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Another Springtime Ch. 01

By: Sailor1



"Dace" Shepard, Lieutenant Commander, U. S. naval reserve, ex-U. S. Navy, is a graduate student in Germanics at the University of Washington. Widowed at 38 when his wife and their two youngest children died in an automobile accident in Italy during active duty as assistant naval attaché in Bonn, Germany, he opted for early retirement from the Regular Navy and civilian life with his surviving oldest daughter, then just 15. Professionally fluent in German and conversant in Russian; 6'–5" 200 pounds, muscular, medium build, medium complexion, brown hair, his beard – he grew it out once while at sea – tending to streaks of red in the sunlight. Some of his Navy time had been in submarine reconnaissance operations, and in Hawaii he was briefly involved in some investigative work with Soviet Bloc merchant ships where his Russian language skills were applicable. His professional objective now is an advanced degree in Germanic Languages and a university teaching position or some similar language intense professional work. His daughter is now herself at the university, a freshman in Humanities and Journalism.

Christine Stempler, turned 18 as she graduated summa cum laude from a highly regarded all-girls academy, daughter of professional, bilingual parents at home in Zurich and Sankt Gallen in eastern Switzerland. Interested in the Humanities, especially literature, art and drama, and anxious to move beyond her all-girls school years, which increasingly seemed to confine her, she is an attractive, vivacious and engaging young lady. The traditional, conservative attitude of her family and the strictness of her schooling have instilled strong values of personal integrity, yet the beginnings of her maturing as a young woman and the awakening of natural impulses and desires have been played down as less than worthy of her. Such has become increasingly the focus of her interest, but she has had very few resources on which to draw for a broader and more balanced understanding. She is innocent and naïve, and in many ways unprepared for the world at large; she is nevertheless intellectually keen and quick to learn, rather open-minded, but neither easily swayed nor frivolous in her thinking. Born in Switzerland; 5' - 8", 125 pounds, 36-22-35, long auburn hair, delicate features; physically healthy and trim, though not vigorously active; she has been anticipating something of romance and love in her future. Examples in literature are intriguing, but she wants to move on in her own life. Love and romance in real life and all that went with them were yet but an intriguing mystery. Her own parents had always been rather austere and school leaders unapproachable as well. She is alert and emotionally sensitive, but very vulnerable.

* * *

Chapter 1

The Strangest Assignment

The woman on the phone only asked me a couple of questions to establish my identity for sure. They had to do with my naval service so I concluded that somehow the Navy was involved. Then she asked if I had a valid driver's license and a current passport, how was my German, and was I available for a possibly extended job. 

I was in fact between jobs, as they say, though engaged in full time graduate studies and doing some temp work on the side while writing a few pieces for publication. At the moment, we were between classes at the end of the spring quarter and I was enjoying the short break. However, since I wanted to be honest in my responses, I was. Yes, yes, good, and yes.

She thanked me in an officious tone and invited me to an interview the next morning. We established a time and she gave me an address downtown, floor number and room number, and admonished me not to be late, and sounding like a distraught mother to a wayward child, and hung up. 

That was that.

Mysterious, I thought. No company name, no reference, no nothing. It was mid-afternoon, the call had completely derailed my research and writing for the moment, so I hopped a bus downtown to scout the building and see what I could find. Nothing! On the same floor was a dentist's office and two other tenants, but the room number and those on either side were vacant... well, at least unmarked in any way... even more mysterious. 

The brief meeting the next morning – no, I was not late – was very James Bondish, which is to say not desirable to me at all. My interviewer captured my attention immediately by identifying himself as a federal agent of the office of such-and-such. I had been very familiar with the organization of the Navy Department and portions of Defense and State from my work in years past, but this one was an assembly of words that ought to have been familiar, I thought, but I couldn't place it. I wanted to ask him more about it but he waved the idea away with a sweep of his hand. It was a distraction that he quickly added that acceptance of the assignment meant immediate recall to active duty from the reserve at full pay and allowances at my current rank. 

Oh, really? I thought that something special. However obscure the agency, they clearly had pull in high places. Now, money isn't everything, but it's nice to have around in plentiful quantities when you need it. 

The thirty-something man in a trim business suit was absolutely no-nonsense. They badly needed an agent not on their own rolls, he added in his direct manner, for an escort and protection assignment. They had done quite a bit of research on me, and the young lady to be escorted and protected had selected me from three choices they offered. 

A young lady? 

The one photograph I could see was a distant shot with her parents taken only a few weeks before. She looked to be in her late teens, tall, light brunette, nice – but too distant for details. The man told me the family was Swiss, spoke German and some English, and she was being hunted by a "middle-eastern syndicate" – whatever that meant. Was he being intentionally vague or was this an indication that he didn't know any more? My task would be to disappear with her, keep moving, and cover my tracks. There was an expensive-looking brown leather briefcase on the table. He opened it and indicated it was to be mine, complete with a wallet full of credit cards, $3,000 in cash in twenties and fifties – no, he was not concerned that I count it – and drop point locations, and, I noticed right off, a service-issue 1911 Colt .45 caliber automatic pistol and four clips of ammunition. I used to have one of those in my crypto safe aboard ship. I wasn't a firearms man and hadn't fired one of those things in years. I sensed this was a serious assignment, really serious. I waited for him to elaborate, but that was all he was going to say. 

"Go, or no go?" he asked. This guy didn't waste words.

I thought about it for a moment. I was not a James Bond type, and moreover, didn't want to be. My Navy time and Russian language studies had lead to sufficient professional exposure to counter-espionage and KGB operational methods that I knew not to go there. That was not a lifestyle for me. Still, this seemed a reasonably easy assignment. Perhaps, I reflected, deceptively so. I ventured to fish for additional information. "Geographical limits on travel?"

"None."

"Who knows about me in the agency besides you?" I had to get some sense of how I might be tracked. It was an age old problem. The "syndicate" must have some knowledge of their own agents, but would soon sense that they had passed off their target to another. Any administrative paper trail was sure to become a focus for their scrutiny.

"Only me. I selected you after reviewing your file at Navy and will personally see to the payroll and recall matter. Navy has already agreed and awaits only my confirmation. Deposits to your NFCU account OK?" 

Clipped, precise. No monkey business with this guy. Then the money aspect again. I had been relatively senior when I left active duty after the accident. With a teen-aged daughter, I felt my first obligation had to be to her. Graduate school and a more stable profession outside active service were more conducive to succeeding as a father, and my daughter was all that remained of my family. Lynn and the two younger children had died in a car accident in Italy a couple years before. I was recovering in some absolute sense, yet my heart was still in pieces and scattered. 

A "protection" assignment? Was that for me? 

"Yes, I suppose so." He had been pretty thorough. He even knew of my credit union account.

"Then," he continued in his precise manner, "I destroy all my notes and there is nothing at the agency to lead them to you. Nothing! Navy picks up the ball and carries you as on normal Navy assignment dedicated to this special duty." Clearly he knew the business, and had anticipated my concern. That was encouraging.

"Contact point for me?" Was I entirely on my own on this job? Any back up or logistics? 

"In the briefcase... a cell phone number that comes to me direct. Call me on Mondays between 1 and 2 Pacific Time. There is also a dedicated e-mail address. I have one of your resumes and know you're computer literate. Get yourself a good laptop with all the bells and whistles. Special requests OK, periodic reports desirable. Let me know when you've used a drop point. Be brief." 

The silence drew out a bit. I was impressed with his preparation, and could think of no additional questions at the moment and was probably trying his patience. The fact that they were providing me a firearm meant that they also foresaw the need for one. The somewhat less than welcome implication was that my life was on the line... mine as well as the young lady I would be "protecting." Me! U. S. naval reserve? Was I the man for this job? And precisely who were the "syndicate" he had mentioned... but, then, that didn't matter – "they" were the enemy now, and I thought I knew them from earlier experience at any rate. It occurred to me that my daughter might be endangered in the process, and that gave me pause; then – and this threw the entire matter into sharp relief – that someone else's daughter already was. That thought galvanized my thinking. I was going back to war!

My waiting elicited no further response. The money was good, the work challenging but hardly difficult, the company... the company, I realized, had potential. 

"Go," I said crisply.

He pulled a tag from his inner pocket and handed it to me. "She's in this hotel room now. When can you pick her up and get on the road?" I recognized the hotel as only a few blocks away downtown Seattle, also the quite obvious sense of urgency in his manner and tone. 

"Give me two hours or so."

"Fine," he looked at his watch, "11:30 then. She knows you simply as 'Mister Y.' There's a security man out front. What will you be wearing?"

"Well, a... I don't..." My choice, eh? OK, I'm going to be comfortable. "A dark sea-gray Pendleton shirt; solid, not a plaid." I had just purchased it a few days before and enjoyed its comfortable feeling. This fellow was thinking like a machine gun. I guessed I had better ramp myself up to some serious planning and thinking on my own. This was getting deeper by the second.

"She's reasonably safe for the moment, but you need to get crackin' and get her out of there and break the connection with her past!" Yes, it was unmistakable. His voice was sharp and urgent. 

"Clear?"

"Clear."

"Call me at the cell number when you're underway with her." Without another word he stood, we shook hands, he left the brief case on the table, and walked out.

Tentatively, I thought, it seemed I was hired. Immediately I reviewed things planned that would have to be held up for the moment; and then recalled the specifications of the protectee... German-speaking Swiss, a young lady, just 18, and I suspected no slouch in the beauty department, else why was she being hounded by the "syndicate"?

]

Making the Contact

I walked across the street to the Paradise deli and ordered a roast beef on sourdough and a lemonade and sat down to think this through. On the road... essentially hide in plain sight... constantly moving and leaving no trail behind me... us. Remember that, it's "us" now. OK, first thing I needed was a vehicle. If we were going to be on the road a lot it was going to be a comfortable one. I stepped over to the pay phone and called the local office of a car rental agency with whom I had dealt before. Yes, they had a Yukon available at one of their remote offices. With a little inducement – I had a lot of inducement in my new briefcase – they agreed to have it in town and ready and pick me up at the apartment in one hour. I went back to my sandwich and lemonade, and to read the brief sketch of my new companion and charge. 

She was a Swiss national with dual Swiss-USA citizenship; given name Christine, family name Stempler; first language German, good English; just weeks into her eighteenth year; just graduated with honors from a exclusive all-girls Swiss-equivalent of a college prep academy in Sankt Gallen, in eastern Switzerland. Only child; parents deceased, no known relatives, no known contacts in the USA. Well, I thought to myself, this is going to be interesting... very interesting.

OK, let's get this ship underway.

The thoughts were coming together now. Get the car, load some traveling essentials – a basic list was already assembling itself in my head, and get up to the hotel and get her out of there. With my new laptop and battery-pack and charger – acquired only a month before – and a few clothing items and basic papers stowed in the back I was off to see what the day would bring, and at 11:17 by my watch I walked into the lobby headed for the elevator. The large clock on the wall said 11:14. Hey, pal, I muttered to the desk clerk under my breath, get it fixed!

As I stepped off the elevator on her floor and turned in the direction indicated by the small placard on the wall it was evident from the numbering that her room was at the end of the passageway with a dogleg to the right, and beyond a workman in overalls doing something with wiring and ducting. This was the security man evidently, and he eyed me while yet some distance away, initiated a cell phone call and I paused briefly until he waved me forward. 

I found her room with just a few minutes to spare. Walking to the end of the passageway to absorb a little time I noticed that the hotel had a small, secluded verandah at the end of the passageway with an outside view, equipped with some nice patio furniture and a small table set in a nook somewhat secluded off to the right. The thought occurred to me that inviting her to sit with me here for a while might make our acquaintance easier than expecting her to simply invite me into her room immediately; sort of a neutral middle ground for a first meeting.

When my watch said it was time I knocked on her door as instructed. Now I was committed to the project and meeting her; from here onward it would be very embarrassing to back out. Her name was Christine, I reminded myself. Pretty name. When the door opened cautiously and she smiled at me I knew I didn't want to back out at all.

"Fräulein Stempler? Christine?"

"Mister Y?" she responded, unsure of herself and shy.

"Yes, I am Mister Y. My friends call me Dace. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance," and offered my hand formally.

Her pleasant smile was friendly and she extended her hand in a ladylike manner. She may be young, I thought to myself, but she held herself like a mature and gracious lady. Her self-assured posture belied the fear that the recent events had superimposed on her life, as I was soon to recognize. What I did recognize quite clearly at first glance was that she was an exceptionally beautiful young lady.

Her hand felt delightful in mine, soft and warm. "May I suggest, Christine, that we sit a moment on the verandah and get acquainted?" I motioned to the chairs just a few yards away and off to one side and around the corner. She glanced down the hall and looked at the chairs and the large window, then turned to me and nodded. With a smooth motion she retrieved her purse and her room key from the small table adjacent to the door, stepped into the passageway, and let her door close behind her. My impression was that she appreciated the middle ground and felt relieved. 

OK, maybe I am doing this right. 

I selected the table around the corner and held her chair for her and she sat down, holding herself very stiff and formal, more than a little anxious probably, not saying a word. She was wearing an expensive-looking silk blouse and a strand of pearls over a skirt and Scandinavian-type clogs. After a moment or two, sitting across the little table and trying to think of something clever and impressive to say, my mind went blank. Well, for one she was carrying considerable 'top hamper' as sailors would have spoken of a ship with a very prominent superstructure. In civilian talk, her bust line, though modestly clothed, was prominent and very attractive. Her silky auburn hair was long, down her back and over one shoulder and breast. Pretty girls do that to a fellow; stop them right dead in their tracks. Her photograph had been very complementing, but had fallen well short of being able to capture her beauty on a piece of paper. She was strikingly beautiful, a classic, timeless kind of beautiful, and there was no doubt about that!

Her dark eyes were soft and kind, and very expressive, and she followed my every motion, measuring me, I felt sure, every way she could imagine to determine whether she could put herself in my care and keeping with confidence. I could hardly blame her; she was in what appeared to me to be a very bad situation, dependant on strangers for every little thing, and in imminent danger from unseen enemies.

"My condolences, Christine, on your parents passing." It was the appropriate thing to say, it seemed, yet I could hardly avoid the conclusion that she had lost a great deal and I wanted to let her know that I understood that and respected her for her courage. I looked up at her, into those dark brown eyes, and could sense her holding onto her composure with every bit of strength she could muster. My heart went out to her, and I felt very gallant that I had picked up some nice handkerchiefs from my bureau and could offer one to her. She took it and thanked me softly, and touched her eyes briefly to wick away the little bit of moisture, still struggling to keep herself together, I thought.

There seemed no acceptable way to broach the subject of our future together. It was on one hand a professional assignment and ought to remain that. Yet, the potential for personal involvement was nothing if not obvious, and, with a young lady of her beauty and attraction, even very desirable. 

"They told me your family is Swiss. 'Christine' is a beautiful name for..." I hesitated to be quite so forward, but it seemed right, "for a beautiful young lady. But was it Kristine," I gave the pronunciation a German inflection, "or something else?"

"No, my parents both spoke English as well as German, and my mother liked the name and my father thought it right for me as well." Her voice was trembling a little and neither of us seemed to know what to say. Yes, I thought to myself, she does handle herself well in English.

I had just begun to feel myself gaining some confidence in speaking with a pretty girl again when from somewhere in the distant haze came a heavy, muffled "poof, poof" sound. Immediately I had the feeling that it was a pistol with a silencer. I stood up quietly, a finger at my lips for silence, and took her hand and pulled her behind me against the wall and out of sight from the hallway and away from the window, to remain as out of sight as we could. There was a fantastic feeling of having her soft hand in mine, pliable and feminine and warm and I could feel myself getting distracted. Suddenly the door to her room crashed open – and that pulled me back quick – and then there was a lot of excited jabbering and then yelling and cursing. There were some English words in there, but mostly it sounded to me like Arabic, but what do I know? It wasn't German and it wasn't Russian, or anything like them... that I knew! 


Another Springtime Ch. 01



I was very pleased with myself that I had gotten serious about this job and brought the Colt with me. The wallet had an unlimited permit for me to carry it, and when I checked it out the piece was freshly oiled and all I needed to do was slide one of the seven-shot clips into the butt. Now I could feel the adrenaline pouring into my system and my senses went into overdrive. It had seemed a bit macho and overdone to bring the automatic with me from the car, and it did feel very conspicuous tucked in my belt under my shirt behind me, but now I had no regrets. I slipped the Colt out from under my shirt and felt the nervous energy making me bristle. I was as ready as I was going to get. 

Christine was terrified. I raised her one hand with my left and put my finger to her lips for silence, and turned my attention to the hall and, with Mr. Colt at ready in my right, waited to see what would develop. 

I felt reasonably sure these fellows were not our friends and decided not to make their acquaintance if we could help it. If they stepped the few extra yards down to the verandah at the end of the passageway that would be unavoidable, and there was nowhere for us to go. 

We waited.

How many of them were there? Five, at least, but their excitement and yelling at each other confused the issue. Seven shots in the Colt, but I for sure did not relish a confrontation. I could hear them tossing the room, evidently angry and frustrated at not finding her there. What's this all about, anyway? Only yesterday, I was living a simple, unfettered existence and enjoying it. My life was not on the line! But then, neither did I have, I recalled to mind quickly, the companionship of a beautiful young girl. Well, everything has a price, I told myself.

As quickly as they had come they vanished. Now the hallway was very quiet and I questioned myself whether there was any reason for them to leave a man behind. No, not hardly, especially if they had disposed of the security man. I ventured a look around the corner with my heart in my mouth and the Colt ready to do my talking. The security man was sprawled on the carpet, motionless and probably beyond help; other than his form the passageway was empty. It would not take long for someone to happen by and then there would be a big commotion. How do we get out of this place?

If we could just get to the Yukon, we'd be away. Since they were hunting – the jackals made it abundantly clear with the forced entry to her room that they were serious – they might well be watching the lobby below, and probably all the exits as well. Where to?

Fortunately I had found a metered curbside parking place across the street, and remembered then that there was a skyway between the hotel and the office building over there, and that offered a useful escape route. We conferred briefly and she said she had nothing in her room that she couldn't do without. I took her hand and we inched our way down the hall, took the stairwell up one level and found a placard directing us to the skyway. That was dumb luck, I told myself. Next time, do your homework! 

Within a few minutes we were in the Yukon and pulling onto I-5 at University Street headed north toward Vancouver, BC. Considering that they just may have spotted us getting into the car just across the street I watched the rearview mirror for cars following. I told Christine that we were safe for the moment and she could relax, and also that I needed her to help me. 

"Watch the cars behind us. I'm going to circle around. Help me see if anyone is following us." She quickly turned about in the seat.

"How will I be able to tell?" She had drawn from who knows where an alertness that seemed to have helped her to overcome her fears.

"Colors, I guess is easiest. Pick out five or six right behind us and just keep track of the colors." Heading north I took the first off-ramp at Mercer Avenue, which I knew pretty well. From the off-ramp right onto Fairview, left at the light at Valley, then left and left again back onto Mercer with the on-ramp before us. In this process she showed herself to be a very keen observer and recognized what I was doing, kept up a running commentary on the cars behind us and which ones followed us in each turn. By the time we had made the last left and were ready to head up the long on-ramp to Northbound I-5 she was openly relieved and confident that no car had made the entire sequence of turns with us. I turned to her and was pleased to see a little hint of a soft smile on her pretty lips and perhaps just a bit of twinkle in her eyes. She knew we had beaten them.

At the last second I knew going back onto I-5 was a mistake and turned left onto Fairview and headed north along Lake Union. Via Eastlake and then over the University Bridge, right onto NE Campus Parkway and then onto the University of Washington campus, I drove normally, all the time thinking about what should be next.

We were free of them, I felt sure, at least for the moment. But she was silent, anxious, disoriented in the city unknown to her, with a strange man, terrified at what had almost happened. How could she relax? I wanted to think about her, but that would have to wait. What was our next step? What was most important for us to do first? 

I decided whether she relaxed or not I had to ensure our safety to the extent I could. I concluded that distance was not necessarily the pressing priority. As far as I could see, the hunters had now nothing to go on. Their quarry had simply dropped out of sight. I had been brought into the picture, I concluded, because I was an unknown, and any inside intelligence on the agency operatives in the hands of the hunters was thus negated, unless, of course, the research the agency had done to uncover me was leaked or stumbled onto by a mole. OK, consider both those possibilities in the problem.

Still it would take time for the hunters to reorient themselves, and we had dropped out of sight for the present. I had rented the Yukon under a bogus company name and paid with one of the credit cards from the wallet. They'd never be able to track us there, not without considerable effort, anyway, and that meant time. Perhaps not much, but a few days at least. OK, so five miles or fifty was all the same. Useful first was to hide away somewhere and get our feet on the ground. Coming down the hill past the dorm I determined a plan: I turned left at the light on 25th Avenue NE and made for the Silver Cloud Inn near University Village. We'd get a room there and be able to walk over to the village for some dinner and do a little shopping for her. For us, I guess, really. I had been thinking about whether it would be safe to return to my apartment for some things and hadn't quite resolved in my mind whether I thought they could have picked up some lead on me or not. In the interim I'd get some toiletry items myself.

I registered for adjoining rooms as an executive of a business entity I sometimes used that was virtually unknown in the record books, and we parked and went in a back door. She had nothing but the clothes on her back and her composure was wearing thin. The rooms were cozy and fresh and comfortable, unlike some antiseptic and austere motels, and just like I remembered it from when I had stayed there once some years back. Yet, she was still unable to let go. She was scared. She stood stock still in the center of the room like a little lost lamb. 

I went to her and gently took her in my arms like I had done my own teen-aged daughter on several occasions, and just spoke softly to her for a while. Encouraging, expressions of confidence and care for her, ideas on the future, confirmation that all would work out and I would not let her down. It seemed to help some, but she was having a hard time opening up to me. I hoped it was her fear of her situation and not a fear of me. I knew we needed to talk to establish ourselves with each other. Only then would she gain some real confidence in me and with me.

I suggested we walk over to a nice place for an early dinner and some shopping. She looked up at me and I could see she hadn't a clue what to do. She couldn't even answer me. I knew I needed to do something to soothe and reassure her. In her present condition she was very close to tears and tight as a drum, not ready to go anywhere but crazy with anxiety.

I decided we would stay right where we were for the moment and try to take the edge off the tension. We were secure; no one had any idea where we were. I looked around the room... a small reefer with sodas, the microwave, the comfortable-looking table and chairs gave me an idea.

"Wait right here, Christine," I whispered to here softly and turned to check what was to drink in the reefer... just a selection of a few sodas and beer and wine samplers – standard fare – fine. There were nice glasses in the cupboard over the sink, and I rinsed two and was about to dry them. As I turned to reach for the paper toweling I found she was standing close beside me shivering. Only then did it occur to me that she might be in shock. Since the incident at the hotel she had said hardly a word – save for the matter with the cars behind us – and her expression now was tense and drawn, her eyes hollow with terror. She hugged herself with her fists up under her chin, and just stood there close to me. Well, I reconsidered my plan to sit at the table and talk and maybe order in a Pizza. She wasn't even ready for that.

"I'm right here, Christine. You're safe now. You're safe with me and I'll take care of you. I hope you feel you can trust me. Please trust me. I want very much to take care of you." I realized that up to that moment she had really had nothing from me that would affirm to her that I would take care of her. We had not gotten that far on the verandah and everything since was escaping from calamity. She seemed to accept what I said but made no response, then dropped her eyes and waited.

I took her one hand gently in mine and grabbed a cold Ginger Ale and a glass with the other and led her to the sofa. I set the soda and glass on the end table and then, still with her hand in mind, checked the closet by the door for an extra blanket. There were two and a pillow, and I pulled them down and returned to the sofa. The room was comfortable, but not necessarily warm. In her light blouse and tense like she was, she would chill easily. If shock was the correct diagnosis she likely already had. I tossed the things on the sofa and sat down, drawing her down next to me. She followed like a frightened child, and I turned her around to lie across my lap. In a few quick moves her clogs slipped away to the floor with a clunk, I had her head on the pillow in the crook of my left arm and was spreading one of the blankets over her bare feet and legs, and pulling it up around her shoulders, tucking it behind her.

"You can rest now a bit, young lady." I tried to make my voice fatherly and soothing. "I don't want you to be cold or afraid. You're quite safe now, and I'll be staying with you for as long as you need me." I couldn't think of anything more to say and I probably repeated myself a couple of times.

She was still and quiet for a long while. Well, it seemed like a long while. I was hoping I would get some response out of her, some sign of revival of her spirits. Clearly it was too early to launch into any kind of a serious conversation. She felt tense and stiff lying in my arms, and then I thought maybe I had added to her anxiety by being perhaps too familiar with her in my arms like this. She was just eighteen, alone and with nowhere to turn, terrified of a monster nipping at her heels, and what else? I didn't know hardly anything about her, and though she was a very pretty girl her features were drawn with tension and fear. What could I do now? There seemed nothing else to do but wait and hope she would gain some warmth and confidence. 

Her situation and the many open questions filled my thoughts for long minutes, at least, and then I became aware that she was less tense. She placed one small open hand on my chest and looked up at me. 

"Thank you for taking care of me. I am warmer now. Thank you very much." 

Well, that was very nice. Her voice, too, was soft and gentle... and I thought I could read some easing of her fears as well. That was something anyway. "Are you comfortable?"

She nodded. 

Then, after a long pause, "Are you really like they said you are?" 

I noticed firstly that there was some warmth now in her voice, suggesting that she was relaxing some with me and the situation, and with that warmth a little of her Swiss accent, a pleasant and melodic lilt that was just delectable. Then, too, what she said was on my mind as well. Who were 'they' and what had they said about me? The man who hired me, if that term fits here, had said that she had selected me from several. I came back to my earlier concern that I was in very deep already and didn't know at all what this whole thing was about. Maybe we were at a point where I could find out the answer to some questions of my own.

"And what did they say I was like?" Without really thinking about it I added: "If they told you I was a mean old man that screamed and yelled, and beat my children I'll wring their necks!" I knew already that she was Swiss and German was her first language. I could hear too that she spoke with a beautiful lilt that reminded me of my own times in Switzerland years before. But now, not aware yet as to how good her English really was, I was immediately concerned that she might have missed my attempt at humor. This was certainly not the time for such a thing to backfire.

When I looked down at her again her eyes had brightened and her lips were pursed together trying to keep from giggling. She was just adorable as she looked up at me. "They said you were a good man, and a kind person, and very loyal to your beliefs."

Good propaganda, guys! Thanx! "I will try my very best not to disappoint you, young lady."

"It is very important to me that you are good and kind and loyal. The paper they showed me about you said you did some interesting things in the Navy and that you were a loyal husband and dedicated father... and they said you would know how to take care of me." She was thinking about her situation and reflecting to me her own thought processes. Of course, I still had only the vaguest idea. I wanted very much to ask her directly what gives, but thought perhaps I would get more information if I were patient and let her come to me.

"Well, now, my pretty little vixen, how to take care of you will depend a great deal on knowing what situation you're in and what you would like to have happen. And so far I don't know hardly anything about you or what you need." It seemed too forward to push her here and I paused, thinking she might pick up the conversation.

"Pretty little vixen? What is that?" Her question told me something of the limits of her familiarity with American slang. It is one thing to speak English fluently, and she seemed to have a good command of it, though the lilt of her Swiss accent was just darling; quite another to find your way confidently in everyday conversation among American native speakers. It was obvious from her look that she was waiting for an explanation.

"Well, a vixen is a lady fox, a female fox. Auf deutsch heißt es Fuchsin, oder? It's also a slang term, not derogatory... not bad, for a lady a gentleman finds attractive and pleasant to be with, feminine and beautiful, and a good companion." Now, another man might argue with me over the precision of that definition. She had, nevertheless, asked me for mine, and that's what I meant, and that's what I gave her.

"Oh." 

There was a shyness that left her single word just a blank, and devoid of everything. Her brief response seemed to end our conversation, and I was anxious myself that I had been too forward and perhaps embarrassed her. No way to know yet, and I had to just let the situation develop.

She was quiet and still in my arms, but much of the tension was gone and she had said she was warmer. I felt the light touch of her palm on my chest and wanted to believe that meant she was more at ease with me. Patience, I kept telling myself. Just be patient with her. She's just a frightened young girl.

"I think you must be like they said..." and I was worried again about what they had said about me, "kind and gentle and good." 

All right! That's fine, and I was pleased that she was able to agree. 

"Thank you for taking care of me." She made it sound as if I had become a game warden or a hospital attendant for an invalid. Lots of ambiguity there.

My own feelings were coming to the fore as well, and not only my head but also my heart was involved. She was a very beautiful girl and there were already fleeting thoughts of our time together developing into something like a romance. That thought brought on a great determination to protect her; the image of the loyal and brave knight facing the fiercest of dragons in defense of his lady fair was a gentleman's classic inclination. But there was a lifetime between us. I had two years to her one. Could she ever see me as more than a father figure? Could I ever be a love interest for her? Perhaps, I allowed, but those were long odds, brother, and long odds indeed.

Thinking of her now and with one hand on her back, unconsciously I held her closer. It was no stretch at all to treat her tenderly as I had my sweetheart years ago, and rub her back through the barely perceptible thickness of the blanket and her silk blouse, and work the muscles in her shoulder gently, seeking to soothe her and show her I cared.

"Hmmm." 

Her response surprised me. Her response sounded like a little moan of pleasure, delightfully feminine. I held her closer, and then felt the pressure of her hand on my chest. Whether she was pushing me away or not, I knew quite well that slower was better, and let her lay back and relax in my embrace.

Just the faintest hint of a smile curled the corners of her mouth and the look in her eyes was magical. She was shy and hesitant and unsure of herself, but at least the lost lamb was no longer quite so alone.

"Are you hungry, young lady?"

She didn't respond immediately. "I think I am starving," she said delicately. "Is that the right thing to say?"

She was trying to be light hearted, I thought, and in the process trying her hand at American slang. 

"Well, now, if you feel like you haven't eaten since last month and you're ready for something delicious and refreshing..." I wanted to reflect her attempt at playfulness back to her, "and... you'd like me to take you out to dinner to a fun place for something nice, then... yes, that is the right thing to say." There was a ringer in there that I hoped would tickle her fancy.

She seemed at a loss for words, and dropped her eyes to my chest. She was laying in my arms now without the slightest bit of tension or fear evident in her being, and seemingly in no hurry to alter that. I allowed my imagination to interpret that as her being comfortable in my embrace, even though the conclusion was dangerous. It could lead me to do something stupid, and it could even lead to heartbreak. She had already become someone special; very special.

I look back and call it inspiration now, but at the moment it was impetuous and even daring. I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek, and then cheerily suggested we get up and walk over the village for dinner. There were also some nice shops in the village and perhaps she would like to look for some additional clothes and other things she might need.

She responded to my motions and sat up and we tossed the blanket aside. I offered a hand to help her up and she had one hand to her cheek where I had kissed her and a look of disbelief on her face.




Another Springtime Ch. 01



Before leaving she wanted a moment in the bathroom with the motel comb, and we emerged into the early evening's fading daylight for a short walk over to the village. It seemed perhaps too much to take her hand, though I wanted to very much. She was quiet at first, but opened up a little to my comments about the pleasant evening and the green trees and the saltiness in the moist evening air. Yes, she said, she could smell the salt, and asked what that was, and seemed delighted that we were so close to the ocean. The maritime air was cooler and took the heat off the day, and her light blouse was too little to keep her warm. I had been wearing the Pendleton over a white dress shirt and when she shivered I slipped out of it and draped it over her shoulders and gathered it in front of her. It was rewarding to see a very delightful smile of appreciation replace the tension in her features, but she was very shy. 

The next several hours were marvelous. 

We ate at the Ram, a family oriented sandwich shop in the Village and sports-bar and a hangout for the university crowd, and she seemed to relax among the families and students and the sometimes boisterous atmosphere put her at ease. She was very observant and was full of questions. She wanted me to explain everything on the menu and was anxious to taste a real American hamburger. I mentioned as how there were an infinite number of variations, most all of them delicious.

She was delighted with the shops and found several things that sparked her creativity. It was clear in her choices that she had an eye for fine things and was conservative in her fashion choices, but also that she was practical enough in her present situation that she was concerned about money. I thanked her for her concern but assured her that she need have no worry; to use good judgment and relax. We wandered from one to another, and back again, and I realized that in her manner it was clear that she didn't want me to leave her. She kept asking if we could go here or there, or back to that other shop. Then, quite casually, as we left one shop for another I reached for her hand and she extended hers and we strolled hand in hand down the promenade. She discussed one combination of outfits after another with me, made some very clever and expert selections, including a pair of soft leather slippers for daily wear. 

We passed by the foundations shop and she could not even look. I sensed in her comportment a real struggle within her. She could not bear for me to go in with her, yet was too anxious to leave my side. From earlier experience with the young girl who had been my wife for many years I knew there was nothing for me to do but be patient and respectful... and silent. 

However, at one point she did address me by my first name. Many Americans will think this strange, but I was aware enough of her circumstances to pick up on the change. In a very real sense, in her somewhat more structured upbringing, her graduation from school was a transition from child to adult. Therefore, her experience as a recognized adult in the world was very brief. At this early point she regarded me as an older man, I could tell, and thus not sure whether she was considered an adult or a child to be tended. At dinner she had asked about my name, and I told her the Dace was a species of fish, and briefly something of my navy time, and how that name came to be during my time in submarines, which the Navy named after fish. I made little of it, but she was silent for a time, unsure, I think, what to make of me. She seemed at ease when I invited her to call me that, but when later she actually did it was a big jump for her and a joy for me to hear her talk more openly with me.

In one of the several shops she decided on, for the present, a turtleneck cable-knit pullover over a light linen blouse, and a nicely fitted leather jacket as protection against the cool. She stepped from the dressing room shyly, looked at me with a twinkle in her eye as the lady helping her snipped away the tags. I smiled and nodded my approval. Her figure was extraordinary, her full breasts simply magnificent, and her smile radiant and sparkling. She had my full attention. That was the extent of her selections there and she stood demurely by my side at the register. There was no mistaking it. She had a sense of quality about her; something quite special and almost indescribable. It was like royalty – thought there was no hint of vanity or pretense about her. She was really quite remarkable!

She was a most delightful companion. Her beautiful auburn hair was at once her crown of glory, and trailed behind her like a veil. After watching her I felt like she was not conscious of how very beautiful she was. She was reserved and shy, though when relaxed and confident in her surroundings could be quite expressive and open. She seemed not to ever use her long hair, unruly and tumbling all about her in the most alluring profusion, as a kind of image-enhancing gimmick. She seemed to be at home with it loose like that, just sweeping it from her face now and then in a simple gesture, and I thought it supremely feminine.



Another Springtime Ch. 02



Chapter 2: Our First Night Together

"Dace?" Her voice was soft and low in the darkness, but also burdened with an unmistakable trembling. The door was open between our rooms though the beds were such that we could not see each other. She had wanted to leave it open so I didn't seem so very far away, and asked if that would be all right. It was fine with me.

"It's OK, Christine. I'm right here."

"But, I'm so scared... I can't sleep." 

There was a long silence.

"Can you hold me a little like you did before?" 

Does the sun come up in the morning? 

The image, of course, was very rich in potential, and in more ways than one. She had had no appropriate nightclothes and ended up wearing the top to my new linen pajamas, wrapping her much smaller form in the tent-like expanse of the soft linen, being incredibly feminine and delectable in the process without even trying. The top reached down to her knees almost and she seemed at once both modestly clothed and most deliciously indisposed. I wondered whether I dare trust myself. Even for the dedicated and iron-willed there is a practical limit. Yet, when duty calls....

"OK, I'm coming over to you." When I stepped through the doorway she was sitting up on the bed in my pajama top with her fists under her chin and hugging herself, trembling. The sheet and blanket were gathered around up to her waist and she was modest and presentable, though with her long hair and big brown eyes in the soft light she simply could not be other than heart-stopping. I sat down carefully on the side of the bed and she didn't move a muscle but just looked up at me. 

"Is anything wrong, Christine?" 

"It's just that everything is so scary and... and when you held me this afternoon it made things warm and safe." Her voice was so piteously child-like and trusting. "Just for a little while, please?" as if she were somehow imposing a great and exhausting labor upon me.

I'm sure she had not given a single thought to the mechanics of how to do that, nor to what other dangers it might lead in the process. She was simply frightened and was asking the only person available to help in the only way she knew. OK, keep a clear head here. Her child-like supplication was sweet and trusting, and innocent of machinations of any kind. In other words, she was irresistible.

"All right, let's get comfortable and I'll try to help you relax and rest some." If that was a good start, my very first move was a mistake. In trying to arrange the covers to put them between us so she could lay down she must have felt I was pulling them off her legs and she panicked and clutched them to her. Quickly I turned away to reach across to the chair for the second blanket, trying to ignore her reaction. I had no intention of embarrassing her at all. I arranged the second blanket so she could lay with her back up against my side with her head on my shoulder. All prepared, I lay down on the edge of her bed and patted her place next to me in invitation. Now her fears of one danger were replaced and overridden by her anxiety in the face of one much closer at hand, I'm sure. She was frozen in place, one hand over her mouth, her eyes boring into me with alarm, her other hand still clutching the covers at her waist.

I waited patiently for her to decide what she wanted to do. Her eyes had the expression of a doe trapped in a hunter's spotlight with nowhere to run. For me her vulnerability added a sweet innocence to her beauty that I found was very alluring. It was good that she could not read the thoughts that raced through my mind and my struggles to control them. 

Without a thought in advance I began to hum a soft tune, "Come to me my melancholy baby...." Singing had never been a strong suit and I surprised myself. I wasn't sure what reaction I would get. "Cuddle up and don't be blue." Her facial expression in the dim light was just enchanting. "Smile, my honey, dear, and... I'll kiss away each tear," and her countenance softened and I could see a little smile curling the corners of her mouth, and then she moved carefully to lie down beside me.

I tucked more of the covers between us, for her sake and for mine, but her head rested now lightly on my outstretched upper arm. How to balance one's feeling of tenderness and concern for another is almost always a challenge; I could think of no situation nearly as fraught with pitfalls and dangers as the one with which I now wrestled. This girl's psyche seemed to me more fragile than any I had ever encountered, her recent experience quite a rude shock even for an adult, and her situation now so very anxious and lonely. And for all that she was so exquisitely feminine in every way. 

My assignment... focus on my assignment, my job! My job, I could easily see, was to soothe and protect and make secure in mind and body... a more complex and demanding task than may at first be recognized. On one hand I wished I were several years younger... yet I could easily see that those years of marriage and fatherhood were essential training for exactly what this assignment required: patience, kindness, being always a respectful gentleman, and all the while alert and ready for battle with unseen dragons laying in wait. I had to keep coming back to my job and focusing on that for balance and direction. Whether something romantic between us might emerge in the future was an immensely intriguing concept, but it had to be set back on the shelf for now. If it came at all it would have to be at the proper time... whenever that might be... if it came at all. 

She lay beside me without a word and tense as a steel rail. I lifted her hair clear of her neck and nuzzled her soft ringlets behind her ear and then kissed her lightly, enjoying the fragrance of her hair. That she had not expected, for sure, and she shivered in response. "You are a beautiful young lady, my pretty little vixen. Thank you for trusting me to take care of you. Sleep well, now."

She made no response as I rolled away onto my back and tried to focus on just being her protector and keeping things under control. Kissing her like that was perhaps not exactly a wise step towards keeping control of myself, but her indescribable beauty certainly deserved some measure of acknowledgement, even from an older man, did it not? Well, that's what I told myself, right or otherwise.

It helped to go back to my earlier line of thinking about how to proceed tomorrow and how to deal with the danger close behind us. After some while, oh, probably not more than a few minutes really, I felt her wiggle closer to me and relax, and another minute or two and her breathing was slowed and even. I guessed that she was asleep. If so, then my effort had been successful, and I was pleased with myself... and with her.

]

It was just the morning after the first night together, though nothing untoward had happened and there was nothing of which to be ashamed. Nonetheless, she had slept for a solid six hours almost without moving a muscle all with her head on my shoulder. At my age it was a most delightful phenomenon to have a beautiful young girl so indisposed and anxious for my close companionship. I think any man at any age would have felt exactly as I felt. The knight-in-shining-armor image was exhilarating, but more boisterous, dissident voices were also making themselves heard.

When she awoke and had to go to the bathroom she scooted off the bed and pulled her pajama top down around her legs and padded off daintily trying to be inconspicuous, and failing utterly. Her hair tousled and eyes shy and downcast, her natural beauty was irrepressible.

I used the interlude to answer a call as well in other bathroom, but was back in her bed as I had left it before she emerged, hoping to allow her to sleep yet longer... and prolong the sense of our close association which I was enjoying immensely. She paused at the side of the bed, perhaps unsure of herself and what she wanted. Without a word and as demurely as she could manage she crawled back under the covers and wiggled herself up against me again, with the cutest little smile of satisfaction gracing her features. Facing me now, with both hands beneath her chin again in that special way she had, she relaxed next to me again, and in a few moments her lashes drooped and she drifted off again. Her anxiety had drained her over the previous days and she was exhausted.

I was deep in thought and my mind racing on the situation in which we were enveloped, when she awoke nearly four hours later. She must have been watching me for a while before she spoke.

"My father held me once like this when I was a little girl at home. I had a – how do you say it? a scary dream in the night... and he helped me to feel safe again." Her voice was so very soft and gentle, and trusting.

I turned to face her. "Good morning, Christine. I think your father must have loved you very much." There was more I wanted to say, but the ideas were a little confused. "I think any father with a daughter like you...." What?! "Would find it easy to love you. You are a delightful young lady." There was more, much more, that wanted to speak out, but I managed to quiet those thoughts and left it at that.

She looked down and lay still and shy without saying anything. 

"Did you sleep well?" I tried to divert myself from the amorous mood.

"Oh, yes! Thank you! Thank you very much for..." I could tell she didn't quite know how to say that we had lain together all through the night, "...for helping me feel more safe." There was a tentative tone in her lilt, as if she couldn't imagine where to go from here and was just waiting for me.

I could have made any of several choices, one being to hold her close and kiss her right there. She was just too cute to ignore. But I elected with great effort to broach the matter of breakfast, largely because it would be a distraction, and she brightened and sat up next to me with a smile and gathered the covers around her waist. She seemed not to be aware, but the soft linen draped itself beautifully over her full breasts. She was not wearing underwear, I knew that from having her close beside me, and now the image she presented me was breathtaking... tousled hair, thrusting breasts, and a soft smile at being rested. Magnificent!

At my asking her casually, she started telling me about her family. Then and there started the conversation that was to continue throughout the day and deepen our relationship more than either of us then comprehended.

They had a home in the country not far from Sankt Gallen (if you're looking on an English language map, look for St. Gall), and her father had been a professor at the University there and she was just finishing the Academé that spring. Her parents had brought her to the USA on a vacation trip following her graduation and they looked forward to a fun three weeks in America. It was then that her countenance collapsed in despair and anxiety.

Slowly then, with some coaxing and patience the story came out. Before boarding the flight in Zurich three strange men approached her and wanted her to come with them. They didn't say why except that someone would want her very much when they took her to him. She wasn't sure she understood what was happening – but in the telling it showed that they had frightened her – and when her father intervened the men left quickly. Then, in the hotel in D.C. the very first evening some other men knocked at their door, forced their way in.... She stopped, unable to go on. Even with her eyes closed tight the big tears welled up and ran freely down her rosy cheeks. Her little fists were clenched under her chin, and it all came flooding back to her, I could clearly see. Whatever had happened must have been a terrible nightmare. Then something broke inside her, I think, and she just sobbed uncontrollably.

I sat up next to her and like the previous evening on the sofa just pulled her across my lap and held her and let her cry her heart out.

Over the next hour I was able to put together some pieces of the puzzle between her heart wrenching tears. There was a gunshot, her mother screamed, her father slumped to the floor and the men grabbed her, put a cloth over her mouth that smelled funny and then all was black. When she woke up there was a nice lady with her to tell her she was safe now in the custody of the U. S. government. The lady told her that there had been an attempt to kidnap her but American officers had broken up the attempt and that she was safe now. The lady didn't seem to know what had happened to her parents, and then they flew to Seattle. After two days in the hotel the lady – Sally, she said her name was – had let her know gently that her parents were both dead. Later Sally brought a notebook with three papers in it, one each describing Mister X, Mister Y and Mister Z. She looked and made a choice, and the next morning I had arrived at her door.

Well, now there were more pieces of the puzzle on the table, but still not much to go on, hardly even a start.

She was limp now and resting peacefully in my embrace, her fears and sobbing having drained her once again. Gently I held a corner of the sheet up to her eyes and wicked away her last tears and wiped her nose. She curled up now in my arms, and in the course of that without realizing it she pulled her long legs out from under the covers and for a brief moment I was treated to a most enticing view. I pulled the covers up around her bare bottom to keep her warm. The glimpse was enough to short-circuit several... all thought processes – then and now – and I appreciated a pleasant moment's lull in my efforts to solve the puzzle of our affairs. 

Then it was back to work.

An intelligence analyst seeks to draw from disparate fragments something that leads to a plausible explanation of the forces at work in the target situation. I didn't have many fragments, and they were certainly disparate, but the only explanation I could find that fit was that she was the target of a supplier to the cottage industry that flourishes in the Middle East and Asia. I knew only a little about how it worked, all I wanted to know, really, even if it was out of date from my active duty time years before. It included, nevertheless, a synopsis of the essentials; there was an insatiable market for pretty young girls stimulated by an unending flow of international executives or others with the necessary cash desiring to choose their companion for the night, or similar variations on the theme. White slavery, essentially, or close variation thereof. Looking down at her again, dozing now confidently in my arms, I could feel my blood come to a boil!

Maybe I was right, maybe not. No matter. This kidnapping attempt had evidently been foiled by, well, whatever agency "Sally" and my interviewer worked for. Fine. Good work, guys, whoever you are! Now they had passed the ball to me. I mused to myself that I didn't even know I was on the team. Now I was not only on the team but in the game and carrying the ball.

From my drafting and recruitment I figured two or three conclusions could be readily deduced. Firstly, the goal line was to keep Christine out of their clutches and safe, and where possible with as few close scrapes as my skills and forethought could manage. No one, however, could tell me in which direction I was to run with the ball, nor the color of the other team's jerseys, nor even how far away the goal line lay. Those are nice things to know in a ball game, but I would have to sort them out as we went along.

Secondly, how much logistical support I could rely on from the home office was definitely suspect. The fact that they would turn over a case like this to an inactive naval reserve officer seemed to say something. Either they were desperately short of manpower themselves, just possible, or they knew or suspected that the adversary had a MO on most or all of their people and they had to pull in an unknown. That seemed the more likely, even if it was remote. That conclusion, nevertheless, brought its own dark downside. Was my name on a list in someone's file cabinet, network PC, or black book as a potential reserve call up? For how long had they been watching me, keeping tabs on me? Who were "they" and who else... perhaps someone who answered to another master... had or had had access to the list? No answers. OK, my interviewer – I'll call him "Joe" – said he was the only one. Right. In this business I knew prudence helped keep you alive; and prudence said leave no stone unturned. As far as support goes, I had only my own wits and experience to draw on, and the Colt, a pile of scratch and credit cards that suggested more was available... and a cell number to call. Great! Basically I was on my own.

I had called Joe and reported as he instructed once we were on the freeway. Not a thank you, kiss my foot or nothin' – just a direction to call him again on Monday. Nice guy!

Lastly, there was the consideration as to who the guys were on the other team. The "other" they... the real "they." There was the somewhat obvious conclusion that they were middle easterners, but that might prove a dangerous over-simplification. Money and sex turn a lot of heads. The only wise view here was that everyone was a suspect and constant vigilance and caution were absolutely critical. Well, I decided, it may be just a preliminary analysis, but that's how it looks at the moment.

I looked down at her in my arms again, her countenance calm and composed now, confident and trusting in my strength to care for her. I could feel it surge in my being like the ocean's wave. Every ounce of strength, savvy and skill would be turned to preventing her being lost to them, and I resolved that to my dying breath they would not have her, ever. 

I thought again about my service training years before, and the demonstrations on the Marine pistol range in Hawaii as I qualified in small arms the last time. The sergeant had offered graphic evidence of the impact of the .45 caliber slug on a 4x6" oak timber, a sheet of 3/8th steel plate and, by inference, on the human body. 

If it came to that and there was no working around it, I decided right then and there that I would create my own graphic evidence. 

"Christine," I whispered lightly near her ear, "du wolltest dich doch mit mir frühstücken, oder?" I figured at this point she had to be hungry.

After her cry, a little nap seemed to revive her spirits. She appeared more relaxed as she awoke and sat up next to me. She was embarrassed to have sobbed so and, I knew from experience with my wife years earlier, that her eyes would be all puffy and red from crying. I ignored that and scooted her off to the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day, reminding her that I was anxious to see her in some of her new clothes. That seemed to lighten her spirits a little.

We rose and prepared ourselves for the day. Since she wanted the door open between our rooms I promised her I would not enter without calling to her in advance for her invitation to enter, that so she could feel safe and private and that I would not embarrass her. After just a few minutes she called to me and said I could come in. We had each showered and dressed and she sat at the little dresser brushing her hair, in each such feminine activity just marvelously attractive, and I sat on the edge of her bed watching her as we chatted.

In a girlish mood and happy, she told me how pleased she was to have found such a nice hairbrush and how good it made her feel to be able to brush her hair out. At length she laid it aside and stood up and turned to me, the light blue of her new sweater accentuating her very feminine curves and setting off her glistening auburn hair and the deep brown of her expressive eyes.

Had I not been watching her, pleased at what I saw, her standing in front of me so prettily would have stunned me to mumbling gibberish. "You're just pretty as a picture this morning, Christine." The compliment just flowed as naturally as my next breath, but there was the slightest shadow of question in her face. I paused, and could see immediately that she knew I saw it, and she dropped her eyes shyly. 




Another Springtime Ch. 02



"What is it? What's wrong?"

She just shook her head and tried to turn away.

I wanted none of that, and took her hand and pulled her back to me. "Tell me, Christine, please. What is it?"

It seemed difficult for her to voice her thought. She hemmed and hawed, and her mouth worked as she tried. Finally she pulled on my sleeve for me to lean down to her so she could whisper in my ear – as if there were others nearby who might hear – "Can I be your pretty little vixen?" 

Wow! 

Friend, you have to have been there, done that to grasp what that can do to a fellow's heart! I was thrilled and pleased, and felt rewarded as no knight-in-shining-armor had ever been. Her eyes were alight with happiness mixed with a shy, questioning look.

"Young lady, you bring sunshine and flowers to my heart. You will, Christine, always be my pretty little vixen!" 

She seemed pleased at my response, took my arm as I offered it, and we strolled off to get us some breakfast. 

]

„Ich weiss es nicht. Was soll ich machen?" Her expression was rather subdued and even maybe a little discouraged. As she relaxed with me much of the confusion within her was slowly making its way to the surface. Her German was polished and her diction was clear and concise, and showed her schooling and personal values, though the delightful lilt of the Swiss-German was still quite evident, and even showed in her English. More to the point though, she was a child in many ways, certainly unprepared for the world into which circumstance now thoughtlessly tossed her.

I ventured a quick glance at her as we drove on. She sat bemused and gazing vacantly ahead and, it seemed, rather disconsolate.

„Auf mich können Sie sich verlassen." My intention was to reassure her and buoy her up before she sank into despair like before. She turned and looked up at me and I could sense her watching me. Her manner spoke too of her emotions. She was doubting herself, her situation, and gradually loosing her grip. "Darüber müßen Sie aber selbst zu einer Entscheidung kommen."

I glanced at her again. She was looking directly at me with a pitiable expression on her face. She was like a lost child; the expression in her eyes was complete despair. As I drove I was searching for some way to lighten things for her. "Wollen wir uns dützen vielleicht? Das mache wohl das Ganze etwas leichter, nicht wahr?" 

German and other languages use an alternate form for "you" which signals to each speaker a more familiar, friendly, even intimate relationship. To introduce such between a man and a woman is always a significant step in the social structure „Die Bekanntschaft wird sicherlich... ja, die Freundschaft möchte ich das schon benennen... unsere Freundschaft wird sicherlich schon enger werden, oder?"

The silence was very noticeable and I thought at first she must have been trying to find some way to say "no" politely. Socially, in German, for an older man to open the door to the use of the more familiar form between himself and a young lady was a delicate thing and subject to much potential miscuing. We had known each other now only a few hours really, and the idea of shifting to the more familiar mode of address was yet for her with her traditional Swiss upbringing a serious matter. I understood this from my own experience in Europe and even found the matter academically interesting, though as an American, such formality had always seemed an arbitrary demarcation at best... and sometimes a needless impediment.  

"I want to trust you," she said softly, almost inaudibly. 

By her shifting to English, I was immediately aware, she was perhaps, consciously or otherwise, trying to bridge the cultural gap between us, which I judged a good sign. She had, however, by shifting, avoided responding to my invitation.

After a pause, considering what was transpiring between us and trying to understand, I glanced over at her again to find her lower lip trembling and big tears in her eyes. I decided to take the convenient off ramp and pulled over under some trees off the crossroad and stopped.

There seemed no simple way to do this, and certainly no time to ask permission as she seemed to be ready to break. I just took her lightly by the shoulders, turned her around on the seat and drew her gently into my arms, holding her like I had held my young daughter years ago when she had been frightened. I stroked the soft features of her face lightly with my fingertip to brush away the few wayward strands of her long hair from her eyes. She was quiet and watched me, a little tense and wary, I thought.

"Wie gesagt, meine Dame, du kannst dich auf mich verlaßen." Shifting back to German and using the more familiar address form I sought to reassure her. 

An adult, her school proctors, for example, would have used the "du" form, the familiar form of "you," with her throughout school. I wanted to separate her from her "child/student" status and thus referred to her as "meine Dame" – effectively "Dear Lady" – a respectful but, more importantly, an unmistakably adult connotation. I felt myself in that moment almost as her father, and I wanted to get past that feeling as well. I whisked her tears away with a finger's soft touch and kissed her on the tip of her pretty nose. Ignoring her lingering anxiety I let my head lean back onto the seat back and hummed a few bars of a simple tune that popped into my head. 

It was just magical to hold her in my arms. She was wonderfully soft and feminine, and I was very conscious of holding not only 'my daughter' but a delightfully sweet and beautiful young girl. Her vulnerability was obvious and I wanted to console and protect, and had to struggle to retain my focus on that intent, all the while humming softly whatever melody passed through my mind – and holding her in my arms like that all kinds of pleasant melodies paraded through my mind – and casting about to determine what else I might do to ease her burdens. 

After a time the tension seemed to have drained away, and I looked down. Her countenance was peaceful, and her heavy lashes drooped prettily. 

She had fallen asleep.

That she would have done that after the few moments I held her in my arms – well, maybe it was longer than that; I was in no hurry – suggested to me several things. Firstly, she clearly did trust me, perhaps only out of desperation and the absence of any other in her life... but she did, or else how could she slip off like that to such a peaceful slumber. Then, too, to drop off like that also suggested that she was not sleeping well at night. Her fear and anxiety was dominating her life at present, and since she had no evident way to escape, she must, I concluded, live night and day with her anxieties ever at her elbow, and was thus unable to rest. That she could so easily rest in my embrace was a good sign to me, I thought, a very good sign.



Another Springtime Ch. 03



Chapter 3: A Pioneering Experience Together

Under the circumstances, keeping up with my mail and other correspondence was a serious challenge. Besides that, there were events in my own life that did not seem to fit in with the constant running of total mobility – being my daughter's father for one; continuing with my studies for another; just a couple of minor points, ha, ha, ha! Then came the wedding announcement from my one nephew and his fiancé... that fall in Los Angeles. Would I go? Our families had been close over the years; how could I not? Take Jennifer and Christine, both of them? Well, why not? 

OK. I determined to do it. The deployment would also throw off any pursuer and I devised it so. I asked the Agency about their thoughts concerning Los Angeles and got a green light for the trip. I have not included anything like a detailed account of my contacts with them, but that really played very little role here.

The trip went just fine. Jenny and Christine were already good friends and the chatted about girl stuff it seemed like forever and as I listened as we drove I could detect, recalling my own language learning experiences, how quickly Christine was picking up Jennifer's expressions and mimicking back her vocabulary and little nuances as her English expanded. I realized I should have been more alert to that, but such an exposure was just what Christine needed, and she profited from the time together.

The entire experience was positive, the wedding delightful, and seeing family again was very pleasant. Having Christine with me was made easier to explain by Jennifer's intuition and initiative, and she introduced Christine as her girl friend. Quick and alert to things, my loving daughter looked at me and winked knowingly, as if now I owed her one big time. I just thanked her.

We had gathered a good bit of stuff on our somewhat leisurely trip south and back. There were several large boxes on the back now. Among the things we picked up were several maps and a three ring binder. Christine said she would like to write down some of her experiences and have me check her English. She wanted to remember the marriage and how sweet my family were with her, and how much she liked my... her voice trailed off there, I noticed, and thought that might have been significant, but she added after a moment that she was having a lot of fun with me and she enjoyed what all we did together.

How could I argue. I was happier than a clam myself.

Jennifer left us in San Francisco to visit a girl friend there, complete a research project for school, and then fly back to Seattle.

Later, as we were driving north after crossing the Golden Gate bridge and stopping to enjoy the view to our mutual delight, we discussed journals and we concluded that she could make a monumental contribution to our effort to keep her safe by recording notes and decisions that we made along the way to help us both keep track of what we were doing. We had already taken some convoluted twists in our various arrangement with the idea of making it difficult to track us... but I was not able to keep all that stuff in my head and it would be a huge assist, I told her honestly, for me to be able to talk to her about it and would she keep notes on our arrangements.

Like I often saw in her manner, once she perceived how she could be of assistance she was not only willing but also very diligent in doing so. Her English vocabulary was growing very quickly, and we often discussed word usage and shaded meanings at great length. Intellectually she was very active and keen.

]

Information on the techniques and the skill levels of the adversary were seldom forthcoming from the agency. Their own information was both sketchy and incomplete, or their confidence in passing it out to me, either for security reasons or some other, were such that they did not give me much to work with. On one occasion in November a short e-mail provided an insight of tremendous import that influenced my strategy thereafter.

Over a period of days thinking about how the information must fit into a broader picture, this composite came to be my basic scenario. This may be off in some details but the basic thrust is sound. [1] A consumer identifies the physical characteristics of a desirable subject, [2] a supplier scouts the market, identifies a match, and then moves the subject to the consumer, and [3] collects the fee. Nationality of consumer and supplier are transparent – the target's wants and wishes, of course, are of no concern to either. 

Years previously I had been briefly conversant with some emerging computer technology that was then making the idea of mapping a visual image and codifying it in mathematical terms so that, for example, the face of a criminal could be identified using a large number – more than two hundred – discreet measurements of, for example, proportion of height to width of the bone structure of the skull, vertical location of the eye sockets, ears lobes, nose and mouth in the skull structure, lateral separation of the eye sockets, the prominence of the cheekbones, etc. These made it possible to see through disguises such as beard / no beard, dark glasses, changed hair styles, and such. Such a computer program capable of identifying a criminal would then also be able to focus on a girl selected from a catalog, school yearbook, suitable family photo, magazine or newspaper shot or identified from an earlier photograph by a monitoring scout. Augmented by details like hair color, build, body dimensions and age, etc., the resulting mathematical code identifier could be quite specific. There may be, speaking statistically, only a few individual girls worldwide that would match the code, perhaps only one.

The scout teams in the field – and these could be either syndicate owned and operated or free-lance "bounty hunter" teams – could function in any of several different ways. They could photograph, map and code suitably appearing girls encountered on an opportune basis, or they could be tasked to search for a few specific orders. Speed in communicating such data via the internet and e-mail, even via cellular internet connections, makes it possible to capture an image with a hand-held digital camera and download it to a PC at point "a" in the field, transmit it to point "b" located almost anywhere in the world for analysis and coding, comparison with a data base of outstanding orders, and respond back to point "a" in the field with a hit / no hit evaluation and all in the process of merely a few minutes... perhaps as few as two or three; certainly no more than half an hour. 

Advised of a "hit" response, the matter devolves to a relatively simple kidnapping, with, however, a travel agenda coupled to the hit. With falsified ID the team with a victim in, say, Oregon, boards the next available flight in Portland for anywhere – the object first is to put distance and thus complexity between the kidnap scene and the victim – then onward to reach the delivery point, which, of course, could be anywhere in the world and would likely be changed frequently.

In other words, once the pick up has been made the trail left by the kidnappers grows cold very quickly, becomes so complex that tracking is almost impossible, and crosses international boundaries and jurisdictions at random and with impunity. Once in their hands the victim is essentially beyond help.

The image in my mind of Christine slipping into this quagmire was – how can I put this strongly enough? – about as, well, distasteful as I could imagine anything being.

Like years before in the Navy I was once again involved with countermeasures. Here again three basic tactics seemed to apply: in countering an opposition system one can either [1] penetrate the system and render it inoperable from within, [2] confuse it with deceptive or erroneous data input, [3] avoid contact. With my resources at hand I did not have a lot of choices here.

Nevertheless, avoiding contact for the person depending on dumb luck is an entirely different story line from the person studiously analyzing the tactical situation with insight and determination. Now, I may not be the brightest light around, but neither was I born yesterday. The young buck with a digital camera, a cell phone, a laptop and a bunch of gadgets may think himself a sharp operator... but skill and cunning born of age and experience are formidable opponents. 

OK, good words and brave. Now, down at the working level after all the hoopla is over, how do we operate?

Mobility and freedom of movement would be absolutely key. Part and parcel with that is intimate knowledge of the geography and local resources. For me, I interpreted this to be basically western Washington and primarily the Seattle / Everett / Tacoma metropolitan area. Mobility had two primary elements: First, staying mobile broadened the target area for the searchers, multiplying their problems many fold. Second, if spotted, mobility meant the capacity to evade by blending into the local environment... loosing them in traffic, in a crowd, laying low in a safe house for a time, shifting our area of residence. The potential here was quite extensive, but there was no getting around the basics... lifestyle would be constrained by non-selection of some dangerous–type exposure-prone activities, and the need for continual vigilance.

And how much of this line of reasoning could I properly expect to share with Christine? None? That would be setting her up for disaster; at least part of my job was training her in the appropriate way to become self-aware of the dangers about her. All of it? Yes, and lay on her a guilt trip and a burden of fear that would cripple her emotionally. Somewhere in the middle was the proper balance... somewhere. Doesn't life ever get any simpler?

Yet, there were practical matters which we had to confront every day together: among them basic logistics, like where do we stay tonight, dining and basic supplies, shopping, activities, etc.

Two other things we decided between us. Since continuing her schooling at present was impossible in a formal class attendance, we would undertake together a series of correspondence courses and institute between us twenty hours a week of study time, ten together in discussion or such, and ten when each had time alone and, though we might be in the same room, we would consider that time not to disturb the other person. This soon led to two other refinements. We each got a calendar and we began to plan our days out several in advance, and things we wanted or felt we needed to do. Since I was doing the driving Christine suggested she start a journal of our activities and decisions together so we could keep things straight and avoid confusion. I thought this a marvelous idea on her part, and it soon evolved to where she was in this way making a very significant contribution to our combined success 

Then, too, we needed some physical exercise on a regular basis. Here our ideas coalesced very quickly. She agreed to teach me what she knew about tennis if I would teach her to swim. We agreed that twice a week we would spend half a day at least working up a sweat. I suggested we use the excellent facilities at the Submarine Base at Bangor, where there were very nice courts and a great swimming facility, together with the BOQ and the officer's club, a nice library, the Navy Exchange, all available to us in a relatively risk-free environment. Noon time over and swimming in the pool in the afternoon, dinner and library or movie time, and tennis the next morning early and showers, and then back to Seattle on an early afternoon ferry. That was the plan.

She could readily see that I was deeply into my Germanics studies, and though she was quick to assist where she could in spoken German, she herself wanted to explore English, and after talking about options, she elected to sign up for a university extension class in American Literature. She was so very cute as she made that decision. She was anxious that she could not handle a university level course in the English language, with so much reading and writing and such. Only after she begged a promise from me to assist her with her readings and correct her writings for her did she smile with confidence and show her excitement. How a girl manages to be so very pleasant and attractive in her every little mannerism remains a mystery to me. 

Mystery or not, it came naturally to Christine.

]

Late summer moved on quickly to Fall, and then winter was coming on. There was much to do, and we were busy almost all the time.

There were several good reasons for curtailing our movements during the winter months. Doing a lot of driving in less than ideal road conditions just increased the statistical probability that we would be involved in some kind of accident. I regarded any such occurrence as stripping us of our mobility, which was our only real defense. Should we be spotted by chance – and it appeared very likely at this point that such a random, chance encounter was the real danger – we had to be able to move quickly and slip away into the crowd, so to speak, in order to break the contact as quickly as we could devise. 

Therefore, taking additional precautions to avoid compromising that mobility was critical. My e-mail contacts with the agency provided my only real intelligence on the other team, and that was almost nil. The agency said that the thinking was then that there were as many as four to six operative cells in the United States tasked with, among other things, searching for their targets. That "targets" was plural suggested that we were not the only ones on the run or that other young girls were being sought and kidnapped as well, but that was an assumption only, and in any case meaningless for us. It would have been good to know where these cells seemed to have their center of activity, but maybe the agency didn't know either. They suggested we stay clear of Las Vegas, which was no big surprise to me.

Looking at probabilities of random encounters led also to few solid conclusions. Every alternative was simply a trade off between competing sets of pros and cons. Picking a small town in which to spend longer periods offered a greatly reduced chance of any encounter, yet should one occur the chances of blending into the crowd were also very much reduced... dangerously so. 

As I thought about options and our capabilities vs. the other team, it seemed very clear that unless we could drop out of sight by loosing them in traffic and slipping into a hotel or some other safe house that we created, we were hopelessly exposed. A car chase on the highway, for instance was almost surely going to end in tragedy and failure. It might make for excitement in a James Bond movie, but we were playing for real. My paycheck had to do with the safety of two... box office appeal meant absolutely nothing at all.

Therefore, I reasoned, we would stay in the cities where our flexibility could be maintained and a system of safe houses could be established. I knew Seattle best, then Salt Lake City, and then Los Angeles, although my knowledge of LA was years out of date and that city changes so continually that my familiarity was thus essentially nil. I liked the Bay area, but I had been there only a few times over the years and was much less familiar with it. 

Our basic operating plan emerged from our putting our heads together during a four day stay at the Silver Cloud on Fairview on Lake Union. We collected our resources and roll played possibilities and options under certain circumstances and studied out what alternatives would be most useful. The results of our study and planning suggested four areas of the greater Seattle area where we ought to establish safe havens for ourselves, and then too the utility of having a second vehicle to which we could trade off periodically. 

Then we tried to design what such a safe haven had to be. That was not too hard, and we soon determined that an apartment building with an enclosed garage with controlled access was crucial. A two-bedroom place was minimum, and an outside view was desirable.

We began thinking about furnishing apartments and then about stocking food supplies and such to allow us to drop out of sight for extended periods and how we might rotate between them to throw off any followers. It was a kind of chess game – or high-stakes charades with smoke and mirrors – and she took quite readily to the intellectual challenges of planning ahead. Her questions, she was always full of questions now, showed me the range and depth of her thinking. She was a very astute and perceptive young lady. 

We scouted out a suitable apartment complex in each of the four areas we identified as suitable, mapped and reviewed the various approaches and alternative routes to and from, and by mid-November had established two safe houses.

Taking up residence in the one to start with, we then went to Ikea in Renton for furnishings. She knew of the Swedish firm since her mother had thought their branch store in Zurich was marvelous, but Christine herself had been there only once. I had become acquainted with Ikea during my years in Germany, where the Swedes had another outlet in Köln, not far from the Embassy in Bonn. Anyway, gradually we fitted out first one apartment and then the second.

It was loads of fun, actually. She was very artistic, as I said, and showed good sense as to spatial relations, and a very thoughtful and calming taste for color and texture and shape. As an example, she found in a shop one day a large terra cotta pot with some interesting design work around the edge. It surprised me, actually, that she was so sure about it. But at home in the apartment she had the place already picked out, a sort of empty, dead-end corner of the dining room that got afternoon sun. Within two weeks she had flowers sprouting and the entire character of the room and the apartment was tremendously enhanced by her selection. This happened regularly. Her creativity was truly astounding.

With her Swiss upbringing her tastes were, quite naturally, very European. She thought through ideas we discussed together, planned carefully and exploited the catalogs, and calculated in metrics, so Ikea was precisely her cup of tea. She showed a quite remarkable sensitivity in use of fabrics, ceramics and polished woods, and a nigh on professional technique in interior design. Her talents were impressive and, what's more, the results were, like the flowers and the terra cotta pot, just striking!

It surprised her at first when I said that we should not spend long periods in any one place. She picked up on the idea, though, and worked with that limitation very well. We looked at the catalog and selected major pieces and designs and basic concepts, and then she would work out detailed plans on paper on her own while I attended to other things, and then as agreed we would reconvene for a review of the plans together. She could think of a thousand and one little details and worked out answers or at least alternatives for my review, and I often had to remark to her that her talents and skill were just amazing. 

She seemed to take special delight in my compliments, and always gave me the sweetest smile in response. It was then that I began to recognize it more often when she did it. It seemed never to be contrived but just her... she would tilt her head and drop her eyes daintily, and that smile of hers would curl the corners of her mouth. And when she did that my heart just soared!

It happened again when we were out shopping one Thursday. There was no particular buildup or anything, it just happened. We were in one of those warehouse stores for just some diversion and I was looking for a particular type of tool for one of our projects in 'Windy Chicago,' and she was right beside me.




Another Springtime Ch. 03



I ought to tell you that we gave each of our safe houses codenames to help us keep things strait without having to use obvious names like "safe house" that might arouse suspicion to someone overhearing us. We had "Balmy Biloxi" and "Sunny San Diego" and "Foggy San Francisco" as well as "Windy Chicago." We thought ourselves very clever and had some good laughs over our frivolity, and that probably took some of the tension off our situation.

Anyway, on this day she was wearing her hair loose and down, and when she did that her natural beauty just made my heart do flip flops like you wouldn't believe. She did not have any of those dramatic, eye-catching little head movements, tossing her mane back over her shoulder, for example, like some of the starlets attempt for effect, but she would just brush her hair away from her face with a easy, casual motion of one hand. She was beautiful. At the end of the one aisle of tools there was a big display of china and glassware, very nicely laid out in a sample table setting. I watched her as it caught her eye, and then she moved away from me to look closer.

She was not gushy or excited but very reserved and sedate. She picked up the china pieces and inspected them closely, and I could see how she handled them with feeling and appreciation, savoring the textures of the heavy stoneware, the thick, hand-woven materials of the place mats on the sturdy oaken table.

Then, when she turned back to me, one hand at her cheek sweeping her hair away, she found me watching her... and suddenly her entire countenance changed... became different, altered, in some way I could not define. Her eyes grew darker somehow as she looked at me, and there was that little curl at the corners of her mouth and then she tilted her head ever so slightly to the right, and stepped toward me almost as were she embarrassed that I was looking at her. 

My words were soft and casual, I hoped, as she stood in front of me, eyes boring into my chest and trying to figure out what was happening to her, and I told her that she was a very pretty young lady. As before, she seemed not to be able to acknowledge that and just waited for me to lead her. 

As soon as I mentioned the china and the table setting she was able to pull out of her little hideaway and we could talk then quite casually about the display. She spoke thoughtfully about the massive table and the way the table's strength made the coarse textured china and fabrics fit well together. She made some comments about the muted colors used on top of the dominant earth tones of green and browns, and asked me what I thought.

Firstly, I was again impressed at her artistic flair for such things, and then also her rapid assimilation of new vocabulary. She was picking up words and phrases from the descriptive catalogs and doing quite well, but she would sometimes hesitate and look up at me trusting me to correct her if she said it incorrectly. Her sense of artistry was just the most unaffected expression of the joy that beautifully crafted things set together brought forth from her being. This surfaced again and again, and it seemed to come very naturally.

Then I suggested that we could easily make our dining room in "Foggy San Francisco" comfortable and attractive with such a theme and motif. Her eyes lit up at my approval and encouragement and she brightened at the prospect. Goodness and joy just radiated from her, and she was more beautiful than any man can imagine.

She browsed through some other fabrics and place settings, jotting herself some reminders in her little notebook, and then we were ready to go. In the car she sat very quietly and deeply in thought and then, as I was stopped at a red light, she looked across at me and said very matter-of-factly, "I don't know who you are, Dace."

That caught me off guard, and I responded before I thought about what was happening. "Who," I returned to her, "do you want me to be?" 

Instantly I could sense her recoil, and I wished I had put brain in gear before putting mouth in motion. I had not meant my words to be so mysterious and evasive. Still, I was confronted myself with a mystery. Who was I to her? Who might I become? A protector for sure; but never really her father. Might I ever become a man to whom she might want to give her heart in love? I couldn't figure that out and hoped to arrive at some kind of an answer somehow.  

"I'm sorry," I added quickly. "I don't mean to be so thoughtless, Christine. Maybe I am understanding you, maybe not. I think I wonder myself, who I want you to be."

"I can't be someone I'm not," she responded graciously. There was doubt and question in her wide eyes, though her words showed not only remarkable wisdom but also a simple and feminine response utterly without guile. She did not have, of course... she could not have... the experience with people to have developed a depth of perspective on the matter as had I. 

"That's quite right. Let's start over, OK? I'll tell you something about my life and then you tell me something about yours. Is that a deal?"

"OK," she ventured cautiously, picking up on my slang, "that's a deal."

Within just minutes, as I related some details about my years in the Navy and living in Hawaii and playing with my kids on the beach, she began to relax and giggled at some of the story. It felt strange to speak to Christine of my wife... the woman who had been my wife then... but I mentioned how I had tickled her that afternoon on the beach and she had screamed for me to stop and our oldest son had come to her, all wet and sandy, an assured her that daddy was only tickling her because he loved her. He was so solemn and earnest at 8 years old we had to laugh together at what had happened. 

Christine smiled with me at first, and then asked seriously if I had really tickled my wife. I confessed I had, if just a little, because I wanted to get her attention and hold her in my arms.

Christine didn't say a word, and when I looked at her she seemed to be busy filing information away in that pretty head of hers, and her smile had faded a little.

After hearing of my time on the beach with my family she seemed reluctant to speak of her own. She sat quietly for the longest time, remembering, I suppose, some details from her own past and perhaps missing her parents. I reached over and took her hand in mine and she held them in her lap. That helped some, I think, but she was distant and withdrawn and perhaps a little homesick. I knew something of those feelings myself. Time and experience are the only healers, and there was really nothing for me to say.

I might insert here that this was the first time of which I was aware, and this only in thinking back later, where I feel confident she looked at me as a man. Most often, I think, she saw herself as a little girl and I was her protector and replacement father and all that, but in this moment she felt more as a young woman... and I was a man, and unexpectedly our relationship entered a new and exciting phase.

]

There was a distinctly domestic side of Christine's personality.

Let me describe something special about Christine that I observed over several months from about Thanksgiving time forward. I have mentioned before how quick and keen she was in creating homes for us in each of the safe houses, but there needs to be more detail here. In the USA the mainstream media to which girls are exposed give, in my estimation, short shrift to the values and rewards of domesticity, and glamorizes more 'fulfilling' pursuits. The resulting images of the homemaker are too seldom positive for a girl's outlook to be well balanced, or for a fellows either.

It turned out that she and her mother had done a lot of sewing together when she was a young girl, and one of her best memories of her mother was working at their sewing table together, especially after her father had bought them a new sewing machine when she was about twelve. All this and much more poured out of her one afternoon when we had been shopping together and she had to show me a blouse she had found that she liked, but which had some serious flaw in the seams in one shoulder.

She looked up at me as if this were a first magnitude travesty of human rights. I suggested she bring it to the attention of the clerk, and she went and did that. To my surprise, the store manager happened to be standing there as well, and after a few explanations and apologies, the manager gave the blouse to Christine at no charge, ringing it up as a sale so she had a receipt to get it out of the store.

Christine was quiet for a time before she came to me and explained what had transpired, and then... a fresh and vibrant expression on her face the likes of which have no comparison, she asked me meekly if she could get a sewing machine.

We had the funds and the place, but I had had no indication that she had any interest. The rest of the afternoon and evening were something very special. In the same shopping complex there was a sewing specialty shop and she found not only several brands to choose from, but the latest models from Singer, the Swiss-German firm in Singen, on Lake Constance, the lake between Germany and Switzerland. She was immediately alight with excitement and pleasure, and came to me more than once asking for this and that, and I had the distinct impression that she felt somehow like she was with her father back in Switzerland. I watched her carefully, trying not to derail her fantasy if, in fact, that was what she was thinking. The sales lady, much older and somewhat aloof at first, was quickly captivated by Christine's enthusiasm and charm, and the two of them were soon lost in their animated conversation together. It was quite an instructive period for me, and I could see that over this little detail of the poorly stitched seam in the blouse an entire area of her life and interest had suddenly opened to me. I could have glossed over it as inconsequential, but that would have been a mistake.

Thinking about what I was seeing, I pushed on to consider how this would work in our apartment. No problem, really, until I realized that she would want a table to spread out her patterns and do her cuttings. The solution to that was right at hand. A branch of one of those office supply warehouse stores, at which I already had an open account, was right next door. I interrupted the two ladies, suggested Christine look at some patterns and material as well while we were there, and gave her the credit card. I excused myself and said I would be right back.

A half an hour later I had a new, 84-inch folding leg work table for her in the back of the Suburban. As she opened the rear door so I could set her new sewing machine in the back, she saw the drawing of the table on the box and realized what I had done. Her arms still loaded with the stack of patterns and materials she had selected, she stopped and looked up at me with a blank expression.

I closed the door, took her hand and lead her to the front and helped her in without a word. When I got in on my side, there were big tears in her eyes as she gazed at me.

"Thank you, Dace. You remind me of my fa..."

I thought so. 

Her breath caught, and I could feel the emotion in her voice.

"...my father."

Her eyes were soft and winsome, and her loneliness for her parents shown in her face.

"That, my dear young lady, is nearly the supreme compliment. Thank you." 

What I did then was spontaneous, and might have wrecked everything, but I reached out and put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her to me like I had Jenny on more than one occasion, and just hugged her a little. To my surprise, she didn't resist me at all, but seemed to melt in my arms and lay her head on my shoulder. That, friend, was a first rate thrill for me.

"Your father must have loved you a great deal, young lady." That was a statement of simple fact.

She lingered there for a long moment, and I let her enjoy the interlude. I wasn't sure what she might be thinking, but I had an idea. I could never be her father, of course, but softening her loss with a little tenderness at the right moment was the very least I could offer.

And then it passed. 

She sat up, wiped her eyes bravely, and started to describe to me the things she had purchased and her ideas for things to make. She had material for a tablecloth and matching napkins, little curtains for her kitchen window, and a pattern for the cutest little peasant girl blouse like I remembered from my time in the Alpine regions of Europe – Bavaria, Switzerland and the Tirol – along with some embroidery thread and a little embroidery hoop. More than I could ever have imagined, these simple things released in her a feeling of self and fulfillment, and allowed her to become more the person she was, pursuing her own interests.

Her delight gave me pause to consider again what was happening. A man can lead, should lead in my understanding, but at the same time it was essential to allow his companion to grow and blossom at her own pace and in fields of endeavor that might be foreign to him. If his manner made her feel as if she had to compete with him their efforts at togetherness would eventually shatter, since by nature she could not. Were he, on the other hand, to create for her a place with him secure and safe, where she could blossom as a woman, her contribution to their togetherness could quickly become quite substantial and bring immense joy to them both.

She was so delighted that evening she could hardly contain her joy. She wasn't sure, however, how to say thank you to me... she was conscious of me being a man, and, even if a good friend, I was not her father... and as yet there was no place prepared for a man in her life that she could acknowledge with ease. When she came to me a second time during the evening to thank me, stumbling and shy and not knowing what to say, I recognized her dilemma, and the third time I was ready.

"M'Lady," I said, trying to be gallant and suave like some knight who had recently slain a fierce dragon, "it is my high honor to be in your service." 

That, with a little bow to her, seemed to magically dissolve her chagrin, and made her giggle and blush. She offered to get me a scoop of strawberry ice cream, which gesture I had come to identify as her being suddenly at ease with me.

The matter did not end there, not by a long shot. As she spread her things out on the table, she realized that she needed a good pair of scissors. I said I thought she needed the nice pair of Solingen dressmaker's shears I had noticed hanging on the display in the shop. Solingen is a German firm well known for fine steel and their cutlery and shears and things, and well known to her as a first rate selection, and she looked at me surprised, I think, that I thought she was worthy of such a thing of quality and could relate so quickly to things familiar to her in her past. Then, as I looked at her, her surprise was replaced with a shy smile... imagining pleasantly to herself, perhaps, that her own valiant knight would be so attentive to her every whim and fancy.

There are some tough assignments in life, and they come to all of us... that would not be one of them!

Eating her ice cream while looking pleased with her new sewing machine set up on the work table, she turned all at once to me.

"Dace, your one dress shirt with the torn sleeve..." and she disappeared into my room to my closet – and the very act caught my attention, because she never entered my room when I was home with her. It was with her, with me as well, but especially for her, a matter of propriety. She did not go into a man's bedroom with him present. I came back from an errand to the car sometimes to find my carefully ironed shirts in my closet, but she would never go in there with me in the apartment. This time, nevertheless, with nary a ruffled feather, she emerged with my own freshly ironed dress shirt on its hangar. It was one of my three or four best ones, a long sleeved, spread collar model that was very comfortable and, even with the long rip in the sleeve, was still quite wearable. 

She was functioning on a different plane now, something like a professional Schneiderin – in the hierarchy of craftsmen's guilds in Germanic Europe a very highly skilled and respected lady tailor – and she spoke to me in flowing German about how she could mend the tear without it hardly being evident at all... and then stopped, and looked at me for an answer.

My responding words in German came quickly, and I thanked her for her suggestion, and nodded my approval. It was one of my best shirts and I regretted that I had torn it accidentally on a hook some months before. How could she repair such a tear, I asked her, interested in the process.

She jumped ahead to a new idea and her eyes were alight with girlish excitement. Would I, she begged sweetly, let her have that shirt as a pattern? She would make me several new dress shirts of the finest material. "Please, let me do that for you," she begged sweetly. "Please, Dace?"

How does any man answer in the negative to such sweetness?

I knew, just the same, that in the men's shirt business putting together a fine dress shirt that fit well and laid right was no small undertaking, and required considerable skill. Sport shirts were, by comparison, a piece of cake. Should I risk her embarrassment later were her skills to fall short? I did not want to expose her to that, yet, considered overall, if I denied her the chance I would crush her exuberance right then, and for virtually no gain whatever. 

"Grünes Licht!" I said, giving her a 'green light' thumbs-up signal that I knew she would savvy from my stories about the navy. She was so thrilled at my response she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. Though startled at this reaction, I recovered quickly, and enjoyed the very feminine curves of her back... and her front against my chest... as I held her close.

So... was I parent, protector, or fledgling paramour? I wasn't sure, but I savored the moment.

It was a happy day for her, and a happy day for me as well.

Oh, and by the way... within a couple of weeks or so we had a nice new tablecloth with matching napkins, there were cute little frilly curtains on her kitchen window, and I had two of the very nicest spread collar, long sleeved white dress shirts of the very finest linen material, and they fit beautifully, as had they come from the finest manufacturing house, and even better. 

Also, on the shirt tail in front, hand embroidered, my initials together with the cutest little flower motive in yellow and sky-blue... she had embroidered a trio of tiny little Forget-me-nots on each of my shirts!

Marvelous!



Another Springtime Ch. 04



Chapter 4: The Uniqueness of a Beautiful Girl

The approaching holidays were both blessing and challenge. Europeans are much more tradition conscious than many Americans, and from my own time in Europe this could be a real time of wonderful experiences and family togetherness and spiritual uplift. 

The backside was that she could hardly overlook the fact that her family experience had been shattered. Jennifer and I knew something of that as well. 

The evening after they delivered the big oak table and china and stuff to ‘Foggy San Francisco' we started our holiday planning. Jennifer was there at Christine's invitation, and our calendars began to get blocked in with activities, evenings at home, things to do, events to attend, places to go, etc. I suggested we might invite a couple of Jenny's girl friends from the university who may not be able to go home for the holidays. We picked an evening to go to the Seattle Symphony for a special program, and added as well a performance of Charles Dickens' ‘Christmas Carol." We remained undecided about a performance of the Nutcracker, largely because our conversation was drifting to other things at the moment. A little planning ahead would help ease the strain for both the girls, and that in fact seemed to be the end achieved. That's what dads are supposed to be able to handle easily, right? Christmas, nevertheless, was a time with many rich and delightful memories with my wife… and there was still a large, empty place where she had been in my life, and it seemed not to want to close up. Time and experience probably are the only healers, but in many ways I was still an ICU patient in triage.

By Thanksgiving time we had been living together for nearly five months. Gradually barriers came down between us and we got better acquainted. She was a prim and proper young lady in every way, and in so being inspired me to be a gentleman at all times. Our casual dress around the apartment was always modest, though comfortable at the same time. She carried on a relentless campaign against wrinkles, and nicely ironed linen and cotton blouses were her regular dress, and, wielding her iron with skill, my dress shirts had never had it so good! Still, I could notice and frequently in the way she dressed the very delightful curves and charms of a young girl maturing into womanhood, her body very fit and well toned, lithe and graceful in her movements and the awkwardness some girls experience in adolescence altogether in her past; this all a fitting and splendid complement to her sparkling personality. She was a beautiful young lady, blossoming and glorious…and both eye-catching and heart stopping.

In light of this, as one might imagine, the living arrangements were workable and pleasant, but also imposed a certain strain. I could throw myself into my work – whether my graduate studies or the protection job – because they were important and I wanted to succeed there, but also to push thoughts and fantasies of Christine out of my immediate awareness. 

It is worth noting here, as an indicator of her education and background, that the language spoken in north Germany differs markedly from that used daily by those in the south, and that the much more easy going dialects of Franken and Bayern, with which I was familiar. They, together with the Austrian in the Tirol, as well as Swiss-German, enjoy and foster quite distinctive dialectical divergences, adding a great deal of color and gaiety to the linguistic landscape. One of the differences that had always intrigued me was how a South German speaker could alter and shift the usage of various prepositions, sometimes in what seemed a quite bizarre way, and still be understood. In academic circles, of course, this and other variations in the "standard" German usage was considered dialectical or colloquial, and thus the more staid and proper Prussians in the North were often shocked by their unlettered countrymen and cousins. Such dismay only pleased the Bavarians just that much more. They were much more interested in the important things of life… like, for instance, which brewery produced the more excellent product. 

Now, with Christine available as a native speaker, I could explore such fascinating details at length. Marvelous!

We could talk about all kinds of things, and it was no small benefit for me to have a native German speaker virtually at my beck and call, and we frequently did explore all kinds of topics, including German pronunciations and the subtle differences in the subjunctive verb forms… and her own academic knowledge of German stylistics and grammar was very sharp. Our conversations just could not ever get around to things about "us," nor anything suggesting any kind of feelings growing between us as a man and a woman.

It took only a little introspection to see that I could expect nothing from her in this way. Her hormones may be raging within her but she was too much a reserved and in-control-of-herself young lady to let that show; and then, too, she had no experience and exposure to a social life that would be any kind of guideline for her to use in doing so. This was actually for her a significant weakness; so far as I could discern, she had no meaningful experience that would allow her to differentiate, in my person for instance, between protector and paramour. Only gradually, as she gained trust in me as a confidant did she venture to raise questions that touched on our evolving social relationship, and then with hesitation. For my part, I had no such shortfall. I knew exactly what I wanted… the only question was how to encourage it to occur.

Christmas time… This was a fun time, encouraging, good times with my daughter and her friends from the university; increasingly comfortable relations all around; but I'm going to skip over this period in order to touch on some other experiences with her.

]

It surely sounds a little melodramatic to say it this way, but it deserves some specific attention. It was during this period that I gave serious thought to her beauty and spent time and energy trying to perceive and understand what made her so very attractive to me. 

It is perhaps a simple-minded observation, but most men are very susceptible to visual images, and thus a beautiful woman attracts their attention with ease. Anyone doubting here need only glance at the media for confirmation. There are, nonetheless, a number of significant variables. Neither the man nor the woman can avoid presenting to the other a visual image on a continual basis if they spend any time together at all. What the media does not bother to emphasize is that, even while men see the superficial with ease, a gentleman senses the depth of a girl's beauty as well, for it is, to coin a phrase, ‘more than skin deep.' Depth and quality are anything but uniform across the population, even so, and shallowness and sham here are sins for which no surface gloss and glimmer can possibly recompense.

Precisely what a girl need do to improve depth and quality is an elusive puzzle. Some seem to manage it in abundance with hardly a thought; others appear to have no clue though they struggle and seek.

Christine and I drove over the mountains to spend a day in Leavenworth, a little town in the Cascades that plays up its Bavarian motif and strives hard to present a South German / Tirolian cultural experience to the tourists. It was a delightful day and we both enjoyed the time and the adventure together, and she chatted with me about memories of Switzerland, which in the east around St. Gallen is not a great deal different than nearby Bavaria and the Austrian Tirol just to the east. The point I want to make here came to the fore without any warning in the middle of the day, in a very routine, nothing extraordinary situation, but was nonetheless very clear and poignant… and thus extraordinary in its own way. 

It happened like this.

Leavenworth is high, it was mid-December, the temperature was just below freezing, and it had started to snow… big, downy flakes, floating leisurely to the ground. We had been window-shopping after a delicious luncheon and had found several nice items… a couple of books, an Adventskranz for our dining room table, some traditional tree ornaments, and a needlepoint kit that was one she had always wanted to do as a girl at school. We enjoyed walking in the falling snow together, and felt unhurried. I thought her to be more beautiful that I could imagine, the kind of inner beauty that makes a girl just seem to glow even at mid-day. It was all posture and carriage, and attitude and character… and a soft voice and that bright twinkle in her eye, but I don't know how to describe it otherwise. Well, she had the sweetest smile that seemed to touch me somewhere deep inside. After browsing to our hearts' content, we crossed the street to the car in the parking lot and I had to set some of the packages down to get at my keys in my pocket. 

That's when it happened. 

She stood there, bundled up in her coat, the collar up around her ears and her hair loose and tumbling down behind. She was hugging herself against the chill, standing patiently in the snow in her sling-back pumps, her feet and legs getting colder all the time. She waited for me to get my keys out and unlock the door, and when I looked at her I saw immediately that she was looking at me… the smile and the twinkle were there, but there was a certain, special something that she had added… a depth of feeling in those pretty eyes of hers, and… something else I could not identify then and can just barely grasp now after the fact… I think she saw me in that moment as a man, an interesting and attractive companion. 

Well, maybe.

That something special in those dark eyes, however, stopped me in my tracks. The door open for her now and my arm out to her, the snowflakes drifting down softly, and her big brown eyes met mine. There was just a moment when our hearts seemed to beat to the same rhythm, and then she dropped her eyes, a little shy, I think, and I pulled her into my arms and hugged her before helping her into the car. 

So, you see, it is not easily expressed in words – I have still not managed to capture it – this matter of what a man finds attractive in a woman and how a woman responds to a man… far too subtle an emotion, and much deeper than the media would lead us to believe… and quite remarkable in its wonder and impact.

The very essence of the matter, it seems to me, is that she was totally open and honest and unaffected in her mannerisms. That she was a very beautiful girl physically seemed never to be a focus of her attention; she did not flaunt or tease, she was never on parade, she did not prance and seek public attention. With her beautiful bust line so prominent a feature of her trim figure, not to be so was, I thought, a very special feature of her personality. It was almost as were a piece of her psyche not functioning… there was no show, no pretence, no façade. I have come to think of this now as an important element in her beauty of person. She was not a superficial, pretentious person. Things of the mind and personality and character were most meaningful for her, not surface things… and, therefore, there was simply Christine… a sweet, gentle, kind, inquisitive and very engaging young lady.

Two further examples might illustrate this.

I learned quickly during our drives along the highways, like to California and return, that truck stops and the local roadside food marts were a mistake. Firstly, no matter how she dressed she attracted too much attention. It was not specifically her dress; it was her… the total package. She did not dress seductively nor carry herself suggestively, but neatly and with a sense of classic beauty that was just amazing. She held herself erect and her posture was excellent; she did not slouch and I think it never occurred to her for a second to ever be other than lady-like. Her bust was full, youthful, and prominent, but not flaunted. Her curves were readily evident, but never on display. At the same time she was not aloof, but always courteous, quick to help, friendly. She was not a model on a runway, and not above speaking to people and being pleasant. Above all, while always feminine, she was not ever sexy… well, the way I define ‘sexy.' How a girl manages that so consistently is still a mystery to me, but it certainly has to do with inner character and integrity. 

I think generally that her care in dressing nicely was interpreted by many men as being pretentious and that translates very easily in the minds of many men to be a come-on, a sexual invitation, if not a subtle statement of availability… even a challenge to conquer.

She was, for example, approached in a 7-11 one evening by a fellow in a motorcycle jacket and a beard, who evidently didn't realize she was with me, and he reacted as if I was cutting in on his territory when I spoke to her. That itself was soon resolved but what impressed me mostly was that she had no sense of having been the target of a pick up attempt. He was simply a nice man who spoke to her and she wanted to be pleasant with him. Her freshness and personality were always a tremendous draw but she had no experience and learning to allow her to understand the threats with which the world would confront her at virtually every turn. 

Then came the first day at Bangor. Tennis was not a problem and she was quite serious about teaching me and did so without being too serious. She seemed to recognize that I was not destined for nor desired to aspire to stardom on the courts and playing was just a game and good exercise. However, I knew my greatest challenge would be in the pool. There she was a different girl altogether and it was a very revealing day for us both… and there is a pun there.

The Subase pool issues swim gear for all, and the conservative, dark blue tank suit for the ladies is a statement in feminine modesty. Once again, however, her irrepressible allure was not only in the perfection of her body's curves and contours, nor in her dress, nor in this case very near undress, but every bit as much in her manner and attitude. Her long hair was tucked up under her cap, and I missed that… but she was a vision of loveliness, loveliness beyond imagining! Her carriage and poise were delightfully feminine and very reserved. She smiled shyly when she saw me already in the pool waiting for her. I stood in the waist deep shallow end near the steps and held out my hand to her and she came willingly into the refreshingly cool water.

She was, it turned out, familiar with swimming pools from her school days, but this was very different for her. The presence of several young sailors in the pool at the deep end was something new for her and she was very timid at first. There were two families with children, having an uproarious good time and making a lot of noise in the shallow end, and that helped break the ice. 

Nevertheless, after only a moment's appreciation of her in her bathing suit I knew I was in trouble big time. Conservative though the suit was, it fit her as if it were painted on. Her breasts filled her suit, her waist was slender and her hips and legs were perfect. She was just an eyeful of beautiful girl!

After splashing a while together and laughing a little we got started with lessons in the deep water. Getting her to float with my hand under her back for a little support was a serious challenge. It was a challenge for me… she was so very beautiful I could hardly resist the inclination to take her in my arms. Her body was just perfect, and very tempting.

At one point, having managed her assignment well before getting a face full of water, she spluttered and splashed and in water over her head reached out for me and in a second there she was… arms around my neck and close to me, my one arm under her back the other under her legs, my hand on her bottom holding her close. She was suddenly quiet and pensive, and didn't know what to do. I just held her, making the very most of an opportune moment and enjoying it immensely.

Finally I spoke to her softly, "You are a very pretty young lady, Christine, and very nice to hold in my arms like this. Are you comfortable?" Even in her shyness and chagrin, her eyes were bright with excitement and her cheeks were rosy.

She nodded quickly but was silent and still for a moment, and then kissed me on the cheek very lightly. "I've never been in the Schwimmbad with a man before." Only a truly innocent and trusting young girl could have managed to say that with the lightness and simplicity that made her voice so very feminine.

That part of her psyche very definitely was operating, as subsequent experiences came to show.

Lesson time was over and, happy as I was to hold her like that, I welcomed the chance to leave her for a good swim to burn off the emotional tension. Six or eight laps down and back, I soon lost track and it didn't make any difference anyway. I had never been a really powerful swimmer, but my own version of the Australian crawl was fairy well polished. With the fire she kindled in my boilers and the high pressure steam she fed to my turbines, I felt like I could sail on forever.

She was waiting for me innocently at the edge of the pool, like one of the legendary Lorelei, the beautiful maidens and their melodious song beckoning the sailors along the Rhein… mystically alluring, spectacularly beautiful, and sweetly enchanting. 

"You are a magnificent swimmer, Dace." Her eyes just danced with adoration. "Will you teach me to swim like that?" 

Like the seamen before me on the river, I was headed for the rocks, and loved it. 

That was the most important point, I think. She really was innocent; innocent of guile and honest with herself and me. That is perhaps the best evaluation. And her honesty and innocence kept her beauty fresh and vibrant, never glazed over with the hard gloss and vivid tintings of make up and the media. Still, in retrospect, her own hormones were working on her equilibrium, and just as my daughter had in the past year or so, she was struggling with natural urges and feelings within her she didn't understand and were in the main all new to her, yet pressing and demanding. To whom could she turn for answers to her questions? 

She had only me. 

Once I had worked out this analysis for myself, my head was a little clearer, and the conclusion was strengthened as the days went by and we talked of all kinds of things.

]

So, the winter months passed. They were full because we kept them full. They were quiet… relative to the danger… because we kept them quiet, though by our industry and studies we made the time productive and interesting and exciting. 

We worked together in the kitchen cooking and dealing with food. She had a knack, I discovered, for just putting interesting things together… colors, textures, tastes… but was herself learning new things at nearly every turn. The selection of foodstuffs on the grocer's shelves was incredibly diverse in comparison with the little Lebensmittelgeschäft where she and her mother had done their shopping on the outskirts of Sankt Gallen. I had never considered working in the kitchen a big deal. It certainly was no fun alone. Now, especially after I suggested that the kitchen be one of her places to decide and direct, doing the pots and pans for her was no longer a chore at all. We scouted together the local shops for food products from Europe with which she was familiar – and there are a couple of nice places in Seattle and the surrounding area that import a lot of things – but she was also anxious to explore all the options and choices available in the big supermarkets. She gathered a good half dozen cooking and recipe books, and her diligence in coming up with delicious meals was just amazing. She could spend an hour in Safeway or QFC exploring and reading and planning and creating and not think a thing about it.




Another Springtime Ch. 04



In the process she created virtually from scratch four homes for us, literally, from furniture, linens and bedding, and kitchen utensils to, well, everything. Our discussions about our apartment safe-houses soon came to the point where she was creating lists of furnishings and supplies to be acquired for each place, and a sortie into town or to some particular store became a significant event and brought on a great deal of excitement for her.

Rather than a carful of stuff at every outing she soon suggested that maybe we concentrate on one particular aspect and acquire a few things at a time and enjoy together as well actually making our apartments livable and pleasant. Her creativity and balance and innately good sense were just remarkable. She would come to me with her boundless enthusiasm and ideas, asking if I knew of a store that would have this or that. I got very familiar with the Yellow Pages, we purchased some things on-line when she found there what she wanted, but she was more than content to explore and compare and look in the most out of the way places to find unique or particular items.

Now, there is something else here that became quickly evident as well, and it fascinated me from the beginning. She was not in the least ostentatious or superficial. Things to her had to serve a purpose, and showing off was not one of them. Her ideas showed a great sense of discernment in balancing cost, quality and utility. To me, this seemed to display her very down-to-earth natural self. And in all this process, since we were together virtually all the time, she sought my opinions and ideas at nearly every turn. Some things we discussed at considerable length, and, though I typically left the decisions on home furnishings to her, it was on occasion very clear that she wanted to be sure I agreed with her choices and would be pleased. 

Once, in a furniture store looking at a recliner chair – and I won't ever forget this – she turned to me and fingered the buttons on my shirt and told me in a rather intimate way and so very sweetly that it was important to her that I be "comfortable in our home." That was not the only time some little comment or gesture on her part sent my heart into virtual orbit.

Life was not, however, all work and no play. Actually, in a sense, as long as she was near, it was all play. Nevertheless, we did take time to find and do fun things. There were a couple of good movies, nothing great… Hollywood seemed not to be able to produce anything that caught our interest at the time; once to the opera – Leoncavallo's "I Pagliacci" and that was stupendous – twice to the symphony and two plays at the University's Meany Theater: "Waiting for Goudot" and George Kaufman's "You Can't Take It With You," both very well done. So, along with our class work and studies and avoiding the clutches of the shadowy syndicate, we had fun together. 

But having fun together was work in many ways. With her always at my side, my passions and emotions were continuously on the rack. I never got any respite. She was very relaxed with me now and while she did not chatter mindlessly about silly things like some girls, her mind and personality were constantly in motion. She was very intelligent and creative and curious, understood many of the restrictions I imposed on us to control out exposure to public scrutiny, was full of questions, and was always exploring things new to her.

Gradually, of course, her growing maturity as a young woman tended to dampen her girlish light-heartedness; she became very conscious of being around a man all the time, which sometimes overwhelmed her. This had overtaken her already on at least two or three occasions. That first night together when she became so afraid of lying next to me was one. Then, in the pool the first time when she kissed me on the cheek; she had definitely been overwhelmed by my attention… and, I think, delighted. That day shopping for tools with me when she looked at the china was another. I had been struck with how deeply her natural beauty – inward and outward – touched my heart, and when she looked up at me, she must have sensed that somehow. It caught her off guard that I would look at her so, and her reaction was not as a little girl but as a young lady, and she didn't quite know how to deal with that.

It was also along about this time, no, it was before Christmas, if I recall correctly, that the matter of make-up arose, and that is directly related.

We had been up on campus the previous day – I had an appointment with a prof and then she helped me chase a couple of old German documents in the library – and then we went shopping. Again that morning and, along with some groceries and a half-gallon carton of strawberry ice cream, she had picked up a woman's magazine at the check out stand. Back at the apartment – Safe house № 2, I think it was, "Foggy San Francisco" – she came from the kitchen and sat down on the floor next to me where, on my back under the desktop, I was rearranging some cabling for the computer and printer installation. She had purchased some eye shadow and eyeliner the previous day, and that very morning had done some experimenting. I knew from experience with my own daughter that for me to speak too soon would achieve nothing, but to allow a little exercise in self-expression could very well end up to everyone's benefit.

That I had said nothing probably – such conclusions are always at best a supposition on the man's part – was itself impetus to come to me for at least a reaction… if not exactly an opinion.

She held the magazine in her lap and watched me, as if she just wanted to be close… as if we had been apart for weeks or something like that. She was quiet and patient, and her meekness and lack of questions told me that something special was on her mind. I scooted out from under the desktop a bit and she looked down at me on the floor with a look in her eyes that stopped me in my tracks.

"Dace?" Her voice carried all the innocence of a sixteen-year-old asking her father for a new dress for the prom. "Are my eyes prettier with a little make up than without?"

Now, for me such questions, and her particular way of asking, were not just welcome and appreciated signs of her confidence in me, but they also triggered major tremors in my heart, as you can perhaps imagine. Her genuine sweetness and femininity were just priceless.

This was no time for a casual appraisal or off-handed remark. I looked at her eyes and the coloring and shadow she had added that morning, and thought about my reaction earlier that day before we left the apartment, and how I might give her an honest response without treading on vulnerable feelings. For her the day had suddenly stopped, and I judged that with her full attention I ought not to rush too quickly to move past this topic when she so openly sought my advice. So, I looked and studied her eyes and the effect she had created, not at all a disagreeable task. Her already long and full lashes were a little darker and heavier, there was a soft tinting of sky-blue across her eyelids, and she had darkened and thickened her eyebrows a little. I turned her head, a finger under her chin, first to one side then the other to see her profile better, and enjoyed very much a opportunity to appreciate her delicate features at close range without embarrassing her. 

The little darkening effect of her make-up was dramatic and added a sensual aspect to her countenance. She was certainly no less innocent than before but the look in her eyes had taken on a definite ‘come-hither' vibrancy that was just startling. Her cheekbones were just prominent enough to lend character and strength to her face, her nose a graceful slant with just the cutest little hint of flair at the tip, her forehead and brows calm and delicate, her chin and mouth expressive and distinctive shapes of their own complementing a most strikingly beautiful face.

"Well, my pretty little vixen," I started out playfully, and she smiled at her nickname and dropped her eyes shyly – which little trait by itself was enough to send my heart into life-threatening spasms – "you want to know what I think, eh?"

Over the past few weeks we had been discussing statistical tables, having found some interesting examples in the newspaper, and so I used an example I had created for myself years earlier when trying to record in my journal some thoughts about my wife's beauty. These seemed to apply here, and so I pulled a blank sheet from the printer, borrowed her magazine and sketched quickly the upper right quadrant of an X-Y graph, knowing that from our earlier discussions she would quickly relate.

On the vertical axis I wrote carefully: "the degree to which make-up enhances natural beauty" while on the "Y" axis the label "quantity of make-up applied." 

The intensity in her expression told me that she understood, and was waiting for me to go on. 

"For every woman the matter is unique; there are probably no two alike anywhere," and I drew an arch from lower left to upper center to lower right. "For every man perceiving a woman's beauty it is doubtless unique as well. Each sees a girl though his own prism of values."

That last sentence slipped out before I could stop it, and I realized then that I was not men in general speaking about women in general… and then she looked up from the paper at me and I saw it in her eyes… she sensed my subconscious implication as well. She was following me very closely; and suddenly knew somehow… women's intuition?… that I was speaking, even if in general terms, only about her and seeing her through my prism of values. What I had at first meant to be rather theoretical and general had inadvertently become very specific and personal, and I could feel my person warming under the intensity of her own scrutiny. So much for professional detachment. 

Nevertheless, she had asked, and expected me to be honest with her. So, I was.

"For each girl there is a starting point on the ascending slope, which means that some – perhaps many – may profit from skillful use of make-up in various ways." I moved with my pencil over the top to the descending right-hand slope. "Too much, however… too much doctoring and painting and polishing and… and something is lost… painted over, covered with gloss, hardened where softness is more fetching, stylized into fantasy colors and shapes and forms dictated by arbitrary fashion where her natural charms would be many times more expressive of the beautiful woman she is."

I did not feel at all in a hurry to get past the thought I was trying to make clear to her. I was not an enemy of make-up. Tools certainly have their place. Yet, in every creative process there is a time to leave well enough alone, a time to shoot the engineers and go into production, a point at which the artist must recognize that the apex has been reached… and further tinkering, another brush stroke here, a slight tap of the sculptor's chisel there, will no longer add to but henceforth detract from. The true artist senses when the work is complete… and must then find the courage to allow his or her outpouring of creativity to stand alone on its own merits.

There remained only for me to point out to her where I perceived her starting point to be, and she was waiting. I drew carefully a little circle on the arch just to the left of the apex, darkened it in carefully, and then drew a line across to the axis on the left and then along with it a parallel line just above it marking the apex.

"You are one of those women, Christine, who, in my perception, are in your natural gifts so very beautiful in body and spirit that any effort you make to improve that with make-up will demand of you a very sensitive touch."

I drew just as firmly two parallel lines from her starting point down to the "Y" axis and a second from the apex just to the right.

"The advantages of make-up in your toolbox of beauty aids will ever be quite limited. There is, simply said, very little the make-up companies can do to enhance that which is already so very nearly perfect."

Her look of simple amazement at my statement as she grasped my implication was just beyond words.

"I noticed your eyes the moment you came out of the bathroom this morning."

She looked at me, openly surprised.

"I noticed your eyes because… because I always notice your eyes."

I paused then, partly because the expression on her face was so sweetly feminine and full of that innocent amazement a young girl can not help but display when she first realizes that a fellow has been noticing her.

"Christine, let me be quite frank and open." I decided to just slow down in order to intensify the impact of what I wanted to get across to her. "I notice your eyes because you are an exceptionally beautiful girl to me. I notice your eyes because I notice also what your beauty does to me inside."

I wanted to tell her, but it was so very obvious that I could say this wrong that I was anxious.

"The little touch of eye shadow you used this morning added drama and sensuality to your already very beautiful eyes… the kind of drama you might want to reserve for a formal evening out with your husband… the kind of sensuality a young lady like you will want to hold carefully in store for that occasion when… when she wants to tell her husband that…" I wasn't at all sure exactly how to say this, "that… that she belongs to him, body and soul… wants to belong to him… to cherish and to love… forever."

Christine had been listening carefully, and now brought her hand to her mouth – either in shock at my boldness or some similar reaction – and before a moment had passed, there was a delightfully rosy color in her cheeks. She looked up at me with eyes begging my pardon for her waywardness.

"There is no need to be embarrassed, darling girl. We are learning about all kinds of things, and depend on each other to be honest and open. You asked me as a friend in trust; I have answered as best I can in honesty and plainness, but not in criticism."

I lifted her chin with a fingertip gently that I could look once more into those deep brown eyes. She was a little chagrined at what had transpired and I could tell she needed me to alter the intensity of the mood.

"All right, break time," I said jovially. "I think we do very much require, young lady with the prettiest eyes in the entire world, some of that strawberry ice cream we got at the market. What do you think?"

With the suggestion of her favorite flavor of ice cream, she brightened and we dropped magazine, graph and screwdriver where they fell and together headed for the kitchen.

Nevertheless, the discussion had not fallen on deaf ears. In the months that followed, she never wore any make-up that I could detect, and only a touch of lipstick on occasion; yet her hairbrush was frequently in hand, her dress always modest and trim and clean and neat, and her manner with me always lady-like and reserved.

Had she known in advance and intentionally chosen from the catalog those personal character traits and feminine mannerisms that would attract my attention and inspire my devotion and love for her… and as I look back, that is what had happened; I had fallen in love with her… she could not have selected more wisely nor with greater precision.

Her increasing maturity as a woman came to the fore likewise the day she bought her first bare-midriff top to go with her Levis for casual wear. I was not aware of her purchase until we got back to the apartment, where I began to wrap up a couple of furniture set up projects while she tried on her new things. Moving from the kitchen back into the dining area I caught her looking for me, shy and uncertain, barefoot, her favorite hip-hugger levis low enough to suggest as always that they were about to slip away altogether, and her new top. It was a shirt, really, front-buttoning and short sleeved, the hem easily several inches above the top of her pants and – perhaps most importantly – just far enough below the swell of her breasts that full disclosure was, if not actually imminent, at the same time neither impossible nor improbable. She was looking at me with doubt and question all over her face, trying to smile bravely, hoping for my approval and not at all sure she would get it. The outfit made it more evident than ever that she had blossomed as a woman. Her hips were full and gently rounded, and her slender waist emphasized her already prominent bust line. She was a knockout of the first order! Still, I recognized from her hesitation that she was trying to be feminine and attractive but didn't want to cross the line of being "sexy" like she and I had discussed weeks before. She was, in her explorations, perilously close to the line sometimes, nevertheless.

"Oh," the admiring reaction just flowed naturally almost before I could tether my feelings, "the young lady does have the prettiest bare tummy I have ever seen! Oh, yes, indeed!" My almost too casual words nearly caused her to turn tail and scoot out of the room in embarrassment, and perhaps she would have had I not extended my hand for hers. She reached for mine, daintily and a little afraid, and I lifted and had her twirl around for me to get a complete view, and allowed her to twirl right into a fatherly embrace, one arm around her shoulders and one hand on a shapely, and largely naked hip at the waist… a quasi-fatherly embrace.

"My dearest daughter Christine," my most affectionate fatherly tone predominating – forcing myself by choice to one option before my masculine response lead me to another that would have been quite challenging – "what a darling outfit for a darling young lady… though I would caution you thoughtfully, that your beauty is already rich fare for anyone observing you, and bare skin makes for yet even more enticement. The sight of your bare tummy will be enough to drive the little boys crazy with desire."

She understood me and smiled… almost giggled, pleased and delighted at my compliment, but her overall reaction told me as well that she could not decide whether I approved or not.

With that look on her face I stepped away and turned to the open door to the veranda, pulling her with me gently. We stood for a few minutes side-by-side, looking out over the neighborhood. This had to be just right, I counseled with myself. Nothing would be achieved by making her feel sexy and cheap. She wasn't, of course, but I also didn't want her to be uncertain about it. 

"Were I your boyfriend, young lady," I began slowly, looking out over the neighboring buildings across the street, "dressed like that you would certainly have my full attention. It would be only the very best of the young men that could keep his thoughts from wandering to the thrills promised and offered" – I though that might be just the right phrasing, and turned to her – "offered by your exceptional charms; offered almost for the taking. 

"You are, Christine, quite a beautiful girl."

She sensed, I could see it in her eyes, that her bare tummy was a little too much, and her confidence was wavering… very near collapsing in embarrassment.

"Were I your husband, on the other hand," and here I let my voice trail off slowly, a little deeper than usual, "I would be delighted at your openness with me, your willingness to be mine and your showing me so sweetly your love for me… and your bare tummy… and," and here I let my voice acquire a bit of a roguish tone, "once I caught you I would not let you go… not ever… but I would caress you, and perhaps even tickle you a little and make you scream for mercy, and love you and kiss you until you begged me to never stop."

When I turned to her she was blushing, with her fist clasped under her chin, and wanting to melt into the woodwork. She would have turned away in shame had I not had hold of her one hand.




Another Springtime Ch. 04



"You're cuter than any man has a right to hope his girl might ever be, Christine." By her shoulders, I turned her toward the door, "Go put on another blouse, my pretty little vixen, and come back to me for a hug," and sent her back to her room.

I sometimes am amazed at myself that potentially sticky situations can turn out as well as they do. Had I managed that without hurting her feelings or turning her off? It seemed like perhaps I had. Maybe. She was so solid and strong in some ways, and then again in others so very delicate and fragile. At a time in her life when she is not yet a woman and confident in herself, yet no longer a child, striking the right balance in advising her is a delicate thing. She made me think again about my experience with my wife and my own daughter; like walking an emotional mine field, where patience, kindness, forbearance and enduring love and trying to live a good example seem the only trustworthy tools. At least I had that experience to draw upon. She had nothing, except her innate intelligence and good sense, the media – a powerful stimulant, but not much help for principles and integrity – and an older man like me.

Presently, in the evening's silence on the verandah, I could feel her standing demurely at my side again. She had slipped into her sky-blue sweater, the one from our first shopping tour together. 

"Oh, my, Christine, you are stunningly beautiful." She was still unsure of my approval.

I turned around, leaning on the rail, and pulled her shoulders to me and hugged her gently… a fatherly hug, meant to encourage and support. It required only a second in my arms to remember that she had not been wearing her brassiere – and was not now as I held her – and the idea shot through me like a lightning bolt. The sensation of holding her close, those magnificent breasts of hers crushed against my chest, was choice indeed. 

There is no getting around the simple fact that she was a constant stir to my own desires, but when I say she was never "sexy," it's the truth. You see, to me – and this is what I had told her when she had asked me a few days before and we had gone into this in detail – "sexy" is a certain brashness and glitz that the media says is essential to… even a defining element of… a girl's beauty. Frankly, I don't buy it! My position is that every girl, to the fellow who finds her charms to be those which touch his heart, need but be herself… dressed or undressed, or anywhere in between… and her charms will ring his chimes every way but loose. "Sexy" is when the girl seeks to make traffic with her charms and outside her marriage and love affaire with her husband, in a word, I guess, flaunt them for publicity or image or show. The media would never agree, I told her, because their business is selling image… and not just to the husband; most times, it seems, him least of all.

Healthy, fit, clean, groomed, cheerful, creative, caring and thoughtful… gracious, feminine, and pleasant… those qualities make for beauty that is enduring and attractive and, in my way of thinking, irresistible. Of course, physical attributes are important. Not all are equally beautiful to me! I am, at the same time, not seeking every woman to be my sweetheart.

Physically, Christine was, as you may have detected in my narrative so far, not every girl. Her inner self and her personality were, however, the cumulative result and expression of her personal choices, and that choice belongs to every girl.

Now, as she leaned against me with her head against my chest, I could hear her soft voice speaking to me, "I'm sorry, Dace."

"There's nothing for which you need apologize, Christine. You're exploring and figuring out what kind of a woman you are becoming and want to be. I am very thankful to have this experience with you. You are a very pretty girl on the outside, and that is a thrill of the first magnitude; you are an even more exceptional beauty on the inside. Just knowing you is a blessing to my spirit." She looked up at me, sweeping with one hand her hair from her face slowly, watching me. "A gentleman appreciates a lady of such character and integrity, and it's fun to be with her."

She didn't say anything; she probably couldn't imagine what she could say… or did not then understand her own feelings, whatever they may have been.

The time seemed to have slipped away with out our realizing it and the sun was down. Still she leaned against me, her arms around my neck and her pretty breasts pressing against my chest. She felt at home there and safe, and appreciated, I could tell. I did appreciate her, very much, and I could appreciate as well the curves and contours of her back and shoulders as I held her to me… exquisite is too mundane a word. 

After a time, largely to break the intensity of a tender moment that promised to overwhelm us if I didn't, I suggested we fix dinner together. She always brightened when I worked with her in the kitchen, but on that evening she was subdued and quiet. After we had eaten, she came to me and sat herself on my lap, which surprised me. She just sat there and I held her close as she played with my collar a little, trying to tell me what was on her mind and not knowing quite how to do it.

"Sometimes, Dace," she started off hesitantly, "sometimes I don't.…" She was getting stuck, but I could wait. This was important to her and she wanted to tell me. "…Don't want you to be my father."

]

It was only a couple of weeks later, as I think back on it now, late January, that we went to the Seattle Symphony our second time. Our first evening in Benaroya Hall had been an exploratory evening; this second time was noteworthy because it showed me another side of a young girl trying hard to grow up in the adult world around her. At our first evening there had been a couple in the row in front of us and the woman, perhaps in her mid twenties, was dressed and heavily made up fit to kill and in a dress that would be better classified as a sheer slip, and not much of that. The woman and her dress were the topic of considerable discussion for several days thereafter, and Christine had been anxious to understand what I thought about it. 

I could not see it so sharply then, but looking back it is clear that she had come to regard my standards of propriety as measures of what ought to be, and she was trying to learn and apply those standards. 

Our second evening –Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition," Smetana's tone poem "Die Moldau" capped by Dvořák's 9th, "The New World" – was her first effort at dressing up for a somewhat formal event. And she worked at her design with considerable determination, not confiding in me a single detail. Sensing that for her this was a big evening, I wanted to respond in kind and got my white dinner jacket cleaned and pressed, and told the neighborhood florist to put the word out… I needed a single, perfectly formed and blemish-free, long-stemmed rosebud in the deepest, richest shade of scarlet she could manage. My generous tip added some additional incentive, but the lady pushed the bill back to me.

"Keep this for now." The motivation for such a request being immediately perceived by the shop's owner as she noted my order. "If I am successful, and you are victorious in your quest, you will be a frequent and welcome customer," she said, a knowing gleam in her eye. 

Ah, I thought to myself, a wise vendor, indeed. I wanted the scarlet rosebud, nevertheless, and left the bill on her counter with a friendly wave.

If it was still a little too early in our acquaintance to actually tell her in words that I loved her – what that really means, I guess, is that I was too chicken to tell her. I was quite positive such a flower could not fail to carry the sentiment from my heart to hers.

I called for her at her bedroom door at the appointed time. She had arranged with a neighbor lady in the apartment building who was a hairdresser to help her, and the result was simply smashing. She wore almost no make up... just the merest hint of eye shadow and a light swish of soft pink lipstick. Her long hair was piled on top of her head in an artful and intriguing array of loops and swirls with a brilliant white satin ribbon, leaving the nape of her neck and shoulders bare. Her regally simple sheath gown was nearly off her shoulders, scooped across the front and dipped low down her back. She did a little feminine twirl for me to see her dress and beamed when I nodded my approval. She had sewn it all herself and tailored the form fitting bodice to emphasize her full breasts very nicely, and it was evident to me that she was not wearing a brassiere. Even more clearly, she wanted me to be pleased, and, friend, I can tell you, the soft sky-blue of her dress with the white sling-back pumps and ribbon accents in her dark hair, her rosy cheeks and the twinkle in her expressive dark eyes were simply enchanting. She was smiling at me, thanking me for my compliments, and feeling pleased with herself, and I was simply awestruck. 

Though her sweet smile was a delight beyond imagining, when presented with the single rosebud I witnessed something quite extraordinary. There was a winsomeness, very tender and heartfelt, that added a touch of wonder to her countenance. I cannot explain it; I cannot even really describe it… but I could see it and feel it… perhaps like… well, I don't know what. She was just gloriously beautiful.

I could quite easily have kissed her, wanted to kiss her… perhaps I should have. The scarlet rosebud had worked its magic on her heart, just as her beauty of person had captured mine. 

Her dress, tailored as it was, made her naturally gorgeous bust line rather prominent, and eye-catching. Truthfully, I was a little overwhelmed at her impressive figure, but that she was testing me soon became evident. I said nothing and, as gallantly as I could manage, offered the lady my arm. She whisked a large silk scarf, also in brilliant white, from behind the door. She tossed the luxurious silk casually over first one shoulder and then the other, veiling from view by any others the dramatic contours of her bodice. 

Very clever, I thought. And when she looked up at me sweetly as she slipped her arm through mine and wiggled her cute little nose over her rosebud, all rational thought immediately collapsed in a heap.

"My dear Christine," I began solemnly, leaning close to her, "you have the most beautiful breasts, full and curvy and enticing… I very much appreciate the view." Her effort was largely for me… and I figured she deserved at least a little positive feedback for her stunning achievement. "I find it just marvelous that you deny to all the other men who will see you this evening that which you present so delightfully to me. I am greatly honored."

She was shocked at my bold words, as well she might have been. Her entire being arrested suddenly in doubt, she stopped short. "Am I bad, Dace?" I could see she was terrified that she had crossed over the line.

"My dearest young lady, I do not escort ‘bad' girls to dinner and the symphony, nor to any other place. You are move lovely than I could have imagined, my pretty little vixen. Your exquisite beauty overpowers me, and I want you… I want you," and extended my arm for her, "at my side dressed exactly as you are!"

My assurances and hearing her nickname quelled her anxieties. A girl can not, I think, when she has tried hard to please her escort and feels she had succeeded, keep from radiating her own pleasure. Christine was all alight, like a lone candle in a window on a dark night! Simply enchanting!

It was a very enjoyable evening. A nice seafood dinner on the waterfront was superb, the music was magnificent, and the company was, well, just exquisite. Too, I noticed then and recall now with great satisfaction, that her red rosebud seemed never – through dinner, walking, the music, the press of the crowd, the car, the entire evening – never to leave her hand.



Another Springtime Ch. 05



Chapter 5: Encounters On The Open Road

Looking back now afterward I still cannot make sense out of what happened that day at the motel at LeGrande, Oregon. They had picked up our trail somehow, although I think it must have been a matter of pure chance. I have reviewed it now a thousand times and cannot see where we left a trail to open ourselves to their tracing. Nevertheless, we had an encounter on a Tuesday morning after a pleasant stay in LeGrande and breakfast at the restaurant across the street from the motel. It was the first week of summer break and we had been on a field trip to Utah to see some of the sights, but this altercation changed our itinerary. 

In the course of breakfast I noticed two men watching us… watching Christine, of course, who then left and drove away out of the restaurant's parking lot in a battered green station wagon. Their image went into the folder in my head of those people seen here that would be held in "pending" for a few days. Otherwise the people flow was unremarkable.

Walking back across the street together a few minutes later, we headed for the car. We had loaded everything and checked out and were ready to leave. We had been discussing one of the stories from her literature book that intrigued her and I might have let myself get immersed in the discussion except that the battered green station wagon was in the motel parking lot, and four men were getting out as we approached. One with a baseball cap had been driving and I recognized him from the restaurant, his sidekick as well with the Levi-jacket. The third was bald, in a black t-shirt; the fourth a non-descript shorter man in an open sport shirt.

I signaled Christine with a squeeze of her hand and we turned to cross the parking lot to the other side and she fell silent. The men were still in front of us and watching us approach. They were clearly not four men simply leaving their car and heading into the office, they were waiting for us to come to them. 

Did they know us? I could feel the adrenalin squirting into my system in large volume. To avoid a confrontation on the sidewalk with them ahead of us we shifted back to the open parking lot as the space between us closed. They shifted as well, and I knew this was going to be a test. Baldy was in the center, assuming a somewhat menacing look, and then at his signal his two flankers started to move out to the sides.

That was my moment to move and in a second I had my Colt at the ready in my right hand, motioning the flankers back to the center. They were complying at first, surprised by my pistol and show of authority. Baldy had a chain in his one hand and suddenly, rather rashly, I thought, yelled and rushed us from about twenty feet away. 

Two slugs in the abdomen and chest laid Baldy on his back right now. The Levi-jacket to my right was going for his own weapon and a third slug hit him in the shoulder and spun him around like a top and onto the hood of the car behind him. The baseball cap to my left was only some five feet away when the .45 caliber slug hit him in the chest and tossed him ten feet backward onto the asphalt. Sport shirt was streaking for the protection of a nearby car and a fifth shot hit him in the hips, I think, and he crumpled screaming in agony.

There was only another fifty feet to our white suburban and we were inside quickly and moving out of the parking lot at a studiously slow pace. Carefully, so as to attract no attention, I cruised through several residential streets to work my way down to the highway entrance off the main road.

All this time Christine sat close to my side, quite and watchful, shivering a little with fright, anxious… and yet calm with me and confident, I think. We stopped briefly in a gas station and I pulled my kit from under the seat and replaced the clip in the Colt with a fresh one, all the time watching the movements of vehicles around and behind us. Everything seemed normal and quiet for the moment. She watched the process without a word and we pulled up onto the highway.

There are basically only two ways to leave LeGrande… north and south on the Interstate. Guessing at which would be more likely to throw off pursuers I elected north, therewith scrapping the Utah adventure and heading basically for one of our safe houses in Seattle. We settled down to a reasonable speed, watchful for cars around us and alert to any pursuit.

Of course, the wheels were turning furiously analyzing what had occurred to assess what else might be out there. The four had sought to waylay us behind the motel, out of sight of the street and the restaurant opposite. It was just possible that no one else actually saw the shooting. In addition, the suburban was in a parking space that opened away from the event and into a back driveway. Of the four men probably only two were in any kind of condition to observe but at very best they saw us only in a white vehicle… if they observed at all.

As to the four men, I was staggered by the power of the 1911 Colt. Two of them were very likely dead, one without an arm and the other unlikely to walk again. So much for graphic evidence. I was very impressed at what had happened. As the adrenalin surging through my system slowly dissipated, I felt impressed with myself for reacting so well and for shooting so accurately. Clint Eastwood and Harrison Ford do that in the movies, not a reservist several years from his last small arms qualification. 

Well, maybe I do have some presence of mind after all… but did I overreact? After all, four men were down and possibly two dead just on the basis of my judgment? Perhaps. Well, no, Baldy made his move and we were clearly the target! Incontrovertible! No equivocating there. They obviously did not think me armed and willing and able to shoot like that. Well, they had thought wrong. Sometimes mistakes can be overlooked; sometimes there is a price to be paid.

Then, too, were they just some local hooligan's on the make or were they somehow lashed up with this syndicate bunch? No way for me to assess that. No way to tell.

I began to turn my attention to my young charge at my side, and noticed that her lower lip was quivering and her eyes were closed tightly. She was hanging on bravely, her arm though mine as she sat right beside me, but her composure was melting away quickly as she thought about what had happened. I also noticed how her blouse revealed the upper swell of her breasts as she snuggled closer. Marvelous!

There is a rest stop on the Interstate just some five miles or so north of LeGrande, and I pulled over. There was a place to park on the far side, offering a good view of cars coming and going, and I pulled in and parked, and took her in my arms. She was in tatters.

She had no idea how to handle such experiences in her life and clung to me like the hounds of hell were at her very heels… and the metaphor was not without some considerable validity. I pulled her tight against me, and her arm around my neck wanted yet more, and her pretty breasts pressed against my chest. I rubbed her back gently, tracing the shallow valley in the middle to the waistband on her skirt. In doing so the image flashed into my mind again of holding her in her swimming suit in the pool, with my hand on her bottom and her kissing my cheek so lightly. She was very much worth all my efforts to protect her and keep her safe, but my own perceptions constantly struggled between considering her in a quasi-father/daughter relationship and a darling girl to love as a sweetheart. There were strong inclinations both directions; what she was no longer and could never be again was just a job assignment.

Eventually she found her voice and we talked some about what had happened and she gradually overcame her fear. It all happened so fast that she was amazed.

"Your gun sure is loud," she said, calmer now, and trying to be conversant. "What will happen to those men now?"

It struck me immediately as something special that she would feel concern for those who would have been her tormentors. I was pleased with myself for not voicing my first thought, which was quite a bit less generous. With a thoughtful tone I responded that I did not know. I did care… really… any kind of violence has unpalatable consequences. Caring for them was just not nearly as high on my priority list as caring for her. She was the victim, not they. Had I been less alert and prepared she would have been even more of a victim than she was. All I had to do was consider again what four burley men wanted with her… and, quite without effort, caring for their distress slipped quickly even further down my priority list.

Still, I considered to myself, what a remarkably charitable set of personal values would lead a person to express such genuine concern in the face of such calamity. I still felt that I did not understand her very well, and this confirmed that conclusion and also that she was a very special young lady.

"You are very brave, Dace." Her words surprised me. The unaffected delicacy of her innocence came through the few words, and in them the marvelous tones of a young girl's adoration. A chest full of medals and a big ceremony and fanfare and all of that could not compare with her simple and heartfelt regard for me.

"Thank you for taking care of me." She was smiling now. Her face was tucked under my chin, but I could hear it in her voice. She felt better. It was a magnificent moment together, and I felt ten feet tall and absolutely bulletproof!

There are rewards, and then there are rewards. If you've been there, you know the difference. If you haven't, there's no way I can explain it to you.

The Utah excursion seemed out of the question now and the relative security of our several apartment safe houses in Seattle very inviting. From LeGrande we doubled back along I-80 to near Pendleton where we could cross the Columbia to find a country road on the north side of the river and head west. 

Christine had come now to recognize that I was working hard on our basic problem and sat quietly by my side for long periods as I tried to think things through. 

At the same time she was very quick to try to help and was becoming quite adept at reading the maps and interpreting the symbols. I would read the advisories along the road and she would let me know what she was finding on the map and we discussed various options as we went along. Involving her in the maps and the decisions as to where to go next added to her education and boosted her self confidence as well as calming her anxiety somewhat.

Similar to most every aspect of our relationship I learned about her in the process, and could observe and measure to some degree the scope of her learning and understanding. Initially the maps were a daunting challenge. She knew something about maps, of course, but making current decisions about important matters… considering life and death to be among them… was something she had not had to deal with before. Nor was she familiar with the thousand and one little detailed interpretations of symbols and graphics that an experienced driver has long taken for granted. 

My point is that her schooling and childhood had been rooted in another culture and even then, from my viewpoint, rather severely restricted in breadth by the very traditional, ultra-conservative family environment and the deeply religious underpinning of the school. To step from that into a much more liberal, multi-cultural society dominant in the western USA was a leap. I could not altogether comprehend the dimension of the gap between her worlds, but my own travels and experiences made it obvious to me that it was enormous. In my own resident periods in Germany, and I had lived for more than two years in southern Germany, just across the border actually from Sankt Gallen, and had been from my close association with the Germans somewhat familiar with the education system and the family environments in the cities as well as the smaller towns and even on occasion the countryside villages… "dorfs" we called them, using the German word.

To be sure, that cultural gap was not near as drastic as it would be, for example, for a young girl coming from the interior of China or a village along the Congo River. Yet, confronting such a yawning gap has to be daunting, regardless of comparative distances. And all this girl had to rely on was an impromptu companionship with a well-worn fellow twice her age and a chequered background, a security clearance, and his name on a list somewhere that got him tagged for a weirdo assignment.

So, what was I concluding about how well she was handling the challenge? Well, she was on the whole very positive and creative in dealing with her situation, not given to discouragement nor complaining, even if fragile and innocent. She was studious and quick to learn and adapt, and in this regard her language is a good indicator. We could slip into German quite easily, but such was usually at my instigation now that I thought about it. She was deeply into English and was daily wrestling with the avalanche of new terminology and vocabulary in her surroundings. For all that, she did not complain nor ruminate disconsolately about loss and tragedy, but saw goodness and beauty all about her. She was remarkable!

And how was I meeting the challenge of my assignment? The gap I confronted was very much smaller and my resource of experience very much greater. I was to be protector first, but then also by default companion, certainly friend, mentor as well, always a gentleman – that in my mind virtually by definition. Then too, I was something of an ersatz-father, confidant and counselor, giving comfort and even perhaps discipline as the need might arise. She was, of course, no longer a child… and I was frequently reminded of that reality. All I had to do was look.

To that list as well I had come to wonder about the potential for adding a romantic relationship between us. I alternately hoped and dreamed, and railed at myself for chasing rainbows that belonged to some younger man, seeing the very idea as being perhaps altogether inappropriate. Well, I concluded, my focus had to be elsewhere and my passions held in tight check while attending to other duties… and if something emerged between us, then fine. 

Being the best man I could be would advance the issue; I could not, in any event, force the issue. 

I had reviewed and re-settled this in my mind mostly on the long drive north from LeGrande. Upon crossing the Columbia the scenery and the mood changed to lighter fare and my thoughts as well as our sporadic conversation took some new turns.

Longview, a medium-sized community of the I-5 corridor just north of Portland, was on my mind for reasons I could not fathom, and I guess that was my destination even if I could not then perceive why that should be so. 

For some diversion and to ease the tension I decided to stop at the Stonehenge replica and the Maryhill Gallery at Goldendale, thinking these attractions would interest her and breakup the tension of the day.

They did.

It turned out to be a most tender and inspiring interlude.

First, the Stonehenge replica is a fascinating and mysterious thing. We discussed that for more than an hour together, sitting in the soft sunshine amidst the massive stones, and what all we knew about the Druids and the early religious activities in England and other places… classical mythology and old Germanic tribal practices… and between us we knew very little. Here, too, I learned about her. She knew next to nothing of the subject, but picked up on the details, and was very quick to inter-relate many diverse bits and fragments from elsewhere, on astronomy, for example, and the evidence that the Stonehenge builders had understood some basic astronomical concepts. When I complemented her on her quickness, it embarrassed her a little, I think. She blushed prettily and dropped her eyes. When I took her hand and we just walked together she rebounded quickly, and her playfulness being so at ease with me was a tremendous delight.

Secondly, at the Maryhill Gallery are a number of fantastic sculptures. Included there are reproductions of two of my favorites: "The Thinker" and "The Kiss" – both by the Frenchman August Rodín. Christine knew something of the former – an all-time classic – but her ultra-conservative schooling had made no room for the latter. 

Considering each in turn at our leisure, we sat a moment together and contemplated "The Kiss" and I commented to her that, though the sculpture was fixed in space, I felt the artist had captured a powerful sense of movement and motion in his work, as if, said I, the man had welcomed the young lady into his arms with great respect and love and affection, and she had come to him willingly, loving him as well and wanting him to kiss her. They were in love, and for them no one else in the world mattered but each other. It was almost, I observed, as if we were peering into a very private and passionate moment in their lives as they shared with each other a rich and rewarding emotion; almost as if we were… intruding. Still, it was remarkably inspiring to witness the depth of tender feelings for each other that the artist had managed to portray. We sat for a while and she said nothing, but I did notice how she held my arm close to her and I could feel the delightful pressure of her soft breast.

When after a time we rose and stepped around the piece once again and then moved on slowly, she stopped at the door to the room, still holding my arm close to her, and looked back at the statue again for a while. Then she turned her face up to me.

"You loved your wife like that, didn't you, Dace?" Her insight surprised me, and I think I heard in her voice a bit of excitement at her discovery. 

My response came easily after a moment's consideration. "Yes, I did…" and then, after a pause, "and I still do."

There were pink roses in her cheeks then and her voice as sweet and delicate and feminine as I had ever heard: "She must have been a very wonderful lady."

I had not thought my feelings for my wife had been so evident. "That she was," I responded softly.

The thought struck me in that moment as a ray of light on a dark night… and has recurred many times, that my wife of earlier years and Christine were, even while being each so incomparably unique in so many ways, so very much alike in having nurtured in themselves the highest ideals and personal qualities and character, that they might well have been twins. That one was a blue-eyed Dane with shorter, darkish blond hair while the other was a brown-eyed Swiss with long auburn hair were only outward and superficial variances. They were both strikingly beautiful women physically, though not in a showy kind of way, and had cultivated inward qualities that made their respect, friendship, love and companionship treasures beyond earthly measure to a gentleman who appreciated such things. 

This young Swiss girl was lightening my heart in ways I had thought would never come to me again. She was blushing as I looked down at her beside me, and turned her face away, and we walked on together to other things. 

Yet, the impression came to me quite clearly in that moment, and has since returned again and again… though the seasons of one's life supposedly do not repeat themselves, this time with Christine seemed to me like… well, like another springtime in my life.

We found a medium-sized mom-and-pop diner and motel just west of Goldendale and decided that would be our end of the road haven for the day, and on the morrow we were up and gone early, though the chances of our pursuers looking for us there were one in a million. Statistically we were doubtless safe, but Longview was on my mind and the country roads on the north side of the Columbia were slow and winding and took forever. Still, by early afternoon we had reached the I-5 Interstate and were having lunch together in a nice place in Longview. 




Another Springtime Ch. 05



Glancing quickly through the local daily for I knew not what, in the entertainment section I noticed an announcement by the drama department of the local community college. That very evening was the next in their series of evenings where dance and drama students presented their various projects on stage. The evening included dramatic readings, interpretive dance, a couple of skits and a scene from Christopher Marlowe's Dr Faustus. Now, that last was pretty heavy fare, I thought, for a community college, but it might just be the thing for us. I knew Christine liked drama and we often discussed plays and literature that we both enjoyed. She knew Frederic Schiller's plays almost verbatim, particularly Wilhelm Tell, and Gotthold Ephriam Lessing's Minna von Barnhelm was one of her very favorites. Henrik Ibsen's works were known to her, and even Berchtold Brecht's Trommeln in der Nacht, a more modern piece, was a favorite. She was very keen minded about such things. Regardless, Marlowe's works from older English literature were demanding stuff. I folded the newspaper for her to see the announcement as the waitress served our soup and sandwiches and refilled our water glasses. 

We went that evening, enjoyed the program immensely together, and she was just alight with enthusiasm. The lady instructor closed with the announcement that the second summer session would commence the following week and registration was… etc., etc. Christine turned to me with the question on the tip of her tongue. 

So it was that we encamped in Longview for the second of the two six week summer sessions.

From the very first she was excited and engaged to a degree that was just startling. I was happy to see it. She needed some contact with others and to be involved in something to exercise her mind and get her thinking away from the terror of the previous months.

It also allowed me time to catch up on some of my own affairs, update my graduate course projects, balance and review finances, keep up on developments, and make sure our security plans and precautions were as mistake-and-intruder-proof as our ingenuity could devise.

Even with the greatest foresight, however, I could never have predicted what would shortly come to pass.



Another Springtime Ch. 06



A note to readers: Your reception and interest and responses are very gratifying. Thank you. For those who do not read German, never fear. Where appearing, there is also sufficient in English to give you the gist of the comment as had you read and understood it. My own experience has been that broad exposure to many cultures and art forms has deepened my appreciation for life and the people with whom we all share this incredible journey.

Chapter 6: Into The Valley of Tribulation

It was also a time of more intense interaction than I had ever imagined could be.

She signed up for an American Literature class as well, another step in her increasingly serious study of English and America, and towards a university degree she was beginning to see as something she not only wanted but now could see her way clear to actually accomplish. Her excitement was endemic, and she bubbled and danced about like a school girl… in other words, she was beautifully engaged and delightful to be with.

The interaction on new topics had started, and on that Thursday afternoon, the first week of classes, took a major stride forward. She was quiet and thoughtful after her Lit 101 class and we drove a ways out of town to a little Chinese place we had found and enjoyed Tuesday evening. Finally, she pushed her plate aside for a moment and took a paper napkin and folded it into a little place marker for me and wrote on it in bold letters: "Dad." With a solemn little gesture she placed it in front of my plate, as if marking my place at a conference or a convention or something.

This was a game, yet not a game. I quickly sensed that she was trying to be light-hearted, but at the same time was very serious about something on her mind, and needed to talk to her father.

"Yes," I responded, in a little deeper tone and trying to accommodate her need, "my darling daughter, what is on your mind. I will be happy to listen and try to help where I can." From my own experience I knew there was, as a father, a time to talk and a time to listen. Usually much more of the latter was needed, and as little of the first as possible. 

That I had read her correctly was immediately evident in her pretty face and she relaxed somewhat with me. Slowly, she started an explanation that seemed to meander and sidestep the main point, telling me about her class and the other young people in it and the prof and the readings, etc. Then, probably gaining confidence in our situation, she began to tell me about him, a tall, sandy haired boy in her class, and how nice he was and handsome, and all that. Then she stopped, stuck.

In the past I had jumped in and attempted to pick up the conversation with my daughter. It had been a mistake then, and would have been a mistake now. This time I was alert and wise enough to let the silence drag out until she found words to say it.

"He asked me for a date for tomorrow evening to a movie… Father." Her words came to me like an electric shock, even though I should have anticipated them sooner or later. Trying hard to listen and not over react, I now sensed, too, in her adding "Father" to the end, as sort of an afterthought, that she was having to work at keeping her thinking focused clearly.

"And," she began again, her voice trembling a little, "I have no idea what I should do." I was watching her closely and she looked up at me briefly, those big brown eyes full of doubt and anxiety and confusion, hoping she could trust in me to help her.

She was a beautiful, bright, blossoming flower, and with no pertinent experience whatever with boys and men, social or otherwise, as innocent as a babe in the woods, and in a foreign culture. Little wonder that she was uncertain and afraid. On top of that, the easy going sociability in the typical junior college classroom of western American youth could very well and probably had already triggered the flow of hormones in her that added to the confusion and perhaps even scared her. 

And, I though to myself again, I had thought I had a hot potato before. I was in up to my eyeballs here for sure, and there were suddenly alligators in the swamp at every hand.

"Thank you, Christine, for trusting me to help. I will try my very best." No speeches here, I told myself, but clear thinking and careful coaxing to make for herself the best decisions she could. 

"The very first thing to concern yourself with is what you want and desire for yourself. That decision will help guide you in all that follows."

She looked at me intently, then nodded her head in understanding, and waited.

"Only your decision matters. You may gather information and ideas from others, but ultimately you are responsible for you."

"What kind of a person do you want to be and become. You are a girl, a young woman… well on your way to becoming a mature lady. You have already, to some degree, decided what kind of lady you are to become. I have seen it in your manner with me and others, and I admire and respect your decisions very much." That was no idle complement either.

"Then, remember, too, that you owe him nothing at all other than being yourself, a self-respecting lady, honest with yourself and him.

"You have options. You always have options."

Now what? She was waiting.

"Perhaps you see in him a pleasant, interesting, thoughtful, intelligent young man with whom you would enjoy sharing some time and adventure. Wonderful. 

"It is entirely proper that you ask what his plans are, to what events or activities is he inviting you to accompany him? A gentleman with manners and appreciation for a lady will be happy to tell her and even to ask her ideas and thoughts on the matter. 

"Then you decide how you want to respond. 

"Should the activities not be appealing to you, or his manner or attitude make you feel at all unsafe with him, you may simply decline politely with a friendly smile. A lady might say simply, ‘Thank you for the invitation. Perhaps another time.' A courteous fellow will accept that and probably come back and ask you another time later. 

"Of course, his invitation may be exciting and fun, and you decide to accept."

All well and good; but I felt like I was describing a formal courtship on a 19th Century plantation in the southern states. Hardly very useful or applicable as a norm for the rough-and-tumble, catch-as-catch-can social scene in today's American west. To judge from the magazine stands – yes, a very superficial data source, but the magazines sell, right? – recreational sex was an evening's casual activity and even date rape was no longer sufficiently racy even to make headlines. Suddenly, this relatively simple protection assignment assumed mammoth proportions, and I felt like I was in deep water well over my head.

She was waiting for me to go on. My spirits were lifted to feel her paying close attention and hanging on every word. In retrospect, I myself hardly perceived how very innocent and trusting she was… I was talking about a topic that was, for her, something akin to rocket science.

Sexuality and physical intimacy were current topics of interest, whether she could categorize her own anxieties as such or not. I could sidestep the subject material… and that would set her up for emotional disaster, which for her would be lurking just around the corner. Whether the young fellow in her Lit class or some other after him, she would, more likely sooner than later, be picked up in the scanning gunsight of a predatory male hot for a roll in the hay with a strikingly beautiful, innocent young virgin he could charm into the back seat with smooth talk and a little cajoling.

Some protector I would be then.

Once again, as with my own daughter before her, I had to face the very significant challenges of a father teaching his children about intimacy without overdoing it, while putting just the right spin on the information to include concepts of integrity and character and fidelity that would inspire without being preachy and turning them off. 

I should have known this would come up.

Dinner was over with; my plate was nearly cleared anyway, and I could not go on further sitting in a booth together in a restaurant. If she was still hungry later we could eat again or whatever, but it was time to move on. I paid the bill and soon we were in the Suburban alone in the early evening's fading light.

She was still waiting patiently for me to go on. You know, there's something enchanting about a pretty girl who is so keen on learning and becoming her very best person. After sitting with her a moment and considering how very much her parents must have loved her, I determined to move on as carefully as I knew how.

"Your own assessment of the young man, Christine, will be absolutely crucial. You may feel attracted to him because of many things… he is handsome, muscular, tall, strong, smart, clever… and sometimes the physical attraction alone can be very, very strong. 

"What I would explain to you, dearest daughter, is that you are now more than ever before two people in one. You are as always a spirit… a thinking, perceptive, creative spirit, making decisions and using the wisdom you have acquired to acquire yet more. Your spirit is residing in a body that is, however, changing dramatically as you mature to womanhood. There are hormones flushing through your system that create new and exciting and thrilling changes that are meant and intended by our Creator to bring you love and pleasure…" how to express this in just the right way for her? "… and satisfaction of an intensity…" how could I possibly get this point across to someone who had not experienced it? "of a magnificence and intensity you can not now even imagine.

"Christine, I am speaking now as an older man who has in the past enjoyed years of physical intimacy with a beautiful and loving woman. Nothing in our youth – not mine, not hers, not yours – could have prepared us to know how very intense such pleasure can be. Your own father and mother enjoyed such intimacy together, and one of the expressions of their joy in their togetherness is the baby that was conceived in their lovemaking… and the child that was borne and raised in their home, the young lady that sits now before me here in my care and protection."

She had dropped her eyes to consider her hands clasped together in her lap. Perhaps she was hearing me as I tried to reach her, I could not be sure.

"The treasures that such delightful intimacy promises a loving husband and wife are already evident in your body, Christine. When Jenny was fifteen she was slender and willowy, then her hips began to fill out, her attitude changed to be more feminine, her breasts began to swell and develop, her facial features took on a fineness and delicacy that was striking. She took great interest in her appearance and spent time brushing her long hair. By the time she was eighteen she was no longer a child… she was a young woman."

Her hands went to cover her mouth and her brown eyes were wide as saucers, and she must have felt naked in front of me.

I just ignored her and pushed on. 

"That transition, Christine – for both the girl and the boy – releases into their systems hormones that drive the changes that make them adults. That is good; that is as it should be… but those gifts of maturity can be easily mis-used and squandered.

"Yet, she was again a child in a special way. The world of mature adulthood beckoned and seemed very inviting, but she had not a clue as to how to move on. She had to learn new and basic skills and how to deal with the emotions and feelings her body presented to her spirit. Her body craved, demanded stimulation and excitement… it was ready to be a wife and mother and to be intimate physically with a husband who would be the father to her baby. Her spirit needed to be wise and control and steer and guide them into a good and loving relationship.

"That is for a girl of eighteen perhaps the supreme test of her entire life up to that point."

Having reached that conclusion I could easily have left the subject there. Had she given me the least signal that she was saturated or her interest was waning, I would have left off. But when I looked at her sitting there, she was looking at me, and it seemed she was drinking in what I was saying as quickly as I could pour.

Where to go from here?

"You will not, Christine, be able to assess the challenges you face without knowing something about boys and men.

"It is fair to say that their spirits are experiencing challenges in controlling the demands of their bodies just like a girl faces. Some earlier, some a little later; each somewhat different in their own way, yet all basically the same. They face the same challenges of deciding whether the spirit or the body should dominate. It will come as no surprise to you that some men and boys… like some women and girls… are willing to seek gratification above wisdom… well, at least that is how I feel on the matter. Choosing to gratify passions of the body before marriage and the commitment to each other that goes with that is, in my mind, weak and allows their bodies to rule their spirits."

She made no move or comment, but her eyes on me never wavered.

"The male is, evidently by nature, the more aggressive and thus when his spirit allows his body to dominate, he can be… well… predatory. His body demands intimate contact with a girl, but is unskilled and coarse, untempered by the spirit's restraint which could steer him to true love and rewarding intimacy in marriage. He wants it now!

"He wants to kiss her… touch her." Just how far would it be appropriate to take this lesson, I wondered. "He wants to feel her breasts… run his hand up under her skirt." Take it just as far as were she my own daughter, I decided, and in a sense I had to treat her so. Her own father could not be there through no fault of his own. In accepting this assignment, did I not in some way assume the task of standing in for him as best I could? 

"He wants to possess her, conquer her, mate with her… and revel in the intense feelings and sensations such activities bring on… in sexual orgasm! The body interprets this as the ultimate fulfillment, because it knows no other."

I was in deep now. There was no way out but through. Go gently, I told myself, and with care… but with sufficient point to make the point. This opportunity may never arise again.

"But his need, his passion, though super intense and powerful, peaks and passes quickly and his attention wanders elsewhere. In using a girl so he reduces her to a slave, a toy, a consumable, a passing memory that soon gives way to the next conquest. He is like," I turned to her in the seat and looked at her straight in the eye, "a wild beast in the forest seeking it's prey!"

My directness made it's point, I could see it in her expression. My portrayal was somewhat extreme, and perhaps too severe, but appropriate to make the point clear. She was a little wide-eyed at my words, and I thought that a sign that I was getting my message across, perhaps.

OK, time and place to shift gears, I thought. "One of a young girl's tasks," I let the tone of my voice alter and soften the mood altogether, "is to develop an effective technique for identifying and dealing with predatory beasts."

There needed to be a little pause here, perhaps. This was a lot of stuff, and a break may well allow the lesson to be taken aboard in one sitting. I had no way of determining how well she was getting this, yet it seemed so very important to me. It was to her as well, of course, but did she understand that fully? No way to determine that. Happiness in life is such an elusive goal and sexual freedom is widely preached as a doctrine that gets us there. It depends, of course, on how one defines happiness. For me it has always been a great deal more than just a weekend's getaway with any girl available at the moment. How could I get this idea across to her?

I was far from clear on what else was needed at the moment. In the pause I reached over and started the car, and we moved out slowly to the driveway and the street home.

"But you are not…" she was struggling to say what she could not yet even define, "you are not like a beast in the forest." Her voice was so very expressive, and a little hesitant, at once stating what she observed and begging for a confirmation that what she felt she discerned was in fact the truth. Her expression was every bit a question as much as it was a statement. To hear her draw such a conclusion on her own, however, was a tremendous reward. Perhaps I was getting through to her.

"Thank you for the compliment. I try never to be; but it takes constant effort and discipline for my spirit to retain control over my body. I am a man like other men, but I have decided there are values greater than immediate sexual gratification."

It was not so much a tension between us, but much more a sense of that being enough for the present. The student's questions were answered for the moment, at least in part, and the teacher was drained.

I looked up at her in the dim light of the parking lot lighting at the motel. She often wore her long hair loose and flowing down her shoulders, especially when we were together. She remembered my earlier compliment likening her hair to a beautiful waterfall sparkling in the sunlight, and very often she pulled her ribbons or her clips free when we got together. Now her hair cascaded down over her right shoulder and breast, and she held her head tilted just so, busy and absorbed in taking on board the ideas I had expressed.

She was an incredibly beautiful girl. Kneeling there on the bench seat with her hands in her lap, sitting calmly erect, and poise and grace came as naturally to her as the morning's warmth to the rays of the sun… she took my breath away! 

A comment like that, as I look over what I am writing, might suggest to some that the visual image of the girl's beauty is all that is taken into account. So the words might seem to say. There is, nevertheless, very much more to it. Equating a girl's beauty to her bra size is about as shallow as a man deciding to spend many thousands on a new car because he is infatuated with the hood ornament. It is no surprise to admit that a man makes early on selections based on the visual image of a girl he sees, a highly subjective selection based on criteria unique and specific to the individual man. 

Fine. 

At that point, however, a first selection made, the girl's character and personality, that is, the qualities of her spirit become dominant and dictate, to the discerning gentleman, whether his interest endures or fades. Thus it is that during a courtship – and doubtless the girl is studying the man as well – these more critical and enduring spiritual aspects of her beauty are observed and studied at length in a variety of circumstances. The discerning girl will quickly perceive if the man values her only for her body, and a lady will respond accordingly and seek to free herself from such a liaison. Should it come to that, the man was, in my estimation, no gentleman. Should it be that each finds the other hopeful, honest, interesting, respectful, humorous, intelligent… and, in short, a companion that is intriguing and stimulating to be with, then the courtship continues. By this time we had been more than nine months in close, daily… continuous… but not intimate contact. Well, not physical or sexual intimacy. The visual cues I mention relative to her beauty were by this time much more that just visual. I saw and had come to value in each little mannerism the personable and open and keenly alert person she was… and the glorious promise of the emerging lady she was becoming. The man to whom she would give her heart was going to be one happy man with this stunning creature by his side.




Another Springtime Ch. 06



Beauty is, truly, more than skin deep; and, for my money, friend, Christine was a breathtaking example of exactly that!

She glanced up at me, the slender fingers of one hand sweeping lightly across her forehead and smoothing her hair out of her face in a very dainty gesture. "Thank you…." She paused a moment. 

"Thank you, Dad."

I had to leave her then to decide for herself. That was part of allowing her to be herself. More than being accountable to me, and as an adult she would not be, it was important she be accountable to herself. It sort of went without saying that there would be another encounter in her Friday Lit class. She had not said so, but my conclusion was that she had somehow deflected her final response until then, which led to the intensity of our evening on Thursday.

Now it was Friday. 

We walked together to her class and well short of her classroom I turned away. We had an after class rendezvous set up at the fountain on the plaza, just a few yards out in front of her classroom, and she knew I would at any rate be close at hand. She had not told me of her decision and I had not asked. I hoped she would take that as a sign of my confidence in her.

Just minutes before her class broke I parked myself on the bench amid the flowers to read a book and observe the classroom exits across the little plaza and the fountain. Staged so, I wanted to allow her the latitude to carry on a conversation with the fellow as long as she chose, knowing that she could count on me being close and that by simply walking up to me she could conclude things if he got rowdy. That was at least my intention; perhaps she saw it entirely otherwise.

When the class was over the two of them were nearly the last to leave the room. They sat for a few minutes, deep in conversation, on the brickwork on the far side of the fountain. I had no doubt that she had seen and recognized me. They sat, their backs to me, for several minutes, alternately laughing and then serious again. He was a husky fellow, almost Viking-like in stature, long hair unkempt, requiring his hand through it repeatedly to attempt some control. Then the scene turned a bit ominous; their conversation was just out of earshot for me, but body language speaks silent volumes. She stiffened and pulled away as he tried to put his arm around her shoulders, and then when he persevered she stood abruptly to avoid him. Then I realized that he was holding her textbook and her outstretched hand produced no response from him. A little confrontation ensued, and when she would not relent he held her book out over the fountain. The threat was clear… a date on his terms or the book took a bath.

She paused only a moment, then turned, ignoring his threat, and walked away calmly, crossing the plaza and past me up another pathway towards the library. I knew what that meant. He bluffed, she called it, and the fellow failed to score. The new sixty dollar textbook surveying American literature went into the water with a splash. The fellow was seething in defeat; the girl was a calm as a summer's morning and regal as a princess, ignoring the splash if she even heard it. I watched him over the rim of my book, recording his features for the record, and saw him turn away sulking in the opposite direction. 

What is it with men? Few, regardless of character, manage to withdraw with any dignity when vanquished by a woman. 

She was waiting for me around the corner of the next building, nervous and shaking like a leaf, and at the same time just beaming at having managed the entire crisis. When I found her I made a slight motion with my hands as if to ask what had happened. She slipped her arm through mine, and only then seemed to stop trembling. I motioned us down a divergent path through some trees in another direction, towards the car, and as we walked on she lightened up and relaxed. I was waiting for her to tell me.

"Well?" Was she not going to say anything?

"There was blood at the corner of his mouth, and…" her voice was rather blasé and remarkably confident, "and his paws were all muddy." She waved her one hand as if to shake off the residue of muck, and held her nose up in the air mimicking one of the girls in a story we had read and discussed together. "I told him," she continued with an easy flippancy, "that I did not accept dates with predatory beasts." 

That caught me a little off guard and I stopped suddenly, halting our forward motion. 

Meekly, and in her daintiest voice, she asked immediately, "Was I too blunt, do you imagine?" Her saucy little smile told me that she had handled the situation even better than I had hoped.

Girls? Women? Will we men ever really understand them?



Another Springtime Ch. 07



Chapter 7: A Most Perceptive Young Lady

Reviewing her options together, she elected to drop that 101 class and enroll late into another, and at the 201 level, eliciting from me first a promise that I would help her keep up with the readings and background. To my several arduous duties I added one more, without giving it a second thought. Such times with her were a delight beyond imagining.

"Dad?" 

Addressing me so was her signal now that she needed to talk to me not as a man, nor a friend, but as her father. She had come to like the less formal title of "dad" from hearing me talk of my own children, I guess, and probably from her chats with Jenny. Anyway, she thought it informal and it eased the stress of sometimes conflicting relationships and interests.

"Yes, darling daughter?" My response, too, was a little contrived, a tone deeper with a little officious overlay to keep it playful, even if the topic were to be deadly serious.

"You never told me, Dad, about… about what a man is like when his spirit dominates his body." She was looking down at her pizza and Caesar salad on her plate after sitting down in our rooms together to our take out, fast food dinner. It was Tuesday evening after the big clash on Friday. She was out of one Lit class and into the other and finding it fascinating. Together with her drama class, she was head over heels engaged in her studies and readings and the dramatic essays to be written. We had already started a couple and she was asking all kinds of questions about phrasing and syntax and word usage and style. She was a sponge for learning and it was just fun being together. For her to come back, now, with no urging from me, to our discussion about sex and intimacy the previous Thursday told me a lot about how well I was getting across to her.

"I have met a predatory beast already," she observed dryly, looking up at me and about to take a bite of pizza. "When do I get to meet a knight in shining armor?"

Her glib playfulness could be heard in her lilt, though when I looked up she pretended to be concentrating on the pizza. I had to smile at her. She was very quick, and learning to express herself in English with a cute and refreshingly feminine manner that was very alluring – at least it sent my heart into a series of impromptu aerobatic stunts that boggled my mind.

"Well," I had to buy myself a little time here to come up with something appropriate in response, "I will review the schedule to see when the knight is to appear, and let you know."

"How will I be able to recognize him? Can I assume he will not have muddy paws and be panting after me like that lunatic in that one short story?" She was recalling a story we had enjoyed together. Our discussions, sometimes at considerable depth and detail, of the short stories we read together were such that in our casual conversation we could make reference to many incidents with just a word or two and know that the other would pick up immediately.

We pushed on and I explained some more of what I felt was perhaps useful for her, trying to keep it short. 

She was quiet then for the longest time. She cleared the table and did up the few dishes quickly, and I wondered whether I had answered her question to her satisfaction. How would I ever know? Each person is so very unique in their thinking and values.

She was still drying her hands on the dish towel, her back to me at the table, "No wonder your daughter is so smart." She paused; she had spent a lot of time with Jennifer by now, and they had become good friends. "With a Dad like you to stimulate her brain, no wonder that she has found learning and ideas about all kinds of things…" she turned now to me, confident and bubbly, "fun. You make it that way for me." 

Her smile was like the morning's sunrise itself, and she leaned over and kissed my forehead as were she but ten years old. "Thanks, Dad," and she moved away into the other room, leaving my head and heart in a swirl.

"Can we read that next Langston Hughes short story together now? We've still got forty minutes before study time. OK?"

"Sure. Either that or we start Poe's ‘Gold Bug.'" ‘The Gold Bug' is certainly one of Edgar Allen Poe's masterworks, I thought, and one of my favorites, and I had seen it listed in the contents of her lit book.

"Oh, yes, let's do that one first! I'll get my book."

]

The entire matter of sex and intimacy and love and standards was not, however, put away on the shelf. Not by a long shot.

He appeared the very next week. From among the young men in her Lit 201 class one soon stood out and caught her eye and she caught his. Lit was scheduled right before her Drama class, so time after was limited and this fellow said he worked afternoons and evenings. By Thursday they chatted briefly before departing and I watched from a distance. No Viking, this young man was a runner, wiry and slender, broad shoulders and well built in a runner kind of way. Not massive, but tight and bundled for speed.

Friday evening she wanted to talk some more about knights and the various kinds of shining armor that knights wore, as she phrased it. She told me that Nick was a local boy, on the track team, but worked two part time jobs to save for his transfer in the fall semester to the University of Washington in Seattle. He had enough credits to begin his junior year in his undergrad work. He was a History and Political Science dual major, and a little older than the others with a four year hitch in the Navy behind him. She was impressed with how courteous he was with her, and he could make her laugh at, she said, his silly jokes. 

It was obvious just watching her that she was very pleased at his attention. Her eyes were alight and she was animated and excited, and had to tell me every little detail. Well, many, anyway. There were doubtless some of which she made no mention.

Then it came out. He had asked her to dinner Sunday evening. She had asked him about his plans, she told me, just like we had discussed before, and he had said he would make reservations at the hotel's dining room where we had ourselves dined just the previous week. He had told her that it was the best place in town for a good steak dinner and a nice place to just chat and get acquainted. Afterwards he would bring her home again, he had said, because he had to go to work on the night shift at 10 PM. She had said "yes," she told me with excitement, and I could feel her waiting for me to respond, as if she needed my approval.

"That's marvelous, Christine. He sounds like a pleasant fellow, and he's right about two things, I can tell you that right now. The hotel's dining room is a good place to eat." I suddenly decided the second thing would be better left unsaid, and left it at that.

She was not fooled for a minute. 

"What's the second thing?" 

It was a calm enough question, but I made no response. I should have known better.

"Dace? What second thing?" Now her tone told me she knew she was on to something and would dig it out of me for sure. It was not that she was aggressive, just persistent when she felt she had to connect the dots and make sense of things.

"He obviously has a sailor's eye for a pretty girl." I tried to keep that from sounding other than complimentary. Christine looked at me intently, and even as she blushed prettily at the acknowledgement of her beauty, the look in her eyes told me the wheels were turning in her head.

I guess I just wanted to close the subject and go elsewhere. There was a silence suddenly in the room, one of those silent periods that seems like lifetimes but is in fact probably thirty seconds on the outside. 

She broke the silence when she stepped up to me sitting at the table and took my chin in her one hand, turning my face up to hers. She looked directly into my eyes, a somewhat forward and daring act for her, but she was blossoming and gaining confidence as the days passed and I was pleased to see it.

"You're jealous!" She declared with astonishment.

I was too shocked at myself to do anything but sit there dumbly.

She couldn't find anything to say either, and finally I pulled her down in the chair beside mine.

"Yes," I finally admitted weakly, "I guess I am jealous. You are the most delightful young lady, Christine, and I have enjoyed immensely our time together. I hope I have never embarrassed you nor made you afraid of me in any way. I can hardly be blamed for wanting to not have to share you with any other man. Were I a little younger I would fight them all off with a stick and carry you away to my castle on the hilltop… and I would be sure to be wearing my very best suit of shining armor, too.

"I am mostly concerned that you are safe and happy."

I don't remember ever feeling so awkward and tangled up as at that moment. Fortunately I knew better than to spout off a lot of emotional stuff that I couldn't back up and wouldn't be appropriate for the time anyway.

After a pause she stood up slowly and remained a moment by my side. "You've never embarrassed me, and from the very first day I have felt safe in your care. You're a remarkable man, Dace Shepherd." Standing next to me, she seemed as were she the Statue of Liberty or Venus de Milo, majestic, imposing, striking in her person, engagingly beautiful to me; and suddenly in her increasing maturity as distant as those maidens of stone.

She laid a hand gently on my shoulder. 

"Gute Nacht." 

For her to slip back into German was unusual. Maybe she did feel secure with me and that allowed her to… what? I don't know.

I put my hand on top of hers lightly and squeezed. As if her touch opened a valve somewhere, it flowed out in rather roughened Bavarian dialect, "Gut' Nacht, Mädle. Tuest ‘mal g'schwind ei'schlaofa!"

With that she stepped away into her room, turned and smiled sweetly, and closed the door. 

That door had been closed only very few times in the months we had been together, and suddenly she seemed farther away from me than ever, and utterly beyond my reach. By her mere presence in my world she had lit candles that lightened much of the darkness… and now shadows seemed to be everywhere advancing. All manner of rationale and reasoning changed nothing. 

I felt devastatingly alone… again.

]

The remaining weeks of the summer session were quickly passing. I can quicken the story here with a synopsis. Two trends were taking very firm root in her life which were transpiring right under my nose, and I have to admit I could not at the time see them at all clearly.

That Sunday evening's dinner date with Nick seemed to have been very successful. She was delighted and was exuberant and chatty. I tried not to allow the green monster to raise his head again and I believe, all in all, I managed that. Still, as the days past, her door was closed more often and there were other evenings out with Nick, and, though I tried to be patient and understanding, our uninhibited discussions seemed to wane a little and she was most often pre-occupied elsewhere.

What clouded my perception was that she was at the same time developing and polishing her dramatic presentation for her drama class final exam. She had asked if I would allow her to use one of my CDs from the collection in the car. No problem. Would I come and assist her in her final? Of course.

Nevertheless, my feelings became more and more despondent as the days past. The distance between us seemed to be growing as I felt her pull away. We had come to be so very close that even a little widening of the distance seemed to border on tragedy. I felt she needed some space to be herself and expand her horizons as she chose, and that I could not restrict her unduly. She was not a prisoner, by any means.

I spent a lot of time talking to myself to retain something akin to a rational outlook. 

Three days before her scheduled final in her afternoon lab session on Friday I crossed paths in the library with the class instructor, a pleasant and vivacious woman in her thirties, who evidently remembered me from our conversation after the evening performance weeks before. Quite impromptu, I thought, she asked if I had a minute and could we talk. I said yes, that Christine was in her Lit. class lecture across the hall at the moment and could I be of help somehow. Nearby was a vacant glass-enclosed cubicle for study groups with a door, and we stepped inside so we could talk undisturbed. 

She was not an aggressive personality, but came right to the point. "Mr. Shepherd, you likely are aware that Christine is a most sensitive and delicate girl…." She seemed to pause for me to take in her declaration as if I might not have noticed myself.

"Yes, my own observations support that conclusion." It was not yet evident to me what additional conclusion she would be drawing for my benefit, and I waited for her to "lay her cards on the table," so to speak.

"What I mean to say is…" now she seemed at a loss for words, "she is so very innocent of the world, and trusting… her essays are beautiful and poignant and full of hope and joy, but she is a babe in the woods." She paused, I think to see what impact this might have on me. "Do you understand what I am trying to say, Mister Shepherd" 

Maybe I did, though she was leaving a lot of leeway open for interpretation. "I think I can probably guess, Ms. Trenton, but by all means feel free to speak your mind plainly. I'm all ears."

She seemed openly amazed that I would invite her more pointed comments, but hesitated only a moment. "That sweet girl deserves very the best that life can give her!" 

Had she been a judge on a federal bench her words could not have been more firmly explicit in tone and timbre. 

"I don't know what your intentions are, sir, but if you hurt her in any way you ought to be shot at sunrise!" 

She had admitted not knowing, but had made some assumptions just the same, even rendered a judgment, and in mentioning summary execution for such crimes I concluded readily that the judge – it was hardly a veiled opinion – was letting it be known she didn't much care for what she thought she was seeing.

I could understand her position. "Thank you for your candor, Ms. Trenton." It was an honest appreciation and from that I estimated that I knew now almost exactly where she stood. 

I figured also that the situation warranted, in the face of a professional who taught and practiced drama, a little something dramatic of my own. I opened a side pocket on my briefcase and extracted a calling card and handed it to her:

R. K. "Dace" Shepherd

Lieutenant Commander, U. S. Navy

Office of Naval Intelligence

The look on her face was as had she seen a ghost, though at the moment I did not recognize that. 

"Such cards are," I started off casually, "easily printed by most anyone, so you may with rights be somewhat skeptical. It may help you for me to let you know that she is in some considerable danger for her life and safety, and..." my voice was even and calm and looking into her eyes it was easy to see that she was not a gullible woman, "since I am one who holds beliefs and values similar to your own, it is my assignment... and, I might add, high privilege... to protect her." I opened my briefcase sufficiently for her to see the service-issue Colt automatic. 

"You are also a discreet woman, your entire demeanor confirms that, so you will readily understand that it is imprudent for me to say anything more." 

I closed my briefcase.

Her expression was blank, but collected and steady. I knew essentially nothing of her background, but I let myself suppose that few here in a little college town in the west ever felt the heavy hand of the federal government and the wider world in quite such a way.

"You are a marvelous teacher, Ms. Trenton. I commend you once again for your dedication and skill. Christine is thrilled with your classes and demonstrations and we talk together for hours about what she is learning. 

"I will not fail her either," I added, trying to sound as firmly declarative as she had.

She stood as still as a stone monument, then lifted her eyes to me and responded in a much more contrite manner. "I have mistaken you. Please forgive me, Commander, for being so blunt."

"Forgiven. No harm done; and forgotten." 

She appeared to want to say something else and I waited for her.

Her voice turned suddenly light and fragile and trusting, "My husband was a captain in the Marines...." She pursed her lips tightly, and I noticed she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself.

"Was...?" I ventured, when she seemed not to be able to complete her thought.

"He died in a helicopter accident... three years ago." Her eyes were soft and feminine now, glistening a bit. Ouch! I could not let myself go there. Loosing Lynn and the boys was still much too fresh an experience for me and I could feel my compassion swelling up suddenly from within.

"I loved him very much, and miss him... still… like it was just yesterday."

She began fumbling with her hands and her books, unnerved a little by her own emotions surfacing so readily.

"My condolences. I'm sorry, and wish you well in all you undertake." I needed to say something gentlemanly. Maybe that did the job, but my own feelings were right on the edge.

With her purse and notebook and text in her arms and some effort, her composure was reasserting itself and she turned to the door to leave, and then hesitated and turned back to me. 

"You may be interested to know, Commander," and I could feel again the character of this young lady as she spoke to me now in a kinder and more confidential and sincere tone, "though she hasn't a clue how to tell you..." she paused and looked up at me with a gentle and refreshingly candid smile, and then concluded, "she loves you, her gallant knight in shining armor... she loves you, with all her heart and all her soul." 

The lady opened the door and went her way, leaving me standing there alone, anchored in place, dumbstruck at what she had told me. I had thought Christine's manner very pleasant with me, pleasing and confident... but love? That came as a surprise… yes, a complete surprise, but a very delightful surprise. I had not let myself see it, and dared not hope!

It was a refreshing and bright new sunrise in my heart. 

I knew I loved her too.

Almost immediately on the heels of my talk with Ms. Trenton came Christine's final test for her drama seminar. A tight schedule meant that in between there was little time for but school work and projects. She was, well each student was, to present a three-to-four minute original creation for critique by the class and the instructor. Each student was to look for techniques and themes they had studied and write about the strengths they observed in each fellow student's performance. There were eight of them and each student had the stage with a lighting and sound technician available to assist as they directed. Visitors were welcome, but it was agreed that there would be no applause and no sounds from the audience until the very last.

Christine had asked me to be a prop on her set and in advance coached me on the posture I was to assume and maintain for her presentation, but she told me nothing of her design other than that. I was in the dark, but not worried. It was easy enough to do what she asked and evidently I didn't need more to complete my part. Clearly she wanted it to be a surprise and I tried not to disturb her concentration in preparation. She had her portable CD player with earphones and had worked on her project in her room for several evenings prior to the test. It occupied her and I had time to catch up on my own work and study projects, e-mail, and rethinking our basic security plan and associated arrangements.

We left for the college at noon with time for a sandwich and soda on the way in the snack bar. Two of her girl friends from her class were there as well and the three of them were soon all involved in their conversation and full of anticipation. To keep things balanced they were not to tell each other about their project so critiques could be as equal across the board as practical. The conversation moved to other things. No one else had a boyfriend in my age bracket so the other two wanted to know about me and all that. Short answers, humble and self-effacing, seemed to impress, and Christine smiled to herself. 




Another Springtime Ch. 07



She was wearing a white sweatshirt with the college logo on the front, a comfortable denim skirt, her long hair gathered behind her head with a broad white ribbon that she often used, and sneakers. With roses in her cheeks and her eyes all alight with excitement she was just pretty as a picture. She informed them casually that I was her private Russian tutor, and asked me to write each of the girls names in Russian for them. That distraction occupied a few minutes and then it was time to get on to their class and the dreaded final tests.

The little printed program handout said that Christine would be third of the eight. I sat in the second row with the few visitors and when her turn came she went backstage for a moment to make final preparations. When the prop man brought a single chair out on stage, he called my name, beckoning me forward. As the music started Christine stepped out onto the stage and immediately took my breath away. Her hair was loose down her back, she was wearing her beige silk blouse and string of pearls and a linen skirt and her white heels. She was as regal and beautiful as I had ever seen her. With the first few notes I recognized Bunny Berrigan‘s version of "I Can't Get Started with You" from my Big Bands CD. We had discussed this weeks before as we drove together because she had asked me about the lyrics – a little mystifying for someone not familiar with the 1930s in America – and I hadn't realized it that had made such an impression on her. 

She immediately commenced a most artistic and understated series of delightfully feminine movements as if she were fending me off, turning away, avoiding my advances. The second stanza, with the male vocalist outlining more impressive accomplishments meant to impress her, evoked yet more definite denouncements of her suitor's offerings. If anything the third stanza led to yet greater and more pronounced efforts to disengage herself. I had by now readily equated her theme to relate to the two of us personally and was now confused by her portrayal of rejection with such... well, clarity if not really fervor. I wasn't getting it at all.

In Bunny's version there is a saxophone interlude which, as I look back now on her interpretation of the piece, suggested that her suitor lets her go to be herself... at least she seemed to interpret it that way and she strode about the stage fitfully. The fourth stanza is a stirring and high spirited trumpet solo and the crystal-clear high notes seemed to unleash her very being to find joy and happiness and her beautifully graceful dance routine followed, smooth and polished like unto a ballerina, gliding and pirouetting across the stage in an expressive and even passionate display. Somehow she managed that without being either sexually suggestive or immodest in any way; it was classical! It was magical, truly magical!

The few measures where the saxophone played then were subdued and introspective, and she dropped her eyes shyly, her feet close together and her hands clasped under her chin in contemplation.

In the closing measures the shrill and joyous trumpet reasserts itself, and she turned, responding to the music with delight in her eyes that made her entire countenance glow. She reached carefully behind her and slipped off her heels one after the other, letting them drop to the floor. Then, barefoot, in dainty and feminine, toe-first steps she closed the distance between us and knelt submissively by my side and, just as the trumpet sounded the last bars, laid her cheek so very tenderly on my knee.

The curtain closed quickly and the stage lights went out, leaving us in total darkness. 

I was stunned by her polished and expressive performance. I was stunned by the message for me acted out in her dramatic design. In the darkness I leaned over and kissed her hair. She was in no hurry to move but rose as I lifted her to me and held her close and kissed her like I had wanted to kiss her for weeks now.

"Thank you, darling." It took a couple of moments to manage that. "I have never in my life witnessed such a thrillingly beautiful performance. You were magnificent."

"I love you, Dace." Her voice was tender and she was trembling with emotion in my arms. An innocent and vivacious young girl simply following her heart and doing it with a wondrous sense of beauty and love, she was more desirable than any woman I had ever known. 

There are riches merely perceived... and then there are real riches. I was a wealthy man!

After a minute together for us we went out to the others so she could observe and critique the presentations of her classmates.

The only real decision for me remaining was how and when to ask her. No reason for delay here, I told myself. On the way back to the motel for our last night there before returning to Seattle, we spotted a Baskin-Robbins shop and decided to stop for some ice cream and a little graduation celebration. I asked her quite without any pretense sitting outside under the tree at the little picnic table. It was perhaps not the most romantic setting, but it felt right. The ice cream was delicious, the bright sun bathed all around us in light, the shade of the tree was a idyllic haven from the world, and we were alone. My words were not fancy or flowery, just the result of much consideration and honest desire.

She said that she had been hoping I would ask her for several days, and, yes, she would be honored to be my wife, from which very moment forward this young girl with the twinkling brown eyes altered forever my entire existence.

We walked together out to our car and she stayed very close beside me, her arm in mine. I am not positive that my feet touched the ground at all. I had not before, but now I let her in on the driver's side, so that she would be close beside me. She scooted under the wheel, but stayed in the middle of the seat as I got in and then moved close to me again. I put my arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to me. 

"I love you, darling. I am so happy that we have come to this point in our relationship. You are, now more than ever before, my pretty little vixen."

She smiled shyly, looking up at me with adoring eyes that melted my heart. Her pretty mouth and the tender softness of her lips beckoned innocently, and whether she knew it or not it was evident to me that she needed to be kissed. There were cars close all around us, blocking the view of others unless they were very close, and thus, I think, she felt private with me as she snuggled close. Her mouth was open just slightly, and I brushed her lips with mine. Yes, darling, I thought to myself as I saw her eyes light up with the first little blaze of excitement, I love you… and will teach you what love is all about. I made it a point to be unhurried and gentle, just coaxing her. When I brushed her lips again with mine there was a sweet little moan of pleasure from deep within her. She waited for me, wanting me to do that again… and then I kissed her softly, not crushing or dominating, but taking possession of her sweet lips with mine, and claiming her.

Her first reaction was mixed fear and anticipation. My leaving her space and time to adjust, I think, helped to raise her excitement. Soon she was lost to the sheer joy of the experience, her head limp on my arm and her eyes closed as I kissed her lips again, and her nose, then her eyes and her cheeks and her neck, and stroked her hair. Then, my hand in her hair and my own fires burning brightly, I kissed her properly, crushing her lips, holding her tightly, and demanding her response to my domination. She had no idea, of course, just how she should respond, and what came forth was just the natural, genuine girl that I loved very much. The sweetest little whimperings from deep in her throat told me she was mine and wanted to be. When we broke for air her face was flushed and she was gasping. Her shyness was all over her and she clearly had no idea what to do.

"Do my kisses bring you happiness, my pretty little vixen?"

Her surprise at what had happened, and her own excitement, I'm sure, left her unable to say anything. She was looking at my mouth, however, and she nodded her head, and made no move whatever to pull away.

"You're fun to kiss, Darling. Let's do that again," I coaxed softly.

We did.

After a few minutes I let her come up for air, eyes wide in amazement and cheeks full of roses. She was very aroused and compliant, and just following me. I made a little ceremony of tucking her in close beside me on the seat, letting her know that such was now her place beside me always. She smiled sweetly with satisfaction, and turned slightly to me and snuggled closer, nestling my upper arm between her pretty breasts, unconsciously, I think.

We drove back to the motel in silence. The only really comfortable place for two was on the big bed, where we continued her introduction to kissing. 

It was just magnificent.



Another Springtime Ch. 08



Chapter 8: Setting Off on a Fantastic Voyage

"Dace?" Her voice was very soft and meek as she snuggled closer to me in the car. We were alone together as we had never been before. We had left the wedding festivities behind and were off on our own as husband and wife, and she had been quiet for several minutes.

"Yes, my darling girl?" I had the impression that she was trembling a little, and waited for her to respond, but she said nothing. "What is it, Babe?" I leaned my head down to her even as I kept my eyes on the road ahead. She just snuggled closer as if somehow she could erase problems by getting closer to me.

"I'm so frightened, Dace! Is there something wrong with me?" It was a pitiable, child-like solicitation. Despite her very beautiful eyes – slightly darkened and lightly tinted for her husband – she was anxious and more than a little afraid of the unknown. As before, when she had nowhere else to turn, she was turning to me, trembling even as she trusted.

"You've never been in love before, have you, Christine?"

"But you said love wasn't a scary thing, right?"

"Yes, that's right, I did; and I am correct. Love is not a scary thing." I knew that would not answer her doubts but it definitely would make her think. I let the silence draw out between us. She was looking up at me now, I could feel her eyes on me, questioning, and I could picture her face, tilted just a touch to the right, and her pretty big brown eyes clear and intense as she tried to follow me.

"What do you think is going to happen now? What is going to happen to you? You are mine now, we're married, and you belong to me, body and soul." I made my voice even and monotone, and therewith perhaps a little ominous, and intentionally left out of my statement any words of endearment. There was a long silence and she was still as a little mouse next to me. With my arm around her shoulders, I could feel her reaction. She did not try to pull away, but she was stiff and still, and as I took a turn off onto a quiet side street, I knew she was a little afraid of what was going to be. I pulled up under a long line of trees along a fenced open field and stopped.

When she seemed unable to answer me I tried again, "So, do you know what's going to happen?"

Finally, she looked up at me, tears beginning to fill those pretty eyes, pleading and vulnerable. 

"You don't know, do you?"

Slowly, hesitantly, she shook her head, and then dropped her eyes to her lap, in what seemed to me a feeling of utter hopelessness and despair. Well, I figured, that was about as far as I needed to take her to make my point.

"That's what makes you afraid right now, Christine. It's just that you don't know." That did not seem to get through to her. 

"Ask yourself this… What am I supposed to do now? He is my husband and I love him, but… what does that mean I have to do? What does it mean that he loves me, what will happen to me? Will he be kind and gentle with me? Do I think he will change now that I belong to him? Will he be rude and possessive and bossy? Will he hurt me?"

She was looking up at me now and I could read it in the expressive look on her face. Fear had been all too prevalent in her life over these last months, and I think I caught her concerns with my words. It seemed to show in her eyes.

"My darling girl, while there is much that you don't know about the future, you may be assured that my love for you is full and rich and enduring… and you will be ever safe in my embrace. I will never hurt you so long as I can in any way keep from it; and as we walk together into our future, you may place your hand in mine," and I laid my own hand in her lap, palm up and open to receive hers, "and you will find delight and fulfillment in our adventures together, and going onward will be more fun and joy than you can now imagine."

She looked at me for a long moment, then down at my hand, studying it carefully and thinking, and then, soft and airy like gossamer on a summer afternoon's breeze, a smile took the place of her doubt and anxiety, her pretty mouth curved upwards at the corners in that special way or hers, and when she looked up at me again her eyes twinkled, and she laid her one hand gently… confidently, in mine.

"Thank you, Dace." Her words were crisp and a little formal, the way I had noted before when she was a little shy and wanted it not to show. "And your armor is shining very brightly today, Sir knight!" She liked to do things like that, play-act a little, in order to say things she felt and could find no other way to express. That also told me that her spirit was rebounding from her fear.

She was relaxing now as her confidence returned, and I drew her across my lap to hold her gently in my arms. As in times past she knew that as a safe haven and a shelter from all around her.

But it was not the same anymore. We both realized it would never be the same, though she had no idea at all what to do with that realization. I pulled her up to me and kissed her… kissed her as a wife, tenderly, gently, but too I could let it be a kiss that would both awaken her passions as a young woman and chase all her doubts away. Her reaction soon told me that it was every bit of that, and more.

Her face was flushed as we broke for air and her expression was just precious; surprised and shy, and aroused and wanting more all at the same time. 

"You never…" she almost had to gasp, "you never kissed me like t h a t before!" 

She was incredulous and wide eyed, but she had liked it, I could tell. Her experience with my kisses was a whole four days; and all up to now had been but a start, no more. Now was serious stuff, and she could feel it, and I sensed in her manner with me that she felt that. She clung to my arm to remain in my embrace.

"You have never before been my sweet wife; but from now onward I shall kiss you often and with great desire and enjoyment. Now you are My Pretty Little Vixen, spelt with capital letters, and with you and your love I am a very happy man."

Her face and especially her eyes were always very expressive and open, and it showed that she was pleased to be in my arms.

"You are a delightful young lady, Babe." I let my eyes roam over her face and hair. "You are even more delightful as my wife. Your beauty," and I touched her nose with one finger, "and charms…" and traced the contour of her eyebrow, her cheek and mouth, slowly, tenderly, savoring each step of the way, "are simply…." – continuing down her slender throat and across the swell of her breast – "enchanting." Gently and slowly I traced a little circle on her dress around the swell of her breast, intentionally avoiding its peak, and then – feeling her gasp for breath at the sensation I was creating – down under, and opened my hand to encompass her breast tenderly. "Simply enchanting," I repeated again, lifting her and squeezing slightly. 

Her grasp of my jacket's arm had become desperate as the intense sensation of pleasure at my caress rifled through her, her dark lashes fluttered closed. A pleading cry escaped her as she tensed with pleasure and then thrust her breast higher into my grasp. She was spectacularly beautiful to behold. 

With her breast in my hand, covered only by the single thickness of her wedding dress's soft satin, I held her close for a time and she surrendered herself willingly to my lingering caress. I enjoyed both holding her beautiful breast in my hand as well as her very passionate response, pushing herself into my embrace. She was very much mine. Her eyes were soft and cloudy and her breathing was unsteady. After a time of holding and caressing and stroking softly I moved my hand down to her waist and then her hip and onto her bottom, pulling her closer to me, and holding her.

She snuggled close to me as if her very life depended on it.

Parked in the open like we were was hardly private and, even if we were very much alone on a little traveled country road, it had never been my style or desire to see my sweetheart indisposed in public. She was not so very indisposed in reality, but she was very much lost to my caresses and I probably could have done most anything with her; but I just held her in my arms quietly for a long while to savor and cherish her surrender to me and allow the moment's electricity to drain away somewhat. It had surprised me, a very pleasant and delightful surprise, I can assure you, but a surprise nonetheless that she would be quite so very responsive and accepting, and in such a feminine way. Somehow, one can endure such surprises, even welcome them!

I was sure no fellow had ever kissed her before, nor touched and fondled her breast like I had, and just as sure that the pleasure of her own body‘s physical reaction very likely surprised and overwhelmed her, perhaps even scared her in its intensity. She was, so far as I could determine over these months together, however much she may have learned from reading and watching, a very innocent virgin in literally all matters of love and intimacy. Quiet and shy now, she relaxed in my arms much in the way she had several times since that very first day in the motel. However, it was very much different now, for both of us.

Holding her like that, I pulled all the clips from her hair and raked her tresses free and loose, enjoying the feel of her silken locks running through my fingers. We were on our own time schedule, so there was nothing pressuring us, and she seemed to love it that I would undo her hair and sort of take possession of her like that, and play gently with the silken curls behind her ear, and pamper her like that.

When I leaned over slightly to kiss her on the cheek I could tell she was not asleep and that her cheeks were flushed and hot, but she buried her face against my chest, snuggled closer, and made no move to sit up. Laying there on the seat, I could see her long legs in her lightly shaded nylons and her bare feet – she always slipped her shoes off in the car – and the entire attitude of her body was different somehow, wanting in a very feminine way to be mine and close to me. How to describe that exactly remains elusive, but the sensation of her desire to be close… to continue the intimacy to which I had introduced her… was a tender, sweet, trusting expression of a delicate, loving, and very feminine girl, and a delight to my heart simply beyond words. 

Our kiss and my caress had altered her being in some almost imperceptible way. In a very real sense our marriage had, of course, removed a barrier between us and freed us both to express our love and devotion for each other. Looking back afterwards now, I can see that my kissing her and caressing her like that was for her very much as had I in those tender moments together stripped away from her every reservation and restriction to our intimacy. Though I had held her before in my arms, this time I had moved beyond… and our kiss and my taking her breast in my hand and arousing her, my playing in her hair… these were acts of dominion, if not domination, that initiated her, awoke and claimed her passions, invited her participation and even submission, and somehow in her own mind perhaps granted her approval of her responses to me and my tenderness.

It is hard to know precisely to what degree her personal standards and sheltered education had kept at bay any sensual stimulation of her body, but on this occasion her very existence changed and the stimulation of my hand on her pretty and very sensitive breast was clearly welcomed right from the first moment as an act of love, and not interpreted as an invasion or an intrusion. That I considered a major achievement on my part.

After a time just resting in my arms she did sit up, still aroused, rosy cheeked, and a little embarrassed. I knew she would be, since she had lost control of herself entirely as I caressed her. I let her wiggle about and straighten her dress and recover the decorum of propriety because that would be for her a stabilization of the situation and allow her to be herself. I knew, nevertheless, that we could never go back… forward, together, into our future was the only way. After a little pause I leaned close to her, "I love you, my pretty little vixen. You're even prettier when you're aroused like that." There was an innocent, very soft luster in her pretty eyes, and I thought my words would make her blush again, and they did.

"What did you do to me?" Her tone matched the expression on her face, full of wonder and delight at what had happened. It was as if she were trying to determine the cause of an earthquake, and had not a clue where to start. Of course, in a real sense, she was… and did not.

I took my time answering as I started the car and continued. "A man says I love you to his wife in many ways… sometimes in deeds, often with words, maybe a flower, sometimes with his fingertips, sometimes… " I kind of left the cataloging unfinished, "and when a wife knows her husband loves her as she loves him his fingertips can be very welcome messengers of his heartfelt feelings for her."

She took that aboard studiously as had I been her Philosophy professor at the lectern. The silence drew out a little, and I could tell she could not find anything to say. She had snuggled up to my side again, like she belonged there, and the nice thing was that now she did. 

"Expressions of love can be tender and fun and joyful for both the husband and the wife." Had she been in class she would have been writing as quickly as she could manage. "Expressing love helps us to be draw closer to each other, and become more open and confident with the other."

I could tell she thought about that for a long time as we drove along in the early evening quiet, but also she sat closer to me than before, and snuggled sweetly under my arm, wanting it around her shoulders.

The trip to our honeymoon hideaway was not quite an hour or so. I had found, after some searching, a suitable place in one of the former officers family quarters at one of the old Army coast artillery installations long since a state park and rented out to families and what all for days and weeks at a time. Often in these large old homes two or three families would get together for a reunion or such activities. In this case, after discussing the amenities, I rented the entire house for two weeks. It was the last one in a row off the parade grounds and set off and apart somewhat, and looked out over the broad expanse of Puget Sound. Solitude and privacy! We could walk to the cafeteria for meals or bring our own or order take out delivered from town nearby. Victorian age furnishings throughout; upstairs four big bedrooms, two with king sized beds, a master bath with spacious stall shower and Jacuzzi; below a large living room, full kitchen and dining room. Space, access to nature and interesting places to walk and explore, magnificent scenery, fresh air and pleasant surroundings in which to loose ourselves together.

For purposes of security I had traded in the white suburban for a dark gray one the week before; planning for our honeymoon, Christine had cleverly put together about four days worth of food – an assemblage of fresh fruits, selected canned goods, raw vegetables and greens, sandwich makings and condiments with milk and yogurt and juices in the cooler. We brought along only casual clothes and walking shoes. This was to be a respite from the world time. 

We stopped at the gatehouse and the lady had our email registration already completed and, through the open window on the driver's side, handed me the keys to the house with the maps and such stuff and a cheerful greeting. Ten minutes later were inside in the waning light of day with the sun out over the water just dropping below the horizon to the west. It was absolutely perfect.

We stood together in the evening's fading daylight, looking at our surroundings and leaving the world behind us. Then I scooped her up in my arms and she squealed with delight as I carried her up the steps to the verandah, to the door, and then through it over the traditional threshold. We were in our first abode as husband and wife. We giggled together and laughed and her fears of the past seemed to be forgotten. We dashed out to the car quickly to bring in the essentials… her flowers and her tote, the food cooler and one suitcase of basic stuff.

"Dace?" She came to me meekly, standing in front of me in her brilliant white satin dress. We were in the middle of the kitchen and all the stuff in the cooler was put in the reefer, the rest could just wait. She had her red roses in a vase with fresh water and had set it on the table and arranged the blossoms to her liking, and now she wanted my full attention. She looked up into my eyes, just as pretty as the breaking dawn of a new day, "I don't know what's going to happen… but I'm not afraid anymore, because…" and I saw the cute little smirky smile, "because I know you love me."

She had taken my one hand in hers and held it sweetly, opening and closing my fingers in hers as she spoke. She was quick as a wink to learn; but still anxious and just trying to be brave. I smiled down at her, and she welcomed my touch with a gasp at first, then little sigh of pleasure and her dark lashes drooped softly as she felt my fingertip stroking her breast lightly.

We lit candles in the bathroom and one bedroom, just a few, to allow us to make our way in the darkness, little ones that burn out in about an hour on their own. 

I was correct in anticipating that nudity would be a challenge for her at first, though she wanted now, bravely, to be with me. I could see it. I discarded my jacket and tie and then pulled her close. She was trembling as I zipped her dress down her back, but quieted in a moment as she felt my hands on her bare back for the very first time, caressing her softly.

"You are," my throaty voice sounded subdued in her hair, "so very pretty, Christine. You have the most charming curves." I pulled her dress down off her one shoulder and kissed her bare skin tenderly, her shoulder and then her neck behind her ear where her downy soft curls just begged attention. She laid her forehead on my chest as her breathing came in shorter breaths. After gathering her courage, I think, she leaned away a little and I held up her dress as she, with just the slightest hesitation, let it fall away from her in front. With a little urging, she stepped shyly out of her dress as I held it up, and she clung to my arms for support.

Under her wedding dress, I was pleased to find, she wore only a light cotton camisole top and a loose-fitting pair of cotton briefs, and to see her in the soft candlelight like that, wanting to be mine and feeling so shy and vulnerable with me, was just fantastic. For all her desire and forethought, her shyness remained and she could not look up at me at first. I laid her dress aside on the chair carefully and turned back to her and shed my shirt quickly, then lifted her camisole up from below and she raised to arms in sweet surrender to my possession, and held them above her head as I cast the fabric aside. Her breasts were exquisitely full and delicately rounded, flawless and smooth, with tiny little nipples nestled in a rosebud of soft pink at each tip, and inviting my touch and caress.

In just her panties now, standing before me in her bare-breasted glory, she waited timidly, hoping for my approval. 

"Ooooh," I crooned softly in response, "my pretty little vixen is a very pretty little vixen, indeed." and I could see just a shadow of an impy little smile curling the corners of her mouth, despite her shyness with me. There is an art to complementing a woman; and some moments are critical to her psyche and can not be ignored or misused. I wanted her to know I was pleased with her… I wanted very much, regardless of her shyness, that she never doubt for a moment that I was pleased with her… very pleased! 




Another Springtime Ch. 08



I just looked at her… a more lovely sight I had never seen. She blushed deeply, dropped her eyes again, and then her arms, pulling them across in front of her, feeling too exposed. Gently, I took her hands in mine and opened her up to me like a delicate blossom. "I want to see you, Darling… I want to see and appreciate the most beautiful girl with the most beautiful breasts in the world," and held her hands wide for a moment. She was more than a little shy at my gazing at her so, and I could feel her trembling slightly, but she was more beautiful and desirable than any man had a right to expect.

"May I touch you, Christine?" It was a matter of courtesy, not wanting to frighten her, but also a way of monitoring her reaction. I set her hands on my bare shoulders and let my finger trail slowly down each upraised arm. I caught her just perceptible nod of agreement, and then in her eyes I could see she wanted my hands on her. Slowly, letting my fingers trace a line down the inside of her arms, then across her chest and down, slowly, between those pretty breasts, softly brushing then the sensitive underside of each. She tensed at first, gasped at the sensation my fingertips created, and came easily into my arms. The sensation of those pretty breasts in direct contact with my chest… unbelievable!

Hands on her hips, I turned her around gently and nestled her securely in my arms, then held my hands before her invitingly, stroked softly her virgin curves, and gently snuggled her pretty breasts into my waiting palms. At my taking possession of her like that, a soulful and sensual little whimper escaped her throat and I sensed her literally melt into my embrace. 

"I claim you and all your beauty as mine, to savor and soothe and satisfy our desires and our cravings for each other."

I hefted the slight weight of her pretty breasts in my hands, and sensed immediately that even a slight lifting sensation seemed to cause some immediate reaction from her. She gasped audibly and it felt almost as were she collapsing in my embrace. Lifting gently a second time and she was whimpering with pleasure, and I thought I had discovered something special. A third and fourth time reduced her literally to putty in my hands, moaning deeply her pleasure at my holding her breasts in my hands. Wonderful! Then, when I flicked my thumbs over those cute little nipples she shivered and continued to whimper and would have fallen, I think, had I not scooped her up – long hair, cute little whimpers, pretty breasts and cotton panties altogether – and carried her to our bed.

She snuggled confidently in my arms, then looked up at me, wanting my kiss… and returned it with a tentative little flare of the flames that I had kindled in her, and looked at me as if, somehow, she needed my approval for such responses. My smile seemed to be that to her, and she snuggled closer and kissed me again.

"Darling girl," I consoled her gently, "we have intimate experiences before us this evening more beautiful and intense than you yet understand." I reached my one hand in between her legs gently – sliding my hand carefully beneath the front of her cotton briefs – and she gasped, with eyes wide, and I kissed her again… a long, lingering kiss, intending to stir her emotions and quiet her fears.

I took her one hand and placed it on me, feeling her reluctance at first. 

"I want that we come to enjoy each other and know ecstasy in each others arms tonight. My hope is that thereafter you will come willingly to me, and often… for my loving and caresses and attention because you want more of the pleasure I desire to give you."

She was openly astounded at both our body contact and my words. Her breathing was irregular as I stroked the inside of her thigh and she was trembling.

I wasn't sure how she felt, but I knew I had been quite sweaty under the lights during the ceremony and the photo shoot, so I suggested a shower together to freshen up. Meekly, but with appreciation, I think, she nodded. I rather possessively slid her panties off one hip, she raised her bottom to assist, and then down off her legs. Standing, I quickly shed my pants, and beckoned to her to follow… taking her by the hand in the romantic candlelight we stepped together into the large shower stall.

How we managed that I can not now imagine. The common effort seemed to dissolve barriers between us, even if it was really nothing more than a freshening rinse. Her body, most especially the wondrously enticing fullness and curves of her bare breasts, were irresistible. After just a few moments, she was able to relax a little and stayed close to me, and seemed to delight in my touching her. I toweled her partly dry, the coolness being a refreshment after a warm day, and then hung up the towel and turned to her. She stood there, shy, patient, and a little frightened, in her glorious beauty, waiting for me to lead. 

I held out my open hand to her, "Come, darling, I want to take you with me to a magic wonderland…." Daintily and with feeling she placed hers trustingly in mine, and I was pleased to lead her by the hand, aroused, fragrant, and willing, to the most momentous experience of her nineteen years.

She lay back, a little tense, unsure what she should do. I spoke to her gently and encouraged her to let go and let me lead her onward, I would not hurt her, and she should tell me when she wanted me. She looked at me questioningly. I just nodded and confirmed that I wanted to make this night the most enjoyable time of her life and one she would remember always. 

Even is still anxious, she was already very aroused and wet; I knew that from toweling her pretty body. She was anxious as we lay together side by side. She was anxious as I spoke softly to her about her beauty and my love for her; she was too anxious to say anything at all, but my fingertip on her nose, up over her brow, my hand on her face drew off her tension like a lightning rod, and she turned her face to kiss my palm.

Taking one very beautiful breast in my hand, I held her gently, just allowing her to savor my possessing her so. I squeezed her a little and from that point onward her composure began a total meltdown. Unhurried and gently, with just my fingertips I stroked her cute little rosebud-like nipple, making her breath catch in her throat. Those very beautiful breasts of hers, even laying beside me on her back, retained a very alluring form. I found them not only wonderfully firm and full but also delightfully soft and quite sensitive, and I enjoyed caressing her lightly and watching her response. My attention soothed her at first, then the stimulation brought on the tension and excitement of arousal, making her whimper softly in her throat. Her reaction to me was so very delightful I could hardly contain myself. Then, when I leaned over gently and kissed her one breast, and then licked and finally sucked on her taut little nipple, pleasure ripped through her body something like a rifle shot, reducing her almost to sobs. She begged me not to stop.

After a time I slowed down and let her catch her breath. We talked a little and she relaxed in her nudity, even with me hovering over her like a drooling wolf. I told her again that she was very pretty, and had the most darling breasts with just the cutest little nipples ever. My bold words made her a little shy, but when my tongue touched her right breast near the tip pleasure rocked her again, and she smiled at me.

Her expressive eyes, alight now with a luster of passion, told me that she would follow me anywhere and wanted me to lead her onward.

"Nothing very scary, so far, right?"

She didn't know how to answer me, but finally shook her head very briefly, all the time watching me closely, waiting.

"I want very much to see you and touch you… and make you… make you and your little flower blossom." I could see she was not following me. "You have the softest, silken curls between your legs, Babe." That I knew from patting her dry just minutes before. 

"Please show me your cute little flower, Darling. I want very much to see you." 

She had no clear idea at all what to do, but I had intentionally asked her, with the idea that in her arousal that would make it something she wanted to do and thus help overcome her shyness. I waited for her a moment, with my hand low on her tummy, and I could feel her tense and relax as she tried to respond to me. Then, still a little anxious even though she had felt my hand on her vulva before, she opened her legs slightly, unsure of herself. 

There was, of course, a lingering shyness at being so very uninhibited with me, but I slid my hand gently lower and engulfed her mound. She gasped again at the sense of pleasure and being possessed that surged through her senses, and soon surrendered entirely to my caresses. I talked to her quietly about her beauty, the softness of her body and her cute little, ginger-colored silken curls – and wrapped some of them around my finger as I touched her gently – and I was rewarded with the sweetest smile. My caresses soon brought on much heavier breathing and a cloudiness in her eyes, and I could tell she liked my explorations even if still a bit anxious. I could feel her little flower moistening as her flow followed her arousal, and then the very sweet fragrance that was her alone! Incredible! 

I drew my hand away and looked at her, her eyes telling me she didn't want me to stop. I kissed my fingertip slowly as I looked into her eyes and then, without breaking our eye contact, I touched her moist flower with my fingertip and pushed gently into her. 

"You are a delightful flower to me, My Darling… a fragrant Gardenia, a delicate Orchid, a passionately beautiful Rose. I love you, Christine!" Her eyes glistened in tears of joy and pleasure as she acknowledged my possession and approval of her body. 

Those deep brown eyes of hers were so very expressive… begging me to never stop.

When, after a long moment, and her bottom beginning the sweet little trembling gyrations that bespoke her intensifying arousal, I pulled my hand away she cried out softly, wanting me not to leave her, and I could read her feelings very clearly in her eyes. I slipped my arm smoothly under her one leg and then covered her once again with my hand. Her cries subsided into moans and she opened her legs wider to welcome me.

My finger tips stroked the inside of her thighs slowly, and then sought out the shallow folds of her flower in gentle probing. My soft words emphasized the beauty of her body and my joy at her gift to me, then the richness I felt in sensing her trust and response to my caresses. Then I pushed one finger into her vagina and she gasped audibly, eyes wide and wondering, watching me. I blew her a little kiss as I wiggled my finger slightly, and she relaxed and smiled at me.

She was surprised when I withdrew my finger and sucked on it, tasting her sweetness. She was clearly caught unaware when I told her she was loveably sweet and tasted delicious to me… and then I pushed my finger into her once more, feeling her lift her bottom to me slightly and watching her lashes droop in surrender as waves of pleasure swept over her.

She began to whimper and sighed heavily, and I had two fingers inside her and she was ready for more. She opened her legs and I maneuvered between them. Kneeling above her, she looked at me with wide eyes as I caressed her.

"You are so very beautiful, sweetheart, I am just thrilled at your beauty." That was not candy coating; it was truth. She was an extraordinarily beautiful girl and it was a thrill to have her be so much in love with me. She smiled sweetly at me and her passion was now spilling over the edge. I stroked her pussy and, standing tall between the petals of her little flower, fondled her clitoris, and that additional stimulant nearly drove her crazy as intense sensations of pleasure ripped through her body. 

"Oh, Darling, I want you now, please…" her dainty voice pleading so was a tremendous turn on for me and I almost lost it. "Please, Dace…" she wanted more stimulation as her orgasm now began its speedy ascent, but I drew out her anticipation, caressing her first lightly and then more roughly. She became almost frantic for me to make love to her and bring her to the fulfillment for which her body now pleaded. I intended it to be for her a momentous, thundering, soul-wrenching crescendo she would never forget!

I entered her gently. "This, my pretty little vixen, is what you need… this is what will fill your entire being with joy and pleasure, Baby," and with a short thrust into her very moist flower, I sought to make contact with her maidenhead before thrusting through it. I watched her face, eyes wide, writhing under me as the tension built, lifting her bottom to me for more contact, whimpering sweetly and begging. I thrust carefully at first, and let her virgin tightness adjust to accommodate me. Working slowly so as not to frighten her, I found she soon felt pleasure at my intrusion and wanted more, wiggling herself closer to me. Then came contact with, and a quick thrust through the barrier. Sharp perhaps, the pain was blessedly brief for her, and after but a brief pause her arousal at my thrusting penetration carried her beyond and into the overwhelming pleasure of being slowly, increasingly and then completely filled, and feeling my rather considerable length and girth between her legs. The stimulation was powerful and captured her senses entirely. She was keening her excitement and pleasure in cute little whimpers, and we just reveled for a long time in our union. Awestruck at the sense of being so filled, her impy little smile told me she enjoyed my being inside her like that, but then too the intensity of her passion began to sweep her away and her eyes softened and her lashes drooped in surrender.

She had no idea where I was taking her, but now she was definitely on board for the trip. I pulled back slowly, teasing and tantalizing, and she begged me with her eyes not to stop, and then I plunged into her again, reaching deeper and deeper as she opened to me ever more fully. Again, and then again, I withdrew almost completely and she whimpered, then pushed back into her now very willing body as deeply as I could, snug against her bottom, feeling her open her legs for more of me each time, crying out to me in her passion for me to take her with me. 

The sensation of pushing inside her was immensely satisfying, but I wanted more than anything to make it as delightful and soul-stirring an experience for her as I could manage. The rhythm of my in and out movement evoked a response from her and she sought to stay with me… whimpering her desire and wiggling to hold onto me as I pulled back, gasping and crying out as I then plunged back into her, each cycle bringing her a little more of the thrill of being loved deeply while at the same time taking her a step beyond… from the beginning she was with me, whimpering sweetly, then the passion of my thrusting deeply into her brought on the steady ascent of her response to me, and she began to cry out, begging me for more. She was riding the crest with me, almost screaming her pleasure, and then it crashed upon her like the breaking wave of emotion it was, washing her entire being with ecstasy and pleasure and fulfillment, and a sense of being possessed, she told me later, like nothing ever before. Her powerful orgasm had released a fragrant flow from her vagina that felt wonderful to me. 

She descended slowly from the cloud, and then opened her eyes. A few seconds of seeing her so, those ever expressive eyes full of love and wonder at our togetherness, told me more eloquently than any words could have, that she welcomed giving herself to me… and then, her feelings and being stripped of all emotional shielding, she felt herself conquered and dominated… not used and debased… her very innermost self opened and vulnerable to me… not naked and visible and laid bare to other people or men… just to me, and the indescribable sensation of being possessed by the man who loves her and cherishes her surrender to him… she then herself gloried in her own surrender and welcomed my possession, trusting and loving me in return, because she felt my love for her enriching, invigorating, enlightening her very being.

It is itself neither the sexual domination alone nor the sexual act, nor even the thrill of just physical intimacy, however intense that might be… it is, in some way our finite minds can not really understand, the mutual union of two seeking and consenting spirits… and the act of physical love is then for those two like a tangible little taste of the sweet frosting on a immense spice cake, the scope and dimension of which our beings do not now even begin to comprehend. How does one describe love between a man and a woman? Elusive.

I watched entranced by her reaction and the beauty of a young girl being overwhelmed so by my attention. I was still hard and thrusting, trying my hardest to make it a momentous occasion for her, and as I ascended now, I sensed her ascending again and with me and together, thrusting as she grasped me, I just carried her to the very top with me and, in one precipitous leap, over the edge together. Her body tensed as mine did, we shuddered almost violently as one being, and she clung to me with a desperate scream. The muscles in her vagina clung to me as well and, much more than before, she flooded our togetherness with her sweet flow, crying out to me her joy as I pumped her full of my own in a series of momentous thrusts deep into her lovely body spread out beneath me. 

She was glowing. There was no other way to describe it… a lighthouse on a promontory in the dark of the world's night, radiating her warmth to her sweetheart. Her hair was tossed about in complete disarray and more attractive than ever, her bare breasts with her tiny little nipples as taut as little nubbins were reaching up to me to be kissed, there was a smile on her face that engulfed her entire being – and her eyes, clouded as they were with her passion, twinkled at me in the candlelight with an incomparable luster. I do not think I had ever in my life seen such a picture… radiantly serene… ravished and glowing with satisfaction, and more beautiful than words can portray.

Now, at my age the evening had already been a challenging one and my endurance needed a breather. As soon as she detected me withdrawing from her, however, she cried out to me daintily, and I'll never forget her words to me that night, "Oh, Darling, don't leave me! Please, don't ever leave me." The tenderness and love and desire for me to continue to love and possess her were just precious. She thrilled to have me deep inside her… her passionate pleading was all it took, and from somewhere inside me strength and vigor returned. 

I moved just slightly to thrust up into her once again, feeling my hot blood flowing and flooding my being once again. She smiled at me shyly, and I just lay on top of her, bracing up on my arms. Her legs were open beneath me, I was still buried deep inside her, her tiny nipples waited for my kisses and her eyes welcomed me with warmth and passion. What more can a husband ask for?

In a much more leisurely manner I sought to reestablish a rhythm and began to thrust into her again. Within just a few strokes she was smiling at me, then whimpering for me, and begging for me not to stop, then her eyes glazed over with passion and, plunging forcefully into her, her climax swelled within her and like the ocean's wave crashing upon the sandy beach with a roar, and then the serenity of pleasure in each other's arms, and the surf's soft foam washed over, about and through her… and us, once again. 

Somewhere inside her I had managed, in some way I cannot discern, to touch her inner being and strip away fear and inhibition. I cannot see any other way to describe what evidentially happened. She was feminine and dainty as before, but so sweetly open and expressive in her own way that I was constantly surprised and thrilled at her beauty and desire for me, and rewarded for my patience in caring for her at every step. 




Another Springtime Ch. 08



I have no idea how long I was inside her that night, but the time was the most satisfying interlude together. We were just two becoming one. And now the stress and strain of the previous week caught up to us. I pulled out of her at last and then gathered her legs together and hugged them tight as I lay down beside her. 

In the cutest little girl voice, pleased and full of wonder, she said to me, "You make me all full like that because you love me, huh?" 

The look of joy and satisfaction in those twinkling brown eyes was just magnificent. All the gold and jewels and the awards mankind may devise can not approach the riches she bestowed upon me in that simple, heartfelt declaration. 

I rolled onto my back and pulled her up close with my arm under her head, enjoying her long silky hair on my chest and arm. She wiggled close to me and soon the cooling sensation of the evaporating moisture on our bodies became a little chilly. I reached and pulled the one coverlet up over us and her cooing sounds of contentment told me she was cozy.

Well, friend, it was just about lights out for me. All that was left was to tell her good night and sweet dreams when she asked softly, "Darling, is ‘fuck' a bad word?"

That had me wide awake right now. I had to think about that. She must have read it somewhere. I had never used the word because, in my mind, the connotations in which I had heard it used over the years were almost all vulgar, and I had chosen simply not to be a part of that. Nevertheless, the word itself is phonetically powerful and en expressive verb, but in and of itself not a ‘bad' word.

That is what I told her. I added that to me that word expresses a beautiful and wonderfully intense and satisfying intimate experience with a girl who I love with all my heart and who is my wife. It is what a man and a woman do when they are married and in love; it is another way of saying they are making love. Technically speaking, the definition fits; in social usage, I thought to myself, the definitions are all over the map. What was she getting at, I wondered. 

"Is that what we did, then?" 

Well, what could I say to her? Life brings us new perspectives all the time, doesn't it? This was one for me. "Yes, Christine, that is what we did." 

How did I get myself painted into that corner?

She was quiet for a moment. "Before you said, ‘people often redefine words and use them in their own way.' You said that once before when we were talking about politics and government things, remember? This is kind of the same thing, huh?"

Had I said that? Probably so. Stuff comes home to roost sooner or later. 

"We can use the word then, and it's OK?" 

What did she want, I wondered, my permission? 

"I've never heard you use any profanity or swear words or anything like that, even when you get mad and really frustrated. So, I don't really know what are bad words in English. It's OK?"

What could I say, really? She seemed to want to use the word. Clearly, the vulgar aspects of which I was aware were unknown to her, or presented her with no serious problems. Of course, from her school in Switzerland to my companionship in the USA with only a hiccup in between hardly matched my years amid the rough and tumble profanities of the Navy and the world in general. "Well, all right, as long as we use it with the simple definition I made before. I will probably never use the word except in speaking with you." 

But it felt heartless to just leave it at that, as if I didn't really mean what I had said. "Yes, my pretty little vixen," and paused to review one more time what I was going to say. "I fucked you tonight… and I will fuck you again, too, and make your toes curl! Yes, it's OK."

That seemed to answer the mail, and she giggled softly beside me. In the quiet that followed, happier than a clam but drained from the day's events – and, I thought to myself, from fucking my stunningly beautiful young wife – I began to drift quickly into a fog with her tucked cozily in my arm.

"Darling?"

I was almost gone and her soft voice just managed to get through the haze. "Yes, Babe?"

"This is that place you were taking me, huh?"

Now, that has to count as a success story right there! I could not have been more awake had someone touched me with a hot 110 volt line. Fantastic! Wonderful! 

Life was good! 

I pulled her tighter against me and whispered to her, so no one else could hear, "I have looked forward to this night and bringing you to this place for several weeks and more, dear wife. Thank you for coming with me. You are more breathtaking to love – and to fuck – than I imagined any girl could ever be." 

She giggled and wiggled closer to me. 

I never thought I would be saying that to my wife!

"I love you, Dace."

"Sleep now, Babe, you'll need your strength for tomorrow. I love you, too. I love you with all my heart!"

]

The sun was well up before I stirred the next morning. It had been a full, exciting, beautiful night of love-making with a beautiful young girl who loved me very much. It had been a fantastic night together and that several times over, and that was still understatement. I just laid still for a while after awakening, wanting to be sure I had not been dreaming. Turning just slightly to my right confirmed that I had not been. 

Sprawled on her back, tipped a little in my direction, her face was towards me, heavy lashes – darkened slightly for her husband – still drooping in deep slumber and her features relaxed and at rest. Her hair was tossed every which way, some of her curls laying lightly on my shoulder. The sheet was over only one leg and her left hand held the it over her one breast modestly, but in her very relaxed condition her right breast, gloriously beautiful and bare, perched atop her reposing form like a beckoning beacon.

Taking in these visual markers with considerable delight, I concluded that I had not been dreaming… unless I still was. Dreaming or not, the scenery on that morning was exceptional beyond my fondest hopes and, without any cause for haste, I just lay there and soaked up the sensations of being in love with and married to such a wondrously passionate girl.

Watching her as she slept next to me, so provocatively indisposed and open, was a thrill that defies description in mere words. There just aren't any that do the visual image justice! Of course, such random and casual images, however extraordinary, are often swept away by other events, and so was this one. After several minutes, even though the sunshine had warmed the room nicely, the curtain swayed with a lazy, but cooler breeze off the water. Still asleep, she whimpered softly at the sudden chill and rolled towards me onto her side, pulling her legs up and curling into a little ball, her one hand working the sheet over her shoulder. Believe me, the most skilled seductress in her heyday could not have managed such an alluringly graceful and feminine performance.

A few minutes later those dark lashes lifted, and embarrassment swept over her – I could see it immediately – to think she was in bed with a man and all bare. She had been sleeping very soundly and awakening so was a little disorienting. 

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed and clutched the sheet to her nude form, watching me closely.

"Good morning, sweet wife of mine. You are a very Pretty Little Vixen – with capital letters – this fine morning." I stroked her hair gently and swept it away from her eyes, and my reminder of her changed status made her eyes twinkle.

"I'm cold, darling!" she whimpered daintily.

"Well, we can't allow that now, can we!" I lifted the sheet from her shoulder, " Come over her, Baby, and I'll get you warm again."

With a satisfied smile of contentment, she stretched out and wiggled up against me, purring like a kitten, and I tucked the sheet behind her head and pulled it up over our legs.

"Oh, you're nice and warm." Can you imagine loving words dripping with the sweetest honey? 

"How do you stay so warm?'

"Your love keeps me warm, Darling." 

The innocent look on her face told me she really didn't understand what I was saying, but her head on my arm, her body snuggling close to mine, running her foot up my leg and pushing those pretty breasts against my chest, was quite adequate stimulation to stoke my furnace to white hot. Holding her close was… well, simply beyond words!

The morning sun slipped behind a cloud and we could smell the moist saltiness in the breeze off the water, and so I reached for a blanket at the side of the bed and flipped it out over our legs and up around her shoulders. She may have dozed for a while now that she was warm again, but I was beyond sleep… way beyond sleep.

After a time in each others arms she tilted her head a little and looked up at me, though not so I could see her face.

"Thank you for loving me, Darling, and…" her voice was meek and dainty, "and being so gentle with me. I was so embarrassed and anxious… but you made everything so…so enjoyable and… fun!"

"Do you feel safe and loved now, Babe?"

"Hmmm, umm!" she moaned into my throat.

"Well you are, and I am pleased to be your knight in shinning armor. I am delighted to have you in my bed… all naked and bare… you and your pretty body, my passionate little princess… you and your twinkling brown eyes, your sweet smile, your perfect breasts and your cute little flower… and all mine to love and to cherish."

She was quiet for a moment in response. That didn't surprise me; I sort of expected that reminding her of her passionate responses to our love making from the past evening, coming as she did from such a austere and conservative background, would give her pause. I think it did, and she was silent for a time and just stayed close to me.

"This is the morning of," I started off slowly, but with some brightness in my voice, "our first day together as husband and wife, sweethearts forever. How do you feel this fine day, my dear wife?"

"I feel wonderful and… loved…" she pulled away to look up into my eyes with an intensity I don't think I had witnessed before, "and when you make me… like that… you make me full and warm, and happy, and safe, and… special."

Her words were like an outpouring of her very soul to me. When she finished she didn't know quite what to do, and at last that sweet smile curled the corners of her mouth and she dropped her eyes and snuggled close to me again. I kissed her hair and held her close, amazed myself at her sweet surrender to me. I pinched myself mentally to be sure I was awake. With the devotion and love of such a pretty girl I was a very wealthy man; a very wealthy man indeed. She was a treasure for sure.

We remained together in each others arms for a while yet, just getting her good and warm. I was replaying her words to me, enjoying the deep satisfaction of having a loving companion in my life again, when I realized she had redefined a word. She had detected my negative feelings about ‘fuck' and elected on her own to use a different word. I decided that I would have to, henceforth, be alert to her use of the verb ‘make' when she was the direct object, and read into it the connotation she intended. I had realized early on that she was quick, but her emotional sensitivity to me was now more pronounced than ever.

"Dace?"

"Hmmm?"

"Last night…" she was pensive and shy again, "that really happened, didn't it?" 

She was a very intelligent and thoughtful girl. I had opened the door to our world of love and passion together, and, hand in hand, she had followed me through it.

Our new place was just wonderful!

We lay for a time together, quietly, content I suppose just to be in each others' arms. It had taken long enough to get to this point and I was not about to hurry things now. This was definitely the time to take the time to smell the flowers.

After what she had told me a few minutes before I was uncertain how quickly I might be able to accelerate the progress of our intimacy. She seemed very open and trusting, but then that was last night, in the dark, in the heat of passion, and this was bright daylight on the morning after. Time for a reality check.

Now, just exactly how does one conduct a reality check with a loveable and darling young girl laying all naked and bare next to you in bed, even if she is your wife? What the heck, especially if she is your wife! 

"Hmmm. This has got to be somewhere close to heaven, Darling. I am so very happy that you are my wife and sweetheart, and we have this time together. You are like a cool glass of water on a hot summer's day, sweetheart. I love you very much."

She said nothing. She did have her one leg across my middle as she lay next to me, and it seemed she wiggled her cute little bottom closer yet.

"I think that today we shall… well, do just what we want to do together. I know already what I want to do… can you guess?"

"Uh huh." 

Judging purely on the descending second tone I judged that to be a negative answer… and further, a playfully negative answer.

"I want to keep you naked and make love to you as often as I can today… to fuck you, Baby… to make you… make you all day long until you're delirious and fully convinced that I love you.

"What do you think about that plan, darling?"

Now she was shy again.

There was nothing to do but push on. "Your breasts are just the most delectable beauties, Babe. You are truly an exceptionally girl! What a thrill you are to me!"

"You really enjoyed our love-making last night, I think. I certainly did. Being inside of you like that is a magnificent feeling."

No response.

Maybe if I am just patient, I thought, and let her respond in her own time. Then I could feel her. Was she pushing her bare pussy up against my hip bone as she lay next to me? Was I just imagining that?

"Well, it was a magnificent feeling to have you inside me." She was blushing now as she looked at me, and dropped her eyes. "You are so… so huge, and hot" her eyes flashed with wonder at the memory, "and… I could feel you pushing into me, so big, and…it felt like you filled me…." Her thoughts wandered a bit and a little smile curled the corners of her mouth. "You… you filled me full of love and… you made me… you made me warm and happy and safe… and you made me… you made me yours!" There was emphasis in her words, telling me of her enjoyment at my attention, and big tears of thankfulness and happiness flowing freely and she looked at me.

"Did I hurt you in any way?"

"Oh, no, not at all." Her eyes got big as saucers. "I was afraid at first because you are so big. I didn't think I could… I could take all of you." She was just wide eyed with wonder, and radiant.

"But then… you kept pushing, more and more… and then you were all inside me… all of you … and it felt more wonderful than… than anything, ever! I had no idea…." She shook her head softly in wonderment and awe. That will always be a special moment in my remembrance. The expression on her face was just darling!

I drew her tighter against my side and stroked the small of her back with my one hand. Her tears were flowing, and she wanted to tell me more of her feelings, but she had no words… and just looked at me, lovingly, remembering.

"There really are no words for the experience, Christine. The reflex is called an orgasm in English, or a climax, and together with someone you love with all your heart it is an memorable moment without peer. Making love to you was wonderful for me too. Your pussy is tight and warm and welcomed me… your entire body… your entire being, beautiful beyond words, welcomed me. Your love and companionship is a fabulous gift to me. At the same time you came, you climaxed for me, I orgasmed, I came, as well… inside you… filled your body with my love for you. It was a beautiful time for me too."

She lay next to me for the longest time, quiet and just unhurried to do anything, thinking, I am sure, about our experiences.

"Darling, husband?" She waited for me to respond as if I might have wandered off. With her so beautiful and trusting, opening up to me like that, there was no chance of my attention wandering.

"What are you thinking, my pretty little vixen?"

"Last night was really fun, huh?" Her eyes told me the entire thing seemed like a dream to her now. She was waiting for me to confirm that it was as she remembered it.

"Hmmm, I have the cutest young lady for a sweet wife, and she snuggles up to me for me to love her and bring her joy… to make love to her… to fuck her." I paused and reached my finger over the draw slowly a little circle around the tip of her very sensitive breast and make her whimper. "Yes, last night really did happen, and it was a lot of fun. I fucked you and I loved it! And I think you did too… you liked my big cock between your legs and me thrusting into you. And I will fuck you again, too, young lady, and make you full and hot until your toes curl."

The boldness and force in the sound of the word itself carries a powerful image to the mind and emotions, at least it does to me. Across her gentle and expressive features passed an entire parade of emotions… and I enjoyed her ready response to my touching, the pageantry of blissful responses passing across this young girl's countenance, and her blossoming desire for the love and intimacy to which I had been privileged and able to bring her.

She curled up as close to me as she could in a little ball and spoke softly in my ear; "And make me until my toes curl?" She scrunched up her nose and giggled at such an idea. Then she looked at me with the most darling come-hither glimmer in her pretty eyes; "I hope you will again soon," and promptly buried her blushing cheeks against my shoulder.

The tenderness in her sweet request made it quite easy to toss all other priorities aside… of course, there were in reality no other priorities anyway. Even eating could wait.

She welcomed my kiss and my hands on her, walking my fingers over her bare shoulder and then down to the peak of her breast, making her shiver in response. I drew a line down her body, too, from her pretty mouth, over her throat, between her breasts all the way, slowly, to her little flower, and tangled my finger in her soft curls.

"Ooooh, Dace…" she purred, "you have roaming fingers, Darling… I love your gentle hands."

She had let the ‘g' slip away in her passion and ‘roaming' sounded more like ‘Roman' and that triggered a different response.

"Yes, my pretty little vixen, Roman fingers, like legions conquering," I put a little swagger and cockiness in my expression, "and taking possession of all the territory they find before them." 

She was a little shocked at first at my metaphor, but when I wiggled my fingers a bit and touched her sensitive clitoris, pleasure ripped through her and she shivered with passion. When her eyes opened again they were cloudy with desire and there was a cute little smile on her lips.

With my hand on her vulva her legs parted slightly, seeming to welcome me, and I rolled over on top of her and between her legs.

After a few minutes of caressing her breasts gently and enjoying the sweetness of her soft whimpers, I raised up on one arm above her. She looked at me questioningly. 

"It's time learn something new, Baby." She waited for me to lead, and I took first her one hand in mine, kissed her palm, and then placed it on me, and then added her other hand in the same way. She had no idea what to do with what she held, but holding me so inspired and aroused her, and her soft hands and the expression in her eyes as she looked at what she had, and then her tentative, exploring caresses, had a very inspiring effect on me.




Another Springtime Ch. 08



"As you belong to me, Baby, so am I also yours…" Between her legs and towering over her, I watched her eyes as she explored me with her hands and fingertips, and her gentle, tender caress was an unimaginable thrill. After a few moments I could see her arousal overcoming her shyness, and she began tugging on me gently and wiggling into position beneath me, and then she looked up at me with those beautiful eyes of hers, again cloudy with desire.

Gently, I commanded her, "Put me where you want me!"



Another Springtime Ch. 09



Chapter 9-1: A Most Delightful Honeymoon Adventure 

Well, it was not OK! It was not OK with me, and the matter rankled until I confronted it again to set it aright.

Of course, the word itself is technically neutral, etc. Right. Nevertheless, for each person the emotional loading that goes with it will be different. For me, and this is just one man's perspective, the word carries too much… well, too much… the fellows will know what I mean, even if they do not agree. This loading overshadowed and impinged upon that which I had with my wife and sweetheart, and I didn't want the overlap at all. The two were worlds apart.

After a few moments I recalled how she had reacted. She had been sensitive to my feelings and recognized that I did not like the word and its connotations to me, and she had herself already found another way to express the idea. How very mature and ladylike for her to handle it just so, I thought to myself. I was impressed.

Thus, "fuck" was withdrawn from my active vocabulary, once and for all.

The morning was bright and sunny, but aside from being a beautiful day there was no cause whatever for us to rush about, and we dawdled away the morning in each other's arms just talking about everything and nothing, and . It wasn't much as conversations go, just a disjointed rambling, leisurely and unhurried. Just the same it was communication at a furious pace, long signals being transmitted and received between just us two. Do you have any idea, for instance, what it is to a man to have the softness of a woman's body next to his, yielding, fragrant, responsive, alluring, and inundating his senses with her particular uniqueness? Do you know what it's like to have it and loose her, and miss her so badly that her absence seems like a wound that will never heal… and then, miracle of miracles, find another to… not ‘replace' her, since the one is never really ‘replaceable,' but she steps into your void with her own personality and set of talents and… and fills the emptiness with her love.

Yes, perhaps some of you do… those who have experienced it for themselves. Here is one of those places where, I would imagine, experience is the best teacher… perhaps the only teacher. 

Anyway, we decided to go for a little walk outside after some breakfast and arose and I led her for the second time into the shower. She was so very cute with me, being shy and excited all at once. I quickly began to realize that she just seemed to want to stay close to me. I toweled her dry with soft, leisurely motions, pampering her, and we wrapped her hair in a towel for the moment. I was thirsty and went downstairs, her hand in mine, to the reefer for some cold fruit juice, and she, holding one of the bathroom's little hand towels in front of her as if that covered her at all, trailed behind like a little puppy, eyes wide and gloriously unclothed but for the two towels, neither of any great consequence.

I poured a full glass and offered her some, and we shared that glass like some kind of right of passage, and the continuing sequence of sharing intimate activities, kissing, showering, love making, nudity, playing, all together seemed in that moment to coalesce into that singular act of both drinking from the same cup, to break us through somehow to another, higher level of unity. Following me seemed no great challenge to her as it might have been. I pulled the little hand towel away and drew her to me and held her, squeezing her a little and close to me with a hand on her cute little bare bottom.

"Darling, how can I…" she looked up at me with a bewitchingly soulful expression, "how can I ever thank you enough? You keep me safe, you love me, and teach me new things, and keep me warm. What can I ever do to repay you?" 

It was not an idle thought for her. We had earlier touched on the matter of her dependence on me. She was quick enough that I knew I could not just pass it off casually; she was quite serious. What did fascinate me as well as her seriousness, was that she could be so serious and earnest while standing in the kitchen and evidently oblivious to the fact that we were both totally nude. I judged that to be a signpost or something and that I should push ahead down this road.

In addition, the very delightful view of her strikingly beautiful bare breasts was mesmerizing. 

I reached for her with my right hand, for her shoulder, I think, wanting to draw her nearer to me, and touched lightly the outer curve of her soft breast with the back of my finger… and something special happened, unplanned and unimagined in advance… and a bond was forged between us in the second that the electricity flashed, and my desire for her companionship expressed in this simple gesture communicated the message from my heart to hers… as had I touched the very heart within her, and she trembled slightly, and stepped into my embrace as readily, and as fully mine as ever a maid might be. Neither of us could perceive what happened in that special moment, but in the future I would recall it over and over again with great delight. Me touching her so intimately had not been intentional, but became in that way that special things do a kind of ritual, almost a ceremony of our own, and her very being gravitated to mine and we both sought each other and the intimacy we had come to relish with pleasure. She looked up at me and there was nothing to do but kiss her. 

There are kisses, and then there are kisses. Some are for sport and recreation, sometimes even devoid of deeper meaning even as many others carry intense messages of passion and fire. This was more like a bird high in a tree in some remote forest welcoming its mate back to their nest, outwardly perhaps casual and brief, but inwardly laden with the rich and soulful bounty of love and togetherness shared with no other. 

It was marvelous!. 

I took her hand lightly, our thirst quenched for the moment, and led her into the living room. Over the back of the large sofa I had the previous evening tossed our large down comforter from the car. Now, unforeseen and opportune, it seemed to offer the perfect refuge. Within a few seconds I had her laying next to me on the sofa, wrapped up in the comforter all cozy, her head on my arm. None of this distracted her in the least. One look of those eyes and I knew she was waiting for my answer as if we were still standing in the kitchen. As noted before, when connecting the dots she could be quite focused.

"Christine, a year ago I accepted a work assignment. They needed a job done; I accepted the job for the pay that went with it. If you have incurred a debt, it is with the United States government. So far as I can see they have asked no payment; nor does it appear that they will. 

"Some months back, I'm not sure exactly when, that all changed for me." I had to pause and think this through because it was still a little fuzzy to me. Well, fuzzy in the sense that I had not yet actually put it into words to anyone, let alone her.

"I began to realize that I wanted more. It was still just a job for pay, and that was fine, but I wanted it to be more. As part of the job I wanted and needed to win the young lady's trust and confidence, and then," I had to again sort of shake off the uncertainty that had plagued me for a while, "I came to see that she was not just any young lady. She was a very special young lady; very special, and," I turned to look at her, "I wanted to win her heart."

She had been listening quietly, and at my declaration the surprise and delight shown very clearly not just in her expressive brown eyes but in her smile and the brightness of her countenance. She was so very beautiful I could hardly comprehend my good fortune!

"A man," I continued casually, "meets lots of women in his life; a woman meets lots of men. Some stand out from the others, occasionally there is someone special. A fortunate man may find one who is extra special. If his crusade to win her heart succeeds he is a happy man. It is a rare thing, nevertheless, for a man to find yet a second girl who is of such exceptional quality…" where was I going with this? "that he of his own desire and choosing takes up once more his sword and armor and sets off on yet another crusade to win her heart."

"And what possible reward at the end of his quest can possibly warrant his laying before her his sword, his shield, his arm, his means, his honor, his very self… his heart? To what vast wealth and untold riches does the comely young maiden hold the key? What can she possibly bestow upon him that might in any measure cause him to willingly undertake to slay all manner of dragons to assure her safety and welfare? 

"What, pray tell?"

Such romantic meanderings come easily for me in the right situations – it has been a side effect of studying and enjoying German and English literature – but the romantic idyll can be overplayed, and that to a fault. Nevertheless, idealism for a man carries with it a reward all its own, for if the lady be herself idealistic as well, then his love and dedication may well inspire her to blossom yet more fully as a creative, vibrant, sensitive and caring person, and more than any other it is the husband who then perceives and savors the fragrant and colorful blooming as the beautiful blossom opens ever more fully, even into the autumn and winter years.

I had posed a question, and I could see she had no clue as to the answer and was waiting, almost holding her breath… waiting for me to go on.

"M'Lady, it is alone the gift of your love."

The glowing beauty about her – after the intensity and abandon we had enjoyed together in the last hours she was glowing like my own little candle in the lonely darkness of the world – and the lustrous twinkle in her eyes was just breathtaking to behold. She was, as I had come to appreciate, an idealist as well, and hopes and dreams and ideals were lively and meaningful fare for her. In our endless discussions of all kinds of things we had often seen that in each other. She moved to sit up beside me, quite unaware, I think, that in her nakedness she presented to me a view of her, with her breasts still swollen and flushed from my earlier attention, more gloriously attractive than ever. In that smooth, artfully feminine way she had, the fingers of one hand gathered her long hair from her face, and she looked down at me, very much the innocent and shy young maiden she was. 

"Sir knight," her delightful words were those of a timid and star-struck young girl, but they flowed, friend, they flowed like the sweetest honey, warm and smooth from a stone krug, "may it please thee this day, I am but a poor maid with naught but the love and loyalty of my heart to offer, and I do so now again and forever… that in the heat of thy labors thy brow shall ever be laved by my kisses and our hearts beat as one in love eternally!"

I was dumbstruck, I can tell you, by her declaration, by the intensity and the earnestness of her feeling expressed so, and by her mastery of English to do so in practice. She was smiling at me, pleased with herself, I think for saying such a thing, and – I came to find out later – she had been reading some older English literature to put together all the wording and sentiment she felt in her heart for me. It was not a meaningless sham for her, but an outpouring from her heart. That shown clearly in her eyes. I was proud of her, and told her so. She sat next to me, holding my one hand gently in hers, opening and closing my fingers with hers, that enchantingly feminine smile curling the corners of her mouth.

And yet, for all the intensity of the moment, we could play together and turn things light-hearted again. On a whimsy I pretended to be exhausted and begged the maiden's soothing kiss on one fevered brow, to which she acceded gracefully like a fairy princess in her woodland retreat, leaning over to place a kiss daintily upon my forehead and sprinkling her sparkling fairy dust all about us. I motioned to the other brow, to which she hesitated and then shook her head playfully, declaring that I had first to slay another dragon… and we both broke into laughter at our little game.

She was such a darling girl. I felt myself to be a very fortunate man.

]

As I had noticed right from the first day together a year before, her bust line was an eye-catching feature of her person. I had multiple opportunities to observe her and think about her attractiveness over the months, and her breasts always figured prominently in the calculations, prominently because they were prominent. That doesn't mean large. Her trim figure did not need a lot of top hamper to become noticeable; volume and size were not the critical features. Her posture, her carriage, her attitude were… she was an integrated girl, and prominent breasts were not something she flaunted, they were simply a part of her. She blended the total package quite smoothly and the overall effect – outside her view, I'm sure – would be like an electric shock to the right man. It was to me.

That first night together when I had helped her off with her wedding dress I had felt how very sensitive she was to me seeing her naked, and my approving of her… and here her breasts specifically were an important thing to her… was a crucial event, though in her youthful innocence she was less than fully aware. And I did approve of her, and I made sure she knew it, even if it did embarrass her at first.

Now, after a day of being together and her being naked with me through the night and through these morning hours, I came back to her breasts.

They were, firstly, nothing less than magnificent in their own right. Size and shape were marvelously in tune with her overall body dimensions; form and fullness were the purest poetry in their perfection.

We had been chatting about a story we had read together and she was kneeling on the bed next to me and leaning forward as she brushed her hair out. The picture she presented me was innocent and natural, but all the more impressive and gorgeous for her relaxed manner with me.

"Christine, you're a beautiful girl. Your breasts are the most delightfully entrancing beauties I have ever imagined. Your bounteous charms just captivate me… you are an eyeful of beautiful woman that just overwhelms me."

She stopped brushing and my bold words made her immediately aware of my intimate and critical inspection, and thus a little timid and shy.

"Your gift of self to me is a wondrous thing, and I find your breasts very inviting to look at… and touch… and hold in my hands…"

My words, though spoken softly, arrested for her all other thought. At first she could not think what to do, but then in a gesture most feminine and dainty, laid her brush aside and covered the pretty little pink peaks of her breasts with just her fingertips, as if, somehow, such would be adequate shielding from my intense perusal. I have thought about that scene many times since – and shall never forget it – ever. She was in that singular moment a maiden most wondrously feminine and desirable.

When she dropped her eyes, just waiting for me to do something, I ventured something more possessive, thinking back to my first holding her breasts in my hands. I reached up and caressed very lightly the sensitive undersides of each breast, enjoying the very attractive curves there. Her eyes gave her away within seconds. She was too shy to look at me but followed my hands as I touched her, and apart from enjoying the vision of her bare breasts I watched her eyes too, and as I caressed her the stimuli surprised her. Her breath caught in her throat and she trembled at first, uncertain what would happen, but arousal soon overtook her and she took a deep breath… her dark lashes drooped softly. 

"These two beautiful breasts of yours are mine now to hold and caress and love, Baby." In response to my attention and probably without really thinking about it, she let her fingertips slip away and thrust those magnificent breasts forward towards me as if in surrender and submission. My fingertips moved around under them, tracing hot trails of sensation… "mine to touch… and tease…" and I opened my hands, caressing the undersides with my fingertips and drawing her closer to me… "and tantalize for our pleasure and love."

Her composure was breaking down now very quickly and she was beginning to tremble as I played with her, fingering the undersides of her breasts as were I about to take them both into my hands possessively, encouraging her with my attention to lean yet further forward. She was very near the point of falling forward, eyes closed, surrendering totally to my hands, and then I did it. I grasped her breasts, each in one hand, my thumbs to the outside and lifted her bare beauties to take their full weight in my hands while pulling her gently to me.

Her reaction was priceless and sincere. "Oh, my darling," she whimpered meekly, "I'm yours forever." Her decomposure seemed almost instantaneous, and she wilted literally before my eyes, dissolving in a passionate response that was both surprising and very rewarding to me. She blushed crimson, her upper body flushed with her reaction, her little rosebud nipples puckered and hardened, and she whimpered piteously of her love for me and for me to please never stop loving her. I nibbled on her sensitive breasts and kissed her tenderly, tweaking her little nipples with my tongue and then sucking on her lightly… and she gasped as her orgasm overtook her and she collapsed into my arms, weeping great tears and clinging to me like her very life hung in the balance.

The very intense release of energy had drained her, and we lay together for a long time thereafter. It embarrassed her that she was so wet between her legs, but I quieted that softly with a towel about her bottom, and held her close. Her tears flowed as had a dam burst within her and only as her very high emotional peak subsided did she begin to relax in my arms. She was a treasure unbelievably rich, and I had given her a thrill by merely holding her two beautiful breasts in my hand and caressing her! What a thrill for me that had been, I can assure you.

Thereafter she was mine as perhaps no other girl has ever drawn close to her husband. It was the result of our intimacy from our kiss in the car the previous afternoon, of course, but our activity through the evening and the night, and now this episode of me fondling her breasts with such dramatic outcome, made our entire time together just beyond imagination. I held her securely in my arms and spoke softly to her of her beauty and my love for her, and found that making a place for her in my world, a safe and secure place just for her, was the sure way to sooth her anxieties and win her trust and confidence. And when she pushed those pretty breasts up against my chest as she sought to get close to me, my heart, already well exercised through the night, did Olympic-Games-quality triple back flips in response. 

She was a real piece of work, I can tell you sure!

]

She had been busy in her kitchen for a few minutes and I took the opportunity to check my laptop and monitor accounts, e-mail, and such. Soon she came to me quietly, and I could feel her hands on my shoulders and neck, massaging the muscles lightly and just telling me in her shy way that she wanted to be with me.

There was an e-mail from my daughter, just a short note to say hello and wish us well. Christine leaned on my shoulders, her face right next to mine, as I read, and she wanted me to tell Jenny hello from her as well when I answered. 

Done. And then I cast the rest aside as unimportant. 

She giggled as I turned around and pulled her down on my lap for a hug. 

"Do you have time to teach me something new?" She tilted her head a bit and her eyes were bright but too shy to look directly into mine and bored into my chest… and there was her impy little smile playing about the corners of her mouth, and I thought again about the sixteen-year-old asking her father sweetly for a new dress.




Another Springtime Ch. 09



"Of course, Darling, there is always time in my heavy work schedule to squeeze in a moment for my girl! You bet!" Her arms were around my neck as she perched daintily on my lap. My reassurance of her place in my life was like turning on the lights for her and she beamed her pretty smile back at me, pleased to be mine, I could tell… but she was yet too shy to let herself actually tell me she wanted me to make love to her.

"Class time today will be…" I continued in a somewhat gruff and officious tone, "on the couch in the living room, in five minutes. Please bring us something cool to drink, and… dress properly for class, young lady."

That surprised her, as I had made no stipulation as to what was proper for class. Excited and ready, she was waiting for me to tell her.

"Your gossamer top and your Bikini bottoms, young lady. Bring your hair brush, too. You'll have a chance to brush out your hair as we talk. Off you go now, my pretty little vixen."

With that she was off and gone like a frolicking kitten chasing a ball of yarn.

I pulled a couple of terry bath towels from the closet with a fresh, flowered bed sheet, and spread the towels on the couch, tossed the sheet over everything, and noted that our forest green fleece throw was within reach. I then settled down with her American Short Stories Reader to wait for my "student" to appear.

From the kitchen she appeared like a dream… her smile radiating her excitement, her long hair flowing behind her and trailing fairy dust in her wake as she glided gracefully across the room on her bare feet and toe-first steps, her pretty breasts barely concealed in the light, nearly see-through fabric, two tall, ice-filled glasses on a small tray, with her hairbrush in her hands, and as she stopped before me suddenly a little shy. She had not thus far worn her Bikini for me. She had purchased it on a whim, she told me earlier, but was too shy to actually wear it. Now she was, and her courage was failing her.

She looked darling and very provocative. The long, white cotton ties were high on either hip, and the soft material pulled over her mound between her legs in a very feminine manner. She was very conscious of me looking at her and feeling so on display, and I could sense her composure beginning to crumble.

I patted the cushion next to me in invitation and she finally decided to set the tray down, and, trembling with her delightful admixture of shyness and submission, she knelt at my side facing me.

Without a word, but only after observing her quietly for a long moment as she sat so very sweetly waiting for what I would teach her now, and letting her feel the heat of my eyes caressing and exploring her beauty – and she dropped her eyes and blushed prettily for me – I began to read. I began to read aloud, slowly and with feeling, began to read a passage from a story we had enjoyed many months before, a passage I knew she would recall immediately.

The passage described how the little fairy princess in the forest knelt on the bank of the stream, dreaming of the prince that she hoped would find her one day. She was brushing her long hair out in a quiet moment all by herself, alone and happy to be alone with her thoughts and dreams. Part way through the paragraph Christine picked up her hairbrush and after a pause began brushing out her own silken tresses. I noticed she closed her eyes as she brushed, and I read on. 

The image created in her mind was very idyllic and she was receptive to suggestion and let herself be carried away. I paced myself and drew out the reading. In the story the prince does not come yet for another few pages, but hopes and dreams of his coming for her flourished just the same. When I reached the end she continued to brush, the image of delicate and feminine beauty she presented to me in her being was quite beyond imagining, let alone words. At length, she drew her brush to the end of one stroke and opened her eyes, looking at me with a shy smile..

"My prince has already found me," her voice was honey-sweet and her eyes twinkled with delight, "and made me his very own forever." 

How a girl can communicate such tenderness and love in her simplest gesture escapes me; my full attention was caught and held by her devotion and submissive manner, waiting for me to lead her.

Laying the book aside, I took her one hand and pulled her down into my arms, and she shivered a little. The fleece throw was exactly right, and, around her shoulders lightly, added some soothing warmth to make her want to cuddle.

I told her that I would teach her more about herself, and us.

]

The was a soft twinkle in her dark eyes, just for me. Though I always found her fascinatingly beautiful, each experience with her was always fresh and inspiring like none before it. She was a darling. Our class work completed for the day, we were back in our apartment and relaxing. We had showered as we often did to just freshen up a little from the day, and I had toweled her dry in our little charade together, and turned back to her reaching our my hand. She stepped into my embrace, whimpering with my hand holding her breast and we filled the next hour with tenderness and love.

This happened more often than not as we returned from the university campus. She was easily aroused and always willing and reveled in my attention. On this one occasion she made our intimacy particularly noteworthy because of her reaction to me. "I never…" her voice was weak and very breathy, "I never imagined… it could be like… like that. I want to be yours forever."

Her soft eyes, clouded now with both passion and weariness at the exertion, she looked up at me with the adoration I had seen before, but there was a freshness, an overabundance, a willingness, a dedication there as well.

"Thank you…my Master, for teaching me and loving me."

Oh, a title even! Such a title, unbidden and awarded freely without reservation, I judged a significant accolade. It surprised me at first, and I was pleased at having pleased her so. Deeply satisfied at her response, I could at first form none of my own. 

Then, "It is true, baby. I am your master, and you belong to me and your place with me is secure. You have given yourself to me, and I am delighted with your gift. I treasure our togetherness and unity and love, MY Pretty Little Vixen." Her eyes told me that the emphasis in my voice was not overlooked. 

Holding her secure in my arms, "Your soft glow, Darling, warms my heart. I love you."

A smile passed over her lips and her eyes drooped. She had truly let go of everything, and wanted me to keep her forever. Relaxed, filled and sated and safe in my embrace, her head on my shoulder, I was pleased to find she was interested in no other thing than being mine to hold and treasure. Dinner would be a little later that evening, but not to hurry. After a few moments, exhausted by her several orgasms, she slipped off for a nap in my arms, and with her snuggled close by my side so did I.

]

The idea of a fun walk together out in nature had captured our attention. From one large window we could look out over the sea, to the side we could see only trees and green. After a moment enjoying the view I led her by the hand upstairs, and we showered together and I enjoyed helping her wash her hair. I toweled her dry – again, and thoughts of the night past returned in vivid memory – as she brushed out her long hair vigorously. I announced quietly that I would dress her, too, which surprised her, but she sat on the edge of the bed and obviously enjoyed my caressing each foot in turn with a little of the moisturizing lotion she liked to use. I enjoyed just pampering her, and did not then realize how my attention and gentleness soothed her, and eased her into a submissive mood, confident of my care and attention. I selected from her bag – we had not yet even unpacked really – a neatly folded white cotton blouse and her comfortable, billowy pants she called her "pirate pants" because, she told me, she thought they looked like what a pirate would wear, light yellow cotton and cut rather full. She stood waiting for me, still brushing slowly, watching, and extended an arm for me as I helped her on with her blouse. I buttoned the three lower buttons and ignored the upper two, thus leaving the valley between her pretty breasts open to my view.

She stopped brushing then, her attention drawn away to my dressing her. Hands on my shoulders to steady herself, her hairbrush in one hand, she lifted her pretty legs one at a time to step into her pants. I positioned the elastic gathers at each ankle then pulled the material up… slowly… slowly – while she watched me transfixed, and a little smile on her lips at being treasured and pampered so.

"Hello, cute little flower of mine." I was kneeling before her as I helped her with her pants, but her pants were up to just above her knees and her bare blossom was right at mouth level. Holding my face closer to her, she was at first uncertain what to do, but the longer I paused the more her arousal guided her response to my attention. Just a touch of the tip of my tongue was enough to make her tremble, and a kiss and a nuzzle sent a shudder of passion through her entire body, and she pushed her fragrant little flower forward wanting the contact; I could feel it.

"Let's wrap you up, my pretty little flower, and keep you warm and fragrant for some attention later." She looked at me with those big brown eyes, hanging on my every word, and unsure what to expect. I lifted her elastic waistband up and over her cute little bottom. The elastic gathering at the top was hardly extended at her trim waist, and I set the waist band a bit lower on the flair of her hips. Mixed in with this little charade I had slipped on my own shorts and a t-shirt, and stepped away from her to see my darling girl.

She was a knock out! She wasn't sure whether to move or not, and I looked at her with pleasure. 

"Darling?" Her meek and humble entreaty was almost inaudible, and I turned to her. "Should I not wear something underneath? I will feel so vulnerable outside?"

"You are vulnerable, Babe," I responded. "You are vulnerable… to me! Wherever we go, wherever we are… you remain mine and vulnerable to me… to my touch, my caress, my loving you and wanting you. 

"Your beauty – your body as well as your personality – are mine to cherish and enjoy. I want to keep you naked as much as possible to enjoy – even as I have enjoyed your intellect and personality over these last months – the magnificence of your body… your superbly curved, bare breasts and cute little bottom…" as I paused her eyes communicated her mixed surprise at my boldly taking possession of her and my appreciation of her beauty, "…and your lovely little flower between your pretty legs."

She almost gasped with astonishment at my directness. I intended just such a reaction, as this would orient her, I hoped, to welcome my attention and love-making, and let her know even more than she already did, that she belonged to me to love and pleasure us both.

"You will be safe with me… you will always be safe with me… and I will not ever embarrass you. And no other," I spoke more slowly here and with emphasis, knowing that her security was much on her mind, "shall ever enjoy, my darling girl, the treasures you have offered so willingly to me, your husband, and mean to be for me alone."

I leaned down to her, took a handful of her beautiful hair in mine and tilted her pretty face up to mine to kiss her gently. Her emotions were fragile for a moment at my dominance, but my kiss was tender and soft. Her eyes revealed to me the flow of her feelings, her fleeting anxieties quickly quelled by my claiming her so firmly, and her willing responsiveness to my leading her to sensual and intimate activity shown clearly. 

Her doubts resolved, I led her downstairs to the outside door and helped her on with her sandals. We grabbed our dark glasses and opened the door. She took my hand, and with just a trace of lingering reluctance stepped out into the big bad world outside, and we closed the door behind us.

The sun was bright and warm, the cool breeze off the water delightful, and the companionship just superb, and she soon relaxed with me and over the next hour we explored like a couple of kids on a lark. We saw some other people once in the distance and she was wary, but they drew off in another direction. 

Along the rough, partially overgrown path down the escarpment to the water – I chose that for no reason other than it seemed interesting at the moment and isolated from others – she followed me, holding my hand, and stepping from tree root to rock to dirt path again in my footsteps. At one particularly steep point, she stepped forward at my beckoning to fall gratefully into my waiting arms, breathless and excited at our little adventure. She was lithe and graceful in all her movements, brave altogether but anxious too, yet confident that I would not let her fall. Her figure was delightfully open to my view even while being delicately clothed. Her full breasts swayed freely inside her blouse, and the unaccustomed movement and friction on her tiny nipples was sure to be a little arousing. The breeze in the bright sunshine between the trees tugged at her billowy pants playfully, and when she leaned over to look at some wildflowers the curve of her legs and bottom were revealed as enchanting beyond imagination.

Our conversation was light, the day was easy. The time we spent along the rocky shore was intriguing with all the little things to see and explore. At one point she moved a piece of driftwood with a stick she was carrying, and from beneath emerged a little crab of some kind, waving its claw menacingly. At first startled, she soon drew close to watch the undaunted little creature's antics, entranced. Though I drew a trench in the wet sand between him and the water, he would not be deterred and as soon as he judged the moment right, scurried right through the trench and onward to the haven of the water's depths and disappeared.

There is something enormously attractive about a pretty girl when she, unconscious of her own charms and beauty, shows delight and pleasure at finding and experiencing the charming and beautiful things that nature has prepared for our education and enlightenment. So she was this morning as she looked up at me, excited and glowing, the fingers of her one hand casually whisking away her long hair to one side. Her delighted smile was just priceless.

Crabs, driftwood, bits of jetsam or whatever long adrift and at last tossed upon the lonely shore, a length of kelp, a line of little stones and pieces of broken shells as deposited by the last wave. We talked, and walked, and dallied along the water, more often than not hand in hand, going nowhere for no reason, but just together and playing on the beach, and it felt wonderful that she stayed so close to me and wanted my touch and caress, my arm around her shoulders, my hand on her bottom. There can be no measure of value or worth placed on such times; hearts are unfettered and free, without pressure or priority other than to just be together. It was more wonderful than words can relate.

At one point the beach narrowed under the low cliff and the forest overhang. For a break we sat in the shadow of the trees above on a big log partly buried in the sand, stripped and washed clean and smooth by who can imagine how many months or years in the sea. It was one of those moments that are treasured for a lifetime, yet are never created nor planned for in advance… they just happen. We watched the seagulls in the distance, could hear their plaintive cries, and, but for them and our little crab friend, we were the only life forms on the earth.

Without me being aware, she had taken my one hand in hers and for some time had been idly playing with my fingers as she enjoyed the view over the Sound and the swooping seagulls in the sunlight, then leant casually against my chest and I became very aware of her relaxing and enjoying the peacefulness of the day.

"Thank you, Darling." Her words were light and airy, as were a fairy princess sprinkling her magic fairy dust and touching my heart with her royal scepter. "Thank you for loving me and taking care of me." 

I would have willing stayed right there with her for several lifetimes, had I been able.

She was close beside me to the left with my one arm around her. There was a delicate and tantalizing fragrance about her, and even amid the breezes I caught the scent of her and enjoyed her closeness. She looked down at my hand in her lap, still playing with my fingers, and then lifted my hand to her lips and kissed my palm and nuzzled it sensuously and held it to her face, then her neck, and then down inside her blouse and held my open hand gently to her soft breast. It was a delight to me that she would thus seek out and then willingly surrender to my caress in such a way. I held her gently, lifted slightly and heard the whimpering gasp from her throat as her head fell back against my shoulder.

"I'm yours, Darling. I love your gentle hands, and when you hold me… it's like heaven."

I enjoyed her gift to me, and playing with her and feeling her come apart with passion in my embrace. Her breast was full and firm, but so very soft to caress, and when my fingertips touched her little nipple it was like a jolt of current for her. She moaned and thrust her breasts out and into my hands, wanting me to possess her, and after a few minutes of such play she was begging me to love her… not in so many words, but in her whimpering surrender.

She was for sure not thinking clearly but already lost to the passion of me fondling her. Should I make sure she understood me and agreed, or simply move on and take her as I wanted to? I decided right then that she would follow me wherever, and I wanted to make love to her again.

I opened the last button on her blouse and squeezed her breasts again, and told her to lay back and just follow my lead. I laid her back on the log gently and then slipped her pants down and over her bare feet and off, which got her attention and caused her to open her eyes, alert now to what was happening, but at my stroking she soon smiled and relaxed. 

I opened her legs before me and she straddled the log, giving herself to me in the sweetest gesture of complete surrender. Her little flower was warm and well moistened now, glistening in the daylight. I caressed her gently and soon all her anxiety passed and she smiled and gave herself to my attention, but it surprised her when I pushed two fingers into her and she opened her eyes, wondering what would happen. Returning her gaze, I withdrew my fingers and brought them to my mouth slowly and sucked her juices from them. Her eyes grew wide with wonder watching me and I did it again. 

"Hmmm, your nectar is so very sweet, Darling. Just wonderful!"

At that she relaxed again, and that little smile curled the corners of her mouth. I dipped into her again and put one finger on her lips. She was unsure, but trusting, and when she licked and then sucked on my finger tentatively her smile returned. 

"Very rich, and sweet, and fragrant… you are a very lovely girl, Darling." There was not much more needed to search out her sensitive places and she shivered and moaned delightfully at my gentle, exploring caress. Her arms were up around her head, her breasts enticingly free and her little nipples perking and begging, her lashes drooped and she surrendered herself to the pleasure she had learned now that my attention promised her.

Playing with her bottom, feather like caresses and gentle but demanding probing with my fingers, and watching her soaring arousal was fantastic, but the level of mutual excitement was, before too many minutes past, such that any further delay was unthinkable. I mounted her gently at first, pushing into her now very moist pussy and with a dozen strokes or so in a thrusting rhythm I had her whimpering and she was gasping for breath between her cries of pleasure.




Another Springtime Ch. 09



"Please, Dace… Oh, darling, please…." These were the desperate pleadings of a trusting and sensitive girl already lost to the moment's passion.

"Please what, Baby? What is it you want, Baby?"

There was a lull, even as I filled her with long, slow and ever deeper thrusts, before she could say it.

"Make me yours, Dace… please make me… yours. Fill me… forever!" She was gasping between thrusts that were taking her higher and higher. More thrusts, bottoming out in her depths and demanding of her total surrender and submission, made her only more beautiful yet beneath me. 

I leaned forward over her and blew lightly on her sensitive breasts as they danced in time with my thrusting into her. It was a reward for me to discover that was enough to push her over the crest and she moaned, almost a scream, as her body tensed and her orgasm wrenched her tight before releasing her and washing her in pleasure and sweeping away from her every awareness of anything other than my attention. She was like a rag doll, totally mine, kissable and begging me not to leave her.

I leaned down and kissed her pretty mouth lightly, and told her to put her arms around my neck and hang on. She did, as if her very life depended on it. I rolled back, pulling her with me and presently she was on laying on top of me, bent nearly double, with my erection thrust deeply into her body.

She released my neck and started to sit up, if for nothing else than to take a breath. As she rose the sensation of being impaled upon me grabbed and held her complete attention, and she looked down at me with the daintiest expression of total wonder and awe of me… I'll never forget that moment. 

More, I think, because it pleased me so much that she did, I just asked her without giving it any thought, "You really do like that, don't you?"

She seemed too preoccupied and incoherent to respond.

"You like my cock in your pussy!" 

That she did was so very obvious on her face, but she was herself completely lost to the intense and pleasurable sensations of my very deep penetration.

"Yes, you do, my pretty little vixen." 

Her breathing was ragged and her eyes glazing over in passion. 

"Yes, I can see you do… you like it! You love my big, powerful cock in your cute little pussy." 

I touched her engorged clit and she began to come apart.

"Relax and enjoy it. Let yourself cum with my cock inside you, Babe." I twisted her clit gently – she was so very sensitive anyway to my touching her there. "I know you like me to make you, Baby. I love to make you and make you orgasm. Relax and feel my cock inside you, filling you."

She began on her own a pelvic motion to attempt to take in all I could give her, and the passion in her eyes told me quite clearly that she had moved beyond surprise and wonder to desire and wanting me to make her. I found out that I did make her, too, in that very moment together. I made her climax again, then, as she sat on me feeling my erection high inside her, filling her body and stroking her every passion, I think. I gently twisted her swollen clit between her legs as she straddled me and he staggering orgasm ripped from her every residue of reserve, flooding our union with her flow, fragrant and plentiful, and unbidden she raised her arms over her head and looked down upon me like a queen on her throne, even as she began a gentle thrusting of her own to get yet more of me inside her. She was a magnificent lover as her inhibitions collapsed and she rode me like she was born to it. 

Her pussy clamped onto me and seemed to want to suck me into her deeper still, and that did it for me. There was no more holding back. The sensual stimulus for me was too great, and I felt like a fire hose pouring hot lave into her body. Instantly, she whimpered like a baby, her lashes closed and yet another orgasm, many time more massive than the others, crashed upon her like a summer thunderstorm and she screamed her joy at my possession of her, and trembling with passion and her release she seemed as might she pass out. I took her pretty breasts in my hands and she leaned forward, thrusting them into my embrace, and the depth of her reaction left her helpless and spent in my embrace.

I was as surprised as I was pleased. How delightful to feel her beautiful form in my arms knowing her delicate being could repose at she was at that moment, comfortable and secure in my arms. 

We were quiet for a long time after that and she didn't move very much. I was finding that the soft afterglow of a good orgasm with me inside her enthralled her for quite a long time, and I just enjoyed holding her quietly and caressing her bare back and bottom.

"You are so very beautiful, Christine. I am just delighted that you are such a loving and lovely girl."

She was very pleased and happy to be with me, she said, and I kind of read into that that she was thanking me for the new adventure of getting laid good and proper… both in our bed and out here on the beach. After a long interlude of her prostrate, spent and sated, on top of me, we sat up. I had her sitting on my lap on the log for a while, holding her legs together in my arms. I had noticed the previous night that she had liked my holding her close like that. She didn't say much, seemed not to be concerned at all that she was all bare but for her open blouse, kept her eyes down, and hung onto my arm, and rested… her forehead sometimes against mine.

"You are glowing, Darling… glowing with love and beauty. You're fascinating!"

She wanted my hand on her soft breast and held it to her. She smiled softly that smile of hers that made the corners of her pretty mouth curl up. Her cheeks were full of roses and we just sat quietly, on the big log under the trees on the beach… naked and in the warmth of the summer day with the cooling breeze off the water. Her nipple was very tender after the series of her earthquake-like orgasms in response to my possessing her, and she whimpered a little when I touched her, but she wanted me to hold her breast and kept my hand close to her with hers. She was glowing, truly, and clearly cherished the moment together as much as I. 

We got back to our house some while later. I led her back down the beach by the hand, carried her up the hill – partly with her pretty form draped across my back, partly with her couched delightedly in my arms, and she never questioned me or showed any anxiety – a victorious knight draws from his joy at his lady's love sources of strength and stamina not otherwise available to the common man amongst us. Only at the edge of the forest did I help her on with her pants and button her blouse. Then she took my hand gently in hers, she didn't want her sandals on, and we emerged from the forest and started across the broad grassy area toward our house. I felt her next to me as a kindly and kindred spirit, taking dainty little feminine steps in the grass softened in the warm sunlight, wanting to be there with me and be mine, a lovely and loving girl, her long hair flowing around us in the afternoon breezes, who thought of me as her own "Sir knight."

"Ooooh!" She cried out softly. She had stepped on something hard in the grass, and stopped. We looked at her foot, no damage but just a little redness. That was sufficient excuse, and I scooped her up and she flung her arms around my neck again, her countenance all smiles and sunshine in my embrace. She was a treasure. She poured us a tall glass of icy fruit juice to quench our thirst and sat on my lap at the table, smiling at me with a saucy little smirk of satisfaction, holding the glass up to my lips as we shared the juice. Still, she was quiet and pensive, and it showed that she was both thrilled at our outing and wanted to stay close to me.

"Did you enjoy our time on the beach, Darling?"

She nodded quickly and with enthusiasm, and mentioned how interesting the beach was, and the little crab. Her voice was light and full of fun and excitement even while she felt so soft and feminine.

Then her cheeks colored slightly and she looked at me with an impish little smile. "Will you always love me so tenderly and… fill me… with that?" She made a dainty pointing gesture downward with one finger.

I was a little surprised and a lot thrilled at her openness, and nodded slowly. She put her hand over her mouth like a little girl might when she is both shocked and delighted at something wonderful. Her antics were just too sweet and loveable for words.

"Does my pretty little vixen feel a little empty now?"

That caught her off guard. She looked at me a moment before she blushed lightly, and gave me just the cutest little nod of her head, a luster in those brown eyes, and collapsed in my embrace with her face buried in my neck.

After holding her a while and enjoying her being so cuddly, I mentioned how sunny and bright it was on the verandah, and she perked up and suggested making us some sandwiches and fruit for lunch. Her normally animated personality began to show forth again, but before she rose from my lap she turned once more and looked deeply into my eyes. 

"Thank you, Darling," Her voice was husky and full of warmth, and she touched my lips tenderly with her finger. "You're making it a wonderful adventure to love and be loved by a man… by you! I never dared dream it could be so much fun!"

Nor, frankly, had I.

]

The days following were a little quieter. Truth be known, I needed a chance to recover from our momentous love-making sessions in bed.

Sunday was a beautiful day. A little overcast and cooler, and I dressed her properly while she trembled at my touch and we walked the little distance down to the brunch being served at the cafeteria. The food was good, the conversation about the scenery all about us and the nature walk through the forest, and, while the fire and passion of physical intimacy was set aside for the moment, the warmth and intimacy of loving companionship prevailed and we enjoyed the day immensely.

There was a sign at the beginning of the trail and it lead about a quarter mile through the woods behind the homes and back again. Our talk, on the other hand, wandered all over the map though, unlike in months before we now could talk openly about us and our togetherness and our future, and she could relate more freely things in her past. She had spent three days in Vienna with a school group in her junior year and had loved it, and it showed in her telling me of the excursion. The walk was relaxing and drew away tension and cares, and the green trees and ferns and lush undergrowth were just a pleasant excursion into never-never land.

Rain clouds off the sea had been gathering and now shut out the sunlight, and the first drops were beginning as we concluded our little hike through the forest. Back in the house together she waited for my lead. I mentioned a short story she had been telling me about. She had been wanting to read it and asked if we could do that together, looking up at me with her sweet smile and big brown eyes. 

Irresistible. 

We pulled the overstuffed chair up before the couch to make a little place to snuggle, and I left the double doors to the verandah open for the cooler fresh air off the water. Fully dressed – a light sweater over her bra and a casual skirt over her panties – but for her shoes, which she shed at the drop of a hat and almost never wore in the house anyway, she wiggled up next to me with a delightful smile and we started to read together, each of us taking a paragraph in turn.

Well, it was a real page turner, even if only some twenty pages long. We stopped a couple of times to discuss the events and what they would mean for the hero and heroine. The situation was rather unremarkable, even rather everyday but the more suited to the story due to its very commonality, yet the tension built as the author hinted at dark forces and unseen influences. Then at last the two each had major decisions to make independent of the other, and did so with courage and devotion, and the ending was dramatic and amazing and unforeseeable… but happy.

I closed the book and pushed it aside, and she laid her head on my chest and I could joy in the scent of her hair and feeling her just at home and confident with me. She was quiet for a long time, then asked me softly if I would have made the choice the hero had made, knowing now in retrospect how very scant the chance was ever to see the girl again. Sure, she saw in the story line a simile with our own adventure and wondered in her way if I saw it too. I thought about that. The choice had required of the fellow a dedication to her and resolution in severe trial, though, I said to her, it seemed to me he never really vacillated at all. The alternatives looked attractive on the surface, but none of them lead him back to her and he quickly saw that and chose accordingly.

"Kind of…" she shifted a little and turned her face up to me, "kind of like you, huh?" Child-like in her innocence, she wanted to hear me say again that I loved her. She seemed never to tire of my reassurances and delighted in being with me. 

I paused. "Well," I let my response drag out a bit, "yea, kind of."

She looked at me questioningly and waited.

"She was really, well, kind of…" – the girl in the story had been very kind and generous, "well, kind of ‘mousy,' I guess."

With her fist she pounded once on my chest in feigned disgust at my ungallant appraisal, and looked at me askance.

"She was not nearly as charming and feminine as my heroine in my story. My girl has bright little twinkles in her big brown eyes just for me, and one of her smiles sets my heart aglow with the gentle tenderness of her love and the scalding heat of her passion for me."

The surprised expression on her pretty face was like unto a first magnitude star in a clear night sky, a treasure of immeasurable worth, and – though I have never been able to figure out how she did that – the very lights of her soul seemed to twinkle in her pretty eyes, and her expression of love as she reached to kiss me was rich and pure and unrestrained.

She was a beautiful girl!

She was comfortable in my arms, there was no hurry at all, and we talked about us for a while… slowly, unpressured, relaxed. The cooler fresh air and the light, pelting rainfall made it cozy, and when she shivered slightly I pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and after a time our conversation just drifted and we were no longer speaking.

She snuggled close under the cashmere throw and purred for me contentedly. I had moved my right hand under her sweater and was working the muscles in her lower back gently, and initially she was anxious that I would not tickle her. With time and the warmth of the throw she relaxed and then my hand on her bare back began to change her mood. I moved up over the strap of her brassiere and worked her shoulder a little. Her sweater was one of those very loose, open knit types, and almost no hindrance at all. My attention and gentle massage began to strip away all her reserve, what little our lovemaking thus far had left her, and her arousal started her cute little whimperings deep in her throat, and her breathing was irregular. She reached up around my neck with one arm and pressed herself against me, and in a breathy, almost desperate little pleading, "Dace, I don't want any clothes on any more…."

]

On the very last day of our honeymoon, which had been a marvelous and unbelievably wonderful time together, I was still learning things about her that amazed and delighted me. Well, that shouldn't be a surprise; I still am learning things about her.

I found, among other things, that my attention and teaching and loving had opened doors for her that she had never even imagined might be. She had blossomed under my love and care and tutelage, and what's more, she continues to this very day to blossom as prettily as a bright red rose in the afternoon's sunlight… and, with a little coaxing and encouragement, just whenever I want her too.

As close as we had become, as tender and open as our feelings now were for each other, I did not realize the extent to which our relationship was changing… the extent to which it had changed already. We were back to our apartment, "Balmy Biloxi," Monday, late morning. The only things pressing were to catch up on our laundry, not all that much since I had kept her nearly naked most of the time, and then various other little chores about the place. It made her feel at home to have time to putter in her kitchen, vacuum a little and make our home cozy and comfortable. 

Most importantly, however, was that it was now truly ‘our' home and she felt that right from the beginning, and she reveled in it. Working together, we changed the sheets on my big king-sized bed, and we replaced the pad with a new one we had bought for ourselves – one of those new types, very thick and luxurious – and used the new, fresh pink satin sheets and pillow cases she had selected. For the first time in our apartment she would be coming into what had been ‘my' bed… now it was ‘our' bed… coming into our bed with me… as sweethearts and lovers, and husband and wife. It shown in her eyes how delighted she was at the changes in our home. Early that evening, after dinner together, I made a little ceremony of leading her to our bedroom, turning down the covers, and taking her to bed with me. That special treatment seemed to confirm something to her… we were as we had always been over the previous months, but now we were married and belonged to each other… now we were more!. We were together, we were not rushed in the least, and we just enjoyed being with each other… and she glowed for me as never before.

Tuesday was more relaxing. It was catch up time and putting together shopping lists and planning a little for the first week of our married life together at home. It was a delightful day.

Christine had called Jennifer and invited her over for dinner, and in the course of the evening there occurred then a conversation with my daughter that is memorable. Maybe calling it a confrontation is better. We had just a few minutes in the kitchen alone together as Christine was away in the bedroom. Jenny lost not a moment in making her point, however.

"You really did it, didn't you Dad?"

"Did what?"

"You know very well ‘what,'" she countered.

There are times a man senses intuitively that there simply does not exist in the universe an answer that will satisfy his daughter's probing, and that silence is, if not the perfect answer, at least one that will not dig the pit any deeper.

"You made love with her, didn't you, Dad?" She had already decided that only a ‘yes' answer could apply, and her tone told me not just that she had discerned that but also that she felt herself immensely pleased at having found out somehow."

"It is my understanding," I tried to respond with a cool off-handedness, "that such is, shall we say, rather traditional for a honeymoon, is it not?"

"You know what I mean, Dad. I've got a girl friend who thinks her honeymoon was just hell because he was rough and demanding and uncaring for her feelings." She was very matter of fact about this. "I can see it clearly, Dad. Christine is just glowing and thrilled to be alive, and she follows you around like a love-struck fairy princess. You made her a very happy woman, Dad. I'm proud of you!"

Once again, most anything said is too much, but the words seemed to flow before I could tether them. "When inspiration is abundant, young lady, delightful things can occur."

She looked at me, still drying one of the pans, but all movement halted by her thinking, as were I perhaps the Nobel Prize winner for Philosophy and marital bliss.

As if on cue, the fairy princess waltzed back into our presence and put her arms around my waist and asked whether I thought we could have some strawberry ice cream for desert… yes, the same sweetness I had experienced before, though she had now moved well beyond the innocent sixteen-year old coaxing her dad for a prom dress. She knew she was a part of me, and I of her, and reveled in our unity. She waited for my approval as if my word would alter the course of nations. I furrowed my brow in concerned thought, teasing her playfully for a moment, but I felt like the king of the world!.




Another Springtime Ch. 10



Chapter 10: Break In & Total Surrender

It was a considerable shock when, after just a short jaunt our shopping for a few things, we arrived back at the apartment Wednesday afternoon to find traffic clogging the little side street, then the security gate knocked flat like it had been run down by a tank, and people all over the place gawking and milling around. I think I was a little slow to react, but suddenly I caught the drift… something was not right.

I told Christine to get out of sight and down on the floor. She looked at me strangely, but the tone in my voice carried the tenseness that moved her to action. Another tenant was right in front of us and hesitated to enter the driveway, and that hesitation allowed me a second to react, my intercept antennae now extended and sensitive to whatever might be out of place. In the distance I could hear police sirens, possibly associated, perhaps not; no way to tell at the moment. I decided to drive past as if we were not residents at all,

I drove on, slowly, trying to act normal and unconcerned, and not identifiable as the man with the pretty young girl they were hunting. I was watching for cars nearby with one or two men in them that might be watching for us to come home, didn't see anyone suspicious, but I knew, too, that my untrained eye could just as easily have missed something obvious. I continued on, making a couple of turns, then across the Ballard Bridge and South on 15th Avenue West, off on Dravus and intending to turn up the hill into rabbit warren of small streets that was Queen Anne Hill. The trip across the bridge was the basic sweep to clear our baffles, and I called Christine to assist and watch for cars following us. She was keen as a bloodhound now and very sharp-eyed. I knew she understood me when I used terms from my past, and that ‘clearing the baffles' was a submariner's term for swinging around to do a sonar search directly behind you to check for any other boats in hot pursuit. It also triggered as well our captain & XO games – of which more shortly – and set a serious team player mood for us. She responded instantly.

At Dravus, I changed my mind, turned right first, then into the QFC parking lot to stop amid several other cars with customers constantly coming and going into the market. Any car following us would have to tip his hand, or so we supposed.

After about ten minutes, during which no cars at all suspicious came by, I concluded that, even had they been watching for us and put a tail on us we had evidently lost them. ‘Evidently' is a qualifier that should keep in the forefront that we could not really be sure.

Christine was quiet and tense as we waited together and watched. I took her hand as she sat next to me, and that little gesture seemed to lighten her anxiety some. The thought passed through my mind that she had matured considerably in these last months. She was frightened, but she was not a terror-stricken, helpless child any more. What had she become? I looked at her as she studied the cars driving into or past the parking lot, watching, sifting, analyzing. She was picking up on the cunning and learning from her experiences, and was a stronger and more self-confident young lady. OK, she was because she felt she could depend on me to lead and teach. Probably so, and I'll take credit for that. There was, nevertheless, something about her… she was a fighter! She was not about to surrender or give in!

Only another man of like inclination can probably imagine what that can do to a fellow's heart. It is one thing to draw one's sword in defense of the helpless waif, and that is surely an honor unto itself, but there is something immensely gratifying to a crusading knight to find that the lady he defends is a lady of stature in her own right. Though it be she remains dependant on him for ultimate safety, even in the face of challenge and stress she gathers her wits about her and applies her talents and skills in any way she can, and stands at his side willingly, courageously, loyally… yes, lovingly, come what may.

There is much in the media nowadays that suggests to women how to win and influence men, presenting a plethora of little formulae and techniques. For men so shallow that simple tricks taught in a slick magazine can bend their will, perhaps that is all they deserve.

For a woman of substance, however, with some gray matter between her ears and a vibrant heart, the infallible way – at least in my estimation – to hold on to the affection of a man drawn to her, and to whom she chooses to give her heart, is to stand bravely as the woman she is striving to become, taking her place at his side with loyalty and love and bearing with him the heavy weather of tumult and tribulation their ship will certainly encounter on life's tempestuous seas. 

And there she sat, right there, next to me, watching carefully, struggling to not let her fears get the best of her, still leaning on me heavily for strength, following my lead and wanting to be right where she was at that moment… at my side.

If you are a girl reading this, the matter may seem hard to understand. It's simple, really. It's love; it's what love does… always. When the chips are down, you stand together! And together in love you have the strength of at least ten… and more.

If you have experienced that phenomenon, you know whereof I speak; if not, well, you have extraordinarily rich adventures still ahead.



After a while, I called the management agency and inquired. Yes, it had been our apartment. Information was sparse, but four men, one witness said she thought there had been five, in a blue van, thoroughly ransacked the apartment. The lady was apologetic that such a thing had happened and wanted to help. I told her not to worry; we were all right and would be in touch in a day or two. 

Christine had heard my side of the brief conversation, and I filled her in on the rest. The big question was now, obviously, how had they found us, and what do we do about it.

"Christine, let's think through the situation carefully.

"Did we leave anything at the apartment that would identify us? Mail, catalogs with our names, books, documents or papers of any kind, any of our school stuff, anything at all?"

We had gone over just this kind of eventuality several times, and in executing our security plan we routinely packed up our personal belongings when we went anywhere in the car. I always took the laptop with me in the car, and even there I weekly backed up onto a CD and mailed the disc off to our secure storage site where we saved any papers and documents of long term significance. It was an elaborate, involved, often inconvenient security procedure, but at times like this, we both knew we had not been wasting our time.

We concluded after some time looking at what we had with us in the back seat that we had not been lax. Then I heard a gasp. She had her hand over her mouth and looked at me. 

"My wedding dress! It was boxed up to go to storage but it was still in the apartment!" Her attachment to her dress was deep. It was for me too. She had been drop dead gorgeous in that dress, and those were my daughter's words to me at the occasion, but I agreed entirely. She looked at me hopefully.

"I think it way too dangerous for us to go back, even for your dress. We may be able to work out some technique to get someone else to recover your dress and pass it to us. Let me think about that a bit." She was disappointed, and it showed in her eyes, along with her trust in my judgment.

"Anything that could identify us?" The white box with her dress was a generic, unmarked carton, and we had intentionally not marked it in any way. Before leaving it in the storage place, our plan was to mark it with a code and enter it on our catalog of possessions in the subdirectory on the laptop. 

She took her time, and I could almost hear the gears grinding in that pretty head of hers, and she looked over the back seat at the boxes and bags we had with us, counting, cataloging, checking carefully. "No, Darling, I can't think of a thing. All my class materials are in my briefcase and file box," and then she turned to me distressed again. "That nice set of kitchen knives you gave me is there; I guess that's lost now, huh?" And then she giggled, "and the rest of your blueberry pie, too!" 

We had fixed a blueberry pie together the previous afternoon, mostly as a play project together. She had done the filling, I the crust. We had found fresh blueberries on sale at the market and it was her idea. Making a pie together is a good example of the crazy little things we did for fun, and we seldom missed having a grand time. It had turned out just dandy and we had each eaten two pieces with vanilla ice cream on the side. There were two more pieces left, and now they would likely go uneaten… unsavored.

Nevertheless, how had they found us?

I continued to cast about for any thread of our existence left trailing out behind for someone to uncover. I could see nowhere we had left a track. The sense of the unseen enemy being just a step behind us was very unnerving to me. Christine was stronger now, but still, her lighthearted playfulness had fled and she was quiet and pensive, watching me and how I reacted, keying her emotions and confidence level off mine. I guess that's what it means to trust your husband with everything, and I think she did.

By now, I was involving Christine in most of my planning and analysis, and using her as a sounding board. Her job, as we divvied up the labor, was to seek to poke holes in any plan I came up with. She had countered sweetly at first that she didn't want to have to find fault with my efforts like that, saying it so tenderly that she just made my heart jump for joy. I had told her at the time, assuming a stern and impartial team-leader kind of voice – that's all relative, of course, we were almost always in a playful frolic anyway – that she was part of the team, and her talents were an important element of the combined effort, that any plan she presented would be scrutinized for oversights as well, and that she was expected to contribute her very best to the team's success.

She had remained quiet for a long moment, and then responded, "Is that how you talked to those sailors who were with you on the submarine?" 

I had forgotten about that. I had told her about my submarine recon missions and how we worked so closely together and it was exciting to be so successful and a tremendous professional stimulation, and all that. How very quickly, I thought to myself, she related diverse bits of information. Impressive! 

"Yes, as a matter of fact, that's right," I responded. Then, since her eyes were all a-twinkle for me, I added, "You know, you'd make one hell of a fine executive officer, Darling! I'd only let you go to sea on my ship, of course. No transfers!"

It was just heart-stopping how quickly she bounced right back, enthusiasm in her voice and a twinkle in those pretty eyes, "Would I get to call you the captain then?"

Since it was obvious she was playful and having fun with me, I stayed in the game. "That's right, XO," I countered with a little swagger in my tone, "I'm the captain here!"

"Aye, aye, captain!" and she capped her game with a playful little salute like she must have seen in a funny movie somewhere, and her saucy smile was worth a thousand beautiful sunrises. 

We had a good chuckle together and I kissed her while we waited at a red light, and she giggled delightedly at my affection.

She was just darling!

That had been a couple of days before.

"First off, XO," my using that name for her now and my tone of voice immediately set the stage for a serious and in depth effort for both of us, "I think our first step should be to shift cars again." We had been driving the gray Suburban since just before our wedding and it made sense to shift to the blue Yukon we had stashed in the garage in Redmond.

"Aye, aye, Captain!" came her ready reply, and she turned to our little box of tools from under the seat on her side and pulled out the remote control for the garage door opener at our rental in Redmond. She checked the batteries on her little battery checker, pronounced them still adequate for the job, and was all ready in a few minutes. I was well on the way across the 520 bridge when she had completed her little change over checklist. In the process she identified all the containers we had in the Suburban, scrambling over the seatback to be sure there were no loose items in the back, and then back again to the front seat beside me to check for the umpteenth time that there was nothing in the glove box or behind the visors or under the seats that would identify us. She reached under my legs and pulled out my little canvas kit with my spare ammo clips for the Colt, and had everything in readiness for the transfer.

This was the first time we had done this since our honeymoon, so there were some changes over times past that made her activity just delightful. That afternoon had been very warm and she had worn just a light dress, and I mean just a light dress. From our honeymoon she had quit wearing her brassiere except for dress up occasions, and sometimes not then, and for two days now she had not worn her panties. As always, she slipped her clogs or shoes off in the car. So, you might imagine her frisky antics as she attended to all those checks; there were pretty feet, long legs, and bare bottom everywhere, and beautiful breasts just barely within the confines of her low cut bodice, all begging for my attention. And her playful, saucy smile warmed my heart.

At last, her "duties" completed, she sat up on the seat and made her delightful little caricature of a salute and declared firmly, "All in readiness, Captain!" In your fondest imagination, dear reader, you can not hope to visualize how cute she could be doing the simplest task.

"Very well, XO." I ran my free hand up her leg under her skirt to pat her bare bottom gently and pull her to me, and she snuggled close. Marvelous!

Well, we made the shift. We made a circuit around the place first to check things out, she triggered the door opener and interior lights, and we determined that all seemed to be in order, so we drove into the right hand bay and she triggered the door closed behind us. The Yukon started right up and while it was warming up, we transferred the blankets and pillows, two personal kitbags, canvas gun kit, two briefcases, toolbox, laptop case, and records boxes. I reset the security safeguards on the entry door and on the Suburban, and in a flash we were ready to go. She triggered the interior lights off, opened the exit door, we drove out into the evening in the blue Yukon, and she triggered the exit door closed behind us. I figured someone would have had to be watching us through the complete cycle to follow the metamorphous. Cool!

Our work that evening consisted of staking out one of our other safe houses to try and ascertain that no one else was doing the same thing. "Balmy Biloxi" had been the casualty that noontime, and we certainly were not going back there. We selected "Foggy San Francisco" as our first alternate to watch. Here, too, advanced planning came into play. Early on I had tried to anticipate how such might happen, and up the slight incline above the apartment entryway was a pair of huge oak trees overhanging the street, which made for deep shadows against a dark rock wall. Armed with a Pagliacci Pizza of her favorite style, a bucket of ice, a couple liters of Ginger Ale and a roll of paper towels, we backed the dark blue Yukon under the trees. From this vantage point we could quite easily observe comings and goings along the entire block, while we ourselves effectively disappeared in the shadows of the falling night.

Friend, not all such stake out efforts are anywhere near the equal to this one. She kept my glass filled, fed me pizza, wiped my mouth for me, and kissed me sweetly on the cheek, and then snuggled up to me just as cute as you please with a blanket over her and my hand on her bare bottom to keep her warm. Delicious! More delicious than words can tell.

I had not thought our naming the place would prove to be so apropos. By 10 PM the fog was thickening, by midnight it was almost impenetrable, and I could barely see a block away. Along about 3:30 AM the drizzle had thoroughly dampened the roadway. Not a car had moved in hours; not one coming, not one going, not even one passing by. Those parked on the street, where a fellow stake out was likely to be, gave no hint of life. Of course, it was all circumstantial. A dedicated man would never let his presence be determined by so casual an observation, so our effort was hardly conclusive. On the other hand, had one of the cars on the street come to life and driven off in the middle of the night, when no one had walked up to it beforehand, the enemy would have tipped his hand. That would have been exceptionally valuable intelligence.

Besides that, it was my job. Stay in the shadows, and hold my pretty wife in my arms and draw little figures on her bare bottom with my fingertip and make her whimper. 

Hey, it pays the bills.

With my hand on her cute little bottom, she moaned and whimpered daintily, and I was delighted with her. As she had curled up in my arms she opened the buttons on her dress to be less constricted, and she lay now, sleeping peacefully, with her pretty breasts bared and pushing against my nicely ironed linen shirt under the blanket, trusting me to take care of her. Whatta Gal!

Two days before in the apartment I had fondled her breasts, kissed her and then, under her dress, pushed her panties down over her bottom, telling her that she was much prettier to me that way. She had had been wearing one of the soft blue silk ones I had given her that she liked so much, and she turned to me sweetly and blushed, and hugged me to take care of her as I slipped her panties down her legs and off, and I think that was a sort of giving her last bit of self to me.

Two hours later, after lunch and cleaning up and checking our shopping list together, I asked her how she felt. The question made her realize that she had forgotten she was all bare under her dress. She was surprised at herself that she felt so at ease with that… as long as I was with her, she added quickly. Her awareness of her bareness under her dress made her feel vulnerable and she stayed close to me as we were out in public, but she went without her panties the rest of the day and the next morning as well.

Before lunch that next day she came to me, quiet and submissive in her shy way, and sat down on the pillow next to my chair. "You've given me a lot of pretty underwear, Darling, but…" and her voice had the cutest little girl lilt to it, "but… when I'm all bare I feel more like I… like I belong to you." She had spoken as if apologizing for not wearing the lingerie I had given her. 

I looked down at my love kitty with a little mock frown, and exclaimed, "You're all bare under your dress?" 

She looked at me, shocked to think I did not know, and not imagining how to react.

"Open your blouse, Darling Girl," I commanded softly, "and show me your pretty bare breast!"

She responded quickly and sat up primly on the pillow, knowing now I was playing with her. She unbuttoned her blouse to present me with a quick glimpse of one naked breast and then held her blouse over her like the shy maiden she was, and gave me that impy, playful look… half smirk and half chagrin… and pretending like she was Little Red Riding Hood hiding in plain sight from the bad ol' wolf.

"Perfect, Darling Girl. I like you all bare under your dress, and… you do belong to me, My Pretty Little Vixen!"

Her nickname was always enough to make her day. She bounced up off the pillow, kissed me daintily on the cheek, and scampered away to her kitchen. 




Another Springtime Ch. 10



"Want some strawberry ice cream with me?" she called over her shoulder.

That had been the day before yesterday, and she hadn't worn any panties since. In a playful mood, she was one delectable little piece of fluff.

Remembering that was a nice break. The dashboard clock said 04:10 AM. 

How had they found us? The thought kept coming back. 

There had to be a solution to the riddle. What? Are they watching for us to show up at "Foggy San Francisco" right now? Is someone parked down there watching for us? Do they have an ident on our car? I needed more info, but there seemed no other possible source.

When dawn came I had seen nothing suspicious, but I could not be sure in my own mind. I roused my sleeping beauty and shifted things a bit so I could drive while she slept and we made it to the Navy BOQ at Smokey Point in about forty minutes. We were in bed together fifteen minutes later, done in from the long night, and sound asleep.

The laptop's ding-dong bell announced the receipt of an email and for some reason that brought me fully awake. I had left it plugged in to charge the battery while we slept. It was from Joe. The previous evening the technical guys had intercepted a cellular signal with the telltale sign they had identified earlier as possibly referring to Christine, and they had traced the call back to the originating cell tower in north Seattle. Were we all right and did this help any?

Well, suddenly an entire new world opened up to me. Somebody was hot on their trail and making some progress. I knew enough about signal intelligence techniques from my Navy time that I could deduce, generally, what was going on. They were listening in and scanning cell phone transmissions and had isolated a data stream that, somehow, they identified as emanating from the syndicate field operatives. Considering the volume and diversity of cellular signals, to manage that was a serious step in the right direction. One piece of that data stream was a designator for the target, and they had seen this now at least twice and thought it identified Christine. I was glad to hear that someone was getting the drop on these scallywags.

Then it hit me. We were not being chased and hounded by some team seeking to follow our trail they had picked up somehow. They would not have needed to transmit such a signal to confirm their target. They would have known who the target was and felt they were closing in. They were not – if such a field investigative team was out there at all – they were not the ones doing the break-in. Someone else, another team perhaps, some other functionary had found us, taken Christine's photograph, and thus initiated a fresh inquiry altogether. Now the picture made sense, even if the matter of two teams vs. one made the entire scene more dangerous than before.

That meant, however, that someone had taken her picture during the two days we had been back from our honeymoon, they had received a green light in response, and crashed into our apartment on day three, evidently without checking whether we were actually at home. Of course, we had been all the previous day, and had departed that afternoon only about an hour earlier. Somebody in the "Balmy Biloxi" complex had a digital camera and had spotted my wife and made the connection. Another hair's breadth escape through nothing more than the mercies of Providence. If I found out who the culprit was, the fellow or fellows were going to get to meet with Mr. Colt as well, or at least one of his associates.

"Hey, Babe!" I reached over under the covers and tickled her foot and she yelped in surprise. "Good Morning, XO. I need your help!"

She sat up and reached for her hairbrush, and soon wanted me to read the emails to her as she brushed, holding the sheet up to cover her breasts modestly. She had slept more than I had, and was immediately alert and questions came readily. She followed my reasoning easily, poked and prodded, then approved my email response to Joe filling him in on what had happened.

With that done I turned to her and found her already at work. Who had taken her photograph? She saw it just like I did. The picture was most likely taken during the short period between our return from our honeymoon on Monday and the time of intercept of the cell signal noted in Joe's email, 10 PM local Seattle on Tuesday, with the break in Wednesday afternoon. Who? We went to the market Monday evening only briefly, did laundry… her moving back and forth to the apartment building's laundry room… four trips altogether, we recalled, only two with me with her. Possible; but how and when? 

"There are also those cameras everywhere in the building to watch for things and, for security, right? How do they work, Dace?"

Bingo! I hadn't thought of that before.

"XO, you are one smart gal!" and gave her a big smile. "Thanx for your keen thinking!"

Well, I won't be the first to say it; two heads are better than one. That is certainly for sure if one is as keen and pretty as Christine's.

"Dace?" Her voice was delicate and tender like only hers could be. 

I turned to her, as desirable as they come with the sheet held up in front of her shyly, and her hair tossed all about her. 

"Is it appropriate for the XO to be…" she paused moment, and then that impy little smile was all over her, "madly in love with the Captain?"

She flounced back down and pulled the covers up over her head.

They don't come any cuter than my girl.

After that we worked out a scheme to recover some of our stuff, cut every imaginable tie with the place and the management office, turned the info over to Joe for further field work, and went on with our lives, wiser than before, and more in love than ever.

]

It was more than three months or so after the encounter in LeGrande that I got some e-mail feedback from the agency, from Joe. 

I had reported the encounter at LeGrande, of course, and he or at least someone had cleared things with the local police and other authorities, and the matter was now calmed down. 

His email passed on a thumbnail sketch of what investigators had come up with, however, and that was what disturbed me a great deal. In the green station wagon they had found a very sophisticated electronics suite which the men had used firstly to photograph Christine, evidently in the restaurant, download the ten digital photos to their computer and used a software package to firstly analyze her image and match it against some search criteria, then transmit her photos and the analysis over their cellular internet connection to a recipient in San Francisco. Joe warned me against such potential situations in the future, and that they had known the syndicate had sought to acquire such capability but to date had no indication that they could actually use it in the field. Altogether, considering how scant had been the intelligence support on the case heretofore, I considered the information quite extensive.

From my own experience I could fill in the blanks at least with relative accuracy. I had encountered such computer imaging technology for identification of people while in Germany at the Berlin Document Center. The German Federal Police used something along this line in identifying and tracking criminals, and it had been a strong element in identifying the remains in Brazil of the then deceased Nazi Dr. Joseph Mengele, the infamous doctor from the KZ at Auschwitz. By running the program on both known photographs of the doctor when alive in the 1940s and the skull of the remains in Brazil the fact that the program produced a high percentage of congruence between the more than three hundred discreet measurement criteria led the medical examiner and the legal authorities to deem the identification highly probable if not actually conclusive. Very impressive technology.

That such could be accomplished under conditions we experienced in LeGrande, Oregon, of all places, suggested to me that the danger was quite substantial. Clearly, the syndicate was deploying technically well equipped teams to search and screen potential targets. Of course, by the first years of the 21st Century such technology was available over the counter to anyone with the bucks. 

There were two other features that emerged as well. For one, my earlier idea allowing that not all those who hunted her would be swarthy middle-easterners now proved well taken. Then too, the San Francisco email address indicated that the syndicate laundered their email through a Stateside Internet Service Provider, thus masking the actual location of the syndicate's headquarters. The computer could be programmed to download the report to a file and transmit it via a land line to a address anywhere – perhaps only another computer on the next table in the same room, from whence it would be emailed to a computer overseas. Possible… and very, very difficult to trace.

Digital cameras, laptop computers and cellular technology made such procedures practical, thus the threat was now not only very real but also, as I said, quite substantial. 

What seemed evident to me as well was that, in our experience at Le Grande, the recipient of their sighting report almost surely responded with a go signal to actually make the pick up, which then resulted in the confrontation in the parking lot. Total elapsed time, not more than half an hour! 

This meant to me that, among other things, I was up against an enemy that was well equipped and functioning very smoothly. That it had nearly caught her in a little town in Oregon meant too that the operatives were many, perhaps even plentiful.

I never heard anything about the four men, and never bothered to ask. 

The intelligence on the syndicate's operations was very sobering; my security plans and procedures would have to be reevaluated, and modified and strengthened accordingly.

]

The break-in had been on Wednesday, mid-afternoon. By Friday late we had a salvage scheme worked out and in place. It worked splendidly, like clockwork, and Saturday brought some new features of my love life to the fore as well.

Here's how that happened. 

Still lounging in bed together at Smokey Point, my pretty little vixen snuggled up to me as we read a story together, the solution fell on me out of the clear blue.

"I think I know how to get your wedding dress back, Babe."

She stopped reading her part immediately and turned to me, anxious to hear my idea, her pretty breasts pressing against me as she lay across my chest, and waited, eyes twinkling with anticipation, and her long hair falling about us in profusion..

"We send in einen Bergungskommando… a ‘neutral' salvage team. We call Jenny and suggest that she and her girl friends and maybe some fellows they know might be interested in going in to clear the apartment of anything useful… they get everything in it that they may want, wrecked or not, save a couple of items special to us… a set of kitchen knives, the two liter bottles of Ginger Ale in the reefer, I think I had a spare printer cartridge there, too." I knew she was right with me. "I can't think of any else particularly…."

"My dress! You big teaser! You just like to tease me." She pounded on my chest with her fist and put on a pouty face that I would even play at forgetting her dress. 

"Oh, yes, of course. How could I have forgotten that? Your dress."

She knew, of course, that I had not… but like often happened, she used my teasing to play at pouting so I would pay attention to her. It worked almost always; I was helpless!

"Remind me again, Babe. What dress was that? Your green one?"

"My wedding dress, Dace!" More pounding and pouty face, sweet and desirable like nothing else in the world. "You know I don't have a green dress." 

"Oh, that's right… of course, your wedding dress." I rolled her over on her back, pinning her to the bed as I growled at her deep in my throat and then drew one nipple into my mouth and sucked on her gently.

"Oh, my Darling," she cried softly, "Ohhhhh!" Heavy lashes drooped and there was a low moan from deep in her throat as she thrust upward to meet me for more. "I'm yours forever, ohhhh! Yes, please, Darl…" gasp "Darling, oooooh! don't ever stop loving me…. please!"

I didn't then…, and I never will.

Jennifer was only a couple of hours from her date for the evening picking her up, but she thought the idea very much something she wanted to do. Allan had a pick up truck, and she thought he might be interested in helping. She'd suggest it and they'd call back when he got there.

Christine was all woman, and all mine. She hadn't had a stitch on since I pulled her dress off her when we checked in that morning. She was aroused by our wrestling, and now wanted me to make her. I mauled her breasts until she was frantic and begging, played with her bottom and fingered her little flower, licked and then sucked on her at my considerable leisure and enjoyed her free-flowing sweetness until she was nearly out of her head, frantic for me to make her. Only then, when I was ready for her, I fucked her good and proper with long and powerful strokes, burying myself in her to the hilt, and immensely satisfied at her begging and whimpering, and the feelings of stuffing her to capacity. 

The image that will always remain in my heart is of her total surrender to me that afternoon in our bedroom. She lay on her back on our bed, I had her legs open and mounted her, and she gave her self to me in the sweetest, most feminine way a girl can possibly do. Her arms were out to the sides above her head, her beautiful breasts dancing in rhythm with my thrusts, her pretty mouth open, cheeks rosy and flushed, and her heavy lashes closed in abject submissiveness and whimpering as I lifted her with me into a sensational flight of fantasy. The visual image of her beauty and blissful surrender to me was superb, and that rocketed us together into a heaven far beyond the known universe. I filled her with everything I had to give, and in the process, she both drenched our union and drew from me with her begging and caresses every bit of moisture available. The experience was consciousness-shattering. 

She was ecstatic and sated and nearly blown away with happiness at my making her climax so powerfully, and as beautiful as always when she knew I loved her so. Flushed and glowing as never before, she snuggled up into my embrace, a freshly fucked little fox in the forest, whimpering her appreciation. 

In addition, I was fully spent and satisfied as well.

She was a treasure of the first magnitude.

Jenny and Allan called at 7:30. They had it all arranged. There would be six of them, three couples. Allan and two of his pals from the crew squad had been dating Jenny and two of her girl friends, and they would team up to do the job, two pick ups between them. I let them in on the situation and said that important to us were Christine's wedding dress in a white storage box, her few clothes in the closet, and the kitchen knife set. All else of any use or value was theirs for the effort, including two pieces of blueberry pie, which I recommended highly. All else leave behind. We arranged to meet for dinner early in the evening at the Mongolian Bar-b-que place on Broadway, our ticket.

Done.

With that, we were back in each other's arms. After a time at rest we checked out and went home to ‘Foggy San Francisco.' 

We hadn't been in the apartment ten minutes and she disappeared into the bathroom for a little freshening up, as she called it. After a while, longer than usual, I sensed somehow that she was playing and I left the laptop after plugging in the battery and stepped behind the door and out of sight. Sure enough, she appeared in a second or two, looking for me cautiously. She had changed from her dress, now wrinkled and for the laundry, for the cutest get up yet. Her white hip-huggers that she enjoyed so much were now topped with a flimsy, see-through piece of gossamer around her shoulders, and not much more. 

She heard me growl and, with a big smile on her face, turned to find the wolf laying in wait for her behind the door, giggling girlishly like she did when she knew I was chasing her. The cute little top was just tied behind her neck, made of that gossamer-like raw silk material she had found in the imports shop, short sleeved and, as I could readily see as she turned to me, with a high scoop neckline and draped only low enough to barely cover the magnificent swell of her beautiful breasts.

She had not dressed to show me her bare tummy since that one time months back. Besides that, there was a very subtle shading to her lashes and brows and the slightest tinting of sky-blue about her eyelids, like she had done on our honeymoon. She was alluring to me well beyond what any pretty girl might ever reasonably hope to attain.

"Thou hast this day, Sir Knight," she started off with a lady-like, maid Miriam voice, soft and courtly, "slain the most fearsome of dragons… I have prepared myself to reward thy labors as promised with a gentle kiss upon thy fevered brow, should it be, Sir Knight," and a lovely mirth danced in her eyes, "that this poor maid finds favor in thy sight."

It was a memorable moment that I shall enjoy to my last day. She stood there in front of me with a sweet and shy surrender that was Christine, my sweetheart, through and through. I loved her dearly.

"M'Lady, no maid hath yet caught and captured my heart as thy sweetness and devotion, and my eye as thy fair beauty… and surely there can be none more desirous in all the realm than the cherished favors thou dost so tenderly bestow upon thy devoted servant."

Staying in our little charade, I bowed my head to her and knelt respectfully before her on one knee.

I could hear her delightful giggle in response and so I reached out and filled my hands with her cute little bottom and pull her to me, and kissed her on her bare tummy and rubbed my whiskers on her tender skin. She giggled some more as I tickled her, but moaned softly when I growled and blew into her navel, and she held my head to her tummy in pleasure.

Marvelous!

With the lights down low, we spent the evening on the couch. I lay back comfortably, and she knelt facing me at my side.

"How many kisses do I get for one dragon, M'Lady?" I asked playfully.

"There is no fixed number, M'Lord Knight. It depends."

With a fingertip, I lifted gently the bit of gossamer covering one pretty breast. Almost instantly I could feel her excitement increase at my boldness. 

"Depends on what, M'Lady?"

I knew her breasts to be very sensitive, and teasingly touched gently her pouty little nipple with just the tip of my finger. Her body jumped involuntarily with the jolt of pleasure that shot through her.

"On what, M'Lady" 

Breathing heavily now, she was having trouble staying in the game. "On the services provided, Sir Knight." Her voice had become breathy.

"Services?" I tweaked her sensitive little nipple gently, causing her to gasp softly. "Be there a list of such services to read somewhere, M'Lady?"

She whimpered softly as her composure began to crumble.

"Doth M'Lady dress so sweetly all the time for all the citizens of her kingdom to appreciate her beauty?"

At my question she raised her heavy lashes, her emotions now very evident in her eyes. Her voice seemed no longer available to her, and I squeezed her little nipple lightly between my fingers and she began to tremble.

"And why doth M'Lady cast spells with the beauty of her dark eyes… tinted delicately with a hint of her signature sky-blue… what purpose might M'Lady have in mind? Me thinks mayhap she doth conjure her spells to some end…."

My questioning in play caused her emotions to steady and she resisted the decomposure that my caresses usually brought on so easily. I could see her eyes twinkling brightly as she looked down at me. Then, tenderly, with both her hands she took mine from her nipple and held it gently to her breast close to her heart. 




Another Springtime Ch. 10



With such initiative, I paused to allow her a break to respond, and waited for her to gather her thoughts for me as she wished. That sweet, shy smile of hers curled the corners of her mouth and she fidgeted a bit, trying to pull the words she wanted into a form that would covey her wishes.

"This maiden hath," she began hesitantly, sitting up now to kneel facing me on the couch, "over these last months had the benefit of a gallant knight's companionship, who has been wise counselor, cheerful companion, and valiant protector. He has given his all and asked nothing in return; and so, Sir Knight, I do now with tummy bare for him alone…" there was a saucy little smirk in those pretty eyes, "wish to drive him wild, to make him chase me and catch me, forever."

She held my hand tightly in hers, and then, before continuing, reached with one hand behind her neck and pulled the tie loose, wiggling lightly and letting the gossamer fall forward off her shoulders and away from her and over our hands, baring her breasts prettily. "With breasts bared to his eyes alone I wish him to know he awakens buzzy bees inside me and brings me the greatest joy any maid has ever known…." 

I noticed that her voice began to quaver slightly with emotion.

"With eyes dark and sensual for him alone I wish him to know…."

Her voice was fragile and delicate as she hesitated a moment, an exquisite tenderness in her beautiful eyes.

"I wish him to know… that I love him, and…" her long hair falling all about us, she leaned her forehead against mine, the very sweetest of her smiles gracing her pretty mouth, "I am his, body and soul, to love and cherish forever."

My heart was full to overflowing with love for her, and I just held her close to me for a while, and felt her snuggle closer still.

"Well, now, M'Lady. That's a powerful message for a single knight. Is he perceptive enough, do you think, to understand all that you have bestowed upon him."

After a moment, she pulled away, as were it impossible for her to speak her mind in my embrace. 

"Of a truth, Sir Knight, it is but the fullness of one maid's tender heart, this day and forever. Still," she was speaking slowly, taking some strength to go on by using the third person, "I have no doubt; for you see, Sir, it is his exalted and wise self who taught me in gentleness and patience, and by his own example, the value of these very things. I give him willingly but that which he has shown me is most valuable to him above all else save his God alone… all the love my heart can give is… his. and only his, forever."

What could I say? She was my heart's delight like I had never imagined.

"Thank you, Darling. I am, because of your gift, the richest and happiest knight in all the realm. As I said once before, you will always be my pretty little vixen!" My heart was really quite moved by her declaration, and I didn't know what else to say.

She giggled sweetly and smiled, opened my fingers with hers, and pulled my hand to her once again to hold it tenderly to her soft breast.

]




Later, still laying cozy in my embrace, she asked if perhaps we might invite the Bergungskommando over to our place for dinner instead of going out, adding that she would like to fix something special, and would I help her a little in the kitchen. The idea caught on immediately and we planned a menu of her choosing, decided we would need a brief shopping excursion for a few things the next morning, and decided together we would make a fun day of it in "Foggy San Francisco." 

In the midst of thinking and planning she became excited at the prospect of such a party and sat up next to me, eyes all alight and dancing. Plans essentially complete, she turned back to me and thanked me for being such a helpful companion to her in the kitchen. At the same moment, she must have seen the warmth in my eyes for her. She sat there, confident and secure in my company, knowing that I loved her dearly, and planning a delightful party with close friends and just brimming with anticipation, and then stopped short.

She had forgotten that she was all bare and in the daintiest reaction to her own surprise, feeling my eyes on her, she covered her little nipples lightly with just her fingertips and dropped her eyes shyly. Her blush was soft and added to the roses in her cheeks.

"You make me, Darling…" her voice was still that of a young girl surprised at the wonder and delight of intimacy with her husband. "You make me… feel little buzzy bees inside when you look at me."

"All the better to let you know I love you, Darling girl," I returned in my best big-bad-wolf imitation, and she giggled at the game and when I opened my arms to her she lay herself and her beautiful breasts across my chest for a hug. 

Incredible!

Shortly we experienced and enjoyed again what had happened before. She had become quite at ease with our physical intimacy and enjoyed our closeness. At such times, relaxed, unhurried, and our passions sated for the moment after our lovemaking, we could talk about all kinds of things and explore most any subject. She ventured a question as to whether I thought Allan was a good match for Jenny, since they were getting rather serious, she thought. 

I knew the two of them talked about such things and that Christine would be privy to thoughts my daughter would be unlikely to share with me, so I took aboard that information with interest. The party would be another chance for me to get to know Allan and the fellows he called his pals.

Then, after a little pause, she opened herself up yet further to me. Did I think she could begin to take some classes at the university? Would I not need to take the next classes in my study plan towards my graduation, and would it be possible for her to go to classes with me or with Jenny and the other girls? She was hoping to expand her world. My daughter and her girl friends were a year or two older and farther along, but Christine wanted not to be left behind. We discussed that for a bit, and I said I thought that would work out quite well and would be a good thing. We added some more plans and details, and the matter flourished.

At length, the conversation ebbed and silence reigned. She was brushing her hair calmly, enjoying being with me and pleased with herself that she pleased me. Then she leaned over to me sweetly and whispered in my ear, "Make me, Darling… I want to glow for you." She was already glowing very sweetly, and just for me! "Make me, again, please."

There is for his lady fair very little a loving knight can not manage and with gusto and élan!

]

Preparing dinner during the day had been a lot of fun for the two of us… a rich, savory Linzensuppe (Lentil soup for the unfortunate non-German speakers) with pieces of potato and ham in it, fresh French bread and cold cuts of Swiss and Bavarian cured meats, a selection of fine cheeses – Dutch Gouda, German Tilsiter, Swiss Ehementhaler – and two kinds of salad, all traditional Swiss recipes done with considerable talent and flair. Jenny and Allan, and the Bergungskommando arrived at our place in time for a refreshing dip in the pool before dinner and the entire group was soon quite at ease. They brought Christine's dress and her knife set and a box full of her clothes that Jenny had rescued, and a couple of other odds and ends. She was ecstatic at their success and thanked them over and over again.

Setting aside the white box with her now safely recovered wedding dress, she stopped me with two big serving platters in my hands and kissed me on the cheek, telling me that her clever knight knew how to slay dragons better than any other in the entire world… an award quite superior, in my estimation, to any other accolade on earth; wonderful.

It deserves a note here, too, as to how she transitioned with me into another social strata. As we worked together in the kitchen she was bright and cheerful and organized and efficient, even if she was wearing her flimsy little peasant girl top, which just barely covered her breasts, and she welcomed my fondling her. As the time drew near where we could expect arrival of company she changed, and presented first her husband, of course, and then our guests with a delightfully pleasant but very modest image of a pretty girl in a light linen skirt and an oversized university sweatshirt over a simple cotton blouse. She was barefoot, as usual at home, and invited the others to take their shoes off at the door and leave them on the little mat provided, and as I watched her early on I saw a socially very polished and skillful young lady in action, feeling safe and secure in the home environment we had created together, open and friendly in a very lady-like way. 

While not pompous and prissy, neither was she ‘sexy' or suggestive in any way. She was a charming hostess, full of smiles and good humor, and when she looked at me the twinkle in her eye seemed to suggest that all she did and accomplished was for me and in my honor. I don't know how she managed that. It was very subtle and low key, but she made my heart glow within me that evening.

It was obviously a delight to her also not only that the three girls and their boyfriends had managed the job so well, and that her dress was safe, but that the three young men, each a rather impressive and handsome fellow and several years her senior, were openly very impressed with her cooking and the delicious soup and all that she had prepared so nicely. It was more than just cozying up to a pretty girl; they zoomed through bowls of the thick, tasty soup like starving men and they steered the conversation repeatedly back to the food, asking her about details and Switzerland, and trying to pick up the many German names for things. It pleased her immensely to feel their appreciation and interest. The large Apfelstreussel she had baked from scratch that afternoon was desert – something like a moist sheet cake with spiced apple slices and fruits on top, which any experienced traveler in Central Europe will recognize as a regional treasure. She had baked these before, smaller, just for me, and they were superb. This one was larger, and the interest that welcomed it and the jubilation that prevailed during its total consumption touched her heart.

So, the socializing in our home was a welcome excitement. The four girls were already close, almost like sisters, and jabbering continually about all kinds of things. It was a vent for Jenny and a serious assist to Christine as well. The fellows were sort of an after thought in some ways but the composite was a wonderful event, and instructive for me. She was trying hard to open up to a world that had been very scary… and this was an avenue for her into an exciting and promising future. She handled it quite well.

The story of our various experiences then sort of spilled out in the course of the fast paced conversation, and all of them were flabbergasted when Christine told them about the first day in the hotel and then, in her delightfully shy way – and with the others urging her onward – our first night together, and then other escapades. 

"And you never told me before, Dad!" 

My daughter was ready to roast me alive, and there was fire in her eyes in a boisterous, yet still half serious way as she punched me playfully. She turned to Christine in an apologetic tone. "I was very surprised when I found you two living together last fall. Christine, my dad has never been that kind of a man with women. I was just shocked."

Christine was wearing a grin a wide as the Golden Gate because my daughter was having a field day with me. Still, especially in the presence of the other girls and the fellows, she could not bring herself to do other than come to my rescue. 

"You should know, Jenny," she explained carefully, "that in all that time before we were married…" she was very earnest and sincere in her declaration, and each of the other girls responded to that, "he never once did anything to take advantage of me or embarrass me or be at all rude like that." 

She seemed suddenly at a loss for words and hesitated. I was pleased at her words. I did not want my daughter and her friends to think other than well of me, and not being intimate with a woman before marriage was a principle for me that I wanted to be clear. I noticed, in that moment, the one fellow staring at his plate, obviously deep in his own thoughts.

"Actually," she ventured meekly – and she masked her playfulness from me very well on this occasion – "I can't say what really happened or he'll beat me!" She and Jenny were far too closely acquainted at this point for my daughter not to see immediately her game and join in, and the two of them dissolved in laughter together, and the other two soon joined them.

There was no defense left for me. To have said anything would have been a mistake, so I just enjoyed their uninhibited girlish pranks and their delight in teasing me. One of the other girls looked at me, probably wondering how I was faring under the jesting, and I just shrugged my shoulders, as if such were to be expected from these silly women. They were the same two girls that had been with us at Christmas, so they were not unfamiliar with such shenanigans and even contributed in their own way.

Christine did take great delight in relating the story of the two fellows she had met in Longview, and the ‘predatory beast' story about the day at the fountain after class had them all just howling with glee. It was a fun evening.

The occasion was very instructive for me. I witnessed a marvelous dichotomy in this girl of mine. With others she showed herself to be as adept and creative and worthy of respect and honor as any of them, and thereby did me a great honor as my wife and companion. Where we were alone together, she was ever as sweet and loveable and alluring – and very much "mine" – as any man could possibly desire. 

I was, indeed, a fortunate man.



Another Springtime Ch. 11



Chapter 11: Living With and Loving My Pretty Little Vixen

The event of our marriage had swept upon us much quicker than either of us had ever supposed would be the case, and several details had been left unattended.

We went shopping together for rings, including a jeweler's shop in Bellevue where he made all his own stuff, all of it impressively beautiful and unique. The problem was that she didn't want a ring. When after some discussion I proposed that I might give her some other kind of jewelry with which she would feel more at ease, and she agreed, and we settled on simple gold bands to at least comply with tradition. I really didn't want her out there in the world and some fellow thinking she was free for the picking, and she understood that. 

Browsing in a mall a few days later I saw something that inspired me, and that same afternoon we went back to the jeweler's shop with my design. On a delicate silver chain, I described what I had in mind, a little heart-shaped pendant with a tiny pearl tucked inside the heart. Could he do it? Christine watched as he sketched an idea on a pad on the table in his cluttered workshop, and we refined the design and the craftsman complimented me on my artistry. He suggested some little variations in the heart profile, leaving it open inside, the more to highlight the pearl. I agreed. I asked that there be only one made, thus leaving it a unique piece forever. He responded readily, and asked if the pendant be for the pretty lady at my side. Yes, I answered, she is my wife, and a unique lady in the entire world. "Then," he spoke softly with a little flair, "so shall it be, and I will strive my hardest to make it a unique emblem of your love for her worthy of her extraordinary beauty. I thank you, sir, for the opportunity to serve you in this way." 

I turned to Christine and found her watching with great interest, dumbstruck at my idea, impressed with the man's declaration, and with her one hand at her throat as if touching the pendant for herself as were it already adorning her. She looked up at me with love and appreciation in those big brown eyes, and even awe at what I had done. I asked her if she liked my idea and she just looked at me in silence, and after a moment nodded her head sweetly.

He said the casting and polishing and mounting would take him about ten days, we established a pick up date, I left an advance payment, and we departed. Only in the car did she recover her voice, thanking me gently for such a beautiful gift. For those ten days she stuck to me like glue, mentioning every time we checked our calendars that there were only so and so many days remaining until... and she was openly thrilled at the prospect of her pendant.

When the day came, and, in the parking lot under the big trees we sat in the car together and I clipped it around her throat the first time, she fingered it appreciatively and thanked me with a big kiss, and then curled up in my arms. "Thank you, Dace; I love it! It's more beautiful than I ever imagined it would be. Now everyone will know that I am really yours, darling. Thank you for loving me, and for your gift." What could I say? Of course, there were several dollars involved, but relative to value received, a mere pittance.

It was a beautiful day.





Another Springtime Ch. 11



In this regard there is, as well, the question of whether she is herself open to advances from other men. I find her dedication to me exclusively quite extraordinary in this day in age, and I am greatly honored by her commitment to me and to me alone, and her steadfast modesty of dress and demeanor in public. This is best related, I think, by my daughter. 

At one of the faculty parties at graduation – as a grad student I had taught lower division classes, so I was included as faculty – I took both the girls with me. They were excited and dressed to the nines. I was away from them just briefly when a man I didn't recognize – probably a little tipsy – approached Christine and, rather too possessively, tried to steer her away from Jenny. By this time not as timid as she had been earlier, Christine protested. He ignored her protest with some comment about her husband not really caring if she let down her hair and "frolicked a little." Jennifer hoots every time she tells this story. Christine was trying to be polite, but the man's attention became more forceful, taking her by the arm, and she resisted, responding then casually but in a very serious tone that her husband had already shot and killed three men who thought they could capture her like that... and suddenly the now quite sober intruder's composure was, according to Jenny, "totally shattered."

But that's getting ahead of the story here.





Another Springtime Ch. 12



Chapter 12: My Kitten and Her Forget-me-nots 

With no visible hesitation and a diligence that was quite impressive, she had taken up the housekeeping and homemaking roles of a wife. These seemed to come quite naturally to her, and she embarked on each new thing like it was an exciting new adventure. She took special delight in calling me "Captain" and, when she did, it told me she was thinking in terms of contributing to our efficiency as a team. She was quick and disciplined to hold to our plans for meeting and conference times to plan calendars and such things, how we divvied up the duties in the apartment, financial decisions, and all that. In response, I tried always to make sure there were little "together moments" recurring frequently to refresh ourselves with a bit of tenderness and attention to each other. We were happy doing things together... most everything, and in the process my fairy princess scattered her sparkling magic fairy dust everywhere in her wake, and made my life an unbelievable delight.

What was very pleasing to me as well was observing her as a person. The anxious, fearful eighteen-year-old girl of the previous summer had transitioned into a nineteen-year-old young lady with energy and creativity, and a delightsome manner with her husband that brought me joy unbounded.

Not to be overlooked here is the little routine that evolved between us during our working periods. Various activities in the apartment kept us busy a good part of the time. Much of her time was in her kitchen, or attending to our clothes... and, as I said, she seemed to derive great satisfaction from seeing her blouses and my shirts neatly ironed, and now she was not at all shy about hanging my shirts in what had not become 'our' closet. A large portion of my work was on the computer, and she would drift by behind me, padding about our apartment in her bare feet like a contented kitten and seeming to me to keep me always in the center of her world, and often stop to rub my shoulders and neck for a while. The large pillow I had kept for her on the floor to my right I soon replaced with one of those large bean-filled naugahide bags, over which I tossed a thick, dark blue cashmere throw. 

The setting caught her attention immediately, and she looked at me questioning, not imagining what I had in mind.

"The young girl that comes to sit next to me sometimes when she just wants to be close to me has... well, she has changed."

It had not occurred to me that she would wait for an explanation, but after a few moments of her standing there mute in surprise the words came.

"She was a good friend and companion, an excellent conversationalist, and I always enjoyed her company... now she has become much more. She is my sweetheart, my wife, my lover, my darling... a first magnitude star in my universe...my heart's delight... and I want her to know that she has a place at my side, a very special place... reserved always for her, and her alone. And that, even when I am working, I welcome her presence at my side, her love and beauty soothing my heart and soul."

Her little bag of embroidery threads and needles lay where I had placed it on the table, and now I tossed it lightly back to where she had last left it on the pillow... now, however, the little red and white bag lay awaiting her on the soft cashmere throw.

"This shall, I hope," I concluded with a little flourish and bow, "make M'Lady's place a little more comfortable and her labors in our home allow her moments to grace my presence with her sweet intimacy."

She was dumbstruck and just looked at me with an incredulous expression, and it pleased me to catch her off-guard so. Looking back, there was, nevertheless, very little in my words beyond her grasp.

At my open arms she recovered, smiled sweetly and stepped into my embrace. "Thank you, Dace. You always do things for me... you spoil me," she cooed seductively as she reached her arms up around my neck. It was always a special reward for her to do that, since in the process her beautiful breasts were crushed against my chest and my hands had full access to the beautiful curves of her back and bottom.

Her lips were full and warm and fresh on mine and her eyes twinkled with delight.

"That which is so nearly perfect does not, M'Lady, incline to spoilage... unless treated rudely and mishandled. Pampered a little from time to time, as is her rightful due, and handled softly with love and affection – usually and with gentleness, though sometimes roughly in passion as well – your beauty's bud blossoms all the more bounteously."

At that she dropped her eyes and snuggled all the closer in my arms, and I unzipped her shorts in back and slipped my hand inside to squeeze her bare bottom a little.

"Meeee-oow!" She was purring like a love kitty begging to be cuddled.

I had learned that I was not to my advantage to accept every one of her frequent invitations to frolic. Firstly, were I to do so, little else would get done; more to the point, of course, was that my own endurance would soon be drained. I did not yet allow myself the reality of thinking myself an 'older' man, but there was no overlooking the facts of the matter. Since our honeymoon it was quite evident. She could match me for enthusiasm and most definitely had youthful endurance in her favor.

Few knights, I wager, will have been called upon to venture into such a perilous quest! Yet, the call often sounded... to horse, to horse!





Another Springtime Ch. 12



"Dace, I don't have a swimming suit." I can still remember the sweetness in her tone as she told me, and she reminded me again of the youthful teen-agers cajoling her dad for a prom dress.

I didn't answer right away, and that moment's hesitation seemed to carry a possible suggestion to her.

"I think I need a suit to go swimming with you." Like I said, she was quick as a wink to connect the dots, and she had enough experience with me at this point that she was only rarely caught off guard when I teased her. It was part question and part declaration, but mixed in there somehow was her questioning my hesitation.

I agreed that she needed a suit and in our shopping excursion that evening she said she didn't think a two-piece was suitable. She was a modest girl, even if now openly passionate and playful with me in private, and she was delighted when she found a brilliant white tank suit similar to the ones at the Bangor pool.

From the very first, she had trouble with the shoulder straps. They were thin, spaghetti type straps, and adjustable. She had adjusted them so they were snug on her shoulders, but as she entered the water the slight buoyancy of her breasts loosened the load on the straps and they slipped readily off her shoulders.

"These straps don't want to stay up, Dace." She could say such a thing with an innocent sweetness that was just darling.

"I don't want them to stay up either, Christine..." 

She turned to me, surprised at my statement.

"You have no idea how very cute you are with the straps down and you holding your suit up in front of you."

She stood there waist deep in the pool, her hands fully occupied and unsure how to deal with the uncooperative straps, and looked up at me over her shoulder... and suddenly her distress changed to... well, something I can not really describe... but the sweet allure in those big brown eyes ripped through my composure like Sherman's march to the sea.

"Darling husband," she whispered coquettishly even as her eyes twinkled, "you're naughty!"

I dove back into the pool and surfaced at the deep end, beckoning her with my eyes to come to me. The pool in their backyard was really quite private and secluded, and I felt that my designs on my wife were not ill suited to our situation. More over, her response to my comment was her own little sign to me that she wanted to be mine and felt safe with me.

After a moment watching me, her hands holding her suit over her breasts and very vulnerable and sweet, she slipped deeper into the water, and began to swim towards me.

"You stir up the buzzy bees inside, and then you tease me... and make me...." She had reached me and hung onto my shoulder while sweeping her hair and the water from her face.

"Make you... make you what?" Hands on her trim waist, I held her to me so that she used both hands to pull her hair behind her head.

"You know already, Darling."

"Do I now? Is not the mind of a woman a mysterious and...?"

"Yes, it is," she interjected with a sweet smile, "but not to her husband when he... when he makes her..." she halted and dropped her eyes. "Makes her want him so."

"Want him?" I tried to make that sound innocent, but there was a distinct twinkle of passion in those eyes.

"Yes, I know you know what I'm trying to say. You just like to hear me say it. Well, I do! I want you... I want you to... to make me yours and all special for you and glowing." Her saucy smile was full of self-confidence that she was my sweetheart. "You know already..." she hesitated and wanted me to not make her say it... and yet at the same time, she wanted me to know, "your love and tenderness makes me all warm inside and I love it when you fill me with your love for me." 

"Well, that's pretty special, I think. My girl... my pretty little vixen... she likes to be with me and snuggle... she's really cute that way!" I lifted her so that her breasts floated a bit and the unruly straps promptly curled off her shoulders as if on demand. "She has the sweetest, most delicately feminine way of telling me..." – she watched me silently as the wet material clung to her pretty breasts – "that she is thrilled she has a special place with me...."

I kissed her softly and felt her return my kiss with pleasure. My mouth wandered over her cheek and throat, to the swell of her breast and nuzzled one free of its covering and nibbled lightly about her cute little nipple, already taut and firm both from the cool water and her arousal, and she giggled and then whimpered at my ministrations. She thrust her one breast into my face and held my head to her, letting herself surrender to me with her tender little whimpers. 

We enjoyed our swim together, especially after I slipped her suit down off her legs. After chasing her about and playing for a time, she came to me with a coquettish little smile and her dancing eyes, and presently I could feel her soft hands on me. Her gesture stopped us and we tried to catch our breaths, but only seldom had she been so open with her desires.

She held me, then looked down at us under the water, moving her hands on me lightly, and then back up at me with eyes beckoning and begging.

"This is what I want most of all, sweetheart. Please... please make me, please make me yours!" 

It was a marvelous afternoon together in the pool and then on the lush green grass under the shade of the big tree.





Another Springtime Ch. 12



Not but a couple of days later she approached me at the dinner table after a light lunch. I had talked about her blossoming like a pretty flower in the sunshine. She had tied her blouse between her breasts and her hair was loose, and she stood next to me waiting for my lead. I reached around behind her and slipped my hand under her short skirt and between her legs and pulled her to me. 

"You are my own personal little Forget-me-not, Kitten, a flower more beautiful than words can tell. I love you."

My hand was intentionally just beneath her sensitive little flower, but I was not touching her as I stroked the inside of her thigh possessively. Still, I could feel her welcome my advance and when I looked up at her she was looking down at me with sweet surrender in her eyes.

"You belong to me, Kitten, to love and to cherish, right?"

She nodded shyly, but that twinkle was in her eyes and her was smiling submissively.

"Show me, Kitten...."

She was unsure at first what I meant.

"Show me your pretty flower, Baby.

That caught her attention. I was asking something new of her, and she was surprised at first.

"Lift up your skirt and show me your cute little flower that is blossoming so gloriously just for me."

This too was a reach for her, but she took delight in having my complete attention, and finally, with one hand, she raised her skirt in front and looked down at herself. In response to my hand her lips were already swollen and puffy, and she was lubricating. Feeling just as exposed as she was in fact, she looked at me shyly.

"You're beautiful, Kitten. You and your cute little flower are my very own personal Forget-me-not. I love you, Baby. I love you very much."

Her shyness seemed to evaporate as she caught on to my words, and she tilted her head and with a fresh twinkle in her eyes, asked, "I'm your own little flower, a Forget-me-not? Your own personal flower?"

"You bet, Babe, and my little flower has my full attention."

Her most precious response was her smile of pleasure at my being pleased with her.

And I was.

Well, once again, I carried her off into oblivion. After riding me to two massive orgasms and me rolling her over to then fill her to the brim, and driving her onward to a third that drained both of us, she was overwhelmed, whimpering and almost bawling until her emotions eased a little and she could catch her breath. That, friend, is something special, to think that I could satisfy her need so fully as to just overpower her like that. Yes, a satisfying accomplishment indeed.

It arose at breakfast the next morning, that she was my cute little Forget-me-not, and I mentioned that I liked her little flower motif on my shirttails... and would she move that up to my shirt pocket?

She was struck dumb that I would ask such a thing, as if somehow people would see.... Of course they would see, I added, but how would they have any idea what the little flowers meant to us?

"You thought it an imposition on me at one time that being true to you I would never look at another girl. As you continue to blossom so beautifully as a woman and a companion, there is, Baby, for me not the slightest temptation whatever.

"Put your cute little flowers on my shirt pockets... and you will then go with me wherever I go, and when I see them I will forget-you-not. When you see them you will be reminded that you have become to me a blossoming flower of incomparable beauty.

"I love you, Christine."

She was silent for a bit, not knowing what to say. The entire idea was to her very demonstrative, and she never would have arrived at it herself, I don't think. Presented so, nevertheless, she came to feel the pleasure of me holding her in such high esteem. After considering what I had said, she stepped across the little space between us and into my arms.

"I love you, Dace. If I have become such a pretty flower it is only because you have tended me so patiently and carefully as I have..." she wanted just the right words, "have learned to love you... and love you loving me, with all my heart. Thank you, Darling."

That was in the very early summer, just shortly before graduation. That's how it came to be that I wear three little forget-me-nots on the pocket of my dress shirts. Now you know the answer to that puzzle.

Our summer was filled with travel and moving and searching for a new apartment and then getting settled, but every day with her at my side was fun. 



Another Springtime Ch. 13



Chapter 13: On The Beach and Beyond

Staying alert to circumstances around you when one could so easily focus exclusively on a companion like Christine is more challenging than one might imagine. Danger, nevertheless, is frequently close at hand, closer than is comfortable.

We had an experience like this in Southern California shortly after we arrived that summer. Our new apartment was about a half mile from the beach, a really exotic stretch of beach with groves of trees scattered about and in places embankments shielding the beach from the Pacific Coast Highway going past.

Jenny had arrived the day before on the train for a short visit and we had driven down to the beach to play in the sand and surf and have a picnic at noon time. We picked a place on the sand under some trees below a little parking area on a low bluff and the three of us got very relaxed. Jenny had a battery powered two-way radio set with her that belonged to Allan, who was working now for a communications firm as an engineer, and was testing and playing with this set. She wanted to hear me talk on the radio with her like we did between ships and stuff in the Navy. I thought it kind of silly, but she was quite serious. Allan was to join us the following day and she wanted to impress him. OK, anything to keep the girls happy, and so we played with the radios a bit, and I taught them a little of voice radio procedures and such, and to top it off I did my rendition of the three Soviet ships yelling at each other that we had overheard years before. The girls didn't understand the Russian, but they laughed at my antics, and I relived an event that had been a riotous experience for us at sea. 

Then Jenny realized she had left her camera behind, and asked if she could drive back and get it. No problem.

Christine teased me that I was such a push-over for my daughter, but was pleased, she said, to see me so kind and generous. I was pleased that she was pleased. 

Under her light, flowered beach wrap she had worn her white cotton bikini this day for the first time out of the apartment, telling Jenny jokingly that she felt safe with me as long as the three of us were together. Now, as Jennifer departed, my wife slipped off her wrap and stretched out on the blanket. I noticed right away that she had worn her gossamer top over the suit top, and she was looking up at me like a kitten ready for a romp with her ball of yarn, or whatever...an alternate interpretation of the image might be the virginal young maiden laid out upon the sacrificial altar to appease the fertility gods... or, more likely, to incite them to riotous living! She was nothing short of spectacular, and it was one of the few times she relaxed enough to play with me like that. She was delectable beyond words.

We talked for a few minutes, and I told her what she did to me being so beautiful to look at and be with. She blushed at my compliment, and I kissed her, and she melted in my arms trustingly. Very soon, an amorous and responsive and nearly naked woman in my arms, I knew that, if a spectacle on the beach were to be avoided, I needed to break the spell and get us moving, so I suggested a walk to get our feet wet in the water, and we were off. I considered only briefly what we left behind... her Bikini top, since I had pulled the ties loose and let it fall away, our picnic basket and cooler, and my little canvas case... but figured all would be safe as long as we kept them in sight and didn't go too far. Too, with her pretty breasts unfettered and with a mere breath of gossamer-like raw silk between them and the world, I could not hope to go far without causing a riot, even if we were all alone on the beach. No, for sure, our stroll would not take us far.

How far is too far, nonetheless, when one has a beautiful girl in one's care? It depends on who's watching you.

We walked, hand in hand in the light surf, playing, frolicking together like a couple of kids, chasing the water and the sandpipers. She was delightfully at ease and playful, and more beautiful with me that I can tell you; and I loved the day. We turned back to walk the other way and I noticed an old blue pickup just visible in the parking area just up on the bluff, though I could see no one. There was a surfboard in the back. Commonplace, I thought. We walked back the way we had come, skipping in the water and getting each other thoroughly soaked in the cool, refreshing water. It was great.

At the water's edge just below our blanket we found a little crab beneath a piece of kelp. Very quickly I was reminded of our honeymoon experience before. Dainty and hesitant, in her very feminine way, she was both frightened and grabbed my arm, while curious beyond measure. We ended up on our knees together in the sand watching the tiny little crab's antics until he scampered across the sand and, like his predecessor, disappeared in the surf. 

She was ecstatic with excitement at the experience, and full of questions about creatures in the ocean, as were I some world authority on marine biology. Apart from the visual impact of her being such a pretty girl, with her gloriously beautiful breasts free in the breeze and all but bare, her vivacious and curious personality made her an enchanting companion. 

We got to our blanket and she knelt down, princess-like, asking for a drink of water. Then, too, she wanted more sunscreen on her shoulders. Holding her top up to her breasts in front of her daintily, she waited for my ministrations. I knew her antics were meant just for me, but she was a real piece of work when she was confident and playful in my presence. I was more than happy to assist, loosed the tie behind her neck – and holding her top up to her breasts with one hand and her hair up away from her neck with the other, she was the personification of feminine beauty and allure... just for me!. Beautiful shoulder and neck, posing just for me, she was... well, how could I possibly describe it? I started to spread the creamy stuff, and it was then that we heard Jenny's radio squawking in the picnic basket.

"Hello, Dad, can you hear me? Please answer me!" We both could hear a note of anxiety in her voice.

My hands were greasy, so Christine retrieved it and pushed the talk button and spoke with the cutest effort at mimicking my earlier official-like drawl:

"ROGER, BABE, THIS IS THE CAPTAIN'S DEPUTY. WE READ YOU FIVERS, OVER"

She was so cute I could hardly contain myself and grinned at her as she looked up at me, proud of herself.

"IS THAT YOU, CHRISTINE?

"ROGER, THIS IS ONE. ARE YOU TWO? IDENTIFY YOURSELF, TWO. ARE YOU JENNIFER? OVER" My girl was getting warmed up to this game and enjoying it, and mimicking the Russian scenario from before.

"OF COURSE, SILLY, WHO ELSE." She was agitated and alarmed, I thought. "DAD, THERE ARE FOUR BOYS UP HERE AT THE EDGE OF THE BLUFF AND ALL JAZZED UP WATCHING YOU TWO DOWN THERE. I'M AFRAID TO GET OUT OF THE CAR. WHAT SHOULD WE DO?"

Before Christine could react and look up to the little bluff above us I took her chin in my hand and bent low as if to kiss her..."Don't look up there, Babe, and just act normal and try to remain relaxed. It's to our advantage if they don't know we know."

She was quick as a wink to grasp my intent, but she could not down play her anxiety. 

"I want my wrap on now, Dace." She had one arm across her breasts with the light silk, and the radio and the sunscreen were now forgotten. Modest and proper, she wanted to cover up.

"Tell Jenny to stand by and we'll call her right back."

"TWO THIS IS ONE BREAK STAND BY WE'LL CALL YOU BACK OUT."

I thought that was pretty cool that she had picked up on the procedure and was handling the radio just as if she were at sea. As I tied her top behind her neck and helped her on with her wrap and she bound it quickly around her waist, and I considered our best course of action. Here much of my earlier precautionary planning came to our aid. The car's visor had a little typed placard I had prepared the previous week.

"All right, XO, pass this to Jenny," and I spieled off a set of instructions in segments as I formulated them in my head, and she passed them on as were she the bridge phone talker on my ship at sea. Her modesty restored and covered up now, she was amazing and very steady.

"TWO THIS IS ONE BREAK REMAIN IN THE CAR FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY...

"CALL THE BEACH PATROL ON YOUR CELL PHONE... NUMBER IS ON THE VISOR... REQUEST ASSISTANCE AT LOCATION PARKING LOT THREE SIX... I SAY AGAIN LOT THREE SIX... 

"ADVISE IF BOYS ARE STILL IN A GROUP BREAK OVER."

"Roger, I understand, Christine." Jennifer was much more upset than my wife was, judging from her voice. "No, three of them are leaving, going down the bluff, I think, they don't seem to be sure what they are doing."

"Tell her to continue talking to us and tell us what the boys are doing." We couldn't see them from where we were, and knowing their intentions was important.

"JENNY, CONTINUE TO TELL US WHAT THE BOYS ARE DOING...OH, JENNY... DACE HAS HIS GUN HERE. KEEP TALKING TO ME... OVER."

She had seen me unwrapping the canvas pack, and I slipped the Colt into the front of my suit, under the shirt I had put on, and was getting up to move.

"Let's head for the car, Babe, all casual like."

"I'll carry the picnic basket, Dace, OK?" She was quick to stand by me, and knew I would keep my right hand free.

"Thanks, Babe." I hefted the little cooler with the soda, she the basket she and Jenny had packed, and we headed out. "Tell her we're coming."

"WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO YOU, JENNY"

But our way was blocked.

There were three of them, one on the trail to the right, two on another to our left; younger guys, early to mid twenties, scroungey, rough-and-tumble types, unkempt, and I thought any respectable surfer would not be seen dead around them.

"The party is over, fellows!" I spoke confidently and trying not to reflect my own anxiety. I hesitated to move forward because to do so would bring us between them... not to our advantage.

"Well, now, we think the f#$%ing party is just about to begin."

"Yea, with a classy little bitch like her, it's goin' be a grand party."

"Watch you mouth, son. That kinda talk can get you in deep trouble."

"Ooooh, the big man can talk real tough-like." and with that the lead fellow on the left started forward.

"Whoa," I held up my hand for him to keep his distance, "right where you are, kid." Twenty feet was all that separated us now and that was close enough for me.

"You don't give no orders here, old man." Yet, he had stopped, I noticed.

Well, it's best to negotiate from a position of strength, and with that the 1911 Colt appeared in my hand from under my shirt. 

"As a matter of fact, sonny," I said, as casually as I could, "I do give the orders here."

The fellow to my right started to move as if to get behind me. That would have been disaster, so I pointed the Colt right at his chest, and then, having his complete attention, motioned him to my left to join the others.

"Move it, junior!" I barked.

The fellow was a little quicker to move now, but still sullen.

"Call your pals down here."

"There ain't but just us three," said the lead fellow on the left, a smirk on his face. With his brash return he told me that he had missed our exchange on the hand-held radios altogether. He may have been watching closely, but he missed that little detail.

I leveled the Colt at his chest.

"Don't mess with me, kid. Call 'em!"

No response. 

He was a tough cookie, or trying' to be; but not very smart.

"There are three of us, to your one." He was trying to bulldoze me and save face with his fellows.

"Well, you're a math whiz, too, eh, son." The fellow on my right stood close to the other two now.

"Call 'em!"

Indecision. No action one way or another. This was actually to our advantage, since by their indecision they had conceded their aggression for the moment. The trick now was to resolve the matter and get out of there with no injuries.

"You know," I started out very slowly, "one of these slugs'll take that leg of yours right off, just cleaner 'n a whistle, and if it hits a bone...."

His fists were clenching. Pride was at stake and he was obstinate, and trying to decide how to gauge me; clearly they had not anticipated me having a pistol. Well, isn't that just too bad. 

Though stopped, his reactions were still unpredictable, looking for an opening.

I had not really thought they would be so stubborn, but whether they knew it or not the negotiations were over. Up against the bushes and grass above the sand was a piece of driftwood, nothing special, a dried out piece of dunnage from some ship that had spent several years at sea on its own. It was about ten yards away, between the three of them, and a single .45 caliber slug shattered the middle of the board and created a cloud of sand and dust and splinters that suddenly engulfed them and captured their full attention.

"Jerry! Get down here quick! Jerry, please, right now." The second kid on the left collapsed to his knees bawling in fear. The other two were much less willing to play now that I had upped the ante by several magnitudes.

Shortly the forth fellow was standing behind them wondering what was going down.

"You two, pick him up," I motioned to their crumpled comrade, "and carry him up to the parking lot."

Such menial labor was, in their opinion, well beneath them.

"Are you gettin' my signal, kid? I ain't gonna say it twice!" There was a thin wisp of smoke oozing out of the muzzle and being whisked away in the breeze, but it caught their attention and they began to move.

The fourth fellow, the one called Jerry, looked like he suddenly had the idea to run.

"Hey, Jerry, are you a runner?" The question caught him off guard. "Can you break eleven seconds in the hundred?"

He looked rather proud and strong there for a moment... figuring he could break eleven seconds with ease, and glared back at me.

"I've got a couple of pals here who will be racing with you... " and pointed the Colt his way, "can you beat them?"

My intent was clear enough to him, and his pride and resolution seemed to drain away.

I motioned him down. "On your hands and knees, kid," I commanded.

"Up to the parking lot, all of you... Now! Get a move on! We gotta schedule to keep!"

They were slow and clumsy and two of them were crying now, fearful, their macho image thoroughly crushed. 

Behind me I could hear my XO, talking to Jenny. 

"NO, NOT AT ALL. EVERY THING'S FINE, JENNY. DID YOU CALL THE BEACH PATROL? GOOD. HOW SOON? OK. STAY WHERE YOU ARE UNTIL HE SAYS DIFFERENT."

When Jennifer saw us come over the crest of the bluff she was surprised, and then, seeing that I had things under control, she jumped out and came to give Christine a hug, relieved to see her all right. 

Once out on the parking area, I had the four young studs spread-eagled face down, bare skin on the rough, weathered asphalt, uncomfortable, hot, thoroughly embarrassed in front of two classy looking babes, waiting for the Beach Patrol officer to arrive. 

When the two girls approached me I smiled proudly, like the cat who had eaten the canary in one gulp, but in fact my heart was beating wildly and the adrenaline rush was on.

"Thanks for your support, XO, you're magnificent!"

Jenny looked at me oddly, then at Christine, and my wife was just beaming with satisfaction, even as she was trembling a little in the excitement. When she is confident of her place beside me she is cute beyond all imagining.

"XO, from my canvas kit... I'll need the permit and my ID card to show the Beach Patrol officer."

She picked up on that in a flash. "Aye, aye, Captain."

"Jennifer, thank you very much for being so alert to your surroundings. Your quick eye, and Allan's radios, saved the day for all of us. Do you realize at all what a thrill it is to a dad to have a daughter like you? Do you have any idea?"

She was dumbfounded... first by the fact that I carried a gun, then by Christine's crisp and confident response, and then by my comment and complement to her. She had no idea what to do or say.

Christine retrieved the documents and we stood waiting, and then the Beach Patrol officer arrived and took control of the situation. He was a little surprised to see me wielding a gun, but reacted professionally and properly, and I readily passed the ball to him. Within a few seconds he had taken in the situation, heard my explanation, Christine handed him the permit and my Navy ID card, and he went to his radio on his belt to communicate and get back up support and a paddy wagon for the hooligans.

I turned to Jennifer and pulled her forward to stand near and hear the officer talking on his radio in a real life situation. Still goggle-eyed and very impressed, she was trying to listen carefully to everything he said.

Christine was standing close, and I pulled her closer with my arm around her, and, away from the others so they wouldn't see, patted her bottom possessively. "I certainly am pleased to have you as my XO, do you know that? You are the most stalwart companion to me, and my heart's delight." And kissed her on the forehead. She just wanted my arms around her and wiggled as close to me as she could.

Within seconds it seemed there were two California Highway Patrol cruisers there and the law enforcement fellows went about their business. They were very professional and seemed to handle everything expeditiously. The excitement was past, and I was thinking of getting back to the apartment where Christine could relax a little in private. Still in her bikini and wrap I knew she would not be able to unwind here on the beach with all the men around. The Beach Patrol officer approached me with the Colt and my paperwork to return them, making almost a little ceremony out of the transfer. Then, abruptly, with the girls looking on, he snapped to attention and saluted smartly. "Taylor, William, Gunnery Sergeant, Company E, Second Battalion, THIRD Marines. I'm pleased to be of service sir." He was older than I, as it turned out, had three active tours with the Corps before getting out, and had noticed my navy affiliation from my documents. 

I was surprised, and more than a little pleased by his rendering honors, and told him so, making a comment about the Navy-Marine Corps Team, and thanked him again for his assistance and professionalism. That my sweetheart, in spite of the event, could function so very effectively as my companion again came to the fore. She handed me one of my newly printed calling cards, and with her suggestion easily read in her expressive eyes. I agreed and turned back to him.

"Gunny Taylor... Bill? Dace Shepard," and extended my hand, "and my wife Christine. And this is my daughter, Jennifer, who talked to you on the phone." I handed him my card. "We would be pleased to have you and your lady visit us for dinner some evening. Please be in touch."

He was openly pleased, and that lifted my own heart. He had done a fine job, and probably in more ways than I could know. He deserved, I thought, our appreciation.

And he had, more than I then realized, I soon came to find out. Firstly, his salute impressed the girls like all get out. As soon as we were back in the Suburban, all three in the front seat, Jennifer had to relate all the times that she had seen gate guards salute her dad, even at the embassy in Bonn, and how she was so proud. Christine ventured playfully that now she had seen a proper salute and could be a better XO. They were happy and giggling with each other, and it made the stress of the day pass away quickly. Jenny had picked up on the "XO" business, and asked Christine what that was all about, and my girl explained the situation very simply in her sweet way. "Just like on his submarine earlier, you know, when he was on his reconnaissance patrols..." she said in her dainty manner, "he is my captain, and he made me his executive officer. We depend on each other," she declared, "we are a team!"




Another Springtime Ch. 13



I could feel their adoring eyes, both of them, and felt ten feet tall and absolutely bulletproof! I just drove on nonchalantly, basking in the glory. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the National Anthem and a couple of ruffles and flourishes – I had witnessed the evening retreat once at the Marine Barracks at 8th and I in DC, and the crispness of their rendition always sends tingles down my spine – but the real reward was the depth of feeling in her few words to my daughter. Never will there ever be a medal struck that can convey the matchless wonder of the heartfelt love and trust of a beautiful young girl for her husband. Never! It ain't never gonna happen!

Back in the apartment, Jennifer was next in line as Christine emerged from the shower. Alone together for an interlude, my wife wanted some moisturizing cream to cool the sun's warmth on her shoulders, and then on her back, and then... well, all over... and I was pleased to attend to her desires. Her wet hair still bound up in a towel, I kissed her lightly, mauled her beautiful breasts and made her whimper for me, and then lovingly wrapped her glorious body in a fresh sheet and laid her down on our bed to relax. Laying next to her, I was barely three sentences into the Langston Hughes short story she had requested when my daughter appeared, hair also in a towel and wearing my terry robe, tent-like on her trim figure. 

"Come, relax with us for a while, Jenny," she invited cheerily, then adding, "Dace is reading me a story," making it sound as were my reading to her part of the pampering she had enjoyed earlier, which, of course, it really was. 

We had been up late the night before talking after Jennifer had arrived, and now, the tension of the already long day drained away, by the end of the third page into the story they were both down for the count.

I welcomed the opportunity to just observe and contemplate the two of them. My daughter lay back to back, with my wife between us, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing altering just slightly the contour of her terry-wrapped form. Allan was due in the next day, and the story telling after today would be a real festival of giggling and excitement, I knew. He had shown himself to be a good man, and I thought I could guess what Jenny's response would be to his proposal when it came. They would make an excellent couple.

Our existence has changed gradually and became more normal. What is normal, anyway? At any rate, the "syndicate" seems to have either given up on us or, at least, turned its attention elsewhere. There has been no sign of them for more than a year now, and contacts with Joe are now on an 'as needed' basis. That's fine with me.

Christine's fine features as she faced me were in the most graceful repose as she slumbered at my side. We had now two years experience together, and had been married half that time. This was the same young girl I had met that morning in the hotel in Seattle... how very much she had matured over that time. My pretty little vixen was the sweetest girl, just twenty years old, a delightful companion and the most gracious lady a fellow could ever imagine. She lay at rest at my side, and I noticed the sheet falling away to expose the upper swell of her beautiful breast and the little heart-and-pearl pendant she wore so proudly for me.

I had known and loved a beautiful and vibrant young girl... and chance had taken her from me. Now I had found a second, as radiant and wonderful and unique as had been the first and... and she, too, loved me with all her heart and soul. The warmth and tenderness she brought to me is a great treasure. 

Yes, indeed, it was another springtime.