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Pat The Barmaid Round 01

By: Ronnie Wachuka



To those who want to get to the hot parts go for it. To those who have more patience, bear with me because they will come.

Before I go on with this story I have to say a few words about the barmaids who worked in the bars on East Main St. 

First, they were no different then the barmaids who worked in whatever strip of bars that existed outside of any military base anywhere in the world in the 40's. 50's, & 60's.

Most of them were there to work, put a roof over their heads, cloths on their back, and food on their plate.

Some were working to support themselves and their families. Oddly enough because of the poor wages paid to women in those days, and perhaps their poor educational background, they usually made more money then they could have made as filing clerks or sales clerks.

A lot of the older ones were our mother-in-absentia. They listened, counseled, and consoled us. 

I've even seen them act as chaperones to younger ladies who only wanted to earn a living and to be let alone.

I've seen these ladies stop a fight before it started with a look only. A look that our mothers would have envied.

Yes there were those that were there for the excitement and wild life, and not a few of them took delight in pitting one sailor against another just to stir things up.

I even had a couple of the older dear ladies warn me about Pat, when we started going together, because she was truly a wild child, but like any 19 year old male, no old broad was going to tell me what to do, poor fool I.

I gave a copy of The Barmaid and this story to an old friend who is also retired Navy and who'd also spent a large portion of his career in Destroyers (Tin Cans to us) and had spent his fair share of time on Easy Main. He wanted to know why we were headed back into the yards since we had just gotten through with an overhaul and normally wouldn't be back in the yards for another 3 years at the earliest.

Several thoughts ran through my mind. The first is that you and he need a little information: 

Every Navy ship has a hull number. Until 9/11 they were painted in large white numbers on the bow except on carriers and subs. They are still there after 9/11 but they are not white, are smaller, and because of their color are difficult to see. On the back-end (Stern) is the name of the vessel.

Next; In official correspondence the hull number is preceded by a series of letters to identify the class of vessel. Carriers are CV_, Subs are SS_, and Destroyers were DD. Except that my tin can was an EDD because we were an experimental Destroyer in that we would go into the yards, get new equipment installed, and then we would get underway to test it to see if the Navy wanted it or not. 

My ship specialized in electronics, communications and fire control systems. 

Fire control systems are the radars, computers, and peripheral equipment used to hit a target with projectiles or missiles. That was my job. I was in the fire control gang.

Now my friend understood . . .

Now on with the story:

Jean (Read The Barmaid) had disappeared during the ships underway training in Guantanamo Bay (Gitmo), Cuba, so on our return to Norfolk I was essentially back to playing sailor on East Main St. in Norfolk, Virginia. To all sailors who've trod the sidewalks of that street it will always be Easy Main. 

Back in those bad old days of segregation the black version of Easy Main was Church St.

The sailoring went on until January when we headed North to the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard. . . .

We entered Philly Shipyard, had our new Fire Control equipment installed, replenished, re-armed, and headed back down to Gitmo and in particular Culebra Island where we proceeded to blow about 2,000 rounds of 5-inch projectiles out of the gun barrels to test out the new equipment.

While in the shipyard I'd re-enlisted from US Naval Reserve to Regular Navy for 6 years, took my re-enlistment money, and headed up to New York on leave. While there I met a fair young maid and before we left the yards I found myself engaged.

Upon our return to Norfolk there was a Naval truck on the pier stacked full of mail bags. In one of the bags was a "Dear John" letter and my ring back from my intended as I soon learned at mail call.

My shipmates were most supportive and sympathetic, snickering and generally having fun at my expense. My leading Petty Officer went so far as to remind me that at the time of my engagement he'd pointed out that I was thinking with my little head instead of my big one and that he'd tried to tell me it was lust, not love that I was experiencing. 

In a testosterone filled world sympathy lies somewhere between shit and syphilis in the dictionary, or as the saying was at the time, go see the chaplain and get your TS (Tough Shit) Card punched.

The other part of this was that in a time honored tradition I was now expected to go drown my sorrows, so those of us who had liberty drew our liberty cards and headed down to Easy Main and the Krazy Kat Bar. 

Every ship had its own bar and ours was the Krazy Kat, known to one and all as the Insane Pussy.

We got off the bus in downtown Norfolk, walked the several blocks to Easy Main, entered the bar where I was about to meet a 100% genuine Tasmanian Devil named Pat. 

There were enough of us that we filled three booths and our pokes were full because we'd not had any time or place to spend our money while in Gitmo and off Culebra so we fed the kitty and bought our beer by the pitchers, and there were a lot of them brought to the booths that night.

I remember I was sitting in the center booth so I was getting it literally from both sides. My shipmates were still on my case over my "Dear John" letter. It was coming to the point where under normal circumstances I'd be for kicking ass, but these were my shipmates so I just had to suck it up and be a good sport about it. 

The Queen Bee of the bar was new to me as she hadn't been there when we'd headed South. She was sitting in the booth in front of me drinking a "house drink" and talking quietly with one of my shipmates.

The next thing I knew she had me by the hand, pulled me out of my seat, and dragged me to the back booth. After sitting me down she asked if I'd buy her a drink to which I agreed. She soon came back with a pitcher of beer and her drink. I gave her some money which she had one of the other barmaids give to the bartender as she scooted me over to sit down and join me and introduced herself as Pat.

Pat was really short, about 5 ft or 5'1," short blonde hair, pleasingly plump, a sexy butt, huge heavy breasts which bounced and wobbled when she walked, and dammed good looking.

As we sat there she got a lot of questions answered about who I was, about the ship, and about my now ex-fiance. All of the time we sat there she didn't touch her drink, but looking around she'd take a hearty sip from my glass, which is strictly ver boten.

She in turn told me she was 27 and she'd left her husband and three kids in Pennsylvania when she got tired of his bullshit. Looking at her a little closer in the dim light of the back booth, I doubted the 27 years old part because she had some lines around her eyes which should put her in her mid-to-late thirties unless she was burning the candle at both ends every night.

Every once in awhile Pat would take a trip to the ladies room and I'd take advantage of it by making a bee line for the men's head.

After several hours she was in a yahoo mood and asked me point blank if I wanted to sleep with her that night. Is Bugs Bunny a rabbit? You betcha!

She told me to take off and she'd meet me at a restaurant around the corner right after closing time. The thought flashed through my mind, ya right. She sheepishly explained that she'd sorta promised a couple of other sailors the same treat and she would have to sneak out the back door or there'd be one a hell of a fight at the front door when she left, especially if she was being escorted by yet a different sailor.

Thinking, what the hell, why not, I took off for the restaurant, not really expecting Pat to show up.

I sat in a booth drinking beer for an hour or so when Pat walked in. She sat down and split my beer with me. She asked me if I had enough money for a motel room, to which I replied yes.

Norfolk had some very tight vice laws back then about shacking up. If you got caught there was a $37.00 fine for each of the two parties. In addition, for the lady if she was a repeat offender, she'd get 30 days on the "Pea Farm" where she helped grow and pick what she ate.

The boss of "The Vice Squad" which was responsible for enforcing the laws was a fellow by the name of Captain Robinette. The squad was extremely active and virulent in their enforcement. Breaking doors down like old time boot leg busters, roughing up anyone who got in their way and generally spreading fear and bruises upon all at the slightest provocation.

The only place you were absolutely safe was a motel just outside of town named Thalias. It was common knowledge the motel was owned by Robinette. That is where Pat and I headed in a taxicab.

By now I was pretty drunk so the next several hours are still a blank. 

I woke up the next morning to the delightful feeling of a soft warm body pushed up against me as I tried to clear the cobwebs.

Parts of last night were coming back to me, I wasn't AWOL as I had a 72 hour liberty, and I wasn't hung over. Thank You Lord! 

My eyes dropped to the sexy sweet body lying next to me and I decided I had probably been too drunk last night to take advantage of a golden opportunity and now seemed like a good time to repair that mistake as my peter was telling me it was lonely and it needed to be properly parked in a soft, warm, wet, garage.

Scooting up close to Pat I pushed my hard peter between her thighs. She spread her legs slightly so that my peter was safely encapsulated. I reached my right arm over her so that my hand and fingers could play with a breast and nipple or two.

Big surprise! Those breasts were huge and pendulous, my favorite kind. No wonder they wobbled and bounced. There wasn't an industrial strength bra in the world that would tame those two beauties. I murmured a Thank You Jesus as I began to play with the uppermost one.

The next sound was a THACK!! Pat was smacking my hand with hers.

She sweetly informed me in a voice that a Bosun's Mate would envy. "Gaaw Damn You leave Me Alone. I'm Tired. We'll Fuck After I've Gotten My Sleep!"

All I could muster was a mental, My God why has thou forsaken me?

Having nothing better to do and noticing she had not removed my hand from her breast, she'd only discouraged me from playing with it, I closed my eyes and went back to sleep, still copping a feel of that humungus lump of flesh.

Some time later I slowly woke to an almost familiar smell and a delightful warm feeling around my peter.

As I opened my eyes I saw in front of me a pussy waiting to be loved and as I looked down I could see Pat's breasts wrapped around my peter with only the head of it showing. She was busy rubbing my peter with her breasts and kissing the head.

The kitty was awake and it was playtime. Thank you Lord and let us be truly grateful for that which we are about to receive.

Because we were laying in a side by side 69 position and Pat was so short it didn't take much repositioning for me to get my mouth and tongue on that pussy and Pat was most cooperative by throwing a leg over my head.

She smelled and tasted a little differently then Jean had, as I remembered. Not bad just different. So I guessed that it was true that each woman has a slightly different taste and smell. Wonder if that holds true for men? I assure you I have no intention of trying to personally find out. Ladies help me out with this one.

I licked Pat's slit for a second or two before I put the palm of my hand on it and started to gently rub it. It wasn't too long before the outer lips started to spread and the scent of her pussy began to intensify. Now I could really get my tongue and lips into the action.

I spread her labia with my fingers and inserted my tongue so that I could slide it up and down the two lips. Her inner lips were now beginning to push out to the point that I was now able to push my tongue into her pussy and really get down and dirty.

It was having an effect on Pat because her pussy was wet and her breathing was getting heavy, although it was hard to tell as she now had my peter halfway down her throat.

My God that woman could draw a suction like a bilge pump and I knew that I was about to come right now. As I stiffened up Pat went for the kill and really started to suck and to run her fingernails across my testicles. That was it, Pat won and I came.

I looked down to a really weird sight. My peter was still buried in her mouth, cum was leaking out around it and she had a grin like a damn old cheshire cat on her lips. 

She looked up to me and told me that that was to make sure that I didn't cum too quickly when we fucked and once she got my peter hard she was going to bust my poor sailor ass. She had every intention of riding me hard, and putting me away wet. She finished it off by telling me to get back to munching her pussy.

I figured that pay-backs are a mother fucker and I had every intention of paying her back. Most young men are not into eating pussy all that much but Jean had taught me well and so I started into getting Pat's jollies off.

I used my tongue and fingers on every inch of her pussy. When she again started to breath heavy I started to blow soft breaths of air into her pussy and that raised her to the next level. Now that I had her attention I headed for her clitoris and really went to work.

I had two fingers as deep into her pussy as I could get them and just started running them in circles around the walls of her pussy as I began to suck, tongue and breath air on her clit. 

That was about the time I learned some things about Pat, one of them not very pleasant. As she approached her climax she started to scream just as Jean had done but not quite as loud. She, unlike Jean, was also a total smut mouth. She God Dammed me, mother fuckered me, and a whole lot of other phrases that would have made a Bosun's Mate blush.

Just before she came I found the unpleasant part. True to the nickname of the bar she worked in, she was an insane pussy while in the throes of her climax. Pat was a ripper. She dug those damn nails into my skin wherever she could reach and proceeded to put furrows on me that took two weeks to heal, much to the delight of my shipmates.

As she came she stiffened up. like a statue, only problem was that she had my head between her thighs and I thought she was going to crush it she was so stiff. Her pussy had also clamped onto my fingers but not nearly as tight as those damn thighs were against my ears.

As she came back down to earth and her breathing returned to normal I told her if she ever raked me like that again I was going to blister her ass and so help me she grinned and laughed. I never went to bed with her that she didn't scratch me somewhere. I swear to God she was marking her turf. 

I started in on her again and between the fingers, breaths of air, lips, and tongue I soon had her back to wailing and cursing, but at least not scratching too deep. When she came down from her next series of orgasms it was my turn to grin. Jean you taught me well.

I don't remember whether there was a restaurant next to Thalias or not but I do remember that after showering we dressed and went somewhere to eat.

Since Pat didn't have to be back to work for several hours we returned to the room. When I opened the door the smell of sex hung like a cloud, which was fine with me as I had every intention of parking my peter in Pat's pussy. The smell even got to Pat as I saw a sheepish grin on her face.

Shucking our cloths we headed for the bed and dived in.

Pat and I kissed and necked for a little bit until I figured it was time to get to work, as I proceeded to give her a "Round the World" with lips tongue and hands. I used everything Jean taught me but Pat had a surprise or two for me. 

She liked rough sex, When I began to play with those huge breasts it wouldn't do to squeeze, kiss, and suck. I had to squeeze, and twist them as hard as I could. When I sucked the nipples it wasn't enough, I had to pull the nipples and bite them with my teeth.

What really got her going was when I grabbed the nipples of those big pendulous beauties and pulled her breasts off her chest and I lifted them straight up in the air until I could feel her back coming off the bed. That got her going because she was now in the smut mouth mode.

Before she got all four boilers on the line and superheaters lit off (if you don't understand what I just said, don't worry about, it means we were getting ready to take a damn fast and hard ride). I'd left hickeys and teeth marks all over her body. 

As I was biting her thighs she figured she was ready. That little demon tossed me on the bed like a rag doll flat on my back, mounted me with a rush and a roar, jammed my peter as deep into her pussy as she could, and got underway with a full head of steam. 

I knew that I wasn't going to last too long if I didn't do something real quick, so I tried to distract my mind, ya right, you try that when a wet pussy is sliding up and down your peter like a piston in a Nascar race car engine during the Daytona 500.

I looked at the face above me and knew she wasn't far from losing it. Her eyes were shut her mouth distorted in a familiar grimace, and her breaths, screams, and curses were now in the supersonic range.

Suddenly Pat Jammed a big tit in my mouth screaming for me to bite the God damn nipple off and to spank her God damn ass.

I proceeded to do her bidding and for good measure I grabbed the breast that I wasn't sucking and pulled on the nipple until it was rubbing against the blanket underneath me. 

That did it!

She stiffened up as if someone had rammed a steel rod up her ass, gave one last scream and her body began to shudder. Her pussy muscles clamped down on my peter and I was done. I exploded into her every bit of cum I had, which set her off on a series of minor climaxes.

It had been a damn close thing. The way she pounded my peter I knew I was going to embarrass myself by coming too soon, but I'd staved off a disaster, somehow.

As Pat lay on my chest in a post coital stupor I thought about the experience I'd just been put through. She was right. She'd busted this sailor's ass and I had definitely been rode hard and put away wet. 

With Jean I'd experienced the whole range of sex from romance to the wild. With Pat there would only be FUCKING! That was the way she was and would I accept it? Hey, I was 19 years old and testosterone impaired. What would your decision have been? 

It was time for Pat to get to work so we called a cab to head back to the Insane Pussy. On the way Pat broached several subjects, the first was the expense of taking the cab out to Thalias and back all the time (All the time? Oh joy!). She thought she had a solution but she had to check it out first so she'd meet me at the restaurant after closing time and hopefully tomorrow would be the last time we'd be using Thalias.

The next was that she was a working girl and it would be distracting if I was there all day, not to mention that I'd be drunker then a shit-house rat and of no use so I was to lay low until about an hour before closing time, have a beer or two and leave for the restaurant.

In all of this she'd never asked me what I thought about us shacking up, she just assumed, correctly of course, but still and all . .

I played pool, most of the day and evening until I picked Pat up and we headed back to Thalias.


Pat The Barmaid Round 01



On the way she said she had the problem of avoiding Thalias solved but didn't elaborate.

Saturday evening was a replay of Friday in that Pat was tired and wanted to sleep after taking a shower. Because she'd cum three times Saturday and I'd got my rocks off twice, the edge was off and we both slept the sleep of the just. 

Sunday morning she woke me with a nice blow-job and a titty fuck again. 

After she and I mutually came we rested and played around for awhile when Pat decided by my stiffening Peter that it was time for the next round. 

We deliberately tried to find out who could get their partner the hottest and ready to screw first. She sucked and played with my peter and I pushed, pulled, and mauled her tits while burying my tongue in her pussy. It was pretty much a tie.

Instead of climbing aboard she scooted up to the head of the bed, pushed her sexy ass in the air, spread her legs, and told me to go for it, but to get the right hole as she wasn't into anal and she'd cut my nuts off if I tried it.

The sight of that pussy peeking out from between her thighs and those dangling breasts puddled on the bed were all I needed. It was show time.

Pat didn't wait for me to push into her. She grabbed it and rammed it home, yelling at me to bury the bone in the hole.

We started fucking like two dogs on a mission. Suddenly she told me to use her breasts like the reins of an old plow horse and to gee and haw her.

I grabbed her nipples and as I pulled my peter out of her pussy I would pull her back to me by pulling on the nipples and squeezing those meaty breasts as hard as I could, which started her wailing and cussing. 

Suddenly she reached between her legs with one hand and raked my thigh with her nails. Damn that stung! I began to wail on her ass with my hand but that only caused her to stiffen, clamp down on my peter, and begin a series of climaxes.

About the second time her pussy clamped down I was done and I spilled everything I had into her pussy.

I was not only done, that woman had left me a wreck and a shell of a man. When she finally released me it was all I could do to pull out what little was left of my little sailor and collapse on the bed. If there hadn't been a woman present I would have whimpered and sniveled, but it's not manly to whimper and cry in front of one.

I looked over towards Pat and she stared back at me like the cat that ate the cream.

More in Round 2

If like this or any of my stories give them a vote and I'll answer any e-mails if they're signed.

sign me A Dirty 'ol Sailor 30- 



Pat The Barmaid Round 02



GOD-DAMITT! THAT BITCH has given me the clap I screamed as the pain coursing through my peter causing me to grab the water pipe on the urinal. 

The bitch in question was Pat, the Tasmanian Devil, at the Insane Pussy that I was shacking up with off and on.

Looking down I noticed a yellow discharge mixed with the stream of pee, and I knew I was in a heap of trouble. . .

My mind ran through the sequence of events that had led me to the situation that I was now facing.

Pat and I had shacked up off and on for a couple of months. True to her word she'd found a couple of homes that we could shack up in. I still don't know how she managed it and I thought it better not to ask. We never stayed in the same house twice in a row which made it harder for the Vice Squad to keep track of us

The ship would go out to sea for some training for a week or two then we'd be in port for a week or two. One particular Friday night we were heading back to the Destroyer-Submarine piers in Norfolk from a training session off Cape Hatteras. Bad weather, which Cape Hatteras is famous for delayed us, so when we tied up it was pretty late. Since I had the duty weekend on Saturday and Sunday I decided to just stay aboard ship for the night.

Saturday I stood my two 4 hour watch's plus my half day of work.

Sunday rolled around and I had the 12 to 4:00 Messenger watch on the Quarterdeck. As luck would have it it was a Fire Control afternoon as the Officer of the Deck (OD) was My 1st Class Petty Officer (PO) and the PO of the Watch was my Leading PO (LPO).

About 1:00 the phone rang and my LPO picked up and identified himself. Passing the phone over to me he told me that it was for me.

I answered as was proper and got the shock of the day. A female voice screamed at me "Ron you rotten, cheating, son-of-a-bitch. Why were you screwing Angel (a barmaid in the bar next to the Insane Pussy) last night?"

"Pat?" "Don't Pat me you cheating cock sucker, you were seen!" 

I tried to stop her so I could explain that I'd been aboard the ship since Friday, but she was now venting and screaming at me. Her last words were that she was going to come down to the ship and cut my nuts off as she slammed the phone down.

She'd been yelling so loud I'd had to hold the phone away from my ear so every word Pat screamed at me was heard my my two watch mates. I put the phone down and as I looked up I knew I was in deep shit. Those two were laughing so hard they were holding their stomaches. I also knew that every sailor in my division would know about this by nightfall and I was going to be the recipient of some serious ribbing. But the worst was yet to come.

About a half hour later a cab pulled up at the head of the pier and out of that cab my Tasmanian Devil flew. As we'd tied up near the head of the pier she only had a couple of hundred feet before she hit our Quarterdeck. She had her short legs working as fast as they'd carry her and her tits were flying around like the milk bag on a Holstein cow in full gallop.

She galloped up the brow and spying me began her tirade all over again as she headed towards me to do what ever she was planning to do. 

It took all three of us to subdue her and a full 15 minutes before the OD had calmed her down enough so that he could show her the logs with my name duly signed in for Saturday and Sunday.

The OD was gracious enough to allow me to talk to Pat off the Quarterdeck on the Portside of the ship for a few minutes. 

When Pat got ready to leave she started down the brow, turned around and in a voice that was loud enough to be heard up and down the pier hollered to me, "You better have your sorry sailor ass down to the Krazy Kat by 10:00 tomorrow night" and then walked towards the cab like the queen after she'd had to bawl out an errant scullery boy. She simply had to have the last word.

I turned around to look at my LPO and my 1st class. They were laughing so hard they had to lean against the bulkhead to keep from falling down.

During the rest of the watch those two would look at me, whisper just loud enough for me to hear and start laughing again. The tamest words uttered were "Poor, pussy-whipped son-of-a-bitch." "Sorry sailor ass? Bet she's going to spank him for being a bad boy."

Shit! Shit! Shit! It was going to be a long fucking week.

Monday after we knocked off ships work, I lay down to catch a couple hours sleep, ate supper, more sleep, then a shower and off to the Insane Pussy.

I walked in the door about 10:15 just to see if I could piss Pat off, but she was a little abashed about her performance on Sunday. She even bought me a beer.

I ate her ass out as I explained how much grief and jokes at my expense I'd had to suffer Sunday and Monday. 

She kissed me, bought me another beer, and whispered in my ear that she'd make it up to me tonight. She shooed me out the door to head for our usual meeting place.

When Pat showed up she bought us another beer after which we caught a bus. After about 5 minutes we got off and started walking for a few minutes to yet another love nest. She opened the door with a key and in we went. How the Hell was she rounding up all of these fuck shacks? I never found out. If anybody has an idea let me know. 

She dragged me into the bed room, stripped me down to my birthday suit, sat me on the edge of the bed and then proceeded to give me a great blow job. Normally she'd swallow my peter and start sucking, but this time she let me fuck her face. She'd jam my peter all of the way down her throat and as she pulled her face back until only the head was in her mouth she would draw a back suction and run her fingers tips over the surface of my dangling testicles. She and I both knew that after being out to sea for two weeks I wasn't going to last very long. I didn't!

When the eruption of cum started she pushed my peter about halfway into her mouth and began to suck and swallow. She played with my little sailor until it returned to its normal size and plopped out from between her lips.

Pat stripped and joined me on the bed. We talked a bit as we played with each others bodies. I played with her breasts and nipples with one hand and finger her pussy and clit with my fingers and thumb.

She kept playing with my peter until she felt it doing it's thing. She then did something Pat almost never did. She lay on her back and told me to put some pillows under her and throw her legs over my shoulders.

Pat didn't like the missionary position because of her size. She said it felt like she was being smothered. Once or twice she'd let me put a couple of pillows under her ass and throw her legs over my shoulders. Pat didn't care for this position too much either as she didn't have total control and she'd be along for the ride. I liked it because with her short arms she had a hard time raking my body with her nails and I could lean over and give her breasts and nipples a real work out.

Because I was largely in control I could control the speed until I had Pat into screaming and swearing at me. I'd jam my peter to the bottom of her pussy and make it twitch and jump. This always drove Pat nuts because she couldn't figure out how I did it. 

Then I made a big mistake. Figuring that if I leaned forward I could put some pressure against her clit and saw in and out for a bit. It would also allow me to suck and bite her nipples.

The combination of the pressure on her clit and the biting of her nipples drove her over the edge. Unfortunately I was now in range of those damn nails. She raked me and I knew my back was going to look like I'd been flailed with a cat-of-nine-tails.

Damn that hurt! Leaning back so I could get at her I smacked her breast as hard as I could. I'd never done that before. Yes I'd spanked her ass when she demanded it, but I'd never actually hit her breast.

Pat exploded into some of the most violent climaxes I've ever witnessed. The Tasmanian Devil was definitely into pain. In for a penny, in for a pound. I smacked the other breast, and she was into another series of climaxes. Not as great as the initial ones but enough that her eyes were clenched shut and her mouth distorted in a grimace as she wailed and screamed. 

I was now done as I began my own cum deep in her pussy. 

Her hands were clenched and she was pulling on the bed sheets as if she was trying to dig a hole. There was one thing wrong with this picture. She had both legs over my shoulders and as her body clenched they tightened around my neck. The bitch had me in a perfect head lock and there wasn't a hell of a lot I could do about it. 

I could see the headlines in the paper: Sailor strangled to death while in the throes of passion. 

As I tried to breath without a lot of success, I could see my shipmates gathered around my flag draped coffin laughing their collective asses off. 

I couldn't dislodge those damn legs and I was afraid to smack her again as it might start another round of climaxes. I needed to shock her.

Leaning forward I pressed her thighs against her breasts until they were flattened against her chest, then I pulled my ass back as hard and fast as I could until I pulled my still dribbling peter out of her pussy. It worked! The shock of the warm peter being withdrawn before she was ready and the cooler air hitting her still warm pussy broke her concentration and she unlocked her legs.

I rolled off of her with my lungs begging for me to get some air into them.

The only thought in my head as I gasped and sucked air was a "Thank You Sweet Jesus, I might have to think about attending church more often. Would Easter Sunday be OK?"

As my heartbeat returned to normal and my lungs seemed content with the air supply they were receiving I made a deal with the Lord. "If I ever commit felony stupidity by allowing Pat to do that again, please strike me with a bolt of lightning, and Lord make me smart enough to remember to never do that position with any woman until I know she's no Tasmanian Devil when she cums. OK Lord, make it Easter Sunday and Christmas Eve Services." 

Pat was pissed because I had interrupted her orgasm. She'd been so deep into the waves of pleasure pouring through her body and assaulting her brain she'd been totally oblivious to everything else. Fuck It! I wasn't about to tell her.

We weren't going to do anymore tonight, and I wasn't too sure about tomorrow night either, but Pat convinced me by royal edict. We screwed every night until Friday when I had the duty again. I was off Saturday and Sunday, and since we were getting underway for almost three weeks, on Monday Pat almost fucked me to death to hold me until we got back in port again.

Which brought me to my present situation as I looked at the puss on the head of my peter. I didn't like what I was going to have to do, but there was no choice.

I headed for Sick Bay and Sick Call to see my friendly Corpsman 

Ministers, rabbis, priests, and even mullahs are known by every sailor and marine as "Padre."

Navy Corpsman in the Fleet Marine Force and stationed aboard ships on detached duty are and will always be "Doc." Because they are our doctors.

To be a Corpsman on a destroyer they had to have served as a Corpsman in the Fleet Marine Force. They receive further extensive training and were and are so good that in most cases if we'd had a choice as to a MD or a Corpsman, Corpsman win hands down.

Years later I was a 1st. Class Fire Controlman at Great Lakes. Ill. I had a friend who was a 1st. Class Corpsman. Having nothing to do I went over to Corpsman School to see him. Walking down the hallway I looked at the pictures on the walls. Every picture was a Corpsman who'd been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. There were either 23 or 26 of them. All of awards had been posthumously awarded, and that was before Viet Nam.

I entered Sick Bay and to Docs query, I explained my situation. He closed the door and told me to drop my dungarees and skivvy shorts.

I skinned my peter back and stripped the head so he could get a sample to look at in his trusty microscope. After a short period of time he informed me that I'd lucked out. I didn't have the clap I had Non Specific Urethritis (NSU).

Looking at my puzzled expression he explained it to me, concluding with a smile and assurance that with three or four days of Penicillin shots I'd be ok.

Now I had to ask the question I'd been dreading; did this mean I was on Medical Restriction? Medical Restriction could mean Captains Mast, more restriction, and a fine.

Doc assured me that it wasn't necessary as we would be out at sea until well after I was cured. I wanted to slurp his hand, but he also laid a task on me.

"Normally I have to contact the health department in Norfolk but I can't very well do that if you aren't on Medical Restriction and there's no notation in your medical record."

"You are going to have to get the lady in question to the health department and get her fixed so she doesn't spread it around. They'll find out who gave it to her and they'll should soon have it stamped out. Promise?"

"Doc, that lady and I are going to have a very long one-sided conversation as soon as we get back."

"Don't be too pissed off at her. She may not know she has it. In women it is sometimes very hard to detect, which is why outbreaks can be a bitch, simply because she's spreading it without even knowing she's got it." 

While I was there Doc inspected the ripping on my back that Pat had laid on me.

Even after a couple of days at sea they were still there. Scabbed but evident.

Doc whistled and remarked that I'd definitely been flailed. At that point I had to confess how I got them. Doc smiled as an idea came to him. 

"if anyone asks, those scabs are the reason you're at Sick Call. I need to make sure they don't get infected."

When those rips and rakes were first seen in the shower I was centered in a lot of cross hairs for awhile. 

When you're at sea there are long hours of boredom so anything that relieves it will be fodder for comment and derision. I'd known when Pat marked me she'd also marked me for ridicule and lewd comment. I just had to take it or else proceed to whip a lot of ass and some of my shipmates were big and mean. Big and mean usually beats little and mean.

We pulled back into Norfolk and as soon as Liberty Call went down I headed down to the Insane Pussy. Pat was sitting with a young seaman, cadging house drinks but I didn't care. I grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the booth.

Dragging her to the back booth I pushed her in and sat down across from her. She was pissed because I had interfered with her lively hood, but I could give a shit less. 

When I told her that she had NSU she denied it but I very carefully explained to her what Doc had explained to me. She was still in denial and accused me of fucking off on her.

That's when I dropped both shoes. I told her I hadn't fucked off and whoever she'd screwed during that week before we'd put to sea had done the nasty deed to both of us. She blushed, knowing she was caught.

I told her exactly what my intentions were as I'd made a promise and a promise was sacred. I'd thought long and hard about this knowing she would fight like a large mouth bass on a hook.

First I was going to inform the bossman who would promptly suspend her until she got a clean bill from the health department. Next I would inform the health department who would pull her health card until they could clear her.

So far she wasn't impressed, but the next item got her attention: "Finally I will place a call to the Vice Squad for Captain Robinette. I will inform him that you're spreading a contagious disease. I'm sure that will attract his attention, Pat. When was the last time you were on the Pea Farm for Lewd and Lascivious Conduct?"

Pat began to curse and swear, but she wound down pretty quickly when she realized she was boxed in. She finally said that she would take care of it. I told her that that wasn't good enough as we were both now headed to the health department.

I also told her that when my name came up I'd always used a rubber (an idea of Docs. I told you that the ships Corpsman had their shit together). Pat gave me a look that told me she had every intention of fucking me and Doc over. That was until I reminded her that Captain Robinette was always waiting in the wings.

This round went to me, at least at this stage.

She checked out of the bar and we took a cab to the health department. When she checked in they gave her a physical, promptly yanked her health card, gave her the first shot of penicillin, and called her boss.

At the point where she 'fessed up I left because she was going to have to answer a lot of questions about where she'd been and who with. I didn't want to hear her answers and it would be done in private anyway. 

The upshot was that Pat got a weeks unpaid vacation, which also pissed her off.

Pat got her health card back and was working at the Insane Pussy again but things were awfully cold between us.

I was sitting by my lonesome one Saturday morning sucking a beer and thinking about going to shoot some pool up the street when a young barmaid from the bar next door approached me and whispered that Angel wanted to see me.

Since Pat had been giving me the cold shoulder I figured why not?

I got up and headed my body towards the bar next door.

When I entered the door Angel gave me a warm smile, took my hand, and led me to a booth, pushed me in, and slid in beside me.

Angel was a young barmaid probably in her early twenties, standing about 5'6" with a fine body and blond hair so pale it looked like angel hair on those Christmas Angels that top the Christmas Tree, hence her nickname.

I hardly knew her so I was kind of wondering what her game was, but said nothing.

Angel asked me to buy her a drink so I told her that was alright and to bring me a beer.

Angel was at the bar waiting for her order when the tornado hit the bar!

Pat came flying through the door got one look at Angel and charged, cursing and screaming the whole time.

Pat already knew what just dawned on me as she slammed Angel against the bar. Pat had been set up and I was the bait.

Angel and Pat hated each other with a passion and Angel had very carefully set this up to finally fuck Pat over. If Angel won she was going to fuck me so as to rub Pat's nose in it. Which meant that if I was dumb enough to fuck Angel I would be fucked in more ways then one.

One of the barmaids turned the sign on the door to closed and slammed the door shut and locked it when the second thought slammed into my head; which one of these bitches had whispered into Pat's ear that Angel had fucked me on that weekend when Pat went berserk.

The barmaids that worked in this bar (I think it was called The Commercial, but I can't prove it) moved over to block the windows and door. This had been well planned, and all I could do was hope that Pat would kick ass and take names.

Well it looked like it had been well planned but Angel or whoever thought this up made several mistakes.

The first mistake was that Angel was wearing high heels. Barmaids and waitresses very seldom wear them because it's too hard on the feet. Angels vanity cooked her goose, because Pat pushed her into the bar so hard she lost her balance and those heels prevented her from recovering her balance. Pat was wearing very sensible, very heavy work slippers and when she nailed Angels kneecap with a very fast hard swing of her leg, Angel screamed and dropped to the floor.

The second mistake was that this plan to embarrass Pat had her adrenaline flowing. The Tasmanian Devil was so pumped up that it would have taken a bullet from a .44 Magnum revolver to slow her down. 

This bundle of rage was about to give Angel a very painful lesson. She leaped on Angel and ripped her dress clean off her body. Now that a large amount of flesh was available she proceeded to slap, beat, and rake the flesh. Every time she raked a red welt would appear, She hadn't pulled Angels panties or bra off. She didn't have to. Very quickly the back of Angels panties were shredded with red welts plainly very visible underneath. There were also welts on her thighs, back, the upper parts of her breasts, and her face was a mess. Every once in awhile Pat would grab Angels hair, lift her head and smack it into the floor. The whole time Pat was cursing and screaming at the top of her lungs, and in a short time Angel was also screaming, but hers was the scream of pure pain.




Pat The Barmaid Round 02



The ladies started to try to to help Angel but changed their minds when I stood up and started towards them. They'd seen me in enough brawls to know I could hold my own and by now, I'd figured out how I'd been suckered, and my own dander was up. 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bartender slyly edging up the bar towards the cash register and the buttons which would set off the alarms at Shore Patrol Headquarters and the riot police HQ.

I flipped off my glasses (first rule in a fight: lose the glasses), raced across the bar and leaped at him. I cleared just enough of the bar to grab his shirt front with both hands and gathered him in. When I got up real close and personal he decided that had been a bad move. I very quietly told him if he persisted in that effort exactly what I was going to do to him, so if he was smart he'd step out from behind the bar and join the ladies where I could keep an eye on him. He liked the idea.

From the way things were going you might have thought this fight went on forever, but it all probably took about 10 minutes from Pat flying through the door until we left. I was amazed that nothing got broke except Angel and she was going to be a mess for a long, long time.

As things were winding down I looked around for my glasses, very happily noticed they weren't broken, and put them on just as Pat stood up.

She grabbed my hand walked back over to Angel gave her a final kick in the stomach and headed for the door. On the way out she said as loudly as she could without actually screaming, "Come on sailor (unsnapped the lock and threw the door open), I'm going to show you how a REAL WOMAN fucks." She'd definitely got the last word.

We went back to the Insane Pussy, but the bartender who was an older gentlemen who'd probably seen similar fights many times, told us to go lay low for the weekend and he'd square it with the bossman. Everybody heard most of the fight through the thin walls, and although they didn't know the particulars, they'd assumed Pat was going to do some serious ass kicking.

Pat and I headed out, caught a bus, and in a few moments got off to walk towards another of Pat's fuck houses. In my mind I was wondering who she'd been planning to share it with tonight because the way she'd acted the past week it sure as hell wasn't going to be me.

We'd been walking along holding hands and I think Pat felt my hesitation because she squeezed my hand in a tender manner that I didn't think she had in her.

That weekend we didn't fuck. We made love. Long, slow, tender, love. I didn't know how long she was going to be in this mood but I certainly enjoyed it.

Saturday and Sunday Night as Pat lay pressed against me and I squeezed a beautiful breast I tried to piece all of it together. By Sunday night I thought I'd pretty much figured it all out.

Pat knew she and I had both been set up by Angel that weekend she'd gone nuts and I'd had no part in it.

When she'd got us both infected it was her indiscretion, not mine, and I was trying to correct her mistake. 

When I left the Insane Pussy to see Angel it was because she'd acted the pure bitch for a week, and she'd pushed me away from her towards Angel.

I could just as easily have sided with Angel and let those barmaids get to her instead of watching her back, and I could have let the bartender punch the alarms, in which case she would be on the Pea Farm for a long time. I'd covered her ass. 

This weekend was my reward in the only way she knew how.

If like this or any of my stories, give them a vote. I'll answer any e-mails if they're signed.



Pat The Barmaid Round 03



The week after Pat extracted her pound of flesh (literally) from Angel (See Pat The Barmaid - Round Two) we were out at sea when the Captain got on the 1MC (announcing system) to inform the crew that we'd shortly be heading up to the Philly Shipyard to have some experimental equipment installed. He also said that we'd be up there for about 10 weeks. He was informing us so that we could plan accordingly.

When we finally tied up at the Norfolk Destroyer-Submarine (Des-Sub) Piers I went to the bar to inform Pat. In the period before we headed up to Philly Pat fucked me silly. She was back to her old ways; we fucked, we didn't make love.

On the way North the Chief and 1st Class got us together to lay out our work schedule in the yards. My job was to chip the paint off the 40 mm gun director tub just aft of the no. 2 stack and repaint it. I hated that damn thing. It stood about 20 feet off the deck and was almost even with the watch cap on no. 2 stack. At general quarters you got to eat, breath, and chew all of the junk spewing out of the stack and for the next 2 or 3 days food, coffee, and even cigarettes would taste like stack gas.

At least we'd be cold iron (boilers not lit off) so I wouldn't have to breath those damn fumes.

After we arrived and got settled in the yard it was time to go to work. I rigged a Bosun's chair, secured the airline for my pneumatic scaler and chipping hammer got into the chair, pulled myself up to the director tub top and started to remove the old haze gray paint. I stayed up there in that chair all day except for lunch. At knock off ships work I lowered myself to the deck and tried to stand but my groin exploded in pain to the point I let out a yell as my feet touched the deck.

There were two other Fire Control Strikers in the vicinity, each working on other gun directors. They rushed over and after a short discussion one held me up while the other pulled the chair off of me. Together they supported me as we headed for Sick Bay.


In Sick Bay Doc told me to pull my dungarees and skivvy shorts down. We were going to get up close and personal again as Doc had already seen more of me then is right and proper for two people not married and especially when they are both of the same sex (See Pat The Barmaid - Round Two). Doc put a finger against my scrotum and pushed up. The pain exploding in my groin was horrible.

Doc said that he couldn't be sure, but it was possible that I had a hernia. He was going to have me taken to the Naval Hospital for examination. At the hospital it turned out I didn't have a hernia but I did have a badly pulled groin muscle that was going to require some bed rest. While the doctor was examining me he got real interested in my ass. After playing with it (I assumed) for a bit he informed me that I had a cyst on my tail bone that needed to be removed immediately.

The operation and recovery took over two months so I'd been re-assigned to another destroyer in Norfolk (that was apparently the law at the time). I rode the train to Norfolk and checked aboard my new home to be informed that it was deploying to join the US 6th Fleet in the Med the following week. In the mean time I wasn't going to be assigned to a duty section because the watch bill was being reorganized for the deployment.

Jesus you're alright! Heading for the Med and no duty for the next week, Yahoo!

To you out there who haven't served, that didn't mean I didn't have to work. I still had to put in a normal work day, just no duty nights.

Pat made sure that I returned to the ship freshly fucked each morning.

Finally the morning dawned for us to get underway, and the ships in my Destroyer Squadron backed out from the piers, formed up in a single column, headed out to sea, and ultimately through the Straits of Gibraltar into the Med to join the US 6th. Fleet. The story of that 6 month deployment would make a story in itself, but not here.

Two items of note for me: The first was that the ship had requested a billet for me to attend Fire Control "A" (Basic Training) School and it had been approved. I was finally going to get some much needed education. The second item was that I sat down in the Mess Decks to take the Navy-fleet-wide examination for 3rd Class Fire Control Technician. Life was good.

I would have about three days in Norfolk before I checked off of the ship and headed up to school at the Naval Training Command at Great Lakes, Illinois.

On arrival in Norfolk I caught the first days duty as I'd been the last one aboard and I'd had 5 days of no duty before we deployed. I had no gripe with that.

As soon as the ship cleared Customs Inspection Liberty Call went down and the Quarterdeck swarmed with every sailor who had liberty as they tried to desert the ship like a bunch of rats with wet feet. The dependents who'd shown up to welcome their husbands and lovers home were in the mean time surging towards the brow and they all met in one glorious traffic jam. 

There was so much kissing, hugging, and dry humping the Vice Squad would have had a field day if they were allowed on Navy Property. 

About two hours into the four hour watch the phone on the Quarterdeck rang, so I answered as was proper and heard a familiar voice welcoming me back. When I explained to my little Tasmanian Devil I had the first days duty she seemed genuinely disappointed. I informed her that I would have liberty tomorrow right after Quarters at 8:00 am.

She said she was taking the day off and suggested we have breakfast at the restaurant we normally met at when the Krazy Kat closed at night. Sounded like a plan to me. I didn't tell her about school or the 3rd Class exam.

We met as we'd agreed to and I treated her to breakfast as my wallet was pretty well stuffed. After breakfast she took my hand looked me in the eye, leered, and said, "Now that my stomach is stuffed it's time to get my pussy the same way."

Standing up she grabbed her purse and a cotton shopping bag I hadn't paid much attention to before, but now I heard the distinct clink of glass. I raised my eyebrow in query as she grinned and opened it to show me a couple of bottles of vodka and a six pack of 7-Up. My turn to grin as I swatted her ass in appreciation.

After paying the bill we exited the restaurant, crossed the street, and boarded a bus to who knew where. After a few miles Pat pulled the chord to signal a stop and we shortly left the bus for another of her hideouts. How in the hell did she do it?

As soon as we entered and got comfortable Pat made us a couple of stiff Vodka-7's. We sat on the sofa enjoying the drinks, smoking cigarettes, and getting generally caught up. I didn't mention school or the 3rd class exam.

Pat and I were both too horny to go down memory lane for too long. We raced to the bedroom, stripped, and spent a glorious short time fucking and sucking.

After coming down Pat climbed out of bed to make more drinks, making sure her delicious ass wiggled in a most provocative way as she exited and soon re-entered the bedroom with two drinks in her hands. 

We sat on the bed with legs crossed and sipped and played, played and sipped, until I felt my peter starting to lurch back to the land of the living. I wonder if the sight of those heavy pendulous breasts laying on her thighs and pointing to her pussy like a pair of blunt-pointed arrows had anything to do with it?

Pat told me to drink up, swallowed her drink with one gulp, and attacked!

Pushing me flat on my back she sucked my peter down her throat in one gulp. She worked on it until she'd gotten the desired results, slid up my body and mounted me in one quick movement.

Pat wasn't going to take any prisoners this time. Her pussy was sopping wet. Within 30 seconds the screaming started, and within a minute the cursing and swearing. She was demanding that I blister her ass, whip, squeeze and mangle her tits, and to bite the damn nipples off. The whole time her pussy was attacking my peter like a jack hammer on a merry-go-round. I didn't think until then that an ass could swing in so many different directions at the same time.

The whole while I was keeping an eye on those hands to make God damn sure she didn't slash me again when she climaxed, and suddenly climax she did.

Her body stiffened in an old familiar refrain as her pussy tried to strangle my peter. That was my cue. Pat was multi-orgasmic so it was now my turn. I poured the coals to it and did my own jack hammering.

There are some women who orgasm when they feel the cum splash inside them. Jean was one and Pat was another. When I exploded deep inside Pat she began round two of her orgasms. So far so good, she hadn't scratched me yet.

Pat finally fell down on top of me still breathing and moaning in mini-climaxes. She eventually fell off of to cuddle up after first making sure that I had a play toy handy by plopping her uppermost breast on my chest.

As we lay there Pat asked if I wanted her to take the next day off.

Everyone of you swinging dicks out there have been through what follows, so you know exactly where this went.

I told Pat I was going to have to stay on the ship the next day to pack my seabag and check off the ship. The temperature dropped 10 degrees!

Her query as to where I was going and my reply that I was going to Great Lakes for FT "A" School, dropped the temperature another 10 Degrees.

Her next query as to how long I'd be gone and my reply that it would probably be about 6 Months caused ice cycles to form on the overhead and she pulled her breast off my chest. She was putting my play toys away and I was cut off!

Realizing the party was over and nothing would resurrect it I dressed and left.

Two days later I headed for Great Lakes and my schooling. All went well until I turned 21. After that my grades dropped like a rock. I was still making passing grades but they weren't what they should have been. When I looked at the final grade on my diploma I made a vow to myself that that would never happen again. I would always be in the top 10%. It never did and I never again finished lower then no. 2 in any class I took.

Somewhere around the last 6 weeks of school the results of the fleet-wide exam were published and I would soon be an FTG3 (Fire Control Technician (Guns) 3rd Class (enlisted pay grade E-4).

In what was then an unusual move the Navy immediately promoted all 3rd and 2nd Class Petty Officers instead of in November as was usual. The catch was that our pay would not go up until November. What it meant was that I would be Petty Officer of the Watch and stand Shore Patrol all at no expense to Uncle Sam. More responsibility at no cost.

I could have worn my 3rd Class "Crow" the last several weeks of school, but I couldn't bring myself to do it with my grades being what they were. I did have several of my uniforms altered but I continued to wear my Seaman stripes and designated strikers insignia which was another bone of contention with the school powers-that-be.

Normally a sailor goes through Boot Camp, goes to a basic (A) school, and upon graduation receives an emblem (Striker's Badge) which he sews above his Seaman or Fireman Apprentice stripes (Apprentice s wear two slash marks on the upper left sleeve). I was a Seaman (3 slash marks) and in addition I was already a designated striker, not rare, just unusual. When I'd checked into school I'd been ordered to remove my strikers badge until I told them to check my service record and they choked when they read the sentence in it that that said that the BIG Powers-To-Be had approved the recommendation that I be made a designated striker with the appropriate Naval Enlisted Classification Code (FT 1100 if you want to know). There wasn't a God damn thing the school could do about it.

I also had a hash mark sewed on (a longer slash mark on the lower part of the left sleeve). Strictly speaking I was a couple of months shy of the full four years that that hash mark indicated, but I was damned if I was going to go to the expense of having the arm redone two months later.

Following graduation I donned my uniform with the Fire Control "Crow" and headed out to the strip outside the gates and celebrated. I now sported my Crow (actually an eagle with spread wings, below it a chevron, and sandwiched in between the insignia of my skill group) To those who haven't been there I will tell you that regardless of our rate and rating we wore our badges of distinction with honor. We would fight to defend that badge and have probably done so.

Perhaps the following will put it into perspective:

I am in the greatest rating in the US Navy! I am on the greatest ship in the US Navy! I am in the best squadron in the US Navy! I am in the greatest Navy in the world! I am in the greatest Navy, of the greatest country in the world! I am an American! I will protect my buddies and defend all of the forgoing with my life!

If you doubt this consider Operations Desert Storm and Iraqi Freedom. You sat in your living room and watched the US Marines and various Army units advance, You watched them march across Iraq. You've watched them die in terrorist explosions. 

I'm sure you wondered how they were able to keep going.

If you really want to know, re-read the above and learn!

Arriving back in Norfolk I had a week of nothing to do as my orders to report back to my ship also included a weeks leave in them, so I was foot loose and fancy free.

I went to the ships bar . . .

I have to make a request of you old Easy Main Commandos because I'm tired of calling it the ships bar.

The bus used to drop us off downtown across from a hotel. Just up the street from the bus stop was a White Tower burger joint and just around the corner several bars. Can anyone put a name to them?

I had a couple beers but no action as my ship was at sea, so I headed up to Easy Main and the Insane Pussy. I walked in and several of the bar maids gave me a wave and welcome home grin.

Suddenly I felt a familiar fur ball leap on my back and hug the hell out of me. Pat dropped off of me, spun me around, and proceeded to cover me with hugs and kisses. I guess I was forgiven.

Releasing me, she stepped back to look at me, saw my 3rd Class crow and hash mark for the first time, and went absolutely nuts with joy. She was hugging and slurping me all at the same time.

Having a week to kill Pat made damn sure that I spent my time well by fucking me almost into unconsciousness. She left me a shell of a sailor by the end of the week.

Several months went by and things had settled into a routine except I didn't get over to the Insane Pussy very often and it seemed that Pat was getting pretty cool in her attitude towards me.

I got a message one afternoon that Pat wanted to see me that night so I hit the bar about 10:00 and as I walked in, stopped to take in a sight I wasn't prepared for. Pat was in a booth with her back to me and next to her was a sailor running a fathom of tongue down her throat. She had set me up for this. I knew the sailor in question and I didn't like him one bit.

I rushed over to the booth intending to take him down. I brought a hay-maker up from the deck. Problem was he must have seen it coming because he moved his head and I missed. What I didn't miss was a steel pipe (Naval term: a stanchion) that helped to support the roof.

I'd just bought a Navy ring from one of those junk jewelers that exist in every military town. I'd put 170 pounds behind that punch and I hit that pipe head on with my ring and fist. You don't know what pain is until you try that.

My whole body exploded in pain. My hand and arm were totally useless as that sailor got up and proceeded to do a real number on me. There wasn't a thing I could do about it but try to protect whatever could be protected. Finally I was able to get clear of him and out of the door and harms way.

My hand was already swelling as I got on the bus to get back to the ship and Doc's ministrations. Doc patched me up and wrapped my hand and forearm, but not until he'd soaked my hand in ice water to reduce the swelling and poured enough oil on my ring finger to finally get that damned ring off. 

Because of the fact that I'd been dinged up in a fight I should have been placed on report and gone to see The Man, but if you looked at my medical record you'd read that on that night I'd fallen off a ladder and the load I'd been carrying smashed my hand.

I LOVE Navy Corpsman!

It was about 10 days before Doc was able to give me a clean bill of health. It was 10 days of my planning pay-backs.

On the evening of my revenge a buddy that wasn't known in the Krazy Kat and I headed into town. We had a couple of beers at the ships bar and he took off for the Krazy Kat. After about an hour the phone on the bar rang and the bartender shortly handed it to me. It was my friend informing me that Pat and her new boyfriend were swapping slobber and exactly where they were sitting. Wonder of wonders their backs were to the door.

I hit the door at a dead gallop, flipped my glasses off on the dead run and grabbing my intended target by his jumper collar I pulled that SOB clean out of the booth.

Not giving him any slack I spun him around, grabbing his ass, and headed back towards the door. He was totally helpless as I had him bent over with his collar in one hand and his trousers firmly held in the other. 

By now I was at full speed as I used his head to open the door. To say that stunned him is putting it mildly, but I wasn't finished with him. Just outside the door there was a steel handrail the city had installed to prevent jay-walking. I kept going until his gut hit the railing and I let go. He spun completely over the rail and hit the sidewalk on his head and shoulder. This ruined bruin's ass belonged to me and I wasn't even going to get my hands dirty.

I kicked him in the nuts a couple of times to get his attention and as he doubled up I wailed on his kneecaps with my shoes. 

To you who ain't been there, if you want to end a fight in quick time nail your opponents kneecap or shin hard enough and the fight is over. They will lay on the ground screaming for mother to come and make it well, guaranteed.

I placed a few more kicks about his head and body and stepped back to see where we were going next and also to check to make sure the Shore Patrol weren't in the vicinity. I was clean. He started to get up but he was bent over in pain as he hobbled towards the bar. I pointed out that if he ever went through that door again to consider what he'd just experienced as love taps. He told me his hat was in there so I opened the door and hollered for someone to toss me his hat. When I had it in hand I threw it into the middle of the street hoping a car would run over it.

Revenge, Part one accomplished.

If I knew Pat, revenge part two was just around the corner.

I walked back into the bar, picked up my glasses, thanking the Lord I hadn't broken them, and put them back on.

Pat did just exactly what I'd counted on; she ran up to me, threw her arms around me, and proceeded to slobber kisses on me. To the victor go the spoils (at least in her mind).

The fact that her new stud had just had the shit kicked out of him didn't faze her.

Setting the hook I ordered a beer and bought a house drink for Pat.

When the drinks were finished she took off her apron, told the bartender she was checking out, and yanked me out the door. Studly was nowhere in sight.

We caught a bus to head for her next fuck shack. Since Pat hadn't known that I was coming (no pun), guess who she was planning to take home that night.

Pat and I stripped as soon as we hit the bedroom. She got on the bed, heisted her ass in the air, and wiggling it, told me to fuck her.

By now I was in a cold fury. I wasn't going to make any pretense or effort to bring her pleasure. This was a revenge fuck pure and simple. I spit in my hand wet my peter and jammed it in as deep and hard as I could. She was dry and it must have hurt but she didn't complain.




Pat The Barmaid Round 03



I proceeded to maul her breasts and nipples and to wail on her ass. Because I'd had my hand bandaged for such a long time my nails had grown out. Not as long as Pats and not pointed but they'd do the job. As I fucked her I proceeded to rake her ass and her breasts. She was getting hot because her pussy was getting very slick. I wanted her hot but not so hot she climaxed. I watched and listened to her as I kept on fucking her.

Finally after I'd inflicted enough pain on her and fucked long enough that her breathing was getting to the stage when she would shortly start screaming I pushed as deeply into her as I could and came. I let my peter draw down, pulled it out, dressed, and left without saying a word. I'd left her hanging and that was the beauty of it. I hadn't said a dozen words from the time I'd re-entered the bar and the time I left her hanging short of her release in that apartment.

I walked down to the corner, caught a bus and headed back to the base. Sitting there in a deep, sad melancholy mood that I couldn't shake. I should have been sitting here in absolute jubilation instead of the sad mood that was wrapped around me like a blanket.

I'd got my revenge twice over and I felt like hell. 

I passed through the gate and headed to the EM Club (to us, the Slop Chute).

I bought a couple of beers, sat down, and lit a cigar to mull things over. Why did I feel so bad? About halfway through the cigar and the bottom of the first beer I knew why. I was thoroughly and totally ashamed of myself and my conduct.

Whipping studly was ok, but I'd gone overboard in my quest for vengeance and I'd really hurt him.

New rule in my life; My days of brawling were over. I'd fight if there was no choice, and I wouldn't crawl, but there'd be no more fights if I could help it.

As for Pat, I knew who and what she was when we'd started up and I hadn't gone into it with her while flying blind. If there is such a thing as consensual rape I'd committed it tonight.

My thoughts drifted back to Jean as I ran a comparison between those two women.

New rule number two; No more Pats. From now on I was going to limit any future relationships to the Jeans of the world.

As a song that came out much later said, "Me and the Lord Will Have a Good Talk Later Tonight." 

The strange end to this sordid chapter happened almost two months later. I was trying to decide if I wanted to go to town or just slip up to the Slop Chute when the Messenger of the Watch informed me that I had a call on the Quarterdeck. Putting on my jumper and my hat I went to the Quarterdeck, picked up the phone and identified myself. A raspy voice in a slurred speech told me she was sick. I asked who it was I was talking to and I'm damned if it wasn't Pat.

My first thought was to hang up but somehow I couldn't. I asked her where she was and she told me she was at home. I had never been to Pat's house which is not unusual. Most barmaids didn't bring their boyfriends to their house because of the Vice Squad and because it's their cave, their place of refuge.

She gave me her address, which I wrote down, told her I was on my way, and hung up.

Thinking about it, I wouldn't put it past Pat to set me up so I went below to my foot locker, took out two rolls of tape wrapped quarters, a spare neckerchief, a couple of rubber bands and my wallet. I took my ID Card, Liberty Card and some money out of it and threw it back into the locker.

I put the ID and Liberty Cards in my breast pocket, split the money between my pocket and shoe, pocketed the quarters, tucked the neckerchief under my skivvy shirt and headed out. As luck would have it a cab was emptying out at the head of the pier so I got in, gave the cabbie the address, and sat back.

When we got to Pat's house I had the cabbie slow down and drive past it to the next corner, make a U turn, and park across the street so I could look things over.

Things looked peaceful enough so I paid the cabbie off and tipped him for his patience. As he pulled away I pulled out the neckerchief rolled up a roll of quarters in it and stopped it off with the rubber bands. Knotting the ends of the neckerchief I folded it into my left hand and tucked the other roll of quarters in my right.

Dusk was falling rapidly but there was still enough light to see and my head was swiveling like an owl as I crossed the street.

The house was an old frame house that had been divided into an upstairs and downstairs apartment. Thank God I wasn't going to have to climb the stairs.

I slipped up on the porch as quietly as possible and tried the door knob. It was unlocked. Sliding inside I let my eyes adjust to the darkness while I listened for any sounds but nothing came to my attention. I checked out the kitchen and bathroom but they were also empty. 

I peered into the bedroom and by aid of a lamp on her nightstand I saw a familiar body in the bed. So far it didn't look like a bizarre plan of Pat's for revenge, but to make sure I went and locked the front and back doors.

I entered the bedroom and suddenly all was explained. On the floor were several empty booze bottles and several largely empty pill bottles on the nightstand. Pat was a pill popper.

I reached down to touch her shoulder and let her know I was here. She complained of a bad headache and asked me to get her some aspirin from her medicine chest.

I went into the bathroom, opened the medicine chest and received a new shock. That cabinet was chock full of pill bottles. If there was a mind altering drug in the world there was a bottle of it in there. 

Every thought in my mind was to get the hell out of the place and get back to the ship. If Pat got caught whoever was with her was going to go down with her if for no other reason then association.

Problem was I couldn't leave her by herself. I was boxed in. This was years before emergency ambulances and 911. I couldn't take her to the hospital. So I'd better start doing some logical thinking.

First I needed to get her some help that wouldn't be in danger of taking a part of Pat's heat.

I gave Pat her aspirin and she gave me the phone number for the Krazy Kat. I called and talked to the bartender about my problem. Shortly, a woman came to the phone and told me she'd be out as soon as she could. I told her to take a cab and I'd pay for it but she said it would be taken out of Pat's pay.

The lady had informed me Pat hadn't been in for two days so it was a good bet she had been here the whole time drinking, popping pills, and not a bite to eat.

Was she trying to kill herself or had she just got stupid? What was I going to do about it?

I was in virgin territory. Yes I'd read the Navy First Aid Books, Yes I had First Aid in the Boy Scouts, Boot Camp, and a slew of other places but in the fifties nobody addressed the drug problem. I was on my own hook.

I don't know if my solution was correct or not but I didn't have a residential expert handy. Whether I got it right or wrong, let me know.

I dragged Pat into the bathroom, pulled out a roll of quarters and punched her in the stomach as hard as I could. I jammed her head into the toilet bowl and stuck my fingers down her throat. She started to retch and spew booze and junk into the toilet. but I wasn't seeing any particles of food so she hadn't been eating.

When she stopped retching I put her on her knees while I retrieved the water glass filled it with water and poured it down her throat. She soon begged me to stop but I wouldn't until I had as much water in her as she could hold. I let her stay there for a minute then I reached around her, locked my arms and pulled. She started retching again, It was looking a little clearer so it looked like I was doing some good. I'd just finished a third round when there was a knock at the door.

I went and unlocked the door to find one of the house mother barmaids who'd warned me about Pat those couple of years ago standing before me.

I stepped back so she could enter and I locked the door behind her which drew a questioning look. When she entered the bedroom, she saw the pill and booze bottles and understood everything instantly.

The lady also understood my problem and she told me to get out of there as quickly as possible. As I got ready to go she stroked my hand and thanked me in a soft voice and with a sad smile.

I left and headed back to the ship.

Now most of you will be thinking I carried this chapter on way too long and you'd be right except . . .

Why did Pat call me that night? Was it the Fickle Finger of Fate? Was Pat trying to kill herself and her final act of revenge was for me to find her body and to have me explain to the cops what I was doing in a house full of pills and a dead body? Did Pat call because I'd watched her back before and she needed help, hoping I'd do so again? Was it the hand of Divine Intervention pointing a finger at me, telling me my atonement was to go fix the problem? Was it none of the above but some other reason I haven't even thought of? Any explanations would be greatly appreciated.

I've wrestled with this for over 45 years and I still can't decide the truth of it.

Epilogue:

That Labor Day weekend I found my Jean, and yes that was really her name.

sign me A Horny 'ol Sailor 30-