him stare at her proud breasts and nipples, erect with excitement. She turned slowly, allowing him a silhouette before he was treated to the front view of her almost naked torso. He'd seen all this before, of course, the exposed bosom in the bathtub on their first date, and the panties revealed nothing that her bikini didn't show, the soft arch of the mound subtly protruding from her belly, curving back between the exposed legs, but, of course, this was all subtly different. He desired, needed, to view what was hidden by the flimsy black fabric. Once again, they were interrupted by the insistent clamor of the telephone. "Let me go get that," she told him, "or whoever it is will be bothering us all night." She strolled into the living room and picked the receiver up. "Hello?" "Stephanie, it's Joann. We're at the movies. Are you okay? We're all worried about you." Suddenly, Steph remembered the appointment she'd agreed to. "Oh, I had to work late, and then, well, I just sort of forgot about it. I'm fine." "You sure?" "Yeah, I'm just tired, that's all. I'm going to watch a little television and go to bed early." "Okay. Do you want to do something tomorrow?" "No, I've got to work again. And I'm reading a good novel right now. Why don't we get together during the week? I'll call you." And she hurriedly hung the phone up. Returning to the bedroom in her state of near undress, she thought about Chuck, what she was going to do for him. It was odd, she thought, that he'd had both of his heads buried between her legs, but never had the opportunity to closely inspect the anatomy. Chuck looked at her longingly when she entered the room, and she resumed her position at the foot of the bed. "Everything okay?" he asked. "Yeah, fine. It was just one of my girlfriends. Are you ready for some more?" She didn't wait for his answer, but turned her back to him and slowly lowered the last vestige of her clothing, allowing him to see her rear end. She kept her legs tightly together, hiding her most secret part for a few more moments, and he sat up on the bed, attempting to view her front in the mirror. Quickly she realized his ruse, and figleafed her pubic hair with both of her hands. Again she turned to face him, and she observed his excitement, not only in his quickly hardening erection, but more importantly, in the glow of his eyes. First one hand was removed, allowing him to view the edges of the bush, and then the other, and at long last he gazed at her complete nakedness. She wasn't finished teasing him, though, and spread her legs, slightly at first, then wider. He could gaze at the hair spilling down into her groin, and a bright patch of exposed skin deep within the bush. Again she turned, keeping her limbs stretched wide. Only one last thrill awaited him, and she didn't make him wait long. Placing her hands on the edges of the dresser, she bent at the waist, pushing the mystery towards him, exposing it for his inspection. After a full 30 seconds, she straightened back up, strolled to the side of the bed and sat down near his head, angled slightly towards him, her legs once again closed, hiding all but the hair covered mound from him. "Was that what you wanted?" A nod. "Are you done?" "I guess so." He thought she was trying to tell him she wouldn't expose herself further, but she was just teasing. "You're sure you don't want to see some more?" And with that, she placed a hand over her crotch and lifted her left leg onto the bed. He wanted to inspect it from just a few inches, to touch it, to explore. "Yes, I do." "What's the magic word?" "Please." And with the utterance, she removed the obstruction and lay back. For a full minute he beheld her, memorizing the folds of her skin, the way the lips enclosed the cloaked opening, the coarse strands of hair camouflaging it. Stephanie let him look as long as she could stand it, then wanted more. "Chuck, touch me." Tentatively, he placed his index finger on her nether lips, watching what happened as he stretched her wide, observing the hint of pinkness hiding within. He traced the labia, and then exposed the now engorged clitoris. He felt her shudder when he groped it, and asked, "That's what you like me to rub, isn't it?" She'd had enough of the preliminaries, desired more. "Yes, that's it, my clit. Make me feel good, please, make me come!" He stroked it, watched her arch her back, saw how the whole area became a dusky pink as she became excited. With his other hand he poked a finger into the depths, and when he withdrew, he saw the thin white paste that coated the digit. He wanted to please her, so he quickened the movements, rubbing and circling the button, pounding in and out of her - she screamed loudly in her pleasurable release. He kept it up, and she gyrated her hips, not concerned that a man who wasn't her husband was violating her, scrutinizing her ultimate recess. All she cared about was the heat between her legs, the bright flashes within her head. When, despite his continuing efforts, the thunderstorm receded, she realized that she'd never been able to come with Glenn like she did with this inexperienced cub and wondered why. Chuck withdrew his aching fingers from the depths, and on a whim licked the area, tasting the escaping liquids. Steph reached to his prick, and felt once again the hardness, the smoothness, and decided on one more treat for him. "Chuck, stand beside the bed, will you?" He didn't know why she wanted him to do that, but by now he trusted her, would do whatever she wanted. Steph placed two pillows at the edge of the mattress, then placed her ass on them, raising it a good foot above the surface, angling her femininity towards him. "Come to me, dear." He complied, and she put her hands between her legs, grabbed his prick and placed it directly at the opening. "Watch it, Chuck, look at it as it goes into me." He was at the exact perfect height, and had only to press his hips towards her to impale her. As he had the night before, he slowly entered her, enjoying the spectacle of his pink rod mingle with her blushing lips and dark hair. Still observing, he withdrew, gazing at the closure of the folds as he slipped out of her. Once again he repeated the display, and the third time Steph encircled his waist with her long, strong legs. "Faster, baby, faster," she implored. She was aware she was satiated, that there were no more orgasms waiting for her, but she didn't care about that, she wanted him to satisfy himself within her. He grabbed the underside of her thighs, and used the leverage to help him push in and out of her. Her voice implored him, "Let it go, baby, do it!" and he did. This time, he felt a tingling beginning in his nipples and wondered at the power within him. He closed his eyes, and grunted sharply with each stroke as he spent deeply inside her. When there was nothing left, he spread his eyelids and welcomed the lewdness of the woman below him, her hair spread upon the coverlet, her nostrils flared, her lips opened in satisfaction, the rosiness of her throat, the breasts separating from each other, the flatness of her belly, the dark patch of hair mingling with his. He knew, for the first time in his life, the tenderness, even rapture, that can ride on top of lust. He placed his hands to the side of her shoulders and bent to gently kiss his lover. She wanted this token of affection and they clasped each other, spooning, until he softened and she could no longer hold him inside of her. He slipped out, and she realized how sticky the skin around her groin was, doused in the escaping sperm and remnants of perspiration. "I'm dirty," she announced. "Let's take a bath together?" "Okay." "Relax there until I get it ready." She traversed to the bathroom, and drew the water, mingling two capfuls of bubble bath with the stream from the faucet. While the tub was filling, she went into the living room and retrieved three candles. She placed them on the sink, the top of the toilet, and the side of the tub. The hot water was inches from the overflowing, and she called to him. When he entered the small room, he found her leaning licentiously over to extract clean towels. "Get in," she gently commanded, and he sank into the bubbles. She climbed in, her back to him, and reclined onto his chest. He encircled her with his arms, pouring water over her shoulders, clutching a breast. For well over half an hour they sat together, playing with each other, not in fervor, but contentment. When the water cooled, they refreshed it with more from the hot tap, increasing the temperature until they were nearly boiling. When the flame of one of the candles winked out, they realized time was passing, and they cleansed each other and rinsed. As they reluctantly covered themselves they looked at a clock-it was nearly midnight. "Oh, my mom's gonna kill me!" Chuck exclaimed. "You can't stay out late on a Friday night?" "They're pretty strict, sometimes." Quickly they drove back to Alameda, and discussed the morrow's plans. "Can I come over tomorrow morning?" he asked. "I'd love it if you did," she answered, "but I've got to work. I don't know what time I'll get out. I want to get some sun tomorrow, too. Why don't we meet on the beach? Maybe two or three o'clock?" Near his house, she pulled into a side street, and they kissed a few more times in the darkness, petted a bit more, before he got out and walked away. On the way back, Steph realized she hadn't written her daily letter to Glenn, but she was too tired now; she'd write two to him tomorrow. Mr. Donegal had assembled four keypunchers to take care of the backlog, and when Steph entered the office the next morning, the smell of coffee and the sight of doughnuts greeted her. He could be really nice, she thought of her boss. The work went quickly, and at noon they sent out for sandwiches. By two, the work was finished, and they were all wishing each other a nice weekend. Steph drove back to the apartment and packed for the beach. She wondered what she should wear, and decided on a blue one-piece suit with a padded bra. She found a parking spot and trundled down to the sand, placing her towel in a relatively calm area. She cracked a beer, applied suntan oil to her arms and legs, and then laid back. Twenty minutes later, she felt a shadow cover her and heard his voice, "You really look great!" "Thank you, it's good to hear. I've got a towel for you, get yourself a beer." He lay beside her, facing her, and kissed her. "People will talk," she laughed, but didn't stop him from stealing another one. They chatted, then Steph decided it was time to flip. "Be a dear and put some more oil on me, okay." He spread it over her shoulders, and slipped a hand inside the side of her suit, feeling the edge of a breast. She giggled, but moved her arm to make him stop. "How about your legs?" "Please." He started down by her ankles and worked up. "Your legs are hairy." It was the first thing he'd ever said to her that was remotely uncomplimentary, and it took Steph by surprise. "I'll shave them when we get home." He continued up her legs, to the rear of her knees and up her thighs. Right at the top he paused, then put a hand between her legs, pushing hard on her pussy. "Stop that!" she exclaimed. "What are you trying to do, let the whole world know what we're doing?" The Sailor's Wife Ch. 03: Regression "I don't care." "Well, I do," she responded, "and you should, too." He pulled his hand away, and laid back down beside her. For fifteen minutes they soaked up the sun, she almost dozed off, and then she felt his leg on top of her butt. "Let's go back to your place," he suggested. "Let's wait awhile. I'm enjoying this. Get back on your towel." He complied, but still laid on his side, facing her. "You know, I was wondering . . ." "What?" "Well, you know how I said I was looking for an apartment?" Suddenly, Steph realized the danger in having an affair with a much younger man. "Well, my parents can be real jerks sometime, they're awfully strict." "I'm sure it's for your own good," she defended. "Yeah, but I'm nineteen. I don't need a curfew like I'm still in high school." "Have you talked to them about it?" "Yeah, they say I can stay out as long as I like when I've got my own place but until then forget it. So I was thinking, maybe I could move in with you?" "Oh, Chuck, I don't think so." "Why not. At least until your old man is on his way back." He obviously didn't realize the dangers associated with the scheme. "Chuck, if you move in with me, well, somebody's going to find out, and then Glenn will too. I don't want that. I'm cheating on him!" "I don't see why anyone would care." "Does your mother know where you've been spending your nights?" "No, not really." "How come?" "If you want me to tell her, I will." "That's not it, honey, you can't tell her. I don't think she'd approve of this, do you?" "No, I guess not." "And, babe, if she did find out, we'd have to stop. Chuck. I like you, but I love my husband. And when he comes back, we'll be done." "Steph, I've been wondering something." "What?" "Well, would your husband be upset with me if he knew what was going on?" "I don't know. Don't worry about it." "But . . ." "Don't worry about it, I said." She turned on her side, away from him, ending the conversation. A few minutes later, he told her he was going to take a walk. When he was gone, Steph thought about what it was she was doing. How long could it go on until someone, his parents, her friends, found out about the two of them and made a fuss? Was it worth it? And then she remembered how hard she'd orgasmed the last two nights, and decided she didn't want to know the answer, not yet. Half an hour later, Chuck came back with hot dogs and french fries. "Thought you might be hungry." The kindness between them returned. After the snack was consumed, Steph said, "Come on, let's go home." On the ride back, Chuck rubbed her legs, and asked, "You going to shave your legs when we get back?" "Yeah, I guess so, if you want me to." "Can I watch?" Nobody had ever watched her shave her legs. Glenn didn't seem to care. It could be interesting, she thought. "Okay." As they walked up the stairs, Chuck put his hand on her neck, and she didn't make him take it away. Then, as she was getting the keys out of her purse, he patted her butt. She felt the desire returning, gave him a smile. After they'd dumped all the stuff on the floor, she went into the bathroom and he tried to follow her. "Where do you think you're going?" "To watch you." "First, I'm going to pee, and I'm not going to let you see that!" "Oh, sorry." She closed the door, dropped the bathing suit to her ankles, and relieved her bladder. As she sat there, she thought about the logistics of this new game they were about to play. Should she put her suit back on? She didn't want to, it was beginning to chafe. Maybe a bra and panties? Did she have something she wouldn't mind getting wet? Oh, hell, look what she'd let him see last night, would letting him get another good gander really matter? Guess not. She flushed, and cracked the door. "Hey, get a robe for me out of the bedroom, okay?" She poured a few inches of hot water into the tub, and he entered to see her bending down, her ass in the air. "If you're gonna watch, you have to take your clothes off, too." When she turned around, he was as nude as she was, and his dick was sticking straight up into the air. It didn't matter, she wasn't going to take care of that right now. She got the shaving soap out, and the old double-edged Gillette razor she always used. She looked at the blade, and it seemed to be dull, so she replaced it. Then she sat on the edge of the tub, applied the soap to her left leg, the one closest to Chuck, now sitting on the toilet, and began to shave the lower part of it. He watched her in silence, and when she reached the top of her leg, she left perhaps a half-inch of curls below the crease where the leg turned into the crotch. She turned her back to the boy, and shaved the other leg. Then she stood up, and let him look at the result. "Are you done?" he asked. "Yeah! You look surprised." "Well, I thought you'd take care of the rest of the leg. I could see some hair when you had your swimsuit on, that's all." She looked down. The stray hairs did seem to be creeping down a little far, but she couldn't tell from this angle. "Get the hand mirror for me, would you?" She watched his cute butt go out, and then his now flagging dick come back in. 'I guess this isn't as exciting as he thought it would be,' she thought. She accepted the mirror, and placed it in front of her, where she could see her crotch reflected. It really was pretty hairy down there, she guessed. "Okay, I'll shave it back a little bit, okay?" Once again, she got herself nice and wet and put some more shave cream on. She worked on the area, creating a fine line where the swimsuit would end, and was very careful further down between her legs; she didn't want to chance cutting the sensitive skin. She splashed most of the cream off, then turned around for Chuck's inspection. "Better?" "Yeah, lots better. But it still seems awful high around here." He touched the locks just below her belly button. Once again, she shaved and when she was done, she looked at herself in the mirror again. He was right! She seemed much more attractive with the inch or so of dark hair removed. She was streaked from waist to toe with the residue of the cream. "I'm going to shower this off. You want to come in?" "Sure." She started the water flowing and then pulled the button that diverted it up to the nozzle. First she aimed it towards her legs and crotch, watching the soap and loose hairs flow down the drain. Then she grabbed the sponge and the bar of Dial and handed it to Chuck. "Wash me, please." He started on her shoulders and back, getting her nice and soapy, then went down to her butt, and upper legs. She turned around, and let him play with her front. When he rubbed the breasts, particularly her nipples, it felt good, sexy. Further he went, to her newly shaved belly, and she raised a leg so he could get all of that, then her other leg. At the end, he put the sponge between her legs and fiddled with her clit. She became quite aroused. "That's enough, your turn." She took the sponge from him and started with his shoulders, down his chest, and when she reached his groin, she realized that he wasn't quite erect yet. So she stroked it, foregoing the sponge, letting the running water lubricate the rod, and soon he was as hard as he'd ever been. He pulled her to him and they kissed, the deep kiss of lovers, and he tried to put it in her. She helped him the best she could, slipping and sliding on the bath mat, even if she wasn't ready yet. They finally found a position where he could get it half way in. She let him move, trying to cooperate, and soon he was ejaculating. Right in the middle, they slid, almost falling, and he slipped out of her. Steph put her hand down, surrounded him, and tried to simulate the slippery climate of the womb as he released the sperm onto her leg. She held him steady until his breathing slowed and he recovered. Then she smiled at him, kissed him, and they restarted the process of washing each other. When he got back down to her pussy, he tried to stimulate her clitoris, but only succeeded in tickling her - she begged him to stop. They turned the water off, toweled dry, and she put the robe on and let him wear one of Glenn's. He was hungry again - a single hot dog doesn't satisfy a growing boy for very long - so she whipped up a dish of rice and ground beef. After the plates and cups were washed, they played cards, then turned on the television to watch Love Story on the Saturday Night Movie. It was a comfortable evening, spent in each others arms, thinking about sex and love, and before Ali McGraw succumbed to cancer, they were both dozing. Later, much later, Steph woke with desire. Chuck was lying beside her, below her, and he seemed to be erect. She kissed his chest, pushing his robe open, and rubbed her breasts on his hard on, exciting them. He roused and began to help her, kissing her, putting a hand down and playing with the clit. Soon, she mounted him, and they slowly made love. He was able to hold off his orgasm until he was sure she was in the throes of hers, and they finished each other off passionately. It wasn't until then that she realized the television set had passed into a fervor of static, and she went into the kitchen; the clock showed 3:10! "Chuck, we've got to get you home!" They put clothes back on, and she drove him back to the island. He was concerned that his Mom and Dad would be waiting up for him, worried, but when they made a slow pass past the house, everything seemed to be dark. "Cool, I can sneak in my bedroom window," he told her, "I do it all the time. You want to do something tomorrow?" They made plans to meet the next afternoon, a final kiss, and he was out the door. On the way home, Steph reflected on the day, and realized that once again she'd failed to send her husband a love note. She took pen and paper out when she got home, but before she got two paragraphs written, she was dozing. She kept the appointment the next day, waiting for him by the bench near the park, but after she'd waited for an hour, she figured something had happened. She drove past his house, but there didn't seem to be any activity. For two more hours she drove around the neighborhood, looking for him, returning to the bench, stopping at the auto store he worked at, but there was no sign of him. In the middle of the afternoon, she went back to her apartment, wrote a long letter to Glenn, apologizing for her busyness, and then began a novel she'd been wanting to read. Over the next week she returned to Alameda time and time again. Why didn't he at least call? At last, she couldn't stand it anymore and looked up his telephone number. When she dialed it a woman answered, and she boldly asked if Chuck was home. "Who's calling, please?" "Just a friend of his." "I think I know who you are. You're the older married woman he's been spending time with, aren't you? Someone said they saw you making out with him on the beach Saturday. Well, Chuck's grounded. He won't tell us your name, and he'll stay grounded until we find out who you are. You've ruined our son, you know, spoiled him. Leave him alone, go away, don't ever see him again. Do you understand me?" "You know, he's nineteen years old," Steph protested. "Even so, if he's living in our house, he's going to live by our rules. If you try to see him again, we'll tell your husband!" This threat cut Stephanie to the quick, she suddenly realized how her life could easily be ruined. In the background, she heard Chuck's voice yell, "Mom, let me talk to her." "No," she heard the woman reply, and then she said to Stephanie, "Don't ever call here again!" The phone went dead. Steph went to the closet, got another jigsaw puzzle out, dumped the contents onto the coffee table, and was surprised to see large drops appear on the pieces. The Sailor's Wife Ch. 04: Folk Song This is the fourth installment of the Sailor's Wife series. It would probably be best if you've read the first two stories before this one. Please bear in mind that the timeframe of this series is the early 1970's. There are some anachronisms here, and to judge the story by the standards of the 2010's would be, I think, unfair. ***** Stephanie stood outside the Harbor House restaurant in Jack London Square, waiting for the rest of the women to arrive. For the fourth time she looked at the black and white glossy photograph, with the large, limpid eyes, reminiscent of a St. Bernard. Below it, a placard announced: "Rusty Newland—One Week Only!" Who the hell, she wondered, was Rusty Newland? She was looking forward to the Wednesday evening out, a birthday party for one of the navy wives. It had been a long ten days, continually filled with crying jags and thoughts of what she'd done with and to Chuck, and how it had gone so terribly wrong. Even at work she'd been depressed, unable to concentrate. The first week she'd gone through a couple bottles of rum, most of it cut with Pepsi Cola, some straight. Not much sleep. She'd gone down to Kelly's one night. Jim, thankfully wasn't there, but four or five guys hit on her. One in particular wouldn't leave her alone, and when he bluntly proposed that they go to his place and screw, she told him to go to hell, threw her drink in his face and walked out. She promised herself she'd never go back. After a very unsatisfactory phone call the previous Saturday, Joann just showed up at her front door, held her hand, and let her cry as she hugged her. She wanted to know what was wrong, but Stephanie couldn't bear to confess to her, or anyone, about Chuck. Now Joann wouldn't leave her alone, she'd been over every night, at least for a half-hour or so. The last three days had been much better, and Steph actually smiled every once in awhile. The women, dressed in skirts and dresses, began arriving, and they went into the restaurant for a happy dinner, eight of them sitting around a long table. The waiter got into the mood, joking with them, and by the time the entire waitstaff came around to sing birthday greetings to the unfortunate celebrant, a rosy glow — part alcohol, mostly companionship — had descended on the flock. As the party started breaking up, Joann quietly asked once again if Steph was okay. "Yeah, I'm fine. No, really," she insisted, seeing the disbelief on her friend's face. "This was really nice." The group crossed to the exit, and they passed the lounge. The singer was just into his first set and there were only five or six people imbibing, largely ignoring the entertainment. The song was one of Steph's favorites, 'You've Got A Friend' by James Taylor. "You want to have a drink and listen for awhile?" Steph asked. "Okay, but you're having a coke," Joann commanded. Three of the others decided to join them, and they sat, mostly chatting, sometimes listening to the vocalist in the corner playing folk music on a six-string guitar. Steph liked the way he looked with long wavy brown hair, and a funny little cap perched on top of his head. For over an hour he sang, playing five or six songs in a row, stopping only to tune the guitar or replace a broken string. When he took a break, he stopped over at their table. "Evening, ladies! You look like you're having fun, anything special you want to hear?" "How about 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door?" somebody suggested. "Yeah, I can do that," he promised. "You're pretty good." Joann said. "How do you play all those chords?" "Big hands." "Is it true?" one of the wives asked. "If you want to find out," he smiled, "I'm around." The women all laughed at the inside joke as he left them to get a drink. Steph wondered what was so funny. "What was all that about big hands?" "Haven't you ever heard that, Steph? Big hands..." "Big Dick!" the rest of the group cried in unison, gaining amused stares from the other tables. When Rusty returned, he started with Dylan's new song, just as he said he would, and then smoothly transitioned into 'He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother.' The gang sat through four more songs, then they decided they'd better go to their respective homes. As they passed Rusty, they each put a dollar in his tip jar, and he thanked each one. When it came to Stephanie's turn, he looked deeply into her eyes, and said, "See you around!" Joann called the next night, checking up, and then said, "Hey, remember Nancy Stevens? You know, they got transferred down to Santa Barbara? Well, I was thinking of going down there to visit this weekend, you want to come?" Steph thought about her lack of plans for the weekend, it sounded appealing. Then she remembered she never got along that well with Nancy, changed her mind and said, "I don't think so." "Well, maybe I'll stick around, and we can do something together," Joann offered. "No, you go on down, have fun. I'll be fine." Friday night. Steph had already made a frozen TV dinner, washed her hair, and had absolutely nothing to do. She didn't want to read a book and there was nothing on TV. She sat on the patio, listening to K101 FM, watching the lights twinkle on the hillside above her, and knew she was bored. There must be something she could do. Should she go back to Kelly's? No, definitely not. Just then on the radio, she heard the first strains of "You've Got A Friend," and she thought about the musician at the Harbor House. She'd liked him and the songs he played. Maybe she should go back down there; it was a nice place, more upscale than Kelly's, she probably wouldn't be bothered there. Or if she was, at least it would be a better class of cretin. She put on a paisley blouse and some bell-bottoms and drove down to the square. When she entered the place, she noticed it was more crowded than two nights ago; couples or foursomes waiting for tables in the dining room, two or three groups of businessmen at the bar, and a similar number of office women at tables, winding down from the workweek. Rusty was leading the bunch in a rendition of "Joy To The World," and the guys nodded to Steph as she chose an empty table next to the wall. She ordered a rum and coke, and intently listened to the performer. Most of the songs were covers of breezy pop and folk music, but every once in awhile he'd throw in one she'd never heard before, one of his own compositions probably. A man came over and sat down. "Hi, how are you doing?" he began. "Just fine." "Come here often?" "Not very." "Can I buy you a drink?" She put her left hand on the table and displayed the ring finger. "Thanks, no, I'm waiting for someone," she lied. He took the hint. For the next half-hour, no one bothered her and she was as content as she was going to get, she figured. The set was over, and the guitarist told the crowd he'd be back in 15 minutes, stick around. He left the room, but a few minutes later he was standing next to Steph. "Hi, mind if I sit down?" "No, be my guest," she agreed. He caught the waitress's attention. "Seven-up for me, Donna. And another one for my friend here." "You didn't have to do that," she protested. "It's okay, the manager knows I'm never going to clear my tab anyway. You were here two nights ago, weren't you?" "How did you remember?" "I couldn't forget a face like yours, lovely and forlorn." It didn't seem like a pick up line. "My name's Rusty," and he offered his hand. "Stephanie." They talked for a few minutes while he drained his Seven-up. She learned that he was from Boston, out on a tour of the west, would be here through the weekend, and was moving to a place in the Piedmont District next week. "Is your husband going to meet you here?" "No, he's out at sea. I'm just trying to kill some time." "Loneliness, huh? I dig that." "I bet you do. How long have you been on the road?" "Fourteen weeks now." "Anybody waiting for you back in Boston?" "An old girlfriend. We've been seeing each other for four years now, since we were in college. Someday we might make something of ourselves, if she doesn't get tired of waiting for me to get off the road. Ah, the manager's getting restless, I've got to get back to work. Wait around for another set, okay?" She agreed, and he returned to the platform, starting with the Eagles 'Peaceful Easy Feeling.' A little later, he played a song she'd never heard before, about a couple at the ocean, and she was mesmerized by the refrain: . The surf and the sun, we've just begun . The stars and skies, shining in her eyes. When he returned, thirsty again, she asked him about the song. "I wrote it on Cape Cod, I was a lot younger then." "Is it about your girlfriend?" "She's in there, yeah. In fact, quite a bit of her." "She's lucky. No one's ever written a song about me." "Maybe someone will, someday," he responded. "Do you wish she was here?" "Sometimes. She wouldn't be happy, though, too much of a homebody. She hates the wanderlust in me, but loves the poet. She doesn't understand that one comes with the other." It was almost midnight, time to start the last set. "I liked talking with you, thanks for the drinks," Stephanie told him. "Don't go yet," he begged. "You don't have to work in the morning, do you?" "No." "Then why don't you wait for me to get off? I heard about a great after-hours blues joint in Berkeley." She thought about the wanderlust in the artist, and how she often wanted to be a nomad herself. Staying up late, going to a Berkley coffee shop, that was something vagabonds did, something she could never do with Glenn. "Sure," she decided. "Great, I'll be back before you know it." The next set was happy, full of joy, and when he finished he got a nice round of applause from the grateful audience. If he wasn't a superstar, at least he knew how to turn a lounge full of middle aged people on. "You mind driving?" he asked Stephanie as he packed his guitar up. "No." "Good. Otherwise, we're walking!" Off they went through the early morning darkness to an address on Telegraph Road, and the bouncer let them in when Rusty dropped the name of the nightclub owner. Through the cigarette haze they listened to the band, two saxophones, a scat singer. They'd barely sat down when a funny cigarette was passed to Steph. She'd seen and smelt marijuana before, but never tried it. Glenn was paranoid, thinking if they caught him with pot he'd lose a stripe or even get discharged, and Steph just went along with his fears. But here it was all different, so she took a long draw on the doobie. She held it in for a few seconds, then coughed it out. She tried it again on the next pass with a little more success but half an hour later, when she didn't feel anything, she figured she was one of those people who it just didn't affect. Rusty pointed out people to her, Paul Kanter of the Airplane, David Freiberg of Quicksilver Messenger Service. Peter Albin, now with Country Joe and the Fish, stopped over to say 'Hi,' and Rusty explained he'd met him as a studio musician. The band played on, and the place got mellow. Finally, sometime long after three, Steph began to droop and asked Rusty if he wanted to go yet. He left with her, a little reluctantly, and when they passed an all night diner Stephanie insisted on stopping — all of a sudden, she was famished. Over the meal of chili and eggs, she asked him what he did during the day. "The last two weeks, I was in San Francisco, so I went down by Fisherman's Wharf and played for the tourists. I get to play some, and the quarters they toss keep me in weed." "Can I go with you tomorrow?" She wanted to see more of him. "Sure, you'll be bored, though." "If I am, I'll find something else to do." When she dropped him at the nondescript motel, she wondered if he'd invite her in, but he simply said, "See you later," and Steph drove home. She woke sometime after 11:00, feeling good, not hung over as she expected she'd be. She lay in bed and thought about Rusty. At times he'd been very talkative, yet at other times he listened intently to her speak about her life, her self. The idea of being with him pleased her. Going into San Francisco would be fun; she'd always wondered what the life of a street artist would be like. She yawned her way into the kitchen, put a filter and a couple of scoops of coffee into the machine, and got it going. Then she picked up the phone, and called Rusty at his motel. He sleepily answered, "Hello?" "Hi, did I wake you?" "God, you're cheery in the morning. It's still morning, isn't it?" "Barely. You sure you don't mind me coming with you to your gig?" She'd started learning the patter of musicians. "No, otherwise, I'd have to take the bus across. But I still say you'll be bored." "I'll take my chances. Pick you up in forty-five minutes?" On the drive across the Bay Bridge, Rusty looked back to the East Bay and saw two aircraft carriers tied up at Alameda. "Those things are what your husband's on, huh?" "Yeah." "They're big." "Big and ugly." He asked her about Glenn, what he was like. Rusty watched her eyes as she explained how they'd met in high school and married soon after he enlisted. It changed into an explanation of what she did while her husband was gone, her girlfriends, and her problems. Rusty let her talk, asked questions at the appropriate times, seemed to care. She thought about telling him about Chuck — she hadn't bared her soul about that one to anyone — but a motorcycle cut her off on the Embarcadero freeway, and the moment passed. Soon they found a parking spot four blocks from the cable car turnaround, and they walked down. "This is where it's good," he explained. "The magicians and comics don't like to hang here, they want to go where they can get people's attention for at least ten minutes. I don't need that long, only two or three." He stood up against a short wall just a few steps from where the tourists were lining up to get on the trolley, took his guitar out and opened the case onto the ground. Then he threw a bunch of change and a couple of dollar bills into it. "If you don't start them off, nobody will throw you anything. I guess it's sort of Pavlovian." Then he started his act, talking to the crowd, complimenting the women and girls and comically insulting the guys, then sang his first song — "I Left My Heart In San Francisco." Three or four people dropped a dime or quarter into the case before they jumped on the cable car. He played another song, then played "If You're Going To San Francisco Be Sure To Wear Flowers In Your Hair." More money appeared on the red velvet lining. He kept it up, occasionally tossing Steph a look as she sat on a bench twenty-five feet away, and went back time and time again to the two big money makers. During a break, he came over and sat beside her. "What's with repeating the two songs?" she asked. "Man, am I sick of 'Heart' and 'Flowers!' But if that's what people are going to pay for, that's what I'll sing." He went back to the audience, and after she watched him play for another half-hour, she told him she was going to go for a walk, she'd be back. When she returned two hours later, he was still at it, as pleasant as ever, but it didn't look like he was doing very well—there only seemed to be a little more money in the case then when he started. He went on for almost another hour, and then she was ready to do something else. But how could she tell him what she wanted? Impulsively, she went to him and gave him a brief kiss. It shocked both of them. "You ready to go?" he asked. "Sure, if you are." "Might as well, it's getting a little cold now, and the folks are having problems getting their hands out of their pockets." On the way back, she asked him about the poor receipts. "Poor? I made almost 35 bucks today!" "But there wasn't anything in your case." "You got to clean it out every once in awhile," he revealed. "If the tricks see too much, they think you're rich, and they won't pay up." On the way back, they stopped for dinner, and she asked him how he got into the business. "It's all my folk's fault. They sent me to the New England Conservatory of Music, I studied the Oboe. The third year, they told me I was pretty good. If I worked hard, got my masters, they thought I could pick up a position with the Peoria Symphony. 'Course, they also told me I'd have to cut my hair. So I picked up the guitar, and here I am!" "Don't you get tired of being on the road?" "Not really. I'm sort of a loner to begin with, and I just like seeing different places all the time." "Where are you going after you leave Oakland?" "I don't know, I've got nothing set up. Maybe I'll head back East, or maybe I'll stick around here, get a construction job or something. My agent's got a line on a band they're putting together, but then he's always telling me something big is gonna happen next week." She took him back to the motel, and came into his room while he showered behind the closed bathroom door and changed into better clothes for the lounge. The room was dingy, but he was neat, with all his stuff put away in the drawers. "You gonna come by the lounge tonight," he asked her as he was shaving, half dressed in his bell-bottoms, "or have you had enough?" "I'm gonna go back to my place, do a couple things, but if you want me to, I'll come over later." He smiled, "I'd like that. I like you." When she got back to her apartment, she found three letters from Glenn — even though he wrote one a day, the post office delivered them in batches — and read them all twice, voraciously. They were leaving the Philippines (of course, the most recent letter was five days old,) and headed for the Gulf of Tonkin. He was safe, he was healthy, and he missed her. He didn't say much about the three days of restocking in Subic Bay. Stephanie wondered if he'd gone into town, visited a hooker. She wrote back, telling him about her day, about Rusty, and how she'd taken him into San Francisco. She wanted to tell him about how she'd smoked pot, but figured he might start worrying if he heard that. She sealed the envelope, and then took a long, hot shower. She turned the television on, and thought some more about Rusty, how he'd talked with her, and how he looked so appealing while he stood before the mirror, bare-chested, shaving. A whiff of desire wafted over her, almost hidden, and she dozed. An hour later she woke up and headed down to Jack London Square. The room was full, and she had to wait for someone to leave before she could get a seat at the bar. Rusty had the room jamming, singing along with him, and was taking requests. It was different, she thought, when you haven't been sitting here all night, you're sober, and they're all drunk. Rusty finally spied her, waved to her, and then went on. Six songs later, he announced last call, and closed with The Beatles "Eight Days A Week." After most of the crowd left, stuffing the jar full of green paper, he was really turned on. "Steph, playing for a crowd like this gets you going, a real natural high." But she was yawning, not used to the late nights, so he suggested she just drive him back to the motel and call it a night. She realized, however, that he was way too keyed up to go to sleep, so she asked him, "Do you have anything to smoke in your room?" "Yeah, a little Colombian. Good shit. You want some?" "Sure." She came into the room, sat on the bed and watched him as he got his stash out and rolled a joint. He lit it and offered her the first hit, then he took one. He tried to tell her what it was like to get the crowd going, to move them. She figured this was what he was all about, and she liked what she saw. He lit the second joint, but teased her, falling back on the bed, and told her to come get it if she wanted it. By now she was a little high, so when she tried to pull it out of his hand, she stumbled and fell on top of him. Their faces were just a few inches apart, and Stephanie couldn't help herself. She kissed him, and then she kissed him again. She put his hand on his chest, feeling it, and then opened the shirt so she could kiss it. The Sailor's Wife Ch. 04: Folk Song He just lay there, accepting what she was doing, and didn't make a move for her. She didn't know why he was reluctant, but she didn't care. She took her blouse and bra off, then laid back down on him, kissing him. This time, he participated, feeling the breast, kissing it, rolling her over so that he was on top of her. It was glorious. Then, all of a sudden, he stopped. "Stephanie, you sure about this?" "What do you mean? Don't you want me?" "Oh, yes, I want you, I have since you came into the place Wednesday night, but, listen, what about your husband?" "Don't worry about him." He looked her in the eyes, deep into them and asked, "You sure? We could be getting into something heavy here." "I'm sure," she responded. "Now make love to me." And he did. This man, unlike Chuck, was experienced, had been with a lot of women, knew what they liked, and how to excite them. By the time he'd undressed her and worshiped her breasts and vagina, she was flushed with excitement. When he revealed his manhood, she noticed it was bigger, fully an inch longer than Glenn's, and she wanted, more than anything, to discover what it would feel like inside of her. Still he waited, playing with her, finger fucking her, telling her how beautiful she was, and when he finally climbed on top of her and entered her gracefully, she was screaming in desire. He seemed to know how to position his legs so that he obtained the maximum pressure on her sensitive clitoris, and she came and came and came, thinking about how he filled her more than the other men she'd been with. They repositioned, and he took her doggy style, pounding into her from the rear, reaching around to nip a teat, keeping her in climax. When he finally came, he moaned, first softly, then increasing the volume, with the sound of a human siren. When he'd had enough, they got under the covers and he felt her eyes, her nose with his thumb. "You okay?" he asked. "Never better." "I'm glad, I wanted it to be good for you." They slept. When the sunlight whitened the drab curtain, she woke and gazed at the man sleeping next to her. Another new experience, she thought, she'd never spent all night with a man other than Glenn. She put a naked leg over his stomach, feeling his warmth, and put her face next to his, smelling him, letting her cheek be tickled by his whiskers. Happy to be there, she let herself go back to sleep. The next time she came to consciousness, they were curled up like spoons, his front to her back, he was stroking her shoulder and arm. She turned to him and they began to kiss. Gently, lovingly, they touched chins, bellies, legs, fingers, and, of course, boobs, dick and pussy. Through some iteration of movement, she found that they'd entered sixty-nine, and as he played with the layers of folds and sniffed her natural perfume, she loved his rod, feeling it on her cheek, watching it harden with each bit of attention. Later, after they'd unhurriedly faced each other, she climbed on top of him and felt his length fill her up. She liked the sensation that he was long enough to stay within her — she was often concerned with Glenn that he'd slip out of her in that position. Slowly, deftly, she sank on him and alternatively lifted up, watching the passion in his eyes. For a few moments she was so mesmerized by his reactions that she simply forgot about her own wants, happy to just pleasure him. But then he, having similar emotions, put a hand between them and inflamed her button, kindling sparks and then stars within her. And, of course, once she was moaning and groaning, he let himself go. After they'd collapsed and rested, he began to kid her. "What do you think of my palatial digs," he asked, gesturing to the stains on the shag carpet, the cigarette burns on the furniture. "I love what you've done with it," she replied. "Want to take a shower?" "You go first, I need caffeine." He threw on a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt and headed out the door. She moved into the bathroom, trying not to bump into the toilet which, she decided, hadn't been 'sterilized' recently, and turned the water on. By the time the shampoo was rinsed from her hair and the pits and groin were thoroughly scrubbed he was back, drying her off with the thin, worn towel, throwing her clothes at her, and giving her mouthwash from his kit so she could freshen her breath. Then he showed her breakfast—a cup of coffee for each of them (the darling had brought envelopes of both CoffeeMate and sugar for her; he didn't know her preferences yet,) and a paper sack from Jack In The Box containing breakfast sandwiches. They sat on the bed, she dressed only in a towel wrapped around her wet hair, he in his undershorts, and munched on the provisions. In a strange way, it was almost a domestic scene. "My turn," he said, and jumped into the shower. While he took care of himself, she combed her hair, used his deodorant, and put her clothes on. When she put her wristwatch on, she noticed that it was only 10:30. "You busy today, or do you want to do something together?" he asked. "No, I'm free. You want to go back into San Francisco?" "I should, the tourists will be lining up to pay me to play 'Heart' and 'Flowers,' but I don't want to; I'd rather be with you. Have you ever been over to Muir Beach? I hear it's a really cool scene." "No. I've been up to Stinson a bunch of times, but never Muir." "You want to go?" "Sure." First, they drove up to her apartment, where she packed up her beach stuff and a lunch and he looked at the pictures of her family and Glenn, and then they took off, over the San Rafael Bridge into Marin County, and then on the switchbacked road through the mountains until they hit the shore. Rusty threw the gatekeeper a couple of bucks, and he warned them, "Straights are over to the left, don't mess with them, man." "No sweat." "Rusty, what did he mean? A gay beach?" "You don't know about this place?" Seeing that she had no idea, he continued, "Hey, I'm sorry about that. This is a nude beach. I figured you'd heard. If you're not comfortable, we can go over to the side where they wear clothes." The idea of exposing herself to the open air had always been appealing to her, but she'd never acted upon it. Glenn had talked about it once, looking over a cliff in Big Sur, trying to get a glimpse of nude breasts, but she hadn't taken him seriously. "Let's give it a try. We can always leave if we don't like it, right?" she agreed. After they'd found a cove protected from the relentless wind to spread the blanket, Rusty shucked his clothes and looked around. To Stephanie, he seemed to be a god observing his creation, his tanned skin glowing, hair waving in the breeze. She wanted to be his goddess, and unashamedly joined him in his state of undress. Leaving their possessions behind, they walked the beach hand in hand, tiptoeing into the cold surf, joining a volleyball game. Stephanie had never felt so free, and she tried to explain her emotions to Rusty. He seemed to understand. "This is what the Guess Who meant when they sang, 'Share The Land,'" he explained. He unpacked his guitar and began strumming. Two other couples sat nearby, they turned to listen. After he'd played a bit of Croce and then one of his own tunes, one of the guys said, "You're good, man!" "Thanks," Rusty replied. "What would you like to hear?" "How about some Dylan?" a woman responded. As Rusty picked out the opening strains of 'All I Really Want To Do,' the foursome came over. After the song, they introduced themselves, pouring wine into cups for them. Steph felt odd, shaking hands with naked women, nude men that would never be her lovers, and she tried to keep her legs together to preserve a trace of modesty. But soon she observed that the other women didn't seem to care, one of them sat crosslegged facing Rusty. Stephanie decided it was nothing to get uptight about so she relaxed, not caring if the other men looked at her pussy or not. The scent of sex was in the air as marijuana was passed from one hand to the next. The other men looked at Stephanie frankly, and she stared back, enjoying the bronze torsos. It was obvious they were regulars here, there were no lines separating the tan from the white, such as she and Rusty displayed. One of the women suggested more suntan lotion for Steph—her bleached skin would burn easily. When Steph stood to apply it to her stomach and rear, she saw the men divert their gaze without conviction; they were enjoying the view, and she realized she liked being looked at. And yes, Steph compared the flaccid penises to the one she'd enjoyed recently. They seemed smaller, thinner. And Rusty looked at the exposed breasts and vaginal areas of the other women. They had both shaved their pubic hair more than Steph, and she frankly admired how one of the women had just a thin strip accenting the protruding pussy lips. Steph laid back, shutting her eyes, listening to Rusty's guitar and voice blending with the sound of the crashing surf and the seagulls noisily cawing overhead. Wouldn't it be nice, she thought, if the six could stay here all night? They would make love, she was sure. Would they swap partners? Would Rusty like doing it with the tall blonde? Would she enjoy the feeling of the other men entering her as Rusty watched her from the embraces of the other women? After twelve or fifteen songs were sung, Rusty was tired of practicing and packed the guitar away. The other couples returned to their piles of stuff, leaving the rest of the jug as a token of their enjoyment. In a moment of weakness, (or was it strength?) Steph rolled onto Rusty and kissed him. He touched her rear end tenderly, and for a few minutes she hoped he'd take her there, on the beach, with dozens of people watching them make love, but he made no move to further the romance, and she desisted. After three hours or so of the revelry, Rusty suggested they head on back. He had to be on the stage at 7:00, and he'd never been late for an engagement in his life. Steph sat with him as he sang his songs, mellower ones for a Sunday night crowd, sad ones for the couples that had spent the weekend together and would be leaving each other soon, happy ones for the people who'd stay together once the workweek started. "It's not that I don't love your digs," she told him after the show was over, "but I think I'd rather sleep at my place tonight." She watched as his face crumbled. "What's wrong?" "I guess I thought we were getting along pretty well, that's all," he explained. "Oh, my dear, come with me. What's mine is yours." At that he smiled, and they spent the long night in her bed, cuddling to each other, talking of their hopes and needs, making love. The alarm clock rang at an entirely obscene hour, and Steph toddled off to the shower and sink. As she opened the tab on her birth control pill, something bothered her. She walked into the kitchen and compared the numbered wheel to the date on the calendar; shit, she'd forgot all about it yesterday! Oh, well, nothing she could do now, and besides, the chances of her catching were a hundred to one. She took today's, throwing yesterday's in the trash can. As she donned slacks and shirt for the daily grind, Rusty watched her from the safety of the covers. "You look good. Come on back." She giggled. "If I do, I'll never make it to work. What are you going to do today?" "I don't know. Go back to my room, maybe." "Why don't you check out of there?" "Are you suggesting I stay here?" "I'd really like to see you when I get home tonight." "I'll be here." And he was, reading philosophy on the patio. He followed her into the bedroom and helped her undress. Of course, he tickled her, excited her, and they quickly found themselves intertwined on top of the bed. As she begged him to come inside of her, she looked to the side, to the two portraits hanging on the wall. 'Glenn doesn't matter anymore,' she tried to tell herself, and concentrated on the man, the lover, inside of her, on top of her, but the crucial moment had passed, and she let him come without joining him. "Are you okay, babe?" Rusty asked. "I'm fine, why?" "You just didn't seem to be with me." "I just got distracted, that's all. Nothing you did wrong." And she kissed him tenderly, trying to face away from the picture. Since he had the night off, they headed for a Mexican joint she liked. Seated at a cheap table over a linoleum floor, they dined on enchiladas, burritos, refried beans and margaritas, laughing, feeding each other. At sunset, they walked the shores of Lake Merritt, watching the water reflect the pinks and oranges in the sky. "Steph, listen, I don't want to ruin this, but I have to talk about something." She stayed quiet, wondering what was on his mind. "It isn't that I've never bedded a married woman before, but this time it's different. You know that, don't you? You can feel what's happening, can't you?" She pulled his hand to her face, feeling the hair on the back with her cheek, kissing his knuckle. "Yes, I feel it." "Well, what are we going to do about your husband?" "He's far away. He won't bother us." "Not today, not next week, but sooner or later..." "Are you planning on staying? I thought you'd be gone soon." "I called my agent, asked him to pick up some more gigs for me in the Bay Area. He thinks he can get me an extended run at the Harbor House; the manager was really happy with me this weekend." "Honey, my husband won't be back till spring. Let's not talk about that anymore." For a few minutes Rusty didn't look happy, but he figured she needed her space, left her alone. When they got back to the apartment, Steph disappeared into the bedroom. She took the pictures of Glenn, her family, stuffed them into the closet. Then she emptied one of her drawers and dragged Rusty into the room. "This is yours, sweetheart. Put anything you want in it." They sat together on the couch, listening to the radio. Suddenly he sat up. "That's new," he said, listening intently to Stephen Stills. After the song ended, he turned the volume down and proceeded to pick out the tune on his stings. He had some of the words, hummed the rest. Within ten minutes, he was playing the chords confidently. "I'll get the rest of the words the next time they play it." "What about your job this week?" Steph asked. "I'm on for cocktail and early dinner tomorrow, 8 to 1 Wednesday to Saturday, 7 to 11 on Sunday, then the landlord pays me off. Normal stuff. All I have to do is figure out which bus gets me from here to there." "I'll take you there, pick you up," she promised, "or you can take the car and wake me up when you get home." "It gets late sometimes." They moved into a predictable pattern, she working during the day, spending a couple of hours or so before the show, listening to the first hour of it, returning to the apartment to write a quick note to Glenn, catching a nap, then picking Rusty up at the bar. Then the best part of the day, undressing for him, watching the hunger in his eyes, and finally gorging herself with his body. They didn't talk about the future, they had only today, and that was enough. Wednesday night, when Rusty was at the club, Joann stopped over. Some of Rusty's things were lying around; it was obvious something was going on. "You okay, Steph?" "Fine," she said, a little defiantly. "Okay," Joann said, not challenging her. They got beers out of the refrigerator, and went out to talk on the patio. "Can I tell you something?" Joann began. "You probably think I'm the perfect wife, don't you?" It was true, she was the one who always put the parties together. She was forever hugging her husband - when he was around. "Well, last year, after the ship was gone about four months, an insurance salesman knocked on my door. He was cute, and I let him come in. He started telling me about his policies, and, well, I bought one, and a lot more." Stephanie didn't quite get it. "What do you mean?" "Hell, I fell in love with him. Took him to bed that night. He's married, and he came over once or twice a week to take care of me." "I never knew!" Steph explained. "You weren't supposed to. After awhile he started talking about leaving his wife, and how we'd run off and get married. For awhile I thought we were really going to do it. Then the ship was on its way back, and I pressed him, told him we'd better do it if we were going to. He said he had some details to take care of, his kids needed him. I told him to get the hell out." "Did you tell Bill about it?" "Of course not. Haven't told anyone, you're the first." "But you seemed so happy when Bill got back!" "I was. I realized when he pulled into port that I loved Bill, didn't love the twerp. That it was all a mistake. I did everything Bill wanted. It was a great three months while they were home." "That's great, Joann. Now you know what you've got, and..." "Steph, he called me last week." Her face revealed the melancholy. "It just gets so lonely out here." For awhile they shared a good cry, holding each other. Then Steph got them another beer, and Joann had wiped her eyes by the time she got back. "Hon, you've got a guy here, don't you?" "Yeah. You remember that singer at the Harbor House last week?" Steph took a few minutes, told Joann how she'd been smitten, how happy she was. "I'm glad for you, dear. But listen, don't get too used to it... It's not safe." Saturday morning, Rusty announced he needed to go back into San Francisco, do the tourist thing. "Bread's getting a little thin." For five hours he stood and played, picking up nearly $40, and Stephanie stayed right by him, watching him, enjoying him. After the show was over that night, they got invited to a party that someone was throwing up in the hills. They stayed all night, drinking and smoking, talking to the beautiful people. When they passed the hot tub, they noticed it was filled with people, so they took off their clothes and jumped in. After awhile a couple got out, went over to a lounge chair and began to screw. Steph watched them in awe, enjoying the site of the man's penis entering the woman over and over again. It turned her on, and she took Rusty to a corner of the deck secluded by palm bushes, and they made love. A group of men and one woman peeked, and Stephanie didn't care. Late the next morning, the phone rang. Steph ran out to answer it. A strange male voice asked, "Is Rusty Newland there?" "Just a minute." When Rusty responded to her call, she began to make coffee, she couldn't help but hear his end of the conversation. "Hello... Oh, hi, Jeff ." ("It's my agent," he whispered to her.) "Yeah, it's great... Clapton? You're shitting me... That's fantastic... I don't know if I can make it... Well, I'm sort of hung up here... " (a very long pause, Steph could tell the agent was making a long, involved deal.) "Tell you what, let me think about it... I understand, either I'm there or I'm not... The ticket's refundable isn't it? Then don't worry about it... I can't make any promises, I need to think... All right, I'll call you first thing in the morning... I promise. Take it easy, okay... Oh, and thanks, Jeff, you're the best." "What was that about?" Stephanie asked him. "Nothing." He seemed to close a piece of himself to her, to withdraw. "Did he find you another gig?" "Don't worry about it," he insisted. She walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, enclosing her fears. Again they went to the cable car turnaround, but Rusty was having trouble connecting with the crowd, singing a little sadly. After an hour and a half in which he only got two or three dollars worth of dimes, they packed it in and went to a bar. "If you want to tell me about it, I'll listen," Steph told him. The Sailor's Wife Ch. 04: Folk Song "I guess I've got to let you know sometime. Remember that band I told you about? Well, they're gonna put it together in New York. They want me for rhythm and back up vocals. First rehearsal is on Wednesday, Eric Clapton's gonna come in the next day and see what we've got. He might wind up being the front man." Steph understood what was being said. "So you'll be leaving?" "I don't want to go, believe me." "I want you to stay, too. But if you don't go..." On the way back across the Bay Bridge, Rusty looked at the aircraft carriers. "Steph, do you love your old man?" "What?" "Your husband. Do you love him?" "Yes, I do. Very much." "How 'bout me?" "You know I love you, too. I don't think I really want to make a choice." As they made love that night, Stephanie treated him a little more tenderly, and when he was on top of her, fully inside her, she wondered, "How many more times?" The next day, Monday, Stephanie silenced the alarm, and refused to leave Rusty. 'Too little time,' she thought, 'soon he'll be gone. I can't waste a minute.' When the office opened, she called in sick. Mr. Donegal accepted the explanation of a bad cold. Her work record, except for the single tardiness, had been perfect. "Get up," she called to Rusty, "I've got plans for you." After cereal, she packed the beach toys and they drove once again across the bay, over the mountains, to the sea. Rusty expected her to pull into Muir Beach, but instead she turned north. Down the cliff overlooking Stinson, still she drove. And then, the gate that said 'Point Reyes National Seashore." Another fifteen minutes, and they rode along a ridge, a bay and bright sunshine to their left, a deep fog to their right. Five miles later, she turned the car into the mist and slowly drove down the hill to a parking lot large enough for a hundred cars, empty but for the Volkswagen. They got out, glad to be through with the long drive, and heard the rhythmic pounding of the huge waves, unseen even though they were only fifty yards away. They donned ponchos and began a long, steady hike to the west, marveling at the height of the waves spurred by a storm five hundred miles out to sea, listening to the wind whip the sea grasses, stung by sand flying in the breeze. A mile on a beach is a long way, the walking difficult and tedious. Stephanie discovered a perfect abalone shell. They seemed to be the only people in the world, alone in the vapor. Finding shelter from the tempest in a pile of abandoned logs, they rested. Here, in this sunken grove bordered by driftwood and stunted bushes, they hungered for each other. Quickly they stripped each other of their sweaters, jeans, and shoes. When they were undressed, she placed her back on the sand and accepted him on top of her. Slowly he placed himself at her entrance, and again they were one, completely linked, and they satisfied each other, understanding their mental as well as their physical needs, climaxing together. Naked in the mist, Stephanie asked for the truth. "Rusty, have you decided yet?" "No, not really. I think this could be the opportunity of a lifetime." "Not very many people get the chance to work with Eric Clapton, I guess." "I wasn't speaking of him. I was thinking of you." "Me?" she questioned. "Yes, you. I love you, Stephanie." She winced at the words, the most beautiful, most hurtful she'd ever heard. He pulled her to him, cuddled her. "If only it weren't so complicated." "My husband, you mean?" "Yes, there's that." "And your girlfriend." "My girlfriend?" He seemed for a minute to be confused. "Oh, that. Honey, that's the only lie I've ever told you. I don't really have a girlfriend in Boston. Oh, I did, but I haven't seen her in two years. I hear she's getting married." "Then why did you tell me you did?" "When I pick a girl up, I tell her that; it makes it easy to leave the next morning." "Or the next week." He hung his head, ashamed of his ruse. "But that first night, the night you told me, you didn't invite me into your room." "Would you have come?" "I don't know. Maybe." "That's it. I knew then you were different, I didn't want it to be a one-night stand." She felt complimented by the story, but a decision had to be made. "Rusty, you should go to New York. You've waited so long for this break, this could be the big time." "I want to stay with you." "I want you to stay, too. But I also want to see your name on the cover of an album, and to hear your voice recorded for all time. If you don't leave now, you'll wind up regretting it. Then you'll blame me sooner or later." "Never." "Yes, you will." "Then come with me." "Just leave Glenn?" She hadn't thought of that option. She could help Rusty make his name, be his groupie. "But what would I do while you were making music? And when you go on the road, will I sit and wait for you? That's no different than my life now." "Don't make a snap decision. Think about it. I love you so much, and I don't want to lose you." By now, they were cold, from the wind, and from the conversation, and they dressed. The long walk back, never letting go, both afraid if they lost contact the wind would blow the other away into the fog. They drove to the other side of the peninsula, climbed the cliffs over Sir Francis Drake Bay, ate cheese and bread, drank wine. High in the meadow, Rusty got his guitar out and began to serenade her with love songs: "Love City" by Peter, Paul and Mary, Elton John's "Your Song," Glenn Campbell's "Gentle On My Mind." Then he began another song she'd never heard before. . In Northern California, down along above the sea . My woman dwells in wonder, her name is Stephanie. . Endearment is the watchword, allurement is the key . Peacefulness surrounds the girl, Oh lovely Stephanie. Stephanie's eyes leaked with joy at the gift, and with despair, because she knew that this love affair would not end sweetly, quietly. By the time they returned from the journey, it was dark. They held each other, silently attempting to decide their fates. The phone rang, it was Rusty's agent. "Hi, Jeff... Yes, I know. I'm sorry about that... What's the last flight tomorrow night... Fine, get me a ticket... I'll see you Wednesday morning... Bye." He came back to her, held her. "You've decided to go," she prophesied. "Yes," he answered pensively. "I'm glad you made your decision. It's the right one." "Now it's time for you to make yours," he told her. She looked at the sofa she'd bought, the books, the stereo, and then her eyes lighted on a trophy. Glenn had won it years ago in a high school science fair, it was his proudest possession. No, that was unfair, she was his proudest possession. "I can't leave with you," she sadly proclaimed. On the morning of his departure, she rose and called in sick again, then went back to lie beside him. For an hour she just looked at him, watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling. His eyes opened, he gazed at her, pulled her to him. They made love one last, final time. "What would you like to do today?" "Can we go back into San Francisco? I'd like to hear you sing once more." Into the car, they found a parking spot near Ghirardelli Square. It was too early for the tourists, so they walked up the hills, around the wharves. Around noon, Rusty set up near the cable car turnaround and started his usual prattle, singing 'Heart' and 'Flowers' over and over again. She sat on a bench nearby where he could catch her eye, not minding the repetition, happy to have one last afternoon near him. The crowds thinned, they went to a restaurant. Back to his song spot in the twilight, but this time he didn't play for the sightseers, he performed for her. All of her favorites, "You've Got A Friend", "Time In A Bottle", "Love City", "Surf and Sun", and, of course, "Stephanie's Song". He never looked at the passersby, not caring if they threw money in the guitar case or not, gazing at her, making love to her through his eyes. The clouds gathered, and a mist began to fall. He wouldn't stop serenading her. With barely an hour left until his flight, he sang one last song for her, one she'd never heard him sing before, Carole King's "Home Again." . Snow is cold, rain is wet 
. Chills my soul right to the marrow
. I won't be happy till I see you alone again
. Till I'm home again and feeling right They held hands tightly on the drive to the airport, suddenly a cloudburst drenched the freeway. "This is the first time I've seen it rain out here." "It hasn't rained for months. It'll be an early winter, it seems." He refused to let her come to the gate. "It's hard enough this way." At the curb, as they held each other for the last time, he asked, "If I come back this way?" "Call me." And he was gone, taking his guitar and suitcase through the sliding doors, she lost sight of him. She couldn't see well on the way back; it was raining much too hard. The Sailor's Wife Ch. 05: Extirpation This is the final installment of the Sailor's Wife series. It would probably be best if you've read the first four stories before this one. Please bear in mind that the timeframe of this series in the early 1970's. There are some anachronisms here, and to judge the story by the standards of the 2010's would be, I think, unfair. And a point of comparison, $20 in 1972 money is equivalent to more than $100 today. ***** The black water of the estuary seemed particularly calm as Stephanie prowled the Oakland marina. She'd needed to get out on this sunny Sunday, she realized, but when Joann had been unavailable (apparently shacked up for the day with her boyfriend,) there'd been no one to accompany her. Steph had dressed up a little, a faintly psychedelic blouse, mini skirt and high heels, and headed for Jack London Square, but she had little money for lunch and the street artists had failed to amuse. A guitarist had, unfortunately, reminded her of Rusty, and that dragged her mood even further into the trench she was digging for herself. Things couldn't be going worse. Chuck called her every chance he could, begging her for additional liaisons, and even the threat of turning him into the police as a stalker seemed to be of little concern to him. Last night, he'd even showed up on her doorstep at eleven o'clock, and she'd had to drive him back to Alameda without letting him into the apartment; if she had, she knew, she wouldn't have the strength to resist his sexual advances. And she'd promised herself that, after Rusty, there would be no more men in her life until Glenn came back to her. In her inner heart, she knew that if Rusty was able to make it to California she'd break that vow, but no other man would touch her! She was sure of that. Then there was her job. Mr. Donegal simply wasn't happy with her, even though she was trying her best. He couldn't understand that some days she just didn't have the strength to get out of bed, and that was the reason for her chronic tardiness. And it wasn't her fault that they kept giving her batches of alpha-numeric codes, was it? Everyone knew that keypunchers made more mistakes with those than other stuff. It just wasn't fair. She missed Rusty. In the seven weeks he'd been gone, she'd only had five letters from him. He'd gotten the gig with the band, but Clapton hadn't signed on. They were in the studio now, putting an album together, and their agent was trying to paste together a tour starting sometime in the winter, but it would be through the south, he had written, no where near the West Coast. In the last few missives, he seemed to be getting more and more distant; Stephanie wondered if he'd found another girlfriend, someone to replace her. And, thinking about letters, there was Glenn. Apparently, he hadn't been very clear, on one of the ship's stops in the Philippines he'd visited a prostitute. So there he was getting laid while she was being as good as she could be. She hadn't had any sex since Rusty left, and it was frustrating her. She masturbated often, almost every day and sometimes twice or three times a day on the weekend, but it was sort of like Chinese food, Joann had joked, an hour later you want more. Thanksgiving had been a bore. Some of the wives got together to cook a huge feast, but it had turned morose quickly, the women missing their men, sometimes sniffling at their absence. Dawn and Jill were talking about how they were going to meet the boat when it docked in Hong Kong in February, and Stephanie was tempted to join them, but she simply couldn't scrape the necessary four-hundred dollars together - that was so much! Why couldn't the Navy send them over for free? Christmas was coming up in just fifteen days, and Steph's mother was begging for her to come back home, but Mr. Donegal insisted he couldn't spare her for the whole week, three of the other girls were already taking vacation, and that was that. What did he want of her! Steph gazed at the expensive yachts around her and wondered how it was to be so rich you could afford something like that just as a toy. If she had some money, it would solve all her problems, wouldn't it? She and Glenn could buy one of these boats and just sail anywhere they wanted. What would it be like to make love on board one, with the boat rocking gently below her? God, she was horny. She wanted Glenn or Rusty to come to her, stroke her naked body, push his thing between her legs and make her come, hard. Then she caught herself. Did she want to make a fool out of herself, out here in public, thinking about sex? Silly girl. It was then, as she was blushing with her ruttiness, that she heard the man on the boat call out, "Well, isn't that a pretty thing. Would you like to join me for a drink, sweetie?" For a few seconds she took in the guy. Old, at least forty, with a bit of grey at the temples. Slightly overweight, small paunch exposed above the swim trunks. He seemed to be covered in fur, his chest was filthy with hair, and yet, somehow, he exuded a sense of sultriness. Perhaps it was in the way his eyes stared directly into hers, maybe it was the gold necklace he wore. "No, thanks," Stephanie forced herself to say. She'd really like a drink, but somehow she feared that if she let this man get close, who knew what might happen. "Oh, come on," he insisted, "it's almost five o'clock . . . somewhere." When he saw Steph hesitate, he rose from his seat and held out his hand to help her climb aboard. After arguing with her internal imp, Steph let her curiosity - she'd never been aboard one of these large boats before - and her thirst overcome her reluctance. Taking the wolf's hand (she had no pretensions about his ultimate intentions,) she promised herself that only one drink would pass her lips and then, hopefully after a tour of the yacht, she'd be on her way, unmarred by the incident. "That's my girl," the man responded, holding her hand a moment longer than was strictly required, and handling her waist more than needed to assist her. "Now, what would you like?" "What do you have?" "For you, dear, anything you'd like. Anything." The final word was accompanied by a leer, one that Stephanie ignored. "A screwdriver?" Steph's tenor was timid, as if she were suddenly overwhelmed by the situation. "One screw coming up." A glimpse from him into her eyes, to ensure she got the entendre. "Do you prefer Russian or Polish vodka?" "Either one's fine." "Well, you just sit right down here." He led her to a chair bolted to the deck, once again holding her more than was necessary for the maneuver. Quickly he moved to the hatch leading to the interior of the boat, and soon he returned, bearing a silver tray on which rested a tall glass full of ice and a tiny crystal pitcher of orange juice. The glass was more than two-thirds full of pale liquid. Making a show of pouring the juice into the vodka and handing her the result, he toasted, "To pretty girls like you." Steph sipped the concoction, choking on the strength of the alcohol and yet noticing how smooth it tasted. She craned her head, taking in the area of the boat she could see from her perch on the deck and marveling at the luxury. Suddenly, she realized she didn't know her host's name. "I'm Stephanie." "Stephanie. What a wonderful name! Stephanie, I couldn't be more pleased that you stepped into my world, releasing me from my own morbid thoughts on this sunny day. Stephanie, I'm Bob Romer, and I'm so very happy to meet you." With this windy introduction, he once again took her hand in his and this time deliberately fondled it, even to the point of caressing the wedding band she wore. After too much of the contact, Steph pulled her fingers from his grip, and began a safer conversation. "How big is this boat?" "She's 48 feet, flybridge and pilothouse, two staterooms and salon, two heads, twin diesels. We could sail this puppy to Fiji, and one of these days we're going to. We're going to be needing a crew when I do, and honey, I'd love to have you aboard. You'd look great sunning yourself up on the deck, naked to the world, don't you think?" "Well, I'd have to think about the naked part," she responded. But she did like the thought of sailing away to warm climates. She tightened the sweater she wore a bit more snugly, possibly to keep herself warm in the December breeze, more probably to protect herself from his almost indecent stare, but all she accomplished was to further define the globes for his observation. Out of a nearby drawer, Bob withdrew a joint, lit it, and passed it to Steph. As if it was the most common thing in the world, to be smoking drugs in public, she took a hit. "So, what's a beautiful girl like you doing out here all by your lonesome?" "I just didn't have anything else to do, that's all." "Husband working today?" "Well, actually, he's in the navy, his ship is out at sea." "Oh, that's terrible! You're all by yourself. Or are you? Any boyfriends to keep you company?" "No, nothing like that." The question brought to mind the two men she'd entertained since the aircraft carrier deployed, and a blush flushed her cheeks. "Well, there's nothing to be worried about, is there? How long have you been married?" For the next twenty minutes, he coaxed her life story from her, seemed actually interested in it. As she came to tell him about how they loved going into the City on a weekend afternoon, he excused himself to freshen their drinks, and in the gyrations of getting out of the captain's chair, he placed his hand on her knee and stroked the inside of her thigh. Before she could order him to stop or otherwise protest, he'd removed the infringement, and disappeared down the steps. Upon his return, he handed her the drink, just as potent as the first, and in the process caressed her wrist. This failed to upset Steph as much as his earlier forays. Now, it became her turn to be the interrogator. "What do you do?" "I'm an insurance agent." "Business must be good," she remarked, glancing at the yacht. "Not bad, not bad at all." "Are you married?" "Oh, I keep a wife around someplace. We're at that point in our life where it doesn't seem that important." "What do you mean?" "You haven't been married long enough to realize what's going to happen, I guess. One day you wake up next to each other, and the old spark is just gone. You still love her and all, but you've got your things to do, and she's got hers. So, you just don't get hung up on it, that's all." From the puzzled look on her face, it was obvious Stephanie wasn't reading between the lines, so Bob filled in the blanks. "For example, yesterday she took off for a party up in Napa, and didn't bother coming home." "And you don't care?" "Why should I? It's not like I own her or anything. What she does doesn't hurt me, so what's the big deal? Actually, it makes it easier. She doesn't depend on me so much." "But what if you wanted to be with her last night?" "Oh, we talked about it before she left. She told me if I wanted to do anything, she'd stick around, but I just told her to go have fun." "And she doesn't mind . . ." ". . . if I have friends of my own? No, she doesn't care. She wouldn't mind at all that I'm having this drink with you." "Just having a drink shouldn't be any problem." "And it isn't. So, Stephanie, what do you like to do? Any hobbies?" For another half-hour or forty minutes they yammered, and Steph took stock of this man. He wasn't particularly attractive, and he seemed a good four or five inches shorter than she. And yet, there was something alluring about him. He chattered in a rapid clip, and when he became excited about a subject, his hands flew throughout the air. As he was making a point, he'd gaze directly into her eyes, and his hand might lightly contact her arm, knee or shoulder. Steph figured it was simply a product of his personality - he may have been Italian - and forgave the impingement. There came a point at which the conversation slumped, and the glasses were drained. "Another?" Bob asked. "I shouldn't." But she didn't say 'wouldn't'. "Well, at least let me show you around the boat. You'd like that?" Steph admitted she would, and allowed herself to be escorted into the interior. The first stop was the salon, a room perhaps eight feet by twelve in shades of greens and subdued yellows, with a wrap-around couch, an easy chair and even a television. At the far end of the room was a bar, which led into the small galley, where Bob filled the glasses again. "Make mine light," she insisted, but his idea of potency and hers, apparently, was quite different. Then it was the grand tour. Up a flight of stairs to what Bob called the pilothouse, the place where you steered the boat from, with seating for the Captain and four or five other people, depending on how close they got. Then down another flight of steps to the stateroom level. The one aft had a double bed and it's own head, the one forward built into the front of the boat, the bed was a good seven feet wide. "You've got to see this," Bob remarked, and he clambered on his knees to one of the forward portholes. Steph followed him, and kneeling beside him, saw a magnificent view of the estuary. As she marveled, she felt Bob's hand upon her waist, and she recognized the dryness in the mouth and pounding heart that is the first manifestation of sexual arousal. For a split second she considered resisting the advance, and then, just as quickly, caved to her craving. She felt no surprise when they kissed, and even less when she was on her back, he above her, his hands upon her covered breasts, between her legs. Quickly, her cotton panties were drawn over her knees and she was able to unbuckle his belt, unbutton the waist, pull the slider of his zipper. He briskly forced the pants over his hips, and rapidly placed his tool at the entrance, and without further undressing, she spread her legs and his penis was buried within her dank slit. Steph raised her waist, positioned herself for maximum penetration, and Bob battered into her. More quickly than ever before, Steph felt the surge of orgasm bolt through her. Through the roar of blood through her ears, she heard him, dimly and far-away, demand, "You want me to fuck you hard, don't you? You really want me to fuck you, don't you." And even more surprisingly, she heard herself echo, "Yeah, fuck me. Harder! Harder! Fuck me!" Incredibly, she found that even though he was in and out, in and out of her, he wasn't spilling his seed into her. In fact, he seemed to be controlling his hips, varying the speed of his thrusts, so that as she felt the lightning advance through her body, he seemed to be playing with her. Somehow they fumbled with buttons and clasps, and without ceasing the merrymaking, first a shirt came off, then a sock, next a bra, until they were both quite unclothed. Bob gruffly turned her over, forced her unto her knees, and from behind, repenetrated the still ready aperture. Again, as Bob reached around, grabbed a breast and roughly tormented a nipple, Steph came again, even harder. Another shift, she was on top of him, his hands at her waist, pulling her then pushing her, and she desired, more than anything, to feel him disgorge. But, in some strange fashion, he was able to deny himself the surge of completion. Still the two used the word, over and over again, repeating themselves, "I'm going to fuck you," and "Yes, fuck me." Once more they shifted, again he was on top of her, one of her long legs over him and behind his ass, pulling him further into her, and he abruptly rose above her, implanted himself once more as far as he could, and moaned, "Oh, god, yes, yes, I'm coming," to which she crooned, "yes, baby, all the way, yes," and she felt her recess flooded with his solution. For long moments the world was still, no movement was felt except for the gentle rocking of the boat on the tide, and then he slid from her, landing hard on the bed beside her. Elated sweat dripped from their pores, in the heat of the cabin their entire bodies seemed as drenched as the much used repository between her legs. When the panting diminished, and he was able to take a deep breath, Bob exclaimed, "Babe, you are one great fuck!" Steph smiled, for she knew with this man she had indeed been that. And even though her yearning for a cock within her was completely quenched, and she didn't think that she could possibly come even one more time, some impulse within her didn't want the romp to end. With kisses on her new lover's ear, neck, chest, nipples, navel, she descended until her face was next to his soft, flabby dick, and she took it into her mouth. She'd given blow jobs before, and she knew the general flavor of sperm, and certainly the pungency of his recent eruption was present, but there was some other seasoning, sharp but not unpleasant. She realized, soon enough, that for the first time she was tasting her own juices on his skin. This was something new, something exciting, and she slurped, sucked and licked until she was rewarded with the return of a perceptible rigidness in the organ. With his hands, Bob stroked the skin of her back and belly, the tenderness of a boob and nipple, and the silky passage of love. The longer she sucked the harder it got, until the wand once again was of a consistency that would allow incursion. During the interlude, Bob scooted to the bedside compartment and got a bag of white power. "Want some?" "No, thanks." "Okay." He poured a line onto a table, got a straw, and sucked the cocaine into his nose. Steph watched as his body jerked - she'd never seen anyone do that before - and then he turned to her and said, "Okay, bitch, now you're really gonna see something." Suddenly, his face was between her legs, and she was pleasured by his tongue on her most sensitive area. She knew the gap was dripping - she could feel his sap on her upper thighs, between the cheeks of her ass - and she felt uncomfortable with his oral attention. But then he commenced gentle nibbling and licking of the button, and she quickly forgot her embarrassment, absorbed in her jubilation. This, of course, was followed by more fucking, this time in a more relaxed position, and in time both were treated to another, simultaneous, sweeping orgasm. This time it was clear that the festivities were winding up, and they dressed, a little shyly considering their previous state of joint passion. Steph was hoping he'd invite her to dinner, but when they got to the dock, he simply asked, "Where's your car? Need a lift anywhere?" "No, I'm fine, it's just a couple of blocks. I'll be fine." "Okay, well, it was a great afternoon, wasn't it? I'd like to get together again with you, soon." "I don't know," Steph hedged. The guilt she always felt after a fling was surfacing, and, truth be told, although this guy was great in bed, she didn't know that she wanted this to be an ongoing thing. It wasn't like he was loving and sensitive, like Rusty. In fact, he was rather crude. "Oh, come on. Tell you what, give me your number, I'll call you, and then we'll figure it out. You're really something, you know." He wheedled, Steph resisted, but in the end she gave him the digits. 'After all,' she thought, 'I can always say no, can't I?' ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Steph really didn't want to get out of bed the next morning, she was sore from screwing the day before, and the vision of Glenn through the cracked glass of the frame seemed to be disapproving. When she got into the office ten minutes late, Mr. Donegal gave her his usual disapproving look. 'He's really starting to be a jerk,' Steph thought. The day went slowly by, and in the mailbox that evening were four letters from Glenn. When he'd written them a week to ten days before, the ship was out on the line in the Gulf of Tonkin, and the notes were almost boring, they could have been written in any sequence. But his words of love touched her, and she wrote him a five page letter, telling him everything that was going on. She told of the problems at work, and of course left out the story of the yacht. He didn't need to know that. The Sailor's Wife Ch. 05: Extirpation Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday went by, and Steph almost forgot her misdeed until the phone rang. "Hi, it's Bob. What are you up to tonight?" She meant to play it cool. "Nothing, just making some food." "Well, forget it. Put it back in the fridge. There's a great Chinese restaurant in Fruitvale, and I'm in the mood. Why don't you eat with me?" "No, I don't think so. I'm pretty busy." "Oh, you can put off whatever it is till tomorrow, can't you? This place makes the very best seared beef you've ever had. Come on." She wavered, gave him a couple more excuses, but he insisted and finally she gave in. "Great, I'll pick you up in half an hour. Put something sexy on." Since she was only going out for dinner with him and had no intention of anything more, she took a quick shower, didn't shave under her arms, then put slacks and a blouse on. She was just blow drying her hair when the knock came. "Hi, babe," and he kissed her before she closed the door behind him. "Wow, great apartment. Nice view." "The Mormon Temple up there lights up the place at night." "Let me see!" he suggested, and she turned off the side light, kneeled next to him on the sofa, looking backwards at the Tabernacle. Again, she wasn't really surprised when his arm went around her waist, dragged her to him, pulled her face towards him and then, when they were kissing, the breast was clasped. Soon she was sitting, Bob standing over her. He unzipped and demanded, "Give me a blow job, babe." She didn't want to, but nevertheless she bent and took the rod inside her mouth. He grabbed the back of her head with both hands, forced it forward, and then he was screwing her throat. She was shocked when within forty seconds she felt the pulp coursing from the hole and tried to get free, but he was too strong. The stream hit the back of her mouth, it filled her, she nearly choked, but he simply wouldn't let go of her head. Only when he decided he was done did he release her, and she quickly spat the moisture into a tissue. "Too much for you, huh?" he bragged. "Yeah, a lot of girls tell me I come like a mother. Thanks, sweetheart, I had a blow on my way over, and I just couldn't wait. You want I should take care of you now? With the coke, I'll be ready in just a few minutes, don't worry, I'll be a Superman." "No, I'm hungry, you promised me dinner." "Okay." She followed him out of the apartment, and into his Triumph TR6. As he drove the few blocks through the streets, she enjoyed the hum of the low sports car. 'This could be fun,' she thought. The Chinese restaurant wasn't much, she'd had better spring rolls and the General Tsao's chicken didn't have quite the right kick to the spices. During the meal Bob talked incessantly about the celebrities he'd been backstage with, the times he'd won on the craps table in Las Vegas, and the only question he asked her was, "How many times you been in Vegas, babe?" "Never." "Oh, well, we've got to fix that. You'd look damn fantastic in a short little dress hanging on my arm now, wouldn't you? Maybe we'll fly down there for New Year's, what do you say?" After dinner, she asked, "You think we could put the top down and take a ride?" "Why not," he replied, and soon he was driving up into the hills on Lincoln, the wind whipping through her hair, not a care in the world. "Get into the glovebox, there, you'll find a joint." She got it out, he lit it at a stoplight, not worrying that almost anyone could see him, and when they shared it she found the euphoria that drugs usually brought. He merged onto Skyline Boulevard and took the curves, perhaps a little too fast, but she didn't care, then headed into Chabot Park. Here, protected from the fog by the ridge, the stars were out and Steph saw a half moon high in the sky. They whipped eight miles through the forested park at high speed until they almost reached Castro Valley, then he made a sharp U-turn and drove even faster the way they'd came. Steph was afraid, a couple of times he skidded and seemed almost to crash into a tree, her heart was pounding with the fright. Suddenly he veered into a small, graveled fire road she hadn't even seen and brought the beast to a stop out of sight of the road. "Now that was a drive!" He turned the car off, all was suddenly dark, the driver's door opened, he took a few steps, then she heard the sound of water hitting the dirt - he was pissing. She didn't know what to do, but wanted to stretch her legs, so she got out of the car as well. Bob came back, she could tell he was reclining against the hood. "Come over here, babe." When she was beside him, she felt the heat of the engine through the steel of the hood, and when he grabbed at her she made no effort to elude him. They were kissing, his hands were all over her, her breasts, between her legs and she reciprocated. When he tried to lower her slacks she murmured, "Not here," but he ignored the objection, her belly was soon exposed and a finger inserted itself into a hole that had become extremely moist during the solitary race. She was coming, she was astounded and just before she burst he stopped, forced her pants all the way down, turned her around. He bent her over the hot car, spread her legs and she felt the dick enter her from behind. The position was odd, too low for him to be effective, but he held her legs around his waist and somehow got leverage. The friction was what she needed, and in only a few strokes she was again muttering, "Yeah, that's it, that's it, oh, right there . . ." and then she screamed. He didn't stop, he kept pounding, and pounding, and then she turned over until her back was against the warm metal, and he was leaning over her, and she was still coming, and then, with a whoop of glee, he was too, spilling into her, shuddering with the explosion. When he'd regained his breath, he shouted, "God damn, you've got the hottest box in the East Bay." She didn't want to stop, she wanted him to keep on screwing her, but he withdrew, tossed her pants to her, pulled up his trousers. They were silent on the drive back, not as fast as before, and when he pulled up to the apartment she asked, "You want to come up for some more?" "Love to, babe, but I've got a poker game. Don't worry about it, though, I'll call you. We've got lots of stuff yet to do, you just wait!" And the sports car made a low rumble as it headed off. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The weekend went slowly past, Stephanie caught up with Joann and they went to a movie and then to a bar. A couple of long haired young men in tie dyed shirts bought them drinks, but when the one asked Steph if she'd like to get some air, Joann steered her away from the scene, protecting her. Sunday morning Steph was sipping coffee on the patio, reading the newspaper, when she sensed a small cramp, felt the stickiness that indicated the blood was escaping from her vagina. She ran to the bathroom, saw just a trace of red on her panties, inserted a Tampax. When she looked into the medicine cabinet, she saw the wheel of birth control pills still contained six small tablets. "Oh, well," she said out loud to no one, "another month gone, no harm done." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To Steph's anxiety, Bob didn't call her all that week. Was he tired of her? Wasn't she good enough for him? Was it just a one-time thing? And then the call came Saturday morning. "Hey, babe, I know tomorrow's Christmas Eve and all of that, but I was wondering if you'd like to come over to the Yacht Club this afternoon, maybe around one, we could take a little sail around the bay." "Sounds great," she agreed. When she got to the boat, she was astounded to see another couple on board, a short man, a little bald on top, that Bob introduced as Teddy and his date, a very large chested blond with too much makeup and jewelry by the name of Cherry. Bob greeted Steph with a kiss on the mouth and a puff of a joint. It wasn't long until they were motoring into the channel, out past the commercial docks on the right and the Naval Station on the left. Two carriers were in, Steph didn't know which ones they were, but she said a silent prayer for her own sailor and promised to write a long letter to him after she got home that night. But he fled from her memory when they breasted into the bay and the boat sped up. It took them an hour and a half to slide under the Bay Bridge, between Angel Island and Marin County, across the Golden Gate and then around the curve of San Francisco before returning to the East Bay. Steph loved the experience, the wind in her hair, the sun bright in her eyes. A drink was continually in her hand and more joints were shared. Cherry turned out to be a little scatterbrained, but she was happy, and when the boys asked the two girls to stand at the back of the boat, hugging each other so they could get a picture of them against The City, Steph thought nothing of it. Bob often grabbed Steph, even going so far as to cup a boob, and Steph playfully swatted his hand off. When Teddy cupped a handful of her ass, she gave him a dirty look, but didn't say anything. When the cruise was finished and they were moored at the dock, Bob offered, "You guys want some blow?" Teddy said, "Sure," and Cherry nodded her head. They headed into the galley, and on the counter Bob laid a mirror, measured the white powder and knifed it into eight straight lines. He was the first to take one of them, then Cherry wolfed her two and Teddy sniffed his. Steph hung back, and Bob encouraged, "Go ahead, it's great." Although she was a little reluctant, Steph wanted to be part of the crowd, and so she stuck the straw into her nose and inexpertly sniffed the dust, taking three sniffs before the line was gone. And her life changed! The first reaction she thought of was a numbness in her nose and lips, but then she felt an energy build within her, a rush of pleasure. When it subsided just a bit she inhaled the second line, and the jolt was even more pleasurable. Bob took his other line, and Steph stood aside, looking out the window. The world wasn't different, and yet it was. She felt that she could do anything, whatever she wanted. All concern was gone, and she wasn't surprised when Bob stood beside her and kissed her neck. "You just wait, baby, this is going to be great." A couch curved along one side of the cabin, Teddy and Cherry were already on one side of it, pawing at each other. Steph didn't mind at all when Bob pulled her top off and gnawed at her taut nipples; when Teddy glanced at her she just leered back as if to say, "Yes, Bob's going to get a great piece of This!" The four stripped in the lounge, and Steph found that the cocaine gave her power to feel stimuli more powerfully than ever before; if Bob bit a nipple, she sensed it in her toes. And when she took Bob's rod into her mouth, it was if she sensed every drop of blood that made it hard, every drip of moisture that escaped. And while Bob was kneeling before her, not only did every brush of his tongue on the clit or inside the hole drive her into euphoria, she also seemed to look through Teddy's eyes as he watched her naked body contort; in fact, at one point she brazenly pointed her most sacred section towards him, daring him to visualize that moist flesh. It came to pass that Bob had her face down on a table while he took her from behind, and she was watching Teddy on top of Cherry. He heard him come, a low howl that permeated the room, but the girl below him seemed to stare at the ceiling, glassy eyed, no apparent desire to do anything more than let the man do what he wished. It made Stephanie want to wriggle even more, driving out Bob's pleasure, and when he made her come, she made sure she was crooning to her man how much she wanted him, that she was moving her bottom in frenzied agitation. In fact the orgasm was so acute that she lost track of her senses. When she came to, she found Cherry lying beside her in a stateroom bed, kissing her forehead, the other woman's hands roaming every inch of the naked body. For a minute or two Steph contemplated the situation, Cherry's caresses were certainly soft and pleasing. But Bob and Teddy were watching the two of them, sitting naked in opposite corners of the tiny room. Steph realized whatever was happening was odd, perhaps even immoral. "Stop," she requested. Cherry leaned towards her ear, whispered, "The guys want us to do this, don't worry about it, just pretend." "I don't care what they want," Steph bellowed aggressively, "get off me." Cherry moved away, and after a moment she and Teddy left the stateroom, pulling the door shut behind them. Bob laid beside her. "Not your thing, huh?" "No, I don't think so." "Don't sweat it, like everything else it takes getting used to." Steph realized he was still hard, perhaps he hadn't come earlier? When he tweaked a nipple, she realized she was still ultra-sensitive, a continuing effect of the drug, and she was more than willing to continue the racy games. Sometime later she heard a rap on the door and Teddy's voice, "Hey, dude, we're out of here, next time, all right?" Between thrusts Bob replied, "Yeah! Merry Christmas!" and the screwing continued. An hour and a half later, after a sponge bath and another drink, Bob kissed Steph goodbye, and told her he had to head for SoCal and his wife's relatives for a few days, but they'd get together when he got back, okay? Somehow, Steph made it through the Holiday. Joann went to Mass with her on Christmas Eve, and they shared a bottle of wine afterwards. The big day she had dinner at the home of one of the wives, a gathering of six of them, little gifts exchanged, prayers for their boys in the Gulf of Tonkin, the turkey dinner, some smiles, more wistfulness. The twenty-sixth, Steph showed up for work early, seemed even excited about the job, Mr. Donegal complimented her. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thursday, when she got home from work, she got a call from Bob. "Hey, babe, listen, you want to do something?" "I sure do. I want to screw you so bad it's unbelievable. Get your ass over here!" "Forty-five minutes. Don't start without me." She took the time to take a shower, make her face up, and put on fancy panties, a sheer robe and high heels. She'd decided that Bob was now her lover, and she wanted him to desire her. And when he got there, twenty minutes late, he didn't disappoint her. "Babe, you're gorgeous. God, do I want some of That!" To her joy, he got out his mirror and laid out four lines, again Steph felt the explosion of the drug, the sensation of invincibility. And then she stripped her new man of his clothing, and the old patterns of foreplay and intercourse were enjoyed as if they were newly discovered. A long time later, during an interlude and another small snort, he said, "Hey, Teddy thought you were fantastic. He loves your body." She was suddenly embarrassed, thinking of how Teddy had looked at every inch of her. "Don't be like that, didn't you like it when he saw what a great piece of ass you are?" "I guess so," she admitted, and then the stimulant kicked in. "Hell, yes, I was a lot better than Cherry, wasn't I?" Bob roared in laughter. "Yeah, I don't know what he sees in her. He even gave her a hundred bucks for the afternoon." "She's a prostitute?" "Hell, yes, couldn't you tell?" "I guess not. I don't think I ever met one before. How much does she make?" "For an hour's trick at night, fifty bucks. All night, $250." "Wow, that's a lot of money!" They went back to doing what they were there for, Steph climaxed hard a couple more times, then, even with the coke, they needed to take a break. "You think I'd make a good one?" Steph asked. "A good what?" "A good prostitute." Bob laughed again. "You're not thinking of charging me, are you?" "No, of course not. I was just thinking." "Well, don't. It's a tough life. Cherry probably makes a grand a week, but she's got to split it with her pimp, and a girl like you, hell, you'd get beat up the first week you were on the street." "Yeah, but . . ." "Come here," Bob insisted, "Show me what you'd do with a john." And they went back to pleasure. It was then that Bob rolled her onto her stomach, placed his hand between her legs, played with her raunchy cunt, and then, for the very first time, she felt her anus being touched. The pressure alarmed her, but at the same time piqued her, she allowed it. And then the finger was pressing past her sphincter, and surprisingly, her body responded, she was in full orgasm, Bob pressed his digit further within her and asked, "You like to be fucked up the ass, don't you?" "I've never done it." "Oh, you're going to love it." Her mind said no, her body seemed to have a desire of it's own. "Not tonight, please, not tonight." "Okay," he agreed, "but next time . . ." They passed on to other, less odious forms of passion. When Bob was dressing, getting ready to leave, Steph broached the subject she'd been wondering about. "Hey, you said that we were going to Las Vegas for New Years, and I was wondering . . ." "I did?" he replied. "Well, I must have been joking around, I guess. No, my wife and I are heading into San Francisco. Sorry about that." She tried to be upbeat about it, but Bob sensed her disappointment. "Listen," he said, "here's fifty bucks. Why don't you go someplace nice. Maybe, if I can get away, we'll go down there in the spring." That night, before she went to sleep, she tried to write Glenn a letter, but it kept coming out wrong. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Two days later, Steph found herself on the boat, the coke had been ingested, she was feeling good, and when Bob pushed her into the bedroom she laughed in delight. In moments they were naked, she had his dick in his mouth, and Bob's hand reached for first her cunt, then, as the salmon swims upstream, his finger touched her anus. "So this is a virgin asshole, huh?" She'd had time to think about the coming event, and since she was as high as the tip of a tree, when he rolled her over, pulled her to her knees, she simply caved. When the penis was pressed against her, she steadied herself, and when the hatch was split, somewhat uncomfortably, she steadied herself and let Bob fuck her ass, finding it surprisingly effective, and with a little help from a finger on her clit, she let go seconds before Bob flooded her rectum. Again, as they were dressing Bob insisted on presenting her with twenty bucks, just because she was so sweet. Steph thought he was a dear to be so kind. And in the future, if he desired the change of pace, Steph was pliable in her presentation of her rear end, although she quickly understood that a touch of lubricant made the adventure more pleasurable. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ With the extra money, Steph took Joann for a nice meal at a downtown hotel to welcome in the New Year. At midnight they kissed each other on the cheek, and Steph slept at Joann's that night, talking about their loves and their men until well in the morning. Joann told Steph to be careful about Bob, he just didn't seem right, but she didn't push it. After all, with her boyfriend, she wasn't one to talk, was she? In the days after the New Year, Bob visited Steph's apartment a few times, she went to the boat a couple of times for a ride around the bay, drugs, and great sex. One Sunday in mid-January he had a suggestion, "Hey, Teddy and I are planning on going up north for some duck hunting the weekend after next. Thought maybe you'd want to go up, we've got a nice hotel. You could lounge around during the day, then at night we'd have some dinner. It'd be a nice time." Stephanie agreed almost immediately. When he left, Bob gave her twenty bucks. "What's this for?" "Oh, I just thought you'd like a little extra cash, I know how tough it is, being a military wife." "Well, gee, thanks." The Sailor's Wife Ch. 05: Extirpation ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The next day Steph started her period, and, as usual, there were a couple of pills left in the casing. She mentally kicked herself, told herself she had to be more careful. But, other than the fact that Glenn's return was still six months away, there were no real problems, were there? That Friday night came around, Bob was behind the wheel of a station wagon. Teddy was in the front seat, Steph threw her bag into the back, on top of the shotgun cases. She was a little surprised that Cherry or some other woman wasn't with them, but forgot about it when Bob urged her to sit on the bench seat up in front, between him and Teddy. As they left the Bay Area, a doobie being passed around, it felt nice to bump up first against Bob, then against Teddy. It was sort of a feeling of belonging. They stopped for dinner on the outskirts of Sacramento, cocktails and steaks and a couple of bottles of good red wine. Then another couple hours drive, and another joint, and Steph must have dozed, and if Bob's hand rested on one thigh and Teddy's on another, did it really matter? They pulled into a parking lot of a rustic Best Western, and Bob and Teddy went into register. A few minutes later Bob came back alone, a worried look on his face. "Hey, a little bit of a problem," Bob confessed. "There's some sort of a screw up with the reservation, they had us down for only one room. And the clerk says there's not another room closer than Redding." "What are we going to do?" Steph asked. "Well, we got a room with two double beds. We can sleep in one, Teddy in the other. That wouldn't be a problem, would it?" "Well, I guess not. But that means there won't be much sex, doesn't it?" "Don't worry," Bob soothed, "we'll send Teddy out for pizza or something." The room was almost luxurious in a primitive sort of way, and they moved in. "God, that was a long drive," Teddy remarked, "I need something to relax me. How about some coke?" Steph wholeheartedly agreed, she hadn't had any in over a week. The snorts were taken and they relaxed, she and Bob on one bed, Teddy on the other. Bob leaned over, started kissing Steph, feeling her up. She was a little out of it, the drugs and booze had relaxed her, she didn't see any real problem. Fifteen minutes later she slowly discovered that she had only panties on and Bob's dick was in her mouth. She looked to her left, and saw that Teddy was watching them. And then her panties were off, and Bob was on top of her, and they were screwing, and Teddy was observing every move. Steph wasn't sure how she felt about it, but she figured she wasn't upset. It wasn't really wrong for Teddy to be watching, was it, he'd seen it before? It wasn't like he was going to be next or anything. So she put the turn of events out of her mind, and concentrated on doing what she thought she did best. A few moments later, she felt the orgasm overtake her, and just a little later she knew Bob was filling her up with his seed. They kept going for a little while as they always did; when Bob was popped up on coke, he didn't have any problem maintaining his erection. A while later, she was lying on her side, Bob behind her, his erection filling the gap in her behind, and Teddy was still looking at her from the other bed. He was unclothed, his erection filling his hand, and she could sense the lust in his eyes. "Why don't you go over and help Teddy out?" Bob quietly suggested into her ear. "What do you mean?" Steph drowsily responded. "You know. Like, you can see he wants you. Go on over there and give him what he needs." She got the idea, and while she didn't feel anger or revulsion at the idea, she still felt there was something about it that wasn't quite kosher. "That wouldn't be right," she said. "Why not? It's not like you're a virgin or anything. It's only sex." It was, she realized. Here she was naked with two men, and one had just screwed her silly, and she was married to a man on the other side of the world, and he didn't mind, did he, and . . . While she was attempting to make sense of the situation, Bob gave him a signal, and Teddy came over, knelt beside the bed and kissed her. When she made no protest, he felt her breast, and she suddenly felt a rush of desire. So when Teddy crawled up onto the bed, and Bob moved over to give them room, she still said nothing in complaint, and when Teddy was on top of her, and she spread her legs and he penetrated her, she did nothing, other than move her hips in the ancient rite. And when they shifted, and she got on top of the second man, and her face was close to contorting from the pleasure Teddy was giving her, she looked at Bob, who was watching her, she smiled at him as if to say, "Look what a big girl I am!" And she welcomed the second stream of sperm that spurted into her. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It was early, hours before dawn, and she realized the men were moving, putting on waterproof trousers and boots and heavy jackets. "Gotta get us some ducks," Bob called, "go back to sleep, we should be back sometime in the afternoon." And she turned over and slept. Sometime, it must have been noon, she woke again, and in the mirror looked at her naked body. She might have been ashamed of what she'd done in the darkness, but instead she smiled, grasping that she had the power to make not just one man, but two, very happy. She lazed, not really thinking, smoked half a joint, then roused, put herself together as well as she could. Teeth brushed, hair combed, a little lipstick. Damn! She'd forgotten to pack the birth control pills. Oh, well, not a big problem, she'd catch up when she got back home. Then it was on to the restaurant. Bob had told her that she could order anything she wanted, just put the room number on the chit, and she decided a big salad and a glass of wine was in order. She had a Redbook magazine to read, she dawdled. She went back to the room, finished up the joint, put a bikini on, and headed for the pool. There were a gaggle of kids splashing and fooling around, and the water was too cold anyway, but the hot tub was just right, and for almost forty minutes she plunged herself in the warm bubbling water, just being. Of course her thoughts wandered to what she'd let be done to her. Was it wrong? Was she being immoral? Maybe not, she thought. Before he left, Glenn had encouraged her to go out and have affairs, hadn't he? So she was just doing what he wanted her to, right? And did it matter if she did it with one man, or two? Of course not, there was no real difference. Was there? Then a jet of water brushed her breast, stimulating the nipple, and she remembered how Teddy had first kissed her there, different from Bob somehow, a little softer. And then she thought about how Teddy had felt inside of her, how a different part of her tunnel had been massaged, how novel he had felt in her arms. It wasn't that Bob wasn't good in bed, no, he was fantastic, but Teddy was pretty good as well. She had enjoyed herself. What should she do that night? Would Bob want her to make love to Teddy again? She hoped so, she'd like to make love with him. And, of course, Bob too. Yes, she wanted both of them again. And then, well, she came up with a fantasy. She got out of the tub, noticing as a married man tending his children watched her. Maybe he'd like to join her in the room, screw her before the other guys got back? No, that probably wouldn't work, but it was fun to think about, wasn't it? She didn't know how much time she had left before the guys got back, but she was determined to make the most of it. She slowly showered, and douched while she was at it, then carefully shaved her legs and underarms, trimmed the bush. She poked around in her suitcase, came up with a sweater she was sure was much too tight, a tiny red skirt and red panties that, she hoped, would blend in if she happened to spread her legs a bit too much in public. Then she spent a good forty minutes on her nails, painting them in a vibrant red, and her face, her brows and lashes sharply lined, her cheeks pink and her lips red. Who wouldn't want this body, she thought. As she was just finalizing her looks, putting on the high heels that made her even taller, squishing her sweater around, wondering if the nipples, unencumbered by a bra, were too evident, the door opened and in walked the muddy men. "You stink!" she exclaimed. "You'd stink, too, if you hiked around a marsh and didn't get a good shot at anything. Hey, you look good!" She vamped for them. "Do I look as good as you look bad?" They both laughed. "Well, I'm not sticking around here, at least not until you two clean up. I left plenty of hot water for you. Meet me at the bar." She ordered a Pina Colada, and found that it was paid for by a man at the far end. She tipped her glass to him, he came over to join her. Of course he wanted to pick her up and he didn't seem all that concerned when she mentioned her boyfriend, although he did look a little funnily at her wedding ring. He kept trying until Bob finally joined her, giving her a firm kiss on the lips, then the flirter wished them both a good evening. "You clean up nice," Steph remarked. "Thanks. You clean up even nicer!" and he gave her the twice-over while he ordered scotch on the rocks. They sat at a table. "If I know Teddy, he'll be a while yet, he was just getting in the shower when I left." He took a long swig, almost the whole glass, waved to the waitress for a refill. "You okay?" "What do you mean?" She decided to make him squirm a little. "About last night." "Last night? Last night . . . last night. . . Oh, that! Sure, I'm okay. Shouldn't I be?" "Sure you should be. It's just that, well, I didn't think you'd ever done anything like that before." "Like what?" More squirming was in order. "You know. Both of us." "Oh, that. Yeah, I know. But there's no problem, is there?" "No, none at all." "Good, I'm glad to hear it. You're right, that's the first time I ever did anything like that." "I thought so." She looked him straight in the eye. "I've decided I liked it." "Yeah?" "Yeah. And I want to do it again. Tonight. Is that okay with you?" A broad smile covered Bob's face. "Yeah, just fine." When Teddy joined them, he offered Steph a kiss on the cheek, but she turned it into a firm kiss on the lips, and made sure she pressed her bosom firmly into his arm. They had one more drink - Steph on her third was starting to get a little tipsy, but she didn't care - then headed for an Italian restaurant that was supposed to be pretty good. After coffee and a desert no one really wanted, she climbed into the middle of the station wagon seat, making sure Teddy got a good look at her ass and long, long legs. In the room, Steph found a fairly good radio station on the motel room clock, then started dancing. First Bob joined her, and she squirmed and bumped against him, then she got Teddy to join them. First she pulled Bob's shirt off, then turned around and got Teddy's off, then she pulled off her own sweater. The dancing continued, she had a nipple sucked by first Teddy, then Bob, then both of them. Pants came off, the skirt was removed (not that it was doing much to cover her by that point,) and soon she found herself naked on a bed with two enthusiastic men at the same time. She couldn't have told you which one of them entered her first. And when Teddy was below her and Bob was behind her she was amused at how her body accepted them simultaneously. The boys didn't go hunting the next day, and when she woke Steph happened to find herself in the bed that was also occupied by Teddy. She found that he had a morning hard on, so she climbed on top and helped him with the problem, then she went to the other bed and assisted Bob in much the same way. On the ride home, she thought what she'd done that weekend and smiled to herself, not the least bit shy or chagrined about her newest breakthrough. Two men! Yes! ~~~~~~~~~~~ In the next few weeks, Steph let Teddy and Bob share her as they wished. Either might come over to the house on an evening, or she might head for the boat on a Saturday or Sunday. Sometimes she'd be with one, sometimes they'd share her. Each time they brought the wonderful white powder over, or perhaps a bag of mary jane, and Teddy in particular was nice to her, giving her a twenty- or fifty-dollar bill to help her through the small financial crises she told him about. Steph returned to her daytime habit of getting into work a little late, Mr. Donegal warned her time and again that she was on the cusp of something bad happening, but she just smiled at him, figuring that he didn't have the guts to discipline her. In early February, Bob gave her a call. "Hey, listen, a friend of mine from college came into town for a convention, he doesn't know anyone, and I've got to make some sales calls. I was wondering if you'd like to go over there and let him take you to dinner." Steph didn't see any problem with it, met him at the Top Of The Mark for a cocktail, and found that he was an athletic, very good looking negro. She didn't have anything against africans, of course, but still, she thought Bob could have let her know. Ah, well, might as well make a night of it. The man took her to dinner at Ghirardelli Square, and she found out that he was very nice. He flattered her, got to know her well, and then, back in the hotel, when he suggested she come up to his room for a drink she accepted. It was she that lit the funny cigarette, and to no one's surprise fifteen minutes later she was on her back, and the fat black cock was splitting her thighs. She spent the rest of the night with him, he must have come three or four times, and when she left he insisted on giving her eighty dollars for cab fare, even though her car was parked in a nearby lot. Traveling across the Bay Bridge toward Oakland she had to make a decision. Did she turn up at work in her party clothes, only fifteen minutes late, or did she head home, change, and wind up an hour late? She chose to be more or less on time, and Mr. Donegal just shook his head and suggested that a little more modesty should be called for. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As she got back home that night, dog tired, she found in the mailbox next to the advertisements and a package from her mother three letters from Glenn. She made herself a salad, poured a glass of wine, lit a ganja and opened the letters. The first two were traditional, tales of what he'd shot on the Subic Bay golf course when the ship had hit port, the numbing boredom of shipboard life, but the third had a paragraph that was strange. . Are you okay? I haven't got a letter from . you in over a week. Maybe it's just the mail, . but the other guys are getting letters okay. . Are you busy? Please, try to write a little . more often, I really miss you and I need to . know you love me. She made sure that she wrote him a long, long letter that night. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ That weekend she visited Bob's boat for a ride, and found that Teddy had brought Cherry with him again. This time Steph didn't mind when Cherry kissed her, went down on her, and even brought her off before the two guys got involved, everyone screwing everyone. Steph enjoyed the sex, but she didn't come quite as hard as she usually did when she was up on coke. After Teddy and Cherry left, Steph and Bob sat on the deck, sipped champagne - Stephanie thought it went well with cocaine - and Bob said, "There's going to be a great party in Tiburon Thursday night. You should come." "Sure. What kind of party?" "You know, a party kind of party. Lots of great people are going to be there. You've got to look good at that kind of a party." He reached into his pocket, gave her two hundred dollar bills. "Go out and buy a new outfit. Something real sexy." "Okay. Sexy, huh?" "Yeah. Something that would make me want to tear your clothes off." "Got it." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Steph went shopping Sunday afternoon, prowling the stores in the Hayward shopping centers, found nothing she really wanted. Oh, there were the usual assortment of miniskirts and tops, color blocks or paisleys, and she could doll it up with jewelry, but it just wasn't right. After work on Monday she decided to head over to San Francisco and hit the small boutiques on Union Street. There she found exactly what she wanted, a gold minidress, high neck that circled her throat, the hem came just inches down her legs, the bodice fit quite tight over her breasts, she'd never be able to wear a bra with this outfit, but that was okay, wasn't it? There was a matching pair of panties, the smallest she'd ever worn. Accessories included gold boots that headed to her knees, a gold beret that fit on her curls perfectly, a thin gold clutch and gold earrings that dangled down her cheeks. The material was sheeny in a subdued psychedelic pattern, and when the fabric caught the light it glittered blue. And it was thin, she realized that if the light was behind her, people could look right through the skirt and see the gap between her legs - if that wasn't sexy, what was? The price was excessive, eating up most of the money Bob had given her, easily the most expensive outfit she'd ever worn, but, hell, she deserved it, didn't she? Of course she did, and it made her look so damn good! She took it. Wednesday night she went to the beauty parlor and had her hair cut and permed, curlier than usual, and even spent a few more bucks to get a manicure and pedicure, gold nail polish, of course - now the money she'd spent getting ready for this party was more than Bob had given her. Back at home she put the whole outfit on and thought she looked great, and when she sat, if she didn't cross her legs the panties were completely exposed, and she saw that clumps of pubic hair crept out of hiding. So she did something she'd never done in her life, got a pair of scissors, cut some of the hair down, and with a razor trimmed the edges. 'I'll bet Playboy Bunnies do this,' she thought, and was proud to think she was in their company. When Bob came to pick her up, he called her 'Fab,' and she knew then she'd gotten it perfect. On the drive up I80, then over the San Rafael Bridge and south into the seaside town, Bob couldn't keep his eyes off her legs, nor his hand out of the gap between her legs - by the time they got to the party house, high on a hill in Marin County, Steph was already wet from the attention. When they walked into the house, there were maybe forty people in the gigantic living room, more guys than girls, and by the gazes she received, Steph knew she was outshining all the other women. The house was fantastic, the most enormous she'd ever been in, and the owner, an old pudgy guy by the name of Georgie, took her on a tour. At least six bedrooms and four bathrooms, the master bedroom having the largest bed she'd ever seen and couches in the corners. The house featured a wrap around porch on the east and south sides, with a hot tub that a dozen people could fit into; already there were two couples in the bubbling water, one of the girls had breasts that were at least twice as large as Steph's. She was sure because all of the occupants wore nothing. She admired the view from the Golden Gate Bridge all the way around to the East Bay. Georgie copped a feel first her ass, then around her back to the side of the breast. Steph didn't really mind, she'd worn this outfit so guys would want her, but Georgie wasn't her type, she quickly moved away from him, back into the house. She got a drink - Bob was chatting with some people over in a corner - and then she found a table loaded with various drugs. She sniffed one line of coke, but it just didn't do it for her, just a little rush, and a good looking guy near her said, "You ought to try this," and handed her a sugar cube.