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Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 01

By: OldSarge69



If you are looking for a story filled with sex, then you are probably in the wrong place. I don't write sex stories. I (hopefully) write interesting stories that contain sex. Someone once said that women need a reason to have sex, while men only need a place. Like most generalities, I think that is generally wrong. I think that people need to have a reason to have sex and that if they care for each other, then the love and sex will be even better. All the participants are at least 18.

The first chapter is, admittedly, short. This is to just introduce you to the two main characters, and give you some information about the dynamics between the two. The remaining chapters are longer.

Oh, and if you are looking for non-stop, continuous banging, then you will be disappointed, and probably don't even need to start. There are plenty of those stories available elsewhere. This is NOT a "wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am," story.

While there may be some who question -- at least early in the story -- whether or not this is actually a "Romance," given some of what happens and some of the interaction between the two main characters, I hope you wait until the end of the story before you judge if this is the correct classification or not.

I would also be very remiss if I didn't thank BeachBaby179 for her suggestions, guidance and clarifications in making this story much better. She is an outstanding editor, and this story is much better for her hard work. Thank You Beach Baby!

*

"Oh God, please let her be alive! Please let her be safe and alive!" I said in a silent plea.

I immediately resumed digging through the shambles that was left of her parent's home.

It had only been a little over 30 minutes since I left my house, located next door to her parents. Just a quick trip to the post office to pick up a package I had to sign for since it was certified mail. The post office was supposed to close in less than an hour. If I didn't get the package today I would have to wait until Tuesday, since Monday was a holiday.

I had called Jessie before leaving to let her know I would be right back, and even offered to take her with me.

"I will be FINE, Sam," she stressed, "I've just got one more school paper I have to finish, and I will be FINE!

"Then we will have the rest of the long weekend . . . together."

Graduation from college was less than two weeks away, and I knew how important her school work was to Jessie. So against my better judgment, I listened to her.

CRAP -- Why the hell did I listen to her?

I mean it's not like our part of Georgia never had bad storms before, but this particular storm -- according to the weather prognosticators -- was supposed to be especially intense.

This line of storms had already produced tornadoes in Mississippi, Alabama and other parts of Georgia, but who would have ever believed it could come so quickly -- and so savagely?

When I left the house, the sun was still shining on what was the warmest day of the year. In fact, The Weather Channel said it was the warmest day in May in over 50 years. Just a beautiful Saturday morning.

The post office was only about five minutes away, and there were only a few people in line, so I only had to wait about seven or eight minutes. Even so, when I walked back outside I could not believe how much conditions had changed.

Before I left my house, there were some strong wind gusts but the sun was still shining and it was HOT!

Now, some 10-15 minutes later, the difference was startling. The wind was blowing hard enough to rock my pickup truck where it stood, the temperature had dropped at least 20 degrees, and dark, angry clouds had obscured the sun.

I jumped in my truck and turned on the radio as I raced back to my house.

"Winds are gusting up to 50 to 60 miles per hour, folks, and this is becoming a major storm," I heard the weatherman say on the radio.

Then I heard the "beep-beep-beep" that signified an emergency bulletin.

Almost immediately, I heard the weatherman begin to report the "tornado watch" which we had been under for the last few hours has been upgraded to a "tornado warning." He again explained that tornado watch just meant that conditions were right to possibly generate a tornado, while tornado warning meant that a tornado has actually been spotted.

I was almost halfway back home when two things happened. First, it began raining so hard I could barely see 10 feet in front of me, and second my cell phone rang. It was Jessie.

Due to the wind and rain, I had to slow to a crawl while trying to talk to Jessie on the phone. The rain was pounding so hard on the outside of my truck that I had to struggle just to hear her.

"Sam, where are you Sam?" she cried out when I answered. I could hear the fear in her voice.

I explained I was only about a mile away, but was having to drive at a snail's pace because of the conditions.

"I'm scared, Sam. I mean, really scared," she blurted out. "I have never seen anything like this before."

Despite the conditions outside, I started driving a little faster.

She said the trees outside were bent nearly double, and that some of the wind gusts were actually rocking the two-story house her parents owned.

"Jessie, are you upstairs in your room?" I asked.

When she said, "yes" I had to start nearly screaming in order for her to hear me over the howling winds on both ends of the phone.

"Jessie, go downstairs NOW!" I told her.

She said she would, after grabbing her laptop.

"No, Jessie," I yelled, "Go NOW!"

It only took her about 30 seconds to reach the downstairs level, and she asked, "Now what?"

"Go to your parent's room, grab the blankets off the bed, jump into the tub in their bathroom and cover yourself up. NOW, Jessie, NOW!"

Since her parents didn't have a basement in their home, I knew this was probably the safest location left in the house.

By now, even as slow as I was driving I couldn't have been more than a half-mile from our two houses.

Abruptly, the wind and rain stopped. I could also hear over the phone that it must have stopped raining at Jessie's house as well.

The sky now turned a sickly yellowish-green in color.

Unbelievably, I heard Jessie laugh.

"Get in the tub?" she said, "I think you just want me to take my clothes off." I could hear the laughter in her voice.

I decided that humor was better than the fear I had been hearing, so I began to respond in kind.

I knew what the sudden cessation in wind and rain, and the yellowish-green tint to the sky meant. I had been through one tornado before, years earlier.

"Well, that would be one way to get you naked," I quipped.

"Anytime you want to get me naked," she said, only now I could hear how her voice had turned serious, "all you have to do is ask. I promise it won't be like last time."

I was just about to respond when I saw a car, about 100 feet in front of me, suddenly go airborne.

I never saw a funnel cloud, but one second the car was driving along, then it was flying about a foot off the ground. It dropped back onto all four wheels, but was now sideways across the shoulder of the road.

Seconds later, I actually felt my truck lift slightly off the ground, then drop back to the pavement. It couldn't have risen more than a few inches, but it was still enough to almost make me lose control.

At almost the same instant, I heard a loud roaring sound (like a freight train) coming over the phone, then a horrible crashing sound, along with Jessie's scream!

Then . . . nothing!

"JESSIE!" I yelled, over and over into the phone, but there was no response. No sound, no dial tone, nothing!

I frantically began hitting the redial button, but there was no ring, nothing at all.

Just a few seconds later, a large tree toppled onto the roadway, completely blocking it. Some of the limbs actually hit the hood of my truck before I could slam to a stop.

I continued trying to call Jessie over the cell phone, to no avail.

Finally, I just put the cell phone in my pocket, leaned over and took out a pair of leather gloves from the glove compartment, then opened the door and ran over to the other car. The driver assured me he was fine, just a little shaken up, so I started running to Jessie's house.

It had started raining again, but not nearly as hard as it had been. Even so, before I was halfway to Jessie's house I was soaked.

I continued running, trying to dodge downed trees and tree limbs, plus wreckage I knew was from other homes in our subdivision. Luckily the power lines and phone lines were buried underground, so at least I didn't have to worry about downed power lines.

I live in a four-bedroom, single-story ranch-style home with a separate two-car garage. A covered walkway about 10 feet long joins the house to the garage. My house, unlike Jessie's, also had a large basement.

Jessie's parents live in a large, four-bedroom, two-story house beside mine in a cul-de-sac. One other house shared the cul-de-sac with us, a single-story, like mine.

In the few seconds I stopped to look, it appeared the other house looked fine. I couldn't see any damage at all to it.

My house had a lot of the shingles ripped off, but the roof looked okay.

My garage was gone. I don't mean it was destroyed or demolished or just in a pile of rubble. I mean you could not tell there had ever been a garage there at all. My late wife's Mercedes and my riding lawn mower, both of which had been inside the garage, appeared unharmed. Amazingly, the covered walkway, which is just held up by some flimsy two-by-fours, appeared undamaged.

Jessie's house . . . Oh, God, Jessie's house!

The entire upper story was missing.

It was almost as if someone had taken a giant knife and sliced off the upper part of the house.

It seemed impossible to believe that anyone . . . anyone could have survived in what was left of the house. The destruction seemed so complete I was almost paralyzed with fear for several seconds before my training as both a former Marine and a present day fireman/EMT kicked in and I forced those thoughts deep inside.

I began running again until I reached her house then ignored splintered wood as I began frantically digging through the rubble that was all that remained. The entire front door and much of the wall around it was simply gone.

"Oh God, please let her be alive! Please let her be safe and alive!" I said in a silent plea.

I'm not sure how long it took to reach her parent's bathroom where I was hoping Jessie had managed to take cover. It probably only took 10 minutes, but it seemed like I was digging through rubble and tossing splintered wood aside for hours.

Within a few minutes my forearms were covered with numerous little cuts and scratches. Luckily, the gloves extended well past my wrists.

There was no floor left above what remained of the house. From the moment I entered the house, open sky was above me.

Finally I reached the door to the bathroom. Amazingly, the door opened although the wall nearly fell forward when I started to swing the door open. I grabbed the door jam and pulled it towards me, and the entire section of wall just collapsed. I barely ducked through the doorway before the wall fell.

The tub was completely covered with splintered wood, along with sheetrock from the missing ceiling.

I shoved all that aside until I could see a blanket covering something in the tub.

Praying that I would not find just a body, I gingerly pulled the blanket down some.

Jessie!

Her long blonde hair was almost completely covering her face, but I gently brushed the hair to the side until I could see her.

She had a bump on her head that was bleeding some, but I could clearly see her chest rising and falling as she was breathing.

I think I began crying in relief.

"Oh, Thank God, Jessie, you're alive," I said out loud.

At the sound of my voice, Jessie's eyes begin fluttering before they opened and she started looking around.

She leaned up and put her arms around my neck.

"Sam, I have never been so scared in my life! I thought I was going to die," she said.

Then she started looking up at the open sky immediately above us.

"How did I get outside?" she asked, very puzzled.

That was when I explained she wasn't outside. She was still inside her house, inside the bathtub in her parent's bathroom. Only the entire upper portion of the house had been ripped off.

"If you had still been in your room, you would have been killed," I said.

Jessie turned white as a sheet, then started saying, "You saved my life. By making me come down here, you saved my life."

Actually, that just made me feel worse. If I had been doing what her parents had asked me to do, I would have insisted Jessie go with me to the post office. Then she would not have been endangered . . . or nearly died.

I already had one death on my conscience, and the thought that another woman I was beginning to care so much for might have died . . . because of something I didn't do . . . was too horrible to even think about.

Jessie's parents had left the day before for a few days. Her mother's parents had been involved in a relatively minor traffic accident, and would probably need some assistance for a few days. So they drove to Valdosta in extreme South Georgia.

Jessie normally lived on campus at the college about three hours away. Usually she stayed there on weekends as well, but since this was a three-day weekend she decided to come home, arriving last night well after midnight.

Since college graduation was less than two weeks away, Jessie said she needed to stay and do some final school papers. Her parents had agreed -- but had asked me to look after Jessie until they were back. Not that she really needed anyone to look after her, since she had recently turned 22, but I had agreed.

And less than 24 hours later she could have been killed! Because I did not do what I said I would do.

To tell you the truth, thinking about Jessie made me both excited . . . and nervous. We met less than two months earlier, and were still exploring our relationship.

We began writing each other e-mails, and after a month we had a . . . well both of us were a little hesitant to call it a "date," but we did go out for dinner. Dinner went so wonderfully, we also went dancing that night.

What had begun as a wonderful time for both of us ended up . . . well disastrously is the only word that would apply.

Part of the reason -- a large part of the reason -- she decided to come home was so we could continue to explore and define our relationship. And hopefully take that relationship to the next step.

I was trying not to think about that, so I immediately reverted to my training as a fireman and Emergency Medical Technician-Paramedic, and began questioning Jessie about how she felt or if she was hurt anywhere else.

Jessie kept insisting she was fine, other than the bump on her head and a rather bad headache, and I could not find any other indication of trauma.

"Can you stand up?" I asked.

Jessie got out of the tub with my help, but then I noticed she was barefoot. No shoes.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," I told her. She began complaining, saying she was fine, but I interrupted.

"Listen, young lady," I told her rather forcefully, "you have possible head trauma, so we are going to the hospital -- and I don't want to hear any complaints."

Jessie quieted down. For once.

At least until I reached down and picked her up in my arms.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

I explained that since she had no shoes and all her belongings were scattered probably across half of Georgia, I would have to carry her.

"The ground outside is covered with broken glass and thousands of splinters," I advised.

"You can't walk, so I am going to have to carry you."

Then she insisted I put her down for a moment so she could grab her laptop, which was still in the tub. I couldn't believe she had actually stopped long enough to grab it from her bedroom. Not with a tornado bearing down on her house. That, I thought, was typical Jessie!

Finally, Jessie was carrying the laptop, and I was carrying Jessie.

As we walked through the shambles of the subdivision, neither of us spoke at first. The sheer destruction was simply overwhelming. The next three houses, on the other side of Jessie's house were simply flattened, and several more were badly damaged until the last several houses simply had some shingles missing. It was obvious the tornado had only stayed on the ground for a short distance, before lifting off again.

While I was carrying her through the subdivision, Jessie explained that she had just gotten into the tub, when the tornado hit her house.

"If you hadn't yelled at me to go downstairs . . . I don't know what would have happened," she said.

Jessie's face then turned red, and she said, "Oh, crap!"

Thinking she might have another injury of some kind and I might be inadvertently hurting her, I stopped and asked what was wrong?

"Well . . . I was just thinking about what else we talked about on the phone, and I realized I wanted to do what you asked," she offered, with a big smile.

"What are you talking about? What did I ask?"

I didn't remember making a request.

"After I got in the tub, I had planned on taking all my clothes off," she smirked, then blushed again.

I think I said something about possible brain damage, but Jessie just smiled.

In just a few minutes we were back at my truck, and after putting Jessie in the cab, I grabbed my medical kit and began checking her blood pressure, respiration and other vital signs.

I just rolled my eyes at her when she offered to remove her shirt and bra so I could check her heartbeat!

Relieved that everything physical appeared within normal parameters, I got in on my side and we quickly made our way to the hospital.

But not before I informed Jessie that while there was no OBVIOUS signs of brain damage, I was still a little concerned!

She stuck her tongue out at me.

Once we arrived at the hospital, I carried Jessie inside despite her continued protests that she was fine and could now walk. I also had to tell Jessie we were NOT taking her laptop inside.

Because of my status as an EMT-Paramedic with the local fire department, I knew most of the hospital staff, including many of the doctors.

As soon as I walked in, the receptionist recognized me and buzzed me back to the emergency rooms where a nurse had me place Jessie on a gurney.

"What's up Sam?" she asked.

"Her home was destroyed in the tornado, Janice, and she was trapped inside," I explained. "It took me a while to dig her out, and as you can see, she was hit in the head by debris but all vitals appear to be fine."

"He saved my life," Jessie opined to Janice, "He saved my life, then dug me out of what was left of my parent's house."

Janice and I pushed the gurney into one of the examining rooms. Within just a minute or two a doctor (one I didn't know) joined us.

Janice introduced me as a Paramedic with the fire department. I introduced Jessie and gave the doctor her vitals, after explaining about her home being destroyed.

The doctor introduced himself to both Jessie and me, then added: "You know, of course, that unless you are family you can't stay here while I do the exam?"

Before I could even say that I would wait out in the hall, Jessie had to offer her two-cents worth.

"Really, it's okay Doctor," she began. "Sam isn't family yet, but he is my fiancé! We're going to be married!"

I think my jaw must have hit the floor.

Janice says, "Fiancé!? You didn't tell me that Sam! When are you getting married?"

I began shaking my head from side to side, then grabbed the doctor by one arm, and Janice by one arm, and sort of propelled them both out the door and a few steps down the hall.


Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 01



"Doctor Wilson, Janice . . . Jessie isn't my fiancé. She has been acting a little strange since . . . well even before the tornado hit. I worried she might have suffered some type of brain injury."

"I HEARD THAT!" Jessie yelled.

I walked a few more feet down the hall.

"Do you think you might need to get someone in to do a full mental evaluation?" I started to ask.

"I HEARD THAT TOO!" Jessie yelled again.

"And just for the record, Sam IS my fiancé. He just doesn't know it yet!"

Janice burst out laughing, and even the doctor had a big grin on his face.

I could feel my face turning red.

"Well, come on nurse," the doctor said, still grinning, "we need to examine the patient so these two can start sorting out their . . . relationship."

When they walked back into Jessie's room, I sat down on a chair in the hall and started reflecting back on how I had gotten to this point.



Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 02



I suggest reading the first chapter before beginning this one. This chapter involves Sam and his first wife, but provides the background for what is to come. 

*

My name is Samuel Walker but everyone calls me Sam. I was born in North Carolina, and lived there until I graduated from high school. I immediately joined the Marine Corps, and soon found myself serving a tour in Iraq.

After completing that tour, I took 30 days' vacation and returned to North Carolina. With Boot Camp, Advanced Infantry Training, and a 15-month tour, I had been gone for nearly two years. My only break was a quick two-week leave before flying to Iraq. Now I was back and had 30 days to meet up with old friends and try to renew acquaintances.

I had been back home for about a week when my mother just casually remarked one evening, after dinner, "Sam, Debbie is back home from college for the summer. She got in very late last night."

I felt the blood drain out of my face and actually felt light-headed for a minute. I didn't even answer her. I just walked out of the kitchen and went to my room.

Debbie! To tell you the truth, Debbie is one of the main reasons I joined the Marines. To get away from memories of her.

From the time I met Debbie in Kindergarten we were inseparable. And since she only lived one block from me, as we got older one of us was always seemingly at the other's house. Since Debbie now had a brother and sister (twins) who were six years younger than she was, usually we were at Debbie's house so we could help watch them.

Debbie and I went through periods when we got mad at each other or fought like cats and dogs, but first and foremost, we were BEST FRIENDS. No matter how mad we might have gotten with each other (and I have to be honest here and say it was usually my fault), within just a day or two we would make up and start playing together again.

One thing that Debbie and I had in common was the fact that we were both nearly a year older than anyone else in our Kindergarten class. I had been diagnosed with mononucleosis just before starting what would have been my Kindergarten year, so my parents withheld me from school for that year. Debbie was so tiny, her parents had also held her back for a year. Being teachers themselves, they had seen first-hand how some especially small children tended to be "picked on" in school.

Debbie was the first girl I ever kissed. And I was the first boy she ever kissed. That was shortly before the start of our freshman year in high school. I mean we had hugged and kissed each other on the cheek before, and even quick kisses on the lips, but I mean the first "real" lip-to-lip, tongue-in-mouth kiss!

We didn't go any further during our entire freshman year -- just kissing -- but I and everyone else knew she was now "My Girl." Just as Debbie and everyone else at school knew I was "Her Guy."

During our sophomore and junior years, the kissing evolved into something more, with a lot of touching. There was still that line we both knew not to cross, but we discovered there were lots of wonderful things we could do to each other that didn't involve actual penetration.

As corny and as old-fashioned as it may sound, we wanted to save that final act for our honeymoon.

Everywhere we walked, it was either hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm, and we started talking about the future. We talked about getting married, having kids, where we were going to college (hopefully together), what we wanted to do for a living, and what kind of house we wanted to buy. Everything!

Everyone at school knew that one day, Debbie and I would be married.

Debbie's parents were both teachers, and usually they always took a month-long vacation in the summer. It was always the longest month of my life.

But when Debbie came back from her vacation between our junior and senior years, something changed.

Debbie ALWAYS called me within minutes of arriving back home, but this time she didn't call.

And when I walked over to her house, her Mom told me she was sick and couldn't see me. She wouldn't talk to me on the phone, and did not respond to any emails or letters I sent to her.

That continued for two weeks, until one day I heard an ambulance drive by our house, and saw it stop at Debbie's house.

Yes, I suppose you could say that she had been sick. If you consider the word "sick" to mean getting pregnant while on your California vacation, then coming home and having a miscarriage . . . then I guess she was sick.

Debbie moved to another city for her senior year, living with one of her mom's younger sisters.

For weeks I called, I wrote, I e-mailed and I sent texts to Debbie, begging her to meet with me, talk to me, or get together with me. When I called her aunt's house Debbie refused to come to the phone, and would not answer any of my other messages.

When school started back in the fall, just after my 18th birthday, I found out that I wasn't the only one Debbie refused to talk to either. She completely ignored all her old friends, even girls we had both gone to school with since kindergarten.

Everyone at our school knew that she had gotten pregnant while on vacation and then abandoned all her old friends; everyone who had ever meant anything to her. 

I found out that there were a number of attractive young ladies, most of whom had been friends with Debbie at one time, who were eager to comfort me. I don't doubt some of it was also revenge on their part, since Debbie had apparently forgotten about them as well.

In fact, I lost my virginity to one of Debbie's former best friends.

During my senior year I pretty much slept with anyone who seemed remotely interested in me. I might not have been the best athlete in school, but I was still good enough that a lot of ladies were interested. I had always been popular, and was (or at least had been) a straight "A" student, and parlayed that into a sexual frenzy during my senior year.

My academic standing slipped from all "As" to mostly "Bs" and "Cs" but I really didn't care. In fact, without Debbie nothing really seemed to matter anymore.

I did enough in the classroom to get by, but started spending hours in the gym working out. Most of my senior year passed in a blur of sex, working out, and sports.

At this point in my life, I had lost all interest in attending college so right after graduation I joined the Marines.

Now, I was back in town . . . and so was Debbie.

For two years in the Marines, and for my senior year before that I kept telling myself how much I hated Debbie for what she had done. For her betrayal. For giving her virginity to someone else. For getting knocked up, and refusing to see me. Refusing to even talk to me.

Refusing to explain WHY?

I had not even spoken her name out loud in three years.

I knew I could avoid her for the three weeks remaining of my leave. Even drive up to the mountains and spend a few days or a week or more if I had to. 

The next day, after my mom's announcement that "Debbie was back," I was mowing grass in my Dad's back yard when I looked up . . . and there stood Debbie. 

I again could feel the blood drain out of my face, and actually felt dizzy for a moment or two. 

For a brief instant, I almost felt like two different people. There was "me" watching Debbie, and there was another "me" watching me and Debbie.

I can't tell you how many times I had prepared for this moment, and even practiced what I would say to Debbie. I was going to tell her she was a slut. And that was just for starters.

But then I looked at her; I had not seen Debbie in three years. If I thought she had been pretty before (and she was), she was absolutely beautiful now.

Debbie was such a tiny little thing. Only about 5 feet, two inches. Very slim and trim. Long red hair, incredible green eyes. I doubt that she weighed even a hundred pounds.

I let go of the handle of the mower, and it died automatically. I had once read a book that had a line in it about a "deafening silence," and thought that was really stupid. How could silence be deafening? Now, I understood. Those few minutes were absolutely silent . . . and the silence was deafening.

We both stood still, just looking at each other.

I took a deep breath, and opened my mouth to tell her just how much of a slut she was and how much I hated her. My tongue and lips had other ideas.

"Hi," was the only sound that came out.

"Hi," said Debbie.

"My mom told me last night you were back," I said. 

What was wrong with my mouth? Why couldn't I say the words I had been wanting to say for over three years?

"I know," she answered, "your mom called my mom this morning to let me know you were back also."

"Debbie . . ." That was as far as I got. 

As soon as I heard myself actually say her name out loud (for the first time in three years), the tears started streaming down my face. 

Here I was, a combat veteran of the Marine Corps with a Silver Star with Combat "V" and a Purple Heart while in Iraq and suddenly I was bawling like a baby!

I don't remember falling down on my hands and knees, but that was where I suddenly found myself. I blamed my dizzy spell at first.

Then Debbie was beside me on her knees as well. She put her arm across my shoulder, and suddenly I grabbed her and pressed her body against mine.

God help me . . . I had missed her SO much. So incredibly much.

After several minutes I finally managed one single, anguished word: "Why?"

After a moment I added several more: "Why, Debbie?" I cried, "Why? Why wouldn't you talk to me about what happened? Why did you throw me out of your life? I thought you were my best friend.

"I thought . . . I thought you loved me!"

At those final words, I could feel Debbie's body stiffen. By now, tears were streaming down her face as well.

"I did love you Sam," she said, "and . . . and . . . and . . . I still do! I have never loved anyone else. Only you."

"Sam, I have wanted to explain for three years," she added.

"But I couldn't. I couldn't tell you what happened. I was so ashamed."

With those words Debbie threw her arms around my neck and began sobbing.

"Sam, I have wanted to tell you for so long. I wanted you to know what happened, but I couldn't. I just couldn't," she said.

I just held Debbie until she stopped crying.

"Can we walk down to the creek?" she suddenly asked, taking me by surprise.

I told her "Sure," then we stood up.

"My God, Sam, what happened to you?" she asked, "You are so big now."

And I guess it was true. The last time Debbie had seen me was after the end of our junior year, before she and her parents left for their vacation. Back then, I was only about 5'8", and probably weighed 140 pounds. I was pretty athletic and played second base on the baseball team, point guard in basketball and free safety in football. I was very fast, but not that big.

During my senior year, I pretty much only concentrated on sports, working out and sleeping with girls. I grew about an inch-and-a-half taller, and gained about 15 pounds.

The biggest change, though, came in Marine Corps Boot Camp. During those three months I grew another two inches, and added at least 40 pounds of muscle. Now I was just under six feet tall, and weighed 195 pounds.

So, yeah, I suppose seeing the change in my body was quite a shock for Debbie.

"Well, my parents said I was a late bloomer, and I guess they were right," I said.

We began walking. The very small creek was about a half mile from our houses. It was only about five feet wide, and unless there had been a really hard rain, usually had no more than eight or ten inches of water in it. It was still one of our favorite spots to go to relax on hot days.

Debbie and I could usually build a small dam that would back the water up deeper, then just sit in the water and talk.

As we began walking, I reached over and grabbed her hand -- just like we used to do.

Debbie stopped for a minute, and just looked at our joined hands. I thought she was going to start crying again, but after a minute or two she just smiled shyly, then resumed walking.

In a few minutes we reached the creek, which looked much smaller than I remembered. I hadn't been here in over three years. Not since the last time with Debbie. We both sat down on the side of the creek, dangling our feet over the water.

"Sam, you have to promise me something, okay?" she asked.

"I don't want you to look at me, or touch me until I finish. Please just turn around and put your back against mine and promise not to touch me until I am done."

I protested, but since Debbie was so adamant, I finally agreed.

"You remember that my parents are part owners of a condo in San Diego?" Debbie asked.

I said, "Sure!"

"Usually, the same group of people go on vacation each year. There might be one or two new people, but mostly just ones we have known for years," she started.

"It was only our second day there, and one of my friends invited me to a concert. I knew Mom probably wouldn't let me go, so I arranged to have one of the girls I knew from before invite me to spend the night with her.

"Mom agreed. But rather than stay there, my friend and I left for the concert with some other guys. It was, I thought, very innocent.

"After the concert, the guys wanted to stop at one of their friend's houses. They said they would only be a few minutes.

"Once we got there, the guys insisted we come inside. Just for a few minutes. My friend Beth was all for it, so I reluctantly agreed. Once we were inside, someone handed me a beer.

"I told them I didn't drink, so they got me something else. Something that was supposed to just be fruit punch. Beth was drinking the same thing, so I really didn't think a lot about it.

"By the time I had finished half my drink, I knew something was wrong. I was so dizzy I couldn't stand up, and I tried to leave but one of the guys grabbed me. Then another guy held my nose until I had to open my mouth and they poured more punch down my throat.

"After that, I only have hazy recollections of what happened. At one point I realized someone was taking my clothes off, and I tried to struggle but they just held me down until I was naked.

"After that . . . after that . . . they took turns with me. I honestly don't know how many guys there were. I think there were seven or eight at the house, but I don't know if they all . . . if they all sex with me or not.

"They were doing the same thing with Beth. She must not have had as much to drink because she was struggling more . . . at least until one of the guys punched her in the stomach and told her he would kill us both if she screamed, or continued to fight.

"We were there for hours. They . . . they did everything to both of us. Every possible way."

The entire time Debbie had been talking it was all I could do not to turn around and take her in my arms.

I think the only reason I didn't was she was talking in such a flat monotone, it was more like reciting a book report than reliving something horrible that happened. But Debbie was not finished.

"They hurt me Sam! They hurt me so much."

At that point Debbie began sobbing, and despite her protests I turned around and held her in my lap with my arms locked around her. Debbie's head was resting against my shoulder, and I was softly caressing her hair. When she had calmed down some I had to say something.

"Why didn't you tell me Debbie? It wasn't your fault. They raped you. Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.

"I haven't told you the worst part yet, Sam," she said.

"At some point I passed out. Beth woke me up about four in the morning. She didn't have as much to drink as I did. Beth had grabbed all our clothes, and we sneaked out of the house. The guys were all passed out somewhere.

"After getting dressed in the yard, I wanted to call the police but Beth said it would just be our word, the two of us, against all the guys.

"Beth had her cell phone, so she called a taxi. Beth said we had to just forget what happened.

"I tried, Sam, I tried to forget. And managed to do so until two weeks later . . . when I missed my period. I waited another four days, hoping I was just late.

"Finally, I borrowed the rental car, told Mom I was going to go get some ice cream, but instead went to a pharmacy and bought four different pregnancy tests.

"Mom and Dad went out to eat that night with my brother and sister. I told them I felt a little queasy, so I could stay behind. After they left, I opened the tests. There were two in each box. Twenty minutes later I was staring at eight positive pregnancy tests.

"How could I tell Mom that her perfect little daughter with her perfect straight "As", and her perfect 4.0 grade point average, and her perfect attendance record for 11 years was pregnant and that the father could be any one of seven or eight different guys? I didn't even know their names! 

"And how could I tell you?"

"You should have told me Debbie. I would understand. It is NOT your fault!" I said.

Totally ignoring my comment, Debbie continued her story. But she did not try to move out of my lap. And did not protest when I hugged her tighter.

"I filled the tub with hot water, and went into the kitchen and came back with a large knife," she said.

"Oh, God, what did you do Debbie?" I asked, dropping my arms so I could look into her face.

She wouldn't look at me, just held her hands, palm upwards, to me.

There was a faint white line across both wrists.

"I got in the tub, and cut my wrists and waited to die," she said.

"Only Mom started feeling sick half-way through dinner and they came back early.

"I had lost a lot of blood, but Dad got me out of the tub and Mom wrapped both wrists trying to stop the bleeding while Dad called 911.

"I spent three days in the hospital. Mom, of course, saw all eight pregnancy tests and I had to tell her everything. She called the police, but they said without any physical evidence to support a rape charge, it really would be just my word against the word of the guys. Beth and her parents had already gone back home.

"A couple of days after that we flew back home.

"I told Mom I couldn't see you, talk to you or tell you what happened. Mom got even more upset with me, but when I told her that unless she agreed to not let you see or talk to me, then I would try to kill myself again.

"Then a couple of weeks later I had a miscarriage.

"The rest you know. I moved in with Mom's younger sister for my senior year.

"Do you hate me now, Sam? I would understand . . . really, I would understand if you hated me now."

"Debs," I started, using my pet name for her, "I can't even tell you how much it hurt when I realized you did not want to see me or talk to me after you came back.

"I figured you must have fallen in love with someone else.

"Then when I found out that you had been pregnant, and had a miscarriage, I told myself how much I DID hate you.

"For three years, I have hated you, and wanted to call you every name in the book. I had practiced exactly what I would tell you if I ever saw you again.

"But when I saw you today, I realized that I didn't hate you. That I have never hated you.

"Instead, I realized again, just how much I have always loved you -- and still do.

"I love you Deborah Watson," I stated. "Always have . . . always will."

And again I put both arms around her and hugged her tightly against me.

We were both crying now, but she was hugging me as well.

"I just wish you had told me Debs. I can understand, a little, why you felt you couldn't, but I still wish you had told me.

"It wasn't your fault Debbie! You were raped, and it wasn't your fault," I told her again.

"Oh Sam, if you had any idea how many times I have said that to other women over the past year and a half! Half-way through my freshman year, I began volunteering at a rape crisis center.




Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 02



"I have told dozens of women 'it wasn't your fault,' but I had never believed that about myself," she continued.

"I lied to my mother about where I was going, I sneaked around to go to the concert, I didn't insist that the guys take me straight back home, and I took a drink from someone I didn't know. For nearly three years, I believed that it WAS my fault. That I had put myself in that position.

"Then three months ago I was counseling a woman over the phone, and her story was almost word for word like mine. She had just found out she was pregnant also.

"The entire time, I kept telling her it wasn't her fault . . . that it wasn't her fault. Finally, she said 'I can hear it in your voice. You think it was my fault.' Then she told me she was going to swallow a bottle of pills and kill herself and hung up.

"I wasn't blaming her, but I was blaming myself and she could hear it in my voice. I thought I was responsible for someone else dying.

"I broke down completely, became hysterical and could barely tell anyone what had happened. Fortunately, she changed her mind, but I didn't find out about that until later. They had to call 9-1-1 to sedate me that night. I woke up in the hospital, and began talking to a counselor about my situation. And I finally could accept that it wasn't my fault. It took two months of twice-weekly counseling, but I finally began to realize it was not my fault. Yes, I had made some bad choices, but rape is not the victim's fault.

"Then I realized that I needed to talk to you. To finally explain to you -- the only person I have ever loved -- what happened. To ask if you can ever forgive me for not telling you what happened?"

"Oh Debbie," I said, "you don't even need to ask, but yes, I forgive you.

"Yes, it really hurt, but I understand . . . at least I think I understand . . . why you felt like you couldn't talk to me. I just want you to know that I do love you. 

"And nothing would make me happier than for us to get back together again."

Debbie just looked into my eyes for a minute, then slowly, cautiously, put her lips against mine.

I let her control the pace of the kiss, letting her get comfortable. Soon her tongue brushed against my lips, and I opened my mouth. Debbie's eyes were closed as her tongue entered my mouth, then my tongue engaged hers and I think we both were just sort of swept away by the feeling.

We kissed, with increasing passion, for several minutes before Debbie pulled away.

"Oh, God, Sam," she said, "that was even better than I remember.

"Do you know that you are still the only guy I have ever kissed?" she asked.

I must admit I was surprised, especially considering how beautiful she was.

In fact I even questioned it, since I couldn't believe no one had asked her out before.

"Oh, they asked," she said with a smile, "but I always turned them down. Even had a couple of guys, who weren't used to being turned down, say that I must play for the other team.

"Sam . . . Sam . . . would you make love to me?"

I can't even begin to tell you how much her words thrilled my heart, but I must admit I was also a little worried.

"Are you sure Debs? I mean, yes, I want to make love to you so much, but are you sure?"

Debbie leaned back a little, and again looked deep into my eyes.

"Yes, Sam, I have never been so sure of anything in my life.

"In fact, we have my parent's house completely to ourselves for the rest of the day. Mom told me this morning, after making me promise to come over and talk to you, that she and Dad would be gone the entire day. She said they were going shopping in Raleigh, and the twins are spending a couple of weeks with their grandparents."

At her words, I began laughing.

"What?" she asked, with a very puzzled look, "What is so funny?"

"Debs, have your parents ever 'gone shopping' in Raleigh for an entire day before in the middle of the week?" I asked, using finger quotes.

"Actually, no," she said with a smile. "I really thought it unusual for her to say that. My Dad hates to go shopping with Mom."

"Well, this morning, my Mom told me that she and Dad were going shopping in Raleigh for the entire day," I said, "and I know how much my Dad hates to go shopping with my Mom.

"It looks like your parents and my parents are both trying to get us alone together for an entire day," I added.

"Wait," Debbie said, "why were you mowing the grass this morning? Usually no one mows the grass around here until the weekend, but today is Tuesday."

"I really don't know," I admitted, "Mom asked me this morning if I would mind mowing, and I told her of course not. But then she insisted that I had to start mowing this morning. I couldn't even wait until the afternoon. Why?"

"Well, I got in late Sunday night. Actually it was about three am Monday morning. So I slept until Monday evening. Then Mom and I talked for hours Monday night. I told her I had to talk to you about what happened and ask for your forgiveness. Mom was so happy that I was going to talk to you that she cried. You know how much she has always liked you Sam?"

I nodded.

"But I also told her that I was real nervous. That I was afraid that if I walked over and knocked, once you saw who it was you wouldn't even open the door or talk to me.

"Mom said don't worry about that. I know he will talk to you."

"That explains why I had to mow the grass this morning," I offered, "Mom wanted to make sure I was outside when you came over.

"Debbie, I think your parents and my parents are engaging in a conspiracy! God bless 'em all!

"So, young lady . . . your place or mine?"

Debbie blushed.

"Your place Sam. I've always loved your room."

After we finally got back to my parent's house, I couldn't help but notice how badly Debbie was trembling.

"Debbie, we don't have to do anything if you don't want. I have waited for three years and I can wait for a while longer," I said.

"I don't want to wait any longer Sam. Yes, I am scared, but I am not scared of you. I know you would never do anything to hurt me. I am scared that . . . I don't know . . . I'll have a flashback and do or say something wrong, or that I might not be good enough for you. But I want this . . . and you . . . so much."

With those words, Debbie reached up and put her arms around my neck and pulled my head down until we were kissing. She stopped just long enough to tell me to pick her up.

I leaned down, put my arms around her and straightened up, and Debbie immediately wrapped her legs around my waist. I carried her back to my bedroom, then walked over and set down on the bed.

Debbie and I continued kissing for several more minutes. When we finally stopped, Debbie rested her head against the top of my shoulder and said, in a very soft whisper, "Please be gentle with me Sam. There has been no one since that night."

The she started to cry softly, "They hurt me so bad, Sam. Not just the physical pain, but knowing they were taking something that I wanted to give to you."

I let Debbie cry, while continuing to reassure her that I would be gentle, that I loved her and had always loved her.

Finally, Debbie leaned back, wiped her eyes and said, "Now Sam, now. Make love to me."

I gently laid her back on my bed, then started raining kisses down upon her. Kissing her forehead, both eyes, her nose, and her cheeks. I nibbled on her ear, kissed the side of her mouth, kissed her neck and moved down to the little hollow at the base of her throat.

Then I very gently placed my lips against hers. Her mouth immediately opened, and her tongue plunged into my mouth as she began kissing me . . . desperately is almost the only word to describe it.

We kissed for several minutes until I slowly moved my hand up and cupped her breast through her t-shirt. Debbie stiffened for a moment, then relaxed as I began caressing her nipple.

I already knew she wasn't wearing a bra from caressing her back while down at the creek. In fact, I remembered that Debbie rarely wore a bra except when she was at school, or going out somewhere.

Her breasts were very small, but I also remembered how firm they were. Debbie used to complain so much about the size of her breasts, and I also remembered she once told me she usually wore an "A" cup.

Believe me, I had never complained. I always thought Debbie's breasts were perfect for her body.

In the three years since then, I had been with a lot of women, and many, in fact I think all, had larger breasts than Debbie did, but I had always considered Deb's breasts as the most beautiful I had ever felt and kissed.

As I continued to rub her nipples through the t-shirt, Debbie began moaning.

After several more minutes of kissing and playing with her nipples, first one then the other, I moved my hand down to the end of her loose t-shirt and began moving the hem upward, across her stomach.

I felt Debbie again stiffen, then her hands stopped me from moving the shirt up anymore.

"No," she said softly, breaking the kiss for a minute.

When I moved my hand back up and again cupped her breast through the t-shirt, she whispered softly, "Yes, yes."

I began softly kissing her throat, then trailed my tongue across the hollow at the base of her throat, while continuing to caress her nipples.

Debbie gasped, then grabbed my face between her two hands and pulled me back up to her lips where she . . . well attacked my lips is the only word I can think of that would fit. She was almost desperately kissing me.

When we finally broke the kiss, Debbie started repeating one phrase, over and over: "Make love to me Sam. Make love to me now. Please make love to me now."

I moved one of my hands down to the waist of the shorts, then fumbled for a minute with the button. Once I had the shorts unbuttoned, I slid the zipper down, then started tugging on the shorts.

Debbie lifted her hips off the bed so I was able to remove both her shorts and panties.

Not wanting to use my fingers, lest I make her recall some unpleasant memories, I began kissing my way downward.

I sucked both nipples through the t-shirt and Debbie gasped and pulled my head down tightly against her.

Then I started kissing her stomach and lower abdomen, and reamed out her belly button. Debbie again gasped.

I continued my trail of kisses down until I reached her bikini trimmed pubic hairs and started licking my way down further.

This wouldn't be the first time I had performed cunnilingus, or oral sex on Debbie. I had, in the past, given her any number of orgasms this way.

Remember, during our junior year I said we had really started experimenting with how far we could go, while still avoiding penetration, other than with my fingers or tongue? And Debbie would always return the favor, using her tongue and mouth on me until I had my climax.

But today we both knew that there would be no stopping.

Also, I was a lot more experienced in having oral sex with a woman. I knew a lot more now than I did then about what a woman enjoys.

Usually I could tease a women with my tongue for a long time before getting her off, but today I didn't want to wait. I didn't want to make Debbie wait. I wanted her to have an orgasm as quickly as possible, without rushing too quickly through it.

I was a lot more concerned with Debbie's enjoyment than my own.

"I licked her slit slowly from the bottom all the way up, and then pushed my tongue into her pussy as far as I could. She really seemed to get off on that, so I kept it up, alternating licks with tongue-fucking until finally my mouth found her clit. She really seemed to get off on that, so I kept it up, alternating licks with tongue-fucking until finally my mouth found her clit. When I licked her there, I could feel her starting to shake." Almost immediately she gasped, her body convulsing with an orgasm.

"Oh Yes, Oh God Yes Sam, MY Sam," she cried out.

I let her relax for a minute or two before again licking and tonguing her vulva.

In a few minutes I moved back up and this time started sucking on her clitoris. As she began another orgasm, I pushed a finger deep inside her and I could feel her body react as her orgasm intensified.

I left my finger inside as she again came down, then slowly started moving my finger in and out.

Soon my tongue was caressing her slit again, and I added a second finger.

Damn, I could not believe how tight Debbie was on my two fingers. Yes, I knew my hands and fingers were bigger than they used to be, since I could not even wear my old baseball glove, but had they grown THAT much?

Soon Debbie had her third and most powerful orgasm of the morning and just screamed my name over and over.

This time as she began to come down, she grabbed my head in both hands and began pulling me upwards to her lips. Unmindful of her own juices which were covering my face, she began kissing me very hard, then stopped and said, "Now, Sam, I want to feel you inside me. Please Sam, make love to me. Now!"

I stood up beside the bed and quickly pulled off my t-shirt. I never took my eyes off Debbie's face, and could see her eyes widen at the sight of my shoulders and chest. Yes, I was a lot bigger than I used to be!

I sat down on the edge of the bed, then quickly slipped off my shorts and underwear. I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a condom.

Debbie's eyes never left my face and upper body.

As I positioned myself between her legs, I leaned down and kissed her again.

"I love you Debbie. I always have, and always will. If you want me to stop at any time, just say so," I told her.

She shook her head, then smiled, "I've dreamed of this moment for over three years. Now I want you -- all of you -- inside me."

I positioned my penis at her entryway, then slowly started pushing inside.

We never took our eyes off each other as I pushed inside. I could not believe how tight she was, and honestly didn't know if I would be able to fully enter Debbie without causing her a lot of pain.

Once or twice Debbie winced, and each time I stopped until I saw her nod "yes," before continuing.

By the time I was half-way inside her I could see tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes.

"Debbie, this may be enough for now," I began, "I can see that I am hurting you. We can try again later."

I saw some of the old fire in Debbie's eyes, once someone tried to tell her she couldn't do something. Whenever she was told she couldn't do something, she became like an enraged tigress, trying to prove them wrong.

"Don't even THINK about stopping now Sam, or I will never talk to you again," she said.

Then to my amazement she grabbed my shoulders with her hands and kind of flexed her lower body upwards, impaling most of me deep inside her.

"Ohhhh," she screamed out. "God, you are so big."

I pushed forward until the remaining inch was buried inside her, then leaned down and began kissing away the tears from her cheeks.

"Oh, Sam, NOW I am YOUR woman. Do you hear me, now I am YOUR woman?"

"And you will always be mine, Debbie, and I will always be your man," I told her.

After giving her a few minutes to get used to me, I slowly pulled out until only an inch or so remained inside, then started slowly pushing forward.

Her mouth opened wide as she gasped.

"Sam, Sam, I am so full!" she said in amazement as I bottomed out for the second time.

The third time, when I pushed forward -- just a little faster than before -- Debbie's hips shifted upward to meet my downward thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes," she said.

"It feels so good Sam," she said a few minutes later. "So full, but so damn good."

Then her body convulsed again as she had her first orgasm with me inside her.

I stopped moving until she had regained her breath a little, then starting increasing my pace.

Now I also moved one of my hands underneath her t-shirt and cupped her bare nipple, and started flicking her nipple with my thumb.

She had another, more powerful orgasm and a few minutes later when Debbie had her third orgasm I joined her with my own, then nearly collapsed on top of her.

I felt like I had just run a marathon. I don't know when I have ever been so tired.

It wasn't just the physical aspects of the lovemaking we had shared. I think the emotional toll probably accounted for most of the sheer exhaustion I now felt.

Seeing Debbie today, realizing that I had never stopped loving her, hearing her heart-wrenching story, finding out what she had gone through, then finally being able to consummate our relationship, my fear of hurting her or causing her distress by reliving what had happened to her were more than I had anticipated.

Looking at Debbie, I could also see the exhaustion etching her face, but at the same time see the joy and happiness in her eyes.

"I love you Sam," Debbie said.

"I love you Debs," I answered.

We both grinned stupid grins at each other.

Finally, reluctantly, I pulled out and heard her small gasp. I pulled off the condom, then tossed it in the trashcan beside the bed.

I laid down beside her, then pulled her over until she was on top of me.

Debbie smiled at me, leaned her head up and kissed me on the cheek, then put her head on my chest and snuggled her head against my jaw.

I think she was asleep within seconds. And I don't think I was very far behind her.

I am not sure how long I slept. Perhaps an hour, but when I woke up I was happier than I could ever remember being before.

Debbie had not moved, so I very carefully eased her off my chest onto the bed and on her back.

I have to admit I was curious about something.

Of course I had seen Debbie topless many times before during our junior year. And while we were making love she didn't seem to mind if I touched her breasts through the t-shirt, or put my hands underneath, but she didn't want me to see them.

Being very careful not to wake her, I gently pulled the t-shirt up over her breasts.

Yes, they were small. But still as beautiful as I remembered. And recalling how I was touching her earlier, still firm.

I didn't know why she didn't want me to see her now, but figured it had something to do with the rape. So I started to lower the t-shirt . . . only her breasts looked so beautiful, so perfect . . . I leaned over and gave one a quick kiss and lick. Instantly the nipple got hard, and I heard a very soft "mmmm," come from Debbie.

Not wanting the other breast to feel left out, I kissed that one and gave it little lick. It also got hard and I heard another, "mmmm," coming from Debbie.

Again, I started to lower the t-shirt, but stopped. They were so beautiful! So I leaned over and very carefully took one breast in my mouth and very, very gently starting sucking on the nipple. I heard another, longer and louder "mmmmmmmm," coming from Debbie.

Not wanting the other breast to be lonely, I repeated my actions and heard another long "mmmmmmmm."

I knew I had to stop before I woke Debbie up. When she was ready, she would talk about what was bothering her. But I did spend a minute or two just admiring her breasts before whispering, "See you two beautiful things later." I moved my hand up to pull her t-shirt down when Debbie's hand stopped mine.

I felt like a kid who had been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. I looked up and met Debbie's eyes.

"Did you mean it?" she asked with a very serious look on her face, and I knew immediately what she was asking about.

"Of course I mean it Debs," I answered, "haven't I always told you how beautiful your breasts are, and how perfect for your body. I have always loved your breasts."

Debbie sat up in the bed and looked down at me for a minute. Then she snuggled against me and put her head on my shoulder.

"You know I have always been a little self-conscious about the size of my breasts," she said. I didn't want to interrupt her, so I just nodded




Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 02



"It always bothered me . . . I mean I knew I had the smallest breasts of any girl in school, and it had always bothered me.

"The entire time they were . . . they were raping me . . . they were also making fun of my breasts. One said I must be president of the itty-bitty-titty club, and another said if I ever got pregnant my kids would starve to death. Another said his 10-year-old sister had bigger boobs than I did, and another said '10-year-old sister,' hell, his 12-year-old brother had bigger boobs than I did.

"I was afraid . . . afraid that if you saw them again you would start laughing also," Debbie admitted.

This time it was my turn to sit up in bed.

"Deborah Ann," I started, and her eyes opened wide because the only times I had ever called her that was on those few occasions I was really mad at her.

"Deborah Ann, if you believe ANYTHING those worthless, low-life scumbags said to you, and if you ever again doubt how much I love you . . . ALL OF YOU including your breasts . . . then . . . then I'll TURN YOU OVER MY KNEE and give you a . . . a SPANKING! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

I actually can't recall ever being so mad at Debbie. And as I was saying what I was saying, and as my voice got louder and louder . . . well she just started smiling at me.

Then smiling even bigger and bigger, Debbie sat up in bed. She reached down to the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it over her head, and then took both her hands and cupped her breasts and started rubbing her thumb over the nipples!

Have you ever tried to stay mad when the woman you love is teasing you like that? Then she got up on her knees and leaned in until one of her nipples was brushing against my lips.

"Oh hell," I finally said, "I'll think about spanking you later."

I took the proffered breast in my mouth and start sucking. And unlike a few minutes earlier, not softly. Debbie gasped and put her hands around the back of my head and held me tightly against her.

Incredibly, as hard as I was sucking (which was much harder than I had ever dared to in the past), I heard Debbie say, "Harder, suck harder!" Who was I to argue?

In a few minutes, I switched breasts and Debbie gasped again as I latched on to her other nipple.

"Harder, harder," I heard her say. By now she had one hand between her legs and I knew she was fingering herself.

Suddenly, she cried as a small orgasm racked her body.

"What are you doing to me?" she finally gasped.

"Trying to show you how much I love you . . . and your breasts," I answered.

I leaned backward, pulling her along with me until Debbie was straddling my midsection. I could feel how wet she was against my stomach.

I reached under her thighs with both hands until I could cup her tiny butt in my hands. Then I simply picked her up. Debbie was so tiny, and I doubt she weighed more than 100 pounds.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

I gave her my most menacing and mysterious smile.

"Before, well that was just an appetizer! Now I am going to eat you up!"

She smiled, and then as my intent became clear, as I held her just over my face, she said, "Oh, Sam. We've never done it like this before."

When I lowered her onto my waiting lips and tongue, she managed to cry out my name a few times, but before long all she could do was make meaningless sounds.

I don't know how many orgasms Debbie had, but eventually she began to beg, "Oh, stop Sam, I can't stand it."

When I ceased my relentless assault on her vagina, Debbie said, "Now I want you inside me again."

She slid down until she could reach behind her and grab my now rock-hard penis.

She gasped, turned around and gasped again.

"Oh My God, I had THAT inside me?"

"Sam, you are SO much bigger now -- everywhere."

Although I could see some doubt in her eyes, Debbie positioned herself over me, and ever so slowly lowered herself onto me.

As soon as the head of my penis parted her, Debbie began a litany of "so big, so big, so big," but never stopped. At least not until I was completely inside her.

"Sam, I don't ever want to move! I want to feel you inside me like this forever."

Despite her words, after a few minutes, Debbie raised herself upward an inch or so, then pushed back down. She gasped.

Then did it again, and again, each time raising herself slightly higher.

Before long, she was twisting her hips in addition to raising herself, then impaling herself onto to me.

I honestly don't know how many orgasms she had this time before I could no longer hold it and flooded her insides with my cum.

Debbie just slowly collapsed onto my chest. I think she may have been asleep again before her head hit my chest. And I don't think I was more than a minute or two behind her. My semi-flaccid penis was still inside her.

Again I think I slept for about an hour.

When I woke up, I realized I really, really needed to go to the bathroom, so I eased Debbie off of me and onto the bed.

I got up carefully, so as to not awaken her, and headed for the hall bathroom.

As I was washing my hands, I heard Debbie scream, "Sam? Sam?"

I ran back into my room, and Debbie was sitting up and calling my name.

When she saw me, she started crying, "Oh Sam, I woke up and you were gone. I thought you had left me."

I assured her I would never leave her, and we snuggled together again with her head on my chest.

"What do you want to do the rest of the day?" she asked with a big smile.

"Well, first I think we need to have a little fun. I really appreciate how our parents apparently conspired to bring us together, but I also think it is time for a little payback."

I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand and called my Mom. I had already told Debbie to be very quiet, and when Mom answered I pushed the speakerphone button.

"Hi, Mom, how is the shopping going?"

"Oh, great Sam, how are you doing? Oh, wait, let me put this on speakerphone so . . . so your Dad can hear also."

"I'm doing pretty well, although it is kind of boring being here all by myself."

I could hear the disappointment in her voice as my Mom asked, "Boring? Didn't anything happen this morning, or anyone come by?"

"No, it has been very quiet . . . Oh wait. Now that you mention it, after I finished mowing I was taking a shower and thought I heard someone knocking. By the time I got out of the shower and dried off, and put some clothes on, no one was at the door. Were you expecting someone Mom?"

I could hear someone in the background whisper, "I'll call her."

I looked at Debbie, and she silently mouthed, "My Mom."

"Well, you just never know who might drop by Sam. Listen, are you going to be at home the rest of the day, Honey?" she asked.

"Well, that is one of the reasons I am calling. I am already packed, and thought I would head to the mountains for a few days, go visit Grandpa's old cabin. I haven't been up there in about four or five years and can do some fishing. I'll probably be back sometime Sunday, so we'll still have two weeks left of my leave." Debbie was barely able to suppress her laughter.

"NO!" Mom yelled. "Uhh, I mean I don't think that is a good idea. The old cabin is in really bad shape."

"That's funny, when I asked Dad about it a few days ago he said he had just been up there and everything was fine."

I might not have been able to see, and might not have been able to hear it, but I could sure sense the glare Mom was giving Dad right now. Debbie is having to keep one hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

"Son," Dad finally said, "actually it's not that good. Lots of little things need to be worked on."

"Don't worry Dad, I should be able to fix it up in no time."

"Sam," my mother began again, "I really don't want you going up there. It's so far away, and what if something happens? Cell phones usually don't work up in the mountains."

"Hey Mom, I'm just going to the mountains, not back to Iraq! I'll be fine."

By now, Mom is getting desperate to come up with some good excuse to keep me from leaving.

"Sam, I mean it. I don't want you going up there by yourself. Do you hear me?"

"Really, it will be okay Mom. Beside I won't be going by myself. I will take one of the neighborhood kids with me."

"Neighborhood kids? What neighborhood kid?"

"Oh, you might remember her. Her name is Debbie!"

I heard my mother gasp out loud, then heard whispering in the background. "Debbie? Did he say Debbie?"

After a prolonged silence, Mom finally started talking again, only now I could tell she was trying to use her most menacing voice, rather unsuccessfully though:

"Samuel Obediah Walker! You might think you are some hot-shot Marine, and you might be a lot taller, and outweigh me by 50 or 60 pounds, but I am still your Mama, and I can still turn you over my knee and give your backside a good tanning!"

Debbie completely lost it at that point, bursting into laughter and so did I.

"Debbie? Is that you Debbie?" I heard her mother say.

"Hi Mom."

"Debbie, are you okay? Is everything good now?" her Mom continued.

"Oh Mom, it is a lot better than good."

Debbie looked at me and blushed.

"In fact it is even better than you said it would be! It was magical!"

Oh wow, I couldn't wait to hear that story!

"Sam, are you serious about you and Debbie going to the cabin, or is this your way of making us age 10 years?"

"Actually, when I called I was just kind of making it up, but now that I think about it, I don't know there is any place I would rather be than alone in a cabin with Debbie for a few days."

We looked at each other, and both blushed.

After several more minutes of conversation, both sets of parents gave us their blessings for the trip and we bid each other goodbye.

We were just starting to get dressed when something occurred to me:

"Oh crap Debs, I forgot to put on a condom that last time!"

Debbie assured it wasn't necessary, since she had been taking birth control pills since shortly after her miscarriage.

It really only took about 10 minutes for me to pack what I would need for a few days, so we drove over to Debbie's house. Of course it took her a lot longer. Actually, I might have been partially responsible for that since Debbie said she wanted to take a shower before leaving, and I, of course, joined her.

That shower ended up with us making love again, and then we had to take a shower from that shower to get cleaned up before we finally left.

Eventually, we did get on the road for the five-hour drive to the cabin, stopping at a grocery store for essentials.

Those days were some of the most wonderful of my life. Of OUR life.

I think Debbie and I made love about 10 times a day, and each time it was just better.

I woke up every morning with my Debbie's mouth wrapped around me, and she insisted on "finishing the job" with her mouth. I would, of course, return the favor.

By the time we returned Sunday night, I had asked, and Debbie had said "Yes!" We were now engaged to be married. Both Moms cried! Actually, both Debbie and I were crying when we told them.

I still had two years left on my hitch in the Marine Corps, and Debbie still had two years of college left, so we set our wedding for July of the following year. Of course neither of us had considered the plans the Marines had for me, so nine months later when I received orders for a return engagement to Iraq, we immediately got married.

My second tour ended one month before my discharge. By the time I was discharged, Debbie had her degree in accounting (honor graduate and tops in her class), and had applied for an accounting position with one of the big national accounting firms with offices in Charlotte.

I applied for jobs with the police and fire departments in Charlotte and actually had been accepted by both. The fire department acceptance came back first, so that is how I found myself as a fireman, and later Certified First Responder. I also continued my medical training and completed the EMT-Basic course, and followed that with additional courses to be certified as an EMT-Paramedic.

Debbie was actually hired at a salary nearly double what I was making, and progressed upward through the ranks of her company until, four years later, she was a senior account manager. By now, her pay had more than doubled from her initial salary.

Shortly after moving to Charlotte, we bought a house off the foreclosure market for $200,000. I had saved most of my salary while in the Marine Corps, so we used that to make a substantial down payment. It was an older, large house that was -- quite frankly -- in desperate need of some TLC. Because of my schedule, 24 hours on, 48 hours off, I was able to completely remodel the inside, and install all new siding on the outside. I also landscaped the outside.

Two years later, we sold that house for nearly double what we had paid.

We immediately turned around and bought an even bigger house that had sat vacant for over two years. The owners were so desperate to sell we only paid $250,000.

I again worked my magic and within two years it was a showplace.

Then Debbie was offered the opportunity to take over as manager of a branch of her company near Atlanta. If she accepted, her salary would be doubled again.

We finally decided to accept, and quickly sold our second home in Charlotte for a little over $400,000.

I started putting out feelers for job openings for firemen in the Atlanta area, and found one county advertising for trained firemen and EMTs. I applied and was hired by that county so we started looking for a house on Atlanta's Southside.

We found a rather run-down house in a very nice and rather expensive neighborhood, and bought it, paying cash. The house had a large front yard, and an absolutely enormous back yard. In the back a small stream cut through the property. It looked almost exactly like the stream behind our parent's homes in North Carolina.

The house was only about 10 minutes from Debbie's office, but nearly an hour drive for me. That wasn't really that big a deal, since I would still be working 24 hours on, and 48 hours off.

I was SO glad to get out of the apartment we had been renting for the past three months.

Two weeks after we bought the house, Debbie and I were getting ready to take a long weekend trip back to North Carolina to see our parents. We had planned that I would drive Debs to work that Friday, have the oil changed in her brand new Mercedes (first oil change since we bought it) and I would pick her up at work around noon and we would immediately head out.

Debbie and I were both excited because we would be eating Friday night at our favorite barbecue restaurant in North Carolina. One of the big disappointments about Georgia was the fact we had not found a single place in Atlanta that served decent barbeque!

Almost every week we had been in Georgia we would try a different restaurant, but nothing even began to come close to North Carolina-style barbeque. Shortly after moving to Georgia we both made the mistake of ordering something called "Brunswick Stew" at one restaurant, which the waiter assured us was the specialty of the house and went perfectly with barbeque. It was horrible!

But on Friday night, we would be dining at "The Old Hickory BBQ" restaurant in our hometown.

Unfortunately, after I had completed my 24-hour shift, I had to work another 12 hours since one of the other firemen called out. I actually didn't get home until well after midnight. Debs knew how tired I was, and just let me sleep that morning. She was extra quiet when she got ready for work, and didn't wake me up before she left.

When I finally woke up, there was a note from Debs saying she was taking my truck to work, and that after I got the oil changed in the Mercedes, I could pick her up and just leave my pickup at her work place.

My drive to work included driving on some of the most congested and dangerous highways in Atlanta, while most of Debbie's drive was on quieter streets.

According to the police report, the red light had changed and Debbie had just entered an intersection when a tractor-trailer t-boned the pickup right on the driver's side.

She was, they say, killed instantly, and probably never even knew what happened.

While I had been sleeping that morning on August 15th . . . Debbie was already dead.

I had only been up for about 10 minutes, just long enough to read her note about letting me sleep and once again thanking my lucky stars for someone who loved me and that I loved so much, when my doorbell rang.

I think as soon as I saw my captain, along with the fire department chaplain, I knew.

I was devastated. I think -- no, I know -- we loved each other even more now than when we were first married.

The only downside to our marriage was our inability to have children. Debbie had gotten pregnant twice, and had twice had miscarriages, but we were still trying.

We had a memorial service in Atlanta so that Debbie's co-workers could pay their respects, but the actual funeral was held back in North Carolina, in our hometown. I think half the county must have attended, along with a lot of my old Marine Crops buddies from Iraq. After the funeral, I spent another week in North Carolina, but knew I had to get away for a while. There were just too many memories associated with that state for me to live there . . . at least for a while.

I returned to my now empty house in Georgia, and resumed working for the local fire department. I also bought a new truck to replace the one Debbie was killed in while driving.

Now, for the first time in years, I was all alone again. 

And was blaming myself for Debbie's death!

If only I hadn't slept late that final morning. 

If only I had gotten up like we had planned. 

If only I had been driving.

If only . . . If only . . . If only . . .

About a month after Debbie was killed, I was responding to another traffic accident. In this accident, a truck ran a red light, t-boning another vehicle and killing the driver. 

A young, and very pretty girl with long red hair. As I was looking at this broken young girl, lying dead at my feet . . . I just lost it.

I attacked the driver of the truck (he was drunk) and if the other firemen and a couple of policemen hadn't pulled me off . . . I might have killed him. That was how enraged I was.

The fire department ordered me to begin counseling with a psychologist. For three months I had twice-weekly sessions, where I learned to handle my grief, and finally managed not to blame myself for Debbie's death.

In the months that followed, I found out what an incredible planner she had been. Shortly after starting work, Debbie had insisted on us both having fairly large insurance policies. We were both insured for $500,000. 

What I didn't know was that her company also automatically provided life insurance equal to her salary, which by now was well over $400,000 a year, not including bonuses. Debbie also took advantage of the option to buy additional company insurance that was equal to three times her base salary.

One day I received a check for over $1.8 million! Together, with the regular insurance we had, plus all the money we had saved from her salary, and the money we had made off the sales of the houses, I now had enough money that I really didn't need to work. I just could invest the money and probably live off the interest.

But would that really be living? Sitting around and feeling sorry for myself?

After I finished the counseling, I started really pouring myself into my job. Maybe if I worked hard enough and long enough . . . well maybe I would finally not find myself crying nearly every night.

I said I had learned how to handle the grief . . . not that the grief was no longer there.

Since Debbie had been killed only two weeks after we moved into our new house, most of the moving boxes had not even been unpacked.




Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 03



Again, I suggest reading the first two chapters before beginning this one. Also, I want to emphasize that if you are expecting a story with non-stop sex, then you will be disappointed.

Jessie & the Tornado, Ch. 3

In March, I began doing some work on the outside. There were three very large flower beds in the front yard that had become completely overgrown and filled with weeds, and one warm day in mid-March I put on a pair of gloves and started pulling all the weeds out.

I was wearing an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt, along with an old pair of sneakers. I also had on my customary "USMC" cap I almost always wore if I wasn't working.

One of the things I was quickly learning in Georgia was that the weather was extremely changeable. On Mar. 5, it had been 64 degrees and people were wearing short sleeve shirts and shorts. Two days later, we had two inches of snow. Six days after that, it was 67. So you had to take advantage of the nice days.

I was learning the truthfulness of a statement I'd heard as soon as I moved to Georgia: "If you don't like the weather, just wait a little bit and it will change!"

I had nearly finished the second of three flower beds when I heard someone yell "Look Out!"

Instinctively, I jumped up and swung my head toward the voice.

Just in time for something to hit me right in my temple and send me crashing, face first, into the now de-weeded flower bed. I went in one direction and my cap went in another.

I wasn't actually knocked out, but I was definitely stunned. Whatever it was that had hit me, it had hit me HARD! I just lay there for a few seconds, until I felt someone grab my shoulder and heard a female voice say, "Are you alright? Are you alright?"

I pushed myself up some, spit out the mouthful of dirt I had, then rolled over, flat on my back.

Suddenly, I was just inches away from a pair of breasts.

Very nice, very full female breasts.

The female breasts were attached to a female, naturally, who was on her hands and knees, hovering over me. She was wearing a low cut t-shirt that was probably a couple of sizes too large for her.

From the position she was in, bent over, just in front of my face, I had an eyeful. An incredible eyeful.

"Are you alright?" I heard her again ask.

I couldn't stop staring.

"Well I can see your eyes are alright," she finally quipped, "how about the rest of you?"

I could feel my face turn red with embarrassment, but I finally managed to tear my eyes away from the delightful display.

"What . . . what happened? And who are you?" I finally asked.

A huge smile transformed her face. When she was asking if I was alright, she was very serious. My initial impression was tomboyish, cute in an athletic sort of way, and . . . well more attractive than outright pretty. Okay, that might be a little harsh. Sort of pretty, but not necessarily what you would call beautiful.

Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wasn't wearing any makeup.

Her smile changed all that. When she smiled, even her blue eyes smiled with her. When she smiled, she suddenly became very pretty. Again, not really beautiful, but very, very pretty.

This mystery woman had the most incredible, intense blue eyes I think I had ever seen. She also had a very faint white line along one eyebrow, and I could tell that at some point her nose had been broken since it was just a little crooked.

As I was to find out much, much later, both the faint white line on her eyebrow and the broken nose came from playing soccer. She had actually gotten four stiches in her eyebrow after taking a soccer ball directly in her face. Not only that, but she refused to come out of the game even though her nose was broken and blood was pouring from the split eyebrow and broken nose.

"Well, my name is Jessica," she said, "but my friends call me Jessie.

"We actually met – for about five minutes – the day you moved into this house."

I vaguely remembered, but to tell you the truth I was so busy that day I could have probably met the Queen of England and not remembered any details.

"My parents own the house next door, and I was just leaving to go back to the University of Georgia that day."

I remembered a little more. Winston and Gloria Johansson owned the two-story house next door to mine, and I did, sort of, remember meeting their daughter that day. To tell you the truth, though, I could not have told you her name, or even described her.

"Okay, Jessica (I was deliberately using Jessica, since she said her friends called her Jessie), what happened? All I remember is something hit me in the head."

Now it was her turn to flush.

"Well, that was my fault. I'm on the soccer team at the University of Georgia, and I was demonstrating some kicks to some of the younger kids in the neighborhood. I'm afraid I kicked one ball a lot harder than I meant to, and it hit you and knocked you out."

"It didn't knock me out . . ."

"Did too," she argued.

"No, it did not . . ." I tried to say.

"Yes, it did! Or do you always fall face first into flower beds?"

"Look, Jessica . . ."

"My friends called me Jessie!"

"Look, Jessica . . ."

Her lips curled down, her eyes developed a helpless puppy dog look and her shoulders slumped.

"Jessie," I grudgingly said, and again her entire appearance transformed as a smile lit up her face, "it just stunned me for a few seconds. It didn't knock me out."

"If it didn't knock you out, then can you explain why you started saying, "Mommy, Mommy,' when you came to?"

I was too stunned to say anything in response to that!

"Got you!" she cried out, then started laughing.

Despite myself, I had to join her in laughing.

"Well, this has been an interesting break, but now I really need to get back to work," I said.

"Since I am responsible for delaying your work by knocking you out (I rolled my eyes at her, she smirked), I think it's only fair if I help," she said.

"Jessica (helpless puppy dog look) . . . Jessie (big smile) thanks, but that's really not necessary," I said.

"No, I insist," she declared, "I am not leaving until I have helped you with the other flower bed."

I just shook my head. Women!

I stood up, and she raised her hand with an inquiring look on her face.

I sighed . . . and stuck out my hand to assist her in getting up.

My God! She was almost as tall as I was!

As I have mentioned, I am just under six feet tall, and Jessica had to be at least 5 foot, ten, maybe eleven inches tall.

Jessica bent over in front of me to pick up my cap and . . . well I started staring again. She was wearing an extremely short pair of shorts that barely covered the upward curve where her butt and thighs converged. And that was while she was standing up!

With her now bent over, the shorts pulled up into her crotch and I could see more than a little of her obviously firm butt cheeks.

Before she straightened up to hand me my cap, Jessica looked back at me and caught me staring at her butt.

"Yeah, the eyes are definitely okay," she joked.

I blushed again.

She led the way to the third (and largest) flower bed and I couldn't help it. I continued to stare.

I think Jessica had just about the most muscular legs I had ever seen on a woman – topped by what looked like a beautiful, very firm butt. She walked with the most amazing hip action, and her legs rippled with muscles. She walked with an easy grace that was incredible.

Halfway to the flower bed Jessica glanced back, and again caught me looking at her legs and butt.

And again made a comment about my eyes.

I blushed for at least the third time in the last few minutes. This was anything but the shy, retiring type of women I seemed to usually encounter. And, even more disturbing to me, anything but the petite women I usually found myself attracted to . . . and I had to admit (just to myself) that I was finding myself being attracted to her.

Jessica (okay, Jessie) probably had to weigh at least 140 pounds, maybe more. And not an ounce of fat. Again, watching her walk was like watching a panther glide across the ground. You could sense the immense power in those legs.

Once we reached the flower bed we both dropped down and started pulling out weeds.

Jessie seemed to be constantly doing one of two things while talking non-stop. And I mean absolutely NON-STOP!

Either she was directly across from me, facing me on her hands and knees, or she would move to one side with her butt pointing more or less in my general direction.

When she was directly across from me, I had an incredible view down her loose t-shirt. I think I could probably have seen her belly button if her breasts weren't swaying back and forth.

When she was to the side, the shorts would pull up and I kept getting glimpses of her beautiful butt.

In either case, I could not stop staring. And she kept glancing at me and catching me staring. And kept making little comments about how my eyes seemed to be working perfectly.

"If you want to see more, just let me know," she quipped at one point.

I blushed, she laughed.

When we finally finished pulling the weeds, we both stood up.

"I know you are wondering, so it is 36-28-34 and I wear a "C" cup," she said.

I blushed again and she laughed.

I don't think I have ever met a more . . . exasperating woman in my life.

"By the way," she added, "I am 22." Then with a big grin, "You are what? 45? 50?"

I was 29, and would turn 30 in a few months. A fact I quickly informed her of, then threatened to turn her over my knee and give her a spanking for insulting her "elders AND betters!"

"Oh, spanking!" she purred, "I've never tried that but I read 50 Shades of Gray."

I rolled my eyes at her again and she smirked.

"I guess you just look older while lying face first in a flower bed . . . after being knocked unconscious!"

I rolled my eyes again and shook my head. This was absolutely the most exasperating woman I have ever met.

"So . . . do you have any plans for us for the rest of the day?" she asked with a big beautiful smile. 

Jessie had the most beautiful lips and they looked so . . . soft . . . and . . . tender . . . and . . . kissable . . . (stop it, stop it and don't even think about it!).

For some reason I had an almost irresistible urge to just softly rub my thumb along her eyebrow, to lightly touch that faint white line, then slowly move my hand down along the side of her face to her waiting lips. I could almost feel her lips against my fingers as I imagined caressing her upper lip with my thumb. In my imagination I saw her open her mouth, take my thumb inside and start gently sucking on my finger . . . (STOP IT, STOP IT AND DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!)

I was sweating a lot more than the day actually called for, and for once I was very happy to have my weird fire department schedule!

It was now about 4:30 pm, and I would begin my 24-hour shift at 6 pm.

"Jessica (puppy dog look) . . . Jessie (big smile), I have to get ready to go to work."

Disappointment etched her face, "Oh, my parents told me . . . you work 24 hours, and then you are off for 48?"

I nodded, "Normally, but sometimes people will ask me to work for them, to cover their shift or part of their shift, so sometimes I might work for 36 hours, or 48 hours."

"Well, I am on spring break from UGA, so I'll be here for the rest of the week," she said.

"I am sure we'll be seeing MORE of each other," she smirked, emphasizing the word "more."

I blushed again and she laughed.

Then, totally unexpected, Jessie walked up to me and put her arms around me and gave me a very hard hug. I could feel her firm breasts pushing against my chest.

"It was very nice meeting you, I'm just sorry it started with my knocking you out," she said.

"You DIDN'T knock me out," I tried to say.

"Sure, you just keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better," she said.

I rolled my eyes!

Although my arms had been at my side the entire time, Jessie was still hugging me. I could really feel her breasts pressing up against me.

Hesitantly, shyly almost, Jessie brushed her lips against mine just for a fraction of a second and this time she was the one who blushed. Then she quickly turned away, but not before I saw some tears in her eyes, and Jessie started walking back to her house.

I knew I should have turned away also, but I stood rooted to the spot, watching the incredible sway of her hips as she walked back home.

Several times she would glance over her shoulder at me and smirk, so she knew I was watching her incredible legs and butt.

Even after she went inside her parent's house I stood rooted to my spot, staring at her front door.

And kept thinking about a pair of beautiful blue eyes, soft, soft, tender lips, a slightly crooked nose and that little white line in her eyebrow . . .

I'm not sure just how long I stood there before I literally shook myself almost like a dog shedding water. I slowly walked inside my house, but kept glancing back over to Jessie's, I mean her parent's house.

I don't really remember getting ready for work. I don't remember taking a shower, don't remember putting on my uniform, and don't remember driving to work. When I found myself in front of the fire station, I reached up and felt my chin and knew I had shaved, so I can only assume I must have showered as well.

All I can really remember was that incredible feeling for that tiny little split second when her lips met my mine, before she turned away and walked to her house. And the feel of her firm, full breasts against my chest.

After I arrived at the fire station for the beginning of my shift, I started calling the people scheduled to work the next day, volunteering to work their shift if they wanted off, and arranging for someone to cover my next scheduled shift.

I actually ended up working two consecutive 24-hour shifts.

At the end of that, I drove to Wal-Mart (I was afraid to return home), bought some clothes and drove to Savannah for three days where I stayed at a Bed and Breakfast. 

And managed to convince myself that what I thought I had been feeling really wasn't anything . . . wasn't anything at all.

I mean, it couldn't have meant anything, could it? 

I was still grieving for my beautiful Debs. Still missing her so much that some nights I cried myself to sleep, or some mornings I would get up and my pillow would be wet where I had been crying while sleeping.

At the end of the three days in Savannah (I had now been gone for five days), I finally returned home, very, very early on Monday morning.

There was a letter taped to my front door.

I was almost afraid to open it.

Dear Sam,

I owe you several apologies.

First, I want to apologize for the way I acted. Believe me, I am never that forward when meeting someone for the first time. In fact, most of my friends always complain that I am usually a wall-flower, and they have to force me to talk to guys.

Can I claim that I was a victim of heat-stroke? I know you are an EMT and have a lot of medical training, so is that a valid defense? That I had gotten too hot playing soccer with the neighborhood kids, and was not in full control of all my faculties?

Second, I want to apologize for knocking you out. (Here, I rolled my eyes.)

And stop rolling your eyes at me. (I laughed.)

There, I like your laugh much better.

At the end of the letter is my email address at UGA.

I sincerely hope that you will let me know that you accept my apology for the way I acted.

I understand if you can't accept my apology for knocking you out. (I rolled my eyes again.)

And stop rolling your eyes at me.

If it makes you feel more comfortable, you can call me Jessica.

Your (I hope) new friend,

Jessie

P.S. I hope your eyes are still okay! And stop rolling your eyes at me!



I must have read the letter a dozen times.

Finally, I went inside my house, fired up my computer and tried to compose a response. 

A friend was a concept I understood. A friend was something I could deal with. To tell you the truth, I had had very few female friends over the years. Really, just Debs, but I could handle being friends with this slightly, or maybe more than just slightly wacko woman.

I began the letter, "Jessica," backspaced over that, wrote "Jessie," backspaced over that, wrote "Jessica," backspaced and finally wrote, "Miss Johansson." I finally decided to hell with that, and wrote all three.

Dear Miss Johansson (Jessica) (Jessie)

First, I do accept your apology for the way you acted, although I am not sure if your actions can be fully blamed on something as simple as heat-stroke. It may have been a combination of several factors. Yes, you were hot. Yes, you were running a lot. But I couldn't help also noticing that you are a blonde, so that – in and of itself – may explain everything. (And stop rolling your eyes at ME.)

Add to that the fact that you are a student at the University of Georgia and I have no choice but to accept your apology for the way you acted, since everyone knows UGA students have trouble behaving themselves in normal situations.

Second, I CAN NOT and DO NOT accept your apology for knocking me out, since at no time did I lose consciousness. It would take a lot more than a weakly kicked soccer ball to knock me out.

In fact, last week I helped deliver a baby. After the baby was born, he kicked me as I was holding him. That kick had more impact than your feeble soccer kick. The parents actually named him Samuel, after me!

Your (very old) maybe new friend,

Sam

I read, re-read, re-re-read, re-re-re-read and re-re-re-re-read my letter before finally hitting send.

It couldn't have been more than 10 minutes before my e-mail program "pinged," indicating I had a new e-mail.

Dear Mr. Walker (not just very old, but ancient) (Sam),

"weakly kicked soccer ball"???????

"feeble soccer kick"???????

"blonde" REALLY????? "blonde" SERIOUSLY??????

But thank you for your kind words about how "hot" I looked. (Yes, I am smirking, but it is nice to know that your eyes are still working.)

The only thing that is saving you now is that, because of your insipid e-mail, if I don't leave now I will be late for a class, and I HATE being late for anything.

But after I get out of the class, and after soccer practice, I will respond to your highly insulting, juvenile response. Oh, I can't BELIEVE you are insulting the University of Georgia!!!! You are going to find out that Bulldogs BITE – hard!

Count on it, Oh Ancient One!

Your young and incredibly HOT friend,

Jessie

P.S. Oh, I almost forgot. After soccer practice I have promised I would help one of my teammates move to a new apartment so it will probably be very late before I get back to my dorm.



I hit respond, and wrote a few more words:

Dear Miss Johansson,

"if I don't leave now, I will be late for a class"????

Time management, Miss Johansson, separates kids from adults.

And how can I be both ancient and juvenile at the same time??

Your not ancient, but just "old" friend,

Sam

P.S. Hope your friend is not another blonde, because if she is then halfway through the move the two of you might forget which apartment she is moving into, and which one she is vacating.



Almost immediately, I received a response:

Dear Methuselah,

Up Yours!

Jessie

P.S. Jackass!




Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 03





I laughed out loud, and then closed down the computer.

I spent the rest of the day working outside. First I went to a local garden center, explained about the three weed-infested flower beds, and bought some weed killer, then stopped at a rental place and rented a garden tiller.

I sprayed the weed killer in the flower beds, then plowed everything up, followed by another application of weed killer.

The guy at the garden center explained that after about two or three weeks, I would be able to start planting flowers. By then the weed killer would no longer be effective, but would have killed everything already in the flower beds.

I returned the tiller, then stopped at a local restaurant and ate.

During the entire day, I kept thinking about Jessie's last e-mail and would sometimes laugh out loud remembering how she called me "Methuselah," then wrote, "Up Yours!"

Then I would remember her face with the faint white line across her eyebrow, and how full and soft her lips looked . . . (stop it, stop it, don't even think about it!).

By then it was early evening so I returned home and checked my e-mail. Even though Jessie said it would probably be very late before she got back to her dorm, I was still vaguely disappointed there were no e-mails.

I unpacked from my trip, started washing clothes and getting ready to go back to work the next day. By the time I went to bed that night, there was still no e-mail from Jessie.

The next morning, however, I did have the promised response.

Dear Mr. Walker, Oh Ancient One (Sam)

Okay, I will accept your hypothesis (for the moment) that you aren't THAT old.

But someone did tell me you are old enough that you actually know which came first, the chicken or the egg! Is that true? And which was it?

Someone named a baby after you? Must have been really homely! (Grinning)

And I hoped he kicked you where it counted.

By the way, after he kicked you, did you fall face first into a flower bed and wake up (much later) with a mouth full of dirt and crying for your "Mommy"!!! (Evil grin)

You are seriously going to try to use the pathetic "blonde" excuse to explain my behavior?? Really, I expected something more from someone of your advanced age.

Now, as to your comment about "weakly kicked soccer ball," and "feeble soccer kick," I present this as a standing challenge. I will play against you, one-on-one, anywhere, anytime, anyplace (your choice) in a game of soccer. You can be the goalie, and I will let you see first-hand just how "weakly" and "feebly" I can kick a soccer ball. Just be sure to bring your medical kit BECAUSE YOU WILL NEED IT after I start bouncing soccer balls off your head, and any other part of your anatomy I choose! I do hope your health insurance is fully paid up.

I will be eager to hear your excuse as to why you will duck my challenge, because I know you aren't really man enough to accept!

Again, I want to thank you for your kind comments about how "hot" I am. At least I know that you aren't so old that you have completely forgotten what a female body looks like.

Your friend,

Jessie

P.S.: Oh, I did a search on the Internet to find out what the "USMC" meant on your cap. The only thing I could find was "Uncle Sam's Misguided Children." Seems very fitting for you.



I knew Jessie was probably already in class, but I went ahead and answered anyway.

Dear Miss Johansson, Oh Ye Misguided Young One, Jessie,

Question #1: What do you call it when a blonde dyes her hair brunette?

I have been sworn to secrecy, thus cannot reveal which came first, the chicken or the egg.

Actually, it was the cutest baby you have ever seen.

He kicked me in the chest.

I will just ignore your ridiculous comments about falling face first into a flower bed and crying for my Mommy. Really, that is beneath you – or at least it should be. But then again, you attend the University of Georgia.

I hope you do realize that there is, in fact, no such thing as a "blonde joke?" They are all documented case histories.

And I am MORE than happy to accept your challenge to a game of one-on-one soccer.

First, however, I must say I am becoming really concerned about the youth of today, and their apparent lack of a proper education at our so-called institutions of higher learning. Actually, does UGA qualify for that sobriquet?

And I will stop typing for a few minutes while you look that word up.

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Are you back yet, after looking it up? Or is Georgia still using coloring books for dictionaries? What was it that former Florida head football Coach Steve Spurrier said after hearing about a fire at the main library at UGA several years ago: "The real tragedy is that some of the books hadn't been colored in yet?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Well, I can't wait any longer.

One thing you should realize is – and now seems to be a perfect opportunity to instruct you – that old age and trickery will ALWAYS overcome youth and skill.

So, I get to choose "anywhere, anytime, anyplace?"

Okay, I am a member of the local YMCA, so I choose the next Saturday you are home, at High Noon (just like in the old cowboy movies). The place will be the Olympic-size swimming pool at the "Y."

My goal will be the shallow end, and you can kick from the deep end of the pool, in about six or eight feet of water.

Old age, and trickery, Miss Johansson, ALWAYS overcomes youth and skill.

And yes, I remember what a female body looks like! Do you know anyone who has a nice one?

Your friend,

Sam

P.S.: Answer to Question #1: It is called artificial intelligence.

P.P.S.: USMC, Miss Johansson, is the last, best hope for America. It stands for United States Marine Corps, or a group of people who write a blank check to their country that says, "For any amount, up to and including my life." Although I will admit, at times, if you have ever been around any Marines, "Uncle Sam's Misguided Children" does have some relevancy.

By the time I left for work I still had not heard from Jessie, and then I was so busy dealing with one emergency after another, plus trying to get some sleep at the fire station, that it was the next morning before I had a chance to check my mail.

Wow!

Dear Mr. Senile Old Man,

You are the most arrogant, opinionated, chauvinistic, exasperating man I have ever met in my life!

Your e-mail is living proof that one of the perks of being OLD is that your supply of brain cells is finally down to a manageable size. Notice that I said your supply of brain cells is finally down to a manageable size, NOT that you were doing a good job of managing them.

Yes, we BOTH know someone who has a female body. A very NICE female body. Based on how your eyes were nearly bugging out of your head a little more than a week ago from ogling me, it is now obvious that the blood flow has fled your brain and settled elsewhere.

Your invitation to play soccer in the swimming pool is nothing more than a blatant attempt to get me into a bikini!

Well I ACCEPT your challenge, and intend to wear one of my most revealing bikinis. Chew on THAT thought for a while . . . oh, do you actually have any teeth left to chew with??

If you have enough blood supply left in your limited brain to continue to read this, then I will accept the challenge, based on one proviso. Oh, I forgot that you were a Marine. Perhaps you should ask one of the neighborhood fifth-graders what that word means. I have been told that only rarely do Marines or former Marines understand words with more than three or four letters.

In fact, at UGA, AFTER we finish coloring in the coloring books, we usually send them to the Marine Corps since everyone knows Marines can't color within the lines, and usually can't be trusted with crayons. They tend to stick the crayons in their noses and ears, and other disgusting places.

The one proviso (assuming you have now learned what that word means) is that after I bounce a few dozen soccer balls off your head, YOU have to take ME to MY restaurant of choice.

Assuming you have enough blood left in your pea size brain to make a choice, do you accept?

I will probably be returning home the last weekend in April.

Your friend,

Jessie

Xoxo

P.S.: Earlier today one of my friends told me that one of the nicknames for Marines was . . . I don't remember exactly (you know how much trouble blondes have remembering things) . . . Leatherbrain, or Leatherhead or maybe Leatherface? I know it was Leather-something! So far, based on some of your idiotic comments, I would have to think Leatherbrain.

P.P.S.: I do hope you realize that I have nothing but respect for Marines, and the sacrifices they make for our country. Thank you Sam, for serving your country.

P.P.P.S.: How was the Marine killed while drinking milk? The cow fell on him.



I was laughing my ass off and immediately hit "respond." Unfortunately I wasn't able to finish my e-mail since we had an extremely busy day so I saved my partially completed response in my draft folder, then finished it that night after work. 

The entire rest of the day at work, however, I kept seeing Jessie's face with the little white line along her eyebrow and her soft, soft lips (stop it, stop it, and don't even think about it!).

Dear Jessie,

Question #2: Why did the blonde protest the results of the Olympic swimming event she was participating in at the London Olympics?

I received your e-mail, and must say I am completely appalled at the numerous errors contained within.

Before I get to the core subject you tried (in your limited way) to address, I simply must discuss these errors.

I can only hope that if you ever find anyone willing to give you a job, then that person is himself or herself a graduate of UGA, so they won't notice your grammatical errors.

For instance: "Oh, do you actually have any teeth left to chew with?"

Really, Miss Johansson! I would have thought that even grade school students in Georgia were aware that the proper phraseology is: "Oh, do you actually have any teeth left, with which to chew?"

And yes, I have a mouth full of teeth. And they are all my own.

What do you get if you put 32 Georgia football players in the same room?

A full set of teeth.

When you are signing your name with an "X" it is only necessary to use one, and it is not necessary to add any additional letters.

Now to address some of the issues raised in your rambling, disjointed e-mail.

First, Marines don't need to color within the lines. That's why they make explosives. We can just blow the lines to bits.

Second, my blood supply and blood flow is fine. Thank you for your concern.

Third, Yes, I will concede that you have a female body, but it is just unfortunate that you also have a blonde's brains to try to power said female body.

Fourth, Yes, I did (once or twice) glance your way as we were weeding my flower bed. I was afraid your mind would wander and it is too small to be out on its own.

Fifth, after our soccer game, I will agree to take you to your favorite posh, upscale restaurant, although I have to confess I haven't been to McDonalds since shortly before my freshman year of high school.

I guess I had better stop counting now, since I have already reached the number of fingers you have on one hand. I don't know if you have had advanced math class at UGA yet, where they teach you to count on the fingers of your other hand, plus all 10 toes.

Your friend,

Sam

P.S. After finishing fourth, she claimed all the other swimmers were cheating while they were participating in the Breast Stroke. "They were using their arms," she claimed.

P.P.S.: The actual term, Miss Johansson (which I am sure you already know), is Leatherneck. That goes back to the ancient days of sailing ships (back when I first joined) when Marines were issued swords and would frequently engage in sword fights while boarding hostile ships, or fending off attacks on their own ships. To prevent swords from chopping off heads, the Marines wore leather collars about three or four inches high around their necks. I suggest you read and remember: there will be a test on this later!

P.P.P.S: I knew you were just teasing me Jessie, about what USMC meant. Believe me, I was not offended, and was laughing. One of my all-time favorite jokes is: What is the difference between the Marine Corps and the Boy Scouts? The Boy Scouts have adult supervision. If you have ever seen a group of young Marines together . . . then you would know exactly what that means.

P.P.P.P.S.: Did you hear about the blonde who fell off the horse and was nearly trampled to death? Fortunately the manager of the Wal-Mart came out and was able to unplug the horse.



I had barely gotten any sleep at the fire station during my shift so I was getting ready to go to bed when I read her response.

Dear Sam (Leatherbrain, or whatever),

So you are claiming that you glanced at my female body, and all its charms, "once or twice?" Is that your story? Okay, then if it took us an hour to get the weeds out of your flower bed, the first glance lasted 30 minutes, and the second glance lasted 29 minutes, 58 seconds! I have never seen ANYONE stare that long without blinking before.

I can easily count to 22. That is ten fingers, ten toes, and two of something else that you couldn't take your eyes off of, you old pervert! I have it from very reliable sources that Marines, however, can only count to a maximum of 21 . . . you figure it out!!!! Actually, only exceptional, truly gifted Marines can count that high . . . the average Marine (like yourself????) can only count to 20 and a half!

What? No comment about my wearing my most revealing bikini?

Bring plenty of money, because it will NOT be an inexpensive meal at McDonalds.

Wow! It will be kind of like our first date!

Your friend,

Jessie 

xoxo means love and kisses



As I started to read Jessie's e-mail, I have to confess I had the biggest grin on my face and laughed out loud at her claim of the amount of time I spent looking at her. When she started talking about counting, I was laughing so hard I was nearly crying, and already planning my response.

That changed completely when I read her comment about "our first date." Then when I saw the part about "xoxo means love and kisses," I think all the blood drained from my face.

Before this, I had just been exchanging very playful banter with a new friend. A friend who just happened to be a woman. Men who are friends tend to insult each other all the time. It's just part of who we are.

Suddenly it was no longer just playful banter.

April was still a few days away, so that meant it was less than eight months since my Debs had been killed.

I didn't respond to Jessie, just turned my computer off.

My first thought to myself was, "What in the name of God are you doing, you idiot?"

How did just joking around with a new friend suddenly turn into a date?

I don't know how long I just sat there staring at my now blank computer screen, but it must have been hours.

I finally got up and tried to go to bed, but I continued to think about what was going on, what I had done, how much I had screwed up . . . and mostly think about my beautiful, precious Debs. My mind got stuck on how much I loved her and missed her and how I now felt like I was somehow betraying her memory.

I didn't get much sleep that night. Every time I would fall asleep, I would start dreaming that someone was chasing Debbie. I was right behind them both, trying to catch the guy who was chasing her. But no matter how fast I ran, I could never catch up.

Each time the dream would end the same way. The guy would reach out, grab Deb's long red hair and jerk her to a stop. She would scream, "Saaaammmm!" and I would wake up, drenched in sweat.

When I got up I checked my e-mail and there was another one from Jessie. It started with an old man joke, then she said she had to go to class and would write more after school ended. I did not answer her.

I ate some cereal, and resumed working outside for the rest of the day, trimming the boxwoods in front of the house and gathering up all the old limbs I had cut off.

I did not check my e-mail the rest of the day, I just finally went to bed where I fell into a deep, deep sleep. I don't remember dreaming at all, but when I woke up the next morning my pillow was wet where I had been crying in my sleep.

When I finally checked my e-mail, I had two more from Jessie. One from the night before that contained another old man joke, plus a Marine joke, and a second e-mail she had sent only about 10 minutes earlier. This one had no jokes, but simply asked if I was okay, and if everything was alright.

Jessie had now sent me four e-mails that I left unanswered.

I spent the rest of the day working outside, but in the back yard this time.

When I finally checked my e-mail again, I had another letter from Jessie with several old man and Marine Corps jokes, then she told me about her day before again asking if everything was alright.

I again went to bed without answering her. The next morning I spent most of the day working outside again, but when I finally checked my email just before leaving for work she had not written anything to me.

Within minutes of arriving at the fire station for the beginning of my 24-hour shift, we were dispatched for a traffic accident with injuries. While on the way back to the station, we were called to a car fire. That was followed by another traffic accident, so it was nearly midnight when we got back.

This time, when I checked, I had two more e-mails from Jessie. The first, which she had sent around six pm simply asked how I was, and if everything was okay. Several hours later she had sent a second one, and this time she asked if I was upset about something, if she had done something to make me mad at her.

I knew I had to try to explain. It was not fair to Jessie to let her think she had done something wrong, when it was my fault – all my fault.

Dear Jessie,

Please don't be upset. But the truth of the matter is . . . there is something wrong. And it is me.

I like you Jessie, I really do. But I really think it would be better for you to find someone who has a lot more in common with you than I do.

You need someone who is fun to be around, who enjoys the same things you do. Probably someone closer to your age than I am.

I am so sorry that I apparently led you to believe otherwise.

The fact of the matter is I am damaged goods. And I just realized how damaged.

The fact is I am a long way – a long, long way – from starting dating again.

It has only been a little over seven months since my wife was killed, and I can't, I can't . . . that's it, I just can't. Not when I still love her and miss her so much.

I hope that someday you can forgive me, but right now I can understand if you hate me.

Right now, I hate myself for feeling like I led you on.

I hope that someday we can be friends again.

Sam




Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 03



P.S.: Right now, I really do feel like your nickname for me might be the most accurate – Leatherbrain.



I finally hit send, turned the computer off and went to bed at the station.

I had only been asleep about three hours when the alarm went off, indicating we had another emergency to deal with. Our dispatcher reported a house fire, and within two minutes we were leaving the station. We didn't get back until almost noon.

After cleaning everything up, hanging wet hoses up to dry, and loading on dry hoses it was almost 2 pm. Just four more hours to go.

It was with a feeling of dread I finally checked my e-mail.

Yes, there was something from Jessie.

Do I read it now, learn how much she despises me, or do I wait until later?

That decision was actually made for me, when we got another call for a traffic accident.

By the time we got back from that, it was nearly six, so I just decided to wait until I got to my house. I'm very glad I did.

My Dear Samuel O. Walker,

My Dear, Dear Sam (My Leatherneck),

I honestly don't know that I could ever find anyone that has more in common with me than you do, but you just don't know it yet. And as I am about to explain, I have aged a lot in the past 21 months.

You also said that you hope we can "someday" be friends again. That is not really possible since as far as I am concerned we still are friends.

And since it has almost become obligatory for us to exchange little insults (God I love that part most of all – I never knew how much fun it was!), let me say this. I know how difficult it is for someone of your advanced age to remember things, but if you REALLY, REALLY try, you might remember that in my very first hand-written letter to you (necessary because the big brave Marine chickened out on coming back home) I mentioned that my friends always called me a wall-flower and had to force me to talk to guys. 

I was really serious about that part, more than you would believe. I really have NEVER been as forward with anyone as I was with you that first day. I think my soul recognized someone else who was in as much pain, perhaps even more pain, than I was. 

Yes, part of that pain was probably because I had just knocked you out with an incredibly powerful soccer kick, but once I was FINALLY able to get your eyes to look anywhere but my breasts I could see the deeper pain that mirrored my own.

Let me be honest here and say it really used to PISS ME OFF when "friends" would come up and express condolences about "my loss" then say they understood the pain I was going through. BULLSHIT! If you haven't been there, then "Back Off Bessie," because you don't understand ANYTHING!

Do I understand the pain you are going through? No!

I wasn't married for six years to my childhood sweetheart. My parents told me about that. I guess you, or someone in your family mentioned that to them at the memorial service for your wife.

My childhood sweetheart was murdered two days before our wedding.

So, do I understand the pain you are going through? No. But I understand SOME of the pain you are going through because I am still going through it as well.

If I wanted to be selfish here and look back, I could say that at least you had six years of marriage with someone you loved. That would be six years longer than I had. But NOW? I no longer want to look back.

So, do you understand the pain I am going through? No. But you understand SOME of the pain I am going through.

I want to be honest here. Up until recently I WAS looking back. At what could have been? Do you know when that changed a little? Believe me, there are some days I still DO look back. 

But it started to change when I knocked out this dumb-ass Marine. Maybe I need to do it again?

This coming June 4 will be what was supposed to be the second anniversary for John Bennett and me. He was killed on June 2. I am usually very depressed for a lot of June.

I have not been out with anyone, and have hardly even talked to any guys since then.

Until I knocked you out!

On my soccer team, they call me the "Ice Queen." Partly because I am tall, partly because I am blond, partly because of my Scandinavian heritage. But mostly because they also say I am unemotional about anything but winning.

Right now, I am more emotional than I have been in the past two years. Tears are streaming down my face as I am typing this – because of some dumb-ass Marine!

Looking back at my last few e-mails, before "The Big Silence," I see the error I made. 

Please note: I did not say "our first date." I said "kind of like our first date." I thought I was fairly safe using words of mostly three and four letters since I was writing to a former Marine.

In all fairness to you Sam, one year ago if someone had written something to me about "kind of like our first date," I would probably have freaked out as well. I understand Sam. I really do. I just wasn't thinking (and don't say ANYTHING about that not being unusual for a blonde) when I wrote that.

Sam, please let us at least give it a try. Please, for both of us, say "Yes."

Do I love you? No, of course not. My pain is still too deep as well. It may be that we are NOT right for each other, but do we give up before we even try? For the first time in nearly two years, I can at least IMAGINE what it might feel like to be in love again. 

For that alone, no matter what happens between us, I will always have a little piece of you inside my heart. You made me hope, at least a little, again. 

And, more importantly, you have made me laugh for the first time in nearly two years. Thank you for that.

I also realize I have several advantages here. 

One, I have had an additional year-plus more than you to come to terms with what happened.

Two, I am about to graduate from the University of Georgia, one of our nation's top schools of higher education, and the oldest state-chartered university in the nation. What college did you attend? Oh, I forgot. You didn't.

Three, I am a blonde! Blondes are smarter than ex-Marines.

Four, I have never been a Marine.

Five, I have a brain – oh, wait, are four and five redundant? (Do you need to look that word up?)

Six, if you don't say "Yes!" then I'll knock you out – AGAIN!

Your FRIEND,

Jessie

P.S.: What does the "O" in your name stand for?

P.P.S. My father tells a story about HIS grandfather, my great-grandfather. Great-grandpa was a farmer, and had a mule named Midnight. Midnight was the hardest working mule in three states. Every day, he would pull a plow from sunup to sundown. But every morning, my Great-grandpa would have to start the day by finding a really big stick and hit Midnight right between the eyes. The first time my father told me that story I was horrified. "Why did he have to hit him every morning?" I asked. My father said Great-grandpa always said that every morning, first you had to get his attention! Do I have your attention yet, Sam? Or do I need a bigger stick?

While reading, I immediately remembered that first day, just after Jessie had brushed her lips against mine. I remembered seeing tears in her eyes, before she turned away and walked back to her parent's home.

I read her e-mail a second, then a third time. After I finished crying I hit respond:

My Dear Jessie,

Question #3: Did you hear about the blonde who was attending the University of Georgia? One day, she was bragging in class that she knew the capital of every state in the Union. So the instructor decided to give her a test. "What is the capital of Wisconsin?" he asked.

You have definitely got my attention.

In answer to YOUR statement number six, Miss Johansson: "YES."

Your FRIEND,

Sam

P.S.: "That's easy," said the blonde, "the capital of Wisconsin is "W."

P.P.S.: I really wasn't thinking when I pondered what restaurant you would want to eat at. McDonalds? Of course not. Chuck-E-Cheese here we come.

P.P.P.S.: Are keyboards waterproof? Mine is practically floating now from my tears, after reading your e-mail. I am so sorry. I sometimes forget that other people have had equally horrific tragedies in their lives.

P.P.P.P.S.: Just how revealing is your bikini?

P.P.P.P.P.S.: Did I ever tell you that you remind me of the Venus de Milo?

P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: At the University of Georgia, how do they get the sheep away from the Sex Education Class in order to make your diplomas, i.e., "Sheepskin?"

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S: I may be the big, bad-ass Marine who served two combat tours in Iraq, but you have shown me more about the word courage tonight than I ever knew. Regardless of what happens, Jess, there will always be a little piece of you in my heart as well.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: When does it stop hurting?



I hit send.

I only had to wait about 30 minutes for a response.

My Dear, Dear Sam,

If someone had asked me a month ago, "When does it stop hurting?" my answer would have been that I don't know because it still hurts just as bad.

Of course then I met you. Lying face first in a flower bed.

Now, my answer would be, "I still don't know when it STOPS hurting, but I think I know when it begins to stop hurting so much."

I think it BEGINS to stop hurting so much when you can start smiling. Not all the time, but find moments when you find yourself smiling in spite of yourself.

I think it BEGINS to stop hurting so much when you can start joking and laughing with someone you care about.

I think it BEGINS to stop hurting so much when you can stop focusing on yourself quite as much, and start focusing on someone else.

When I read your e-mails, with all your juvenile attempts at humor, all your fifth-grade level insults, all your use of big words that you probably have to Google: well, for a few minutes I am smiling, I am laughing and I am planning my revenge on you. And for those few minutes it stops hurting.

Does the pain come back? Yes, especially late at night. There are some nights I still cry myself to sleep. But there are a lot more nights now when I think about what you have written, and find myself smiling, and even laughing out loud at something idiotic you wrote.

It is much nicer to fall asleep smiling than crying.

I think it BEGINS to stop hurting so much when you start caring about someone else.

I think that is what they call FRIENDSHIP.

Now, in no particular order:

Chuck-E-Cheese might be your ideal location for dinner, but not mine.

Very revealing.

Hold your keyboard upside down and let it drip-dry. It worked for me.

Wow! Venus de Milo? The statue of Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of beauty and love? Thank you, kind sir!

We tell the sheep either they are going to be made into sheepskin, or we will sell them to the Marines. They always choose death.

Sam, I am so scared at times it almost paralyzes me. You and I know, more so than anyone else, that nothing is guaranteed in life.

Your FRIEND,

Jessie

P.S.: So, what DOES the "O" stand for?



After reading, I hit respond:

Dear Jessie,

No jokes this time. I am so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, so I have to go to bed.

Thank you, Jessie, for being here when I need you. When I need a FRIEND.

Your FRIEND,

Sam



After hitting send, I turned the computer off. I did not read her response until the next morning.

Dear Sam,

Right now, I really do wish I was there with you.

I would love to just sleep in your arms. Just sleep, for one night.

Jessie



The next morning, when I read Jessie's last e-mail, I again questioned myself. What was I doing? Was I being fair to Jessie? Then I went back and re-read her letter when she mentioned about her fiancé being killed two days before her wedding, and the follow-up about when it stops hurting.

I still didn't know what I was doing, but I wrote another letter.

My Dear, Sweet Jessie,

Why does it take longer to build a blonde snowman?

I think I had been in kindergarten about a week, when one day our teacher announced we had a new student, whose family had just moved back to North Carolina after being gone for a few years.

In walked just about the tiniest little person I had ever seen. She had long red hair, and green eyes, and I thought she was so pretty. Just like a doll.

Her mother walked her over to where our group was sitting on the floor, and the new student sat down.

Our teacher said, "This is Deborah, and her mother, Mrs. Watson. Both of Deborah's parents are school teachers. Everyone say hi to Deborah."

Of course we all said, "Hi, Deborah."

As her mother started to leave, the new girl started crying, then almost screaming.

Her mother took her out into the hallway and must have talked to her for several minutes.

She came back inside and sat down, and her mother sat down in a chair near her.

I walked over to the new girl, knelt down and whispered, "Hi, I'm Sam. I am so scared I think I am about to start crying too. Will you let me sit down beside you so I won't cry?"

Deborah looked up at this rather big, chubby kid with her incredible green eyes for a minute or two, smiled and then patted the floor beside her.

After I sat down, Debbie reached over and held my hand.

"I'm a little scared too," she said, "but maybe we can hold hands and keep each other from crying."

A few minutes later her mother got up to leave. 

As I looked at Debbie, her bottom lip started trembling and I could see her eyes begin to fill with tears. I squeezed her hand. She looked at me, then looked into my eyes. I could see her bottom lip stop trembling and she stopped crying. She was gripping my hand so tightly I almost cried out, but I didn't.

After that, we always sat together, and would usually hold hands for a while. And she didn't cry.

Debbie never mentioned that first day of kindergarten until years later, just before we were to start high school as freshmen.

As usual we had spent the whole day together, and it was early evening. Debbie turned to me and asked, "You weren't really scared that first day of school were you?"

I had to admit I wasn't.

"I didn't think so," she said, "I knew you were just saying that to help me. That was when, that very first day, I fell in love with you."

Then she leaned over and kissed me, but unlike our previous kisses, this was full on lip-to-lip and it quickly turned into a tongue-in-mouth kiss.

Do I believe her when she said she fell in love with me, way back when we were only five? 

Yes, because I also fell in love with her that day. 

In fact, when I got home that day from school, I remember I got so MAD at my mother. I asked Mom how old you had to be before you got married, and when Mom told me you had to be at least 18 I got very upset thinking I would have to wait 13 years before I could marry Debs.

It HURTS so much to think about Debbie. But at the same time, it does feel better to share this story with someone else.

Would you like to tell me about John Bennett?

Your friend,

Sam

P.S.: First you have to hollow out the head.

P.P.S.: Yes, Aphrodite is the Greek goddess of beauty and love, so yes, there is that similarity. But actually I was thinking that, since you are (1) a blonde, and (2) soon going to graduate from UGA, you might want to be very careful. You have already said how much you love exchanging insults with me. I am only afraid that if you try to engage in a battle of wits with me, a war of words, then – like the Venus de Milo – you might be unarmed! I also love puns!



After that, Jessie and I started exchanging at least one, and usually two, three or four e-mails every day. Each day I would either have blonde jokes or University of Georgia jokes (usually both), and I would also frequently include a little story about Debbie and I.

One of my favorite things I sent Jessie was a supposed list of "Yankee Medical Terms." I especially loved this one because of my medical training.

Yankee Medical Terms and their proper University of Georgia definition:

Terminal illness -- Getting sick at the airport

Cauterize -- To make eye contact with a woman

Pharmacist -- A person who makes a living in agriculture

G.I. Series -- A baseball game between teams of soldiers

Benign -- What you are after you be eight and before you be ten

Scalpel -- What you stand on to clean windows in high rise buildings

Vein -- Conceited

Varicose -- Nearby

Dilate -- To live long

Colic -- A sheep dog

Enema -- Not a friend

Congenital -- Friendly

Node -- Was aware of

Tumor -- An extra pair

Morbid -- A higher offer

Hangnail -- A coat hook

Pelvis -- A cousin of Elvis

Fibula -- A small white lie

Coma -- A punctuation mark

Seizure -- A Roman emperor

D&C -- Where Washington is

Anti-body -- Against everyone

Secretion -- Hiding something

Rectum -- Dang near killed 'em

Post-operative -- A letter carrier

Labor pain -- Getting hurt at work

Protein -- In favor of young people

Paralyze -- Two farfetched stories

CAT Scan -- Searching for the kitty

Urine -- The opposite of "you are out"

Nitrates -- Cheaper than the day rate

Impotent -- Distinguished, well known

Genes -- What you wear cutting grass

Barium -- What you do after the patient dies

Bacteria -- The back door of a cafeteria

Outpatient -- A patient who has fainted

Cesarean section -- A district in Rome

For some reason I can't explain, Jessie had some rather negative comments about that list, but would always either have a Marine Corps joke, or an old age joke for me. And she would usually include a story about John Bennett.

For the first three or four e-mails from Jessie she would always ask what the "O" stood for in my name, and when it became obvious I wasn't going to tell her, she started asking about specific names, such as: Oliver, Oscar, Octavius, Olsen, etc.

After a week or two of receiving Marine Corps jokes from Jessie, I decided I would share a couple of my favorite Marine Corps jokes with her. One of those jokes is as follows:

The Navy Invented Sex

A Marine and a sailor were sitting in a bar one day arguing over which was the superior service. 

After a swig of beer the Marine says, "Well, we had Iwo Jima."

Arching his eyebrows, the sailor replies, "We had the Battle of Midway."

"Not entirely true," responded the Marine. "Some of those pilots were Marines, in fact, Henderson Field on Guadalcanal was named after a Marine pilot killed at the Battle of Midway."

The sailor responds, "Point taken."

The Marine then says, "We Marines were born at Tunn Tavern!"

The sailor, nodding agreement, says, "But we had John Paul Jones."





Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 04



Again, I suggest reading the first three chapters before beginning this one. Also, I want to emphasize that if you are expecting a story with non-stop sex, then you will be disappointed.

*

When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I did was check my car. Jessie's purse was gone. I had already noticed that her car was not in the driveway of her parent's house, and one of her parent's cars was also missing.

I tried calling her cell phone over and over, but she never answered. I left a number of messages begging her to call.

Now, all I could do was wait. Had she and her parents gone somewhere? Then why were two cars missing? I paced back and forth from one end of my house to the other for hours, like a caged lion.

Finally, finally I saw her parent's car pulling into their driveway. It was a just a little after noon.

Her parents got out of the car, but there was no Jessie.

I started walking across my yard over to theirs. When her mother, Gloria, saw me she walked over and gave me a hug.

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I knew we were good neighbors, but not exactly what you would call best friends or anything. We always waved at each other, and often spoke to each other, mostly "Hi, how's it going?"

I had attended a couple of neighborhood functions, and it seemed like Winston, Gloria and I would usually end up sitting together but that was really just social.

"Oh Sam, Jessie is so confused right now. Won't you come over and have some coffee or tea so we can talk," she offered.

Over the course of the next two hours, I found out a lot more about Jessie.

Gloria said when Jessie came in late last night, she was crying so hard she woke her Mom up.

"At first, well . . . I thought you had done something," she said, a little sheepishly. "But when I started to say something about you, Jessie got mad at me and started defending you. Then she told me it was something she did, not you."

Over the next couple of hours, Gloria and Jessie talked. With a lot of tears thrown in.

"Sam, when she was talking about dinner and dancing . . . Sam I haven't seen her smile that much since John Bennett died. Actually, since even before that. "Did you know she and John Bennett were having problems, and almost called the wedding off?"

I was stunned.

"No, she never told me that," I said.

"It was just a couple of days before the wedding; Jessie told me she wasn't sure if she still loved John. She didn't know if she could go through with the wedding.

"Then John was killed. Did you know they had a terrible argument that night, and John left very angry?"

I shook my head.

"A few hours later he was dead . . . and Jessie blamed herself. As the weeks went by, she seemed to forget about all her misgivings. Now . . . well now John Bennett was her one true love, and they had never had any problems.

"Jessie just couldn't accept that the argument might have been responsible for his death so, at least in her mind, the argument never happened.

"What really happened was that John was shot during a bungled robbery at a convenience store. The argument had nothing to do with it. But deep inside, Jessie still blamed herself."

"Did she ever have counseling?" I asked.

"One session, and then she said that was a waste of time and money," Gloria answered. "She never went back. Somehow she managed to repress her fears and anger. At least until last night."

"She told me what happened last night. How she first cried out your name, then John's. It shook her to her very core. Did she love you, did she love John?

"But I think somewhere, way in the back of her mind, she was also thinking that if she actually didn't love John, did that mean she didn't really love you?"

"Gloria, I had no idea. I should never have let it get that far. We pushed too far, too fast," I started.

"Sam, in the past month or so I have seen Jessie come back alive. She calls me nearly every day, and I can tell you she has been happier this past month than I can ever remember.

"She also told me that last night . . . well she said she not only wanted it to happen, but needed it to happen. She needed that contact, that closeness with someone else.

"Unfortunately, her memories got in the way."

"Gloria, do you think Jessie would agree to see the same counselor I saw, after my wife's death?" I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. Perhaps if she knew you had suggested it. Sam, Jessie is really crazy about you. Maybe she might agree if it comes from you."

Jessie woke up Sunday morning before 6 am, and told her mom she was going back to Athens because she couldn't face me. Gloria knew she was in no shape to drive by herself, so Winston drove Jessie's car, and Jessie rode with her mom back to Athens.

We talked a little while longer, then I returned home where I started looking for my counselor's business card. I finally found it, and luckily it included her cell number.

After I got her on the phone, I tried to explain.

"Look, Dr. Andrews, I have a situation, and I really need to talk to you about it. I know it is Sunday afternoon, but is there any way we can talk?" I asked.

"Sam, I am in Athens," she said.

"Umm, Athens, Greece, or Athens, Georgia?"

"Athens, Georgia," she laughed, "I could never afford Athens, Greece on what the county pays me to meet with you stoic firemen and policemen."

I knew that wasn't true. Dr. Andrews had a successful private practice, but also contracted with the county to provide counseling to any county employee who needed it, at reduced rates. Dr. Andrews explained that she was in Athens filling in for her old psychology professor. He had just had a quadruple bypass, and would be out for about a month.

"Look, Doc, this has nothing to do with the county, and I will pay your regular rates if I can just tell you what is going on. If you can help, I'll also pay your regular rates for that."

"Okay, Sam, why don't you start at the beginning," she finally agreed.

"Well, about a six weeks ago I was pulling weeds out of one of my flower beds when I heard someone yell, 'Look out.' I jumped up just in time to be knocked flat on my face by a soccer ball . . . . . . Then last night she whispered, 'Leave me alone, Sam, just leave me alone."

I had been talking for almost two solid hours, with just a few questions from Dr. Andrews.

I also told her about my conversation with Jessie's mom, and that Gloria thought Jessie might agree to meet with someone if she knew the suggestion came from me.

"Doc, she is in her dorm room. Do you think you could call her and see if she will see you? This is really important to me, Doc."

"I'll call her, Sam, but if she says no, then there's nothing I can do," said Dr. Andrews.

Dr. Andrews had said she would call me back, and 30 minutes later she did.

"Well, that was an interesting conversation. As soon as I told her who I was and that I was a psychologist, I thought she was going to cuss me out, then hang up. She did cuss me out, but before she could hang up I managed to say the magic word," she explained.

"Magic word? You mean 'please,'" I asked.

"No, I mean the magic word 'Sam,' as in Sam asked me to call. Sam is very, very worried about you.

"She just whispered your name, 'Sam? Sam asked you to call? Sam is worried?' Then she started crying.

"I am on my way now to her dorm room. I thought she might feel a little more comfortable there, than in this motel. I'll call you later, okay?"

I figured it would take a couple of hours to hear back, so I left to get something to eat.

Came back and waited and waited and waited. Two hours, three hours, four hours and I am pacing back and forth like a madman.

Finally, five hours later, my phone rings.

"What an extraordinary young woman you have there, Sam," Dr. Andrews began. "I went over planning on spending maybe an hour, and ended up spending nearly five hours."

"Well, Doc, what can you tell me. I am dying to know how it went," I confessed.

"Of course, I can't really discuss too much, due to doctor-patient confidentiality rules, but I can tell you some things," she said. "And the first thing I can tell you is that she was scared to death, absolutely terrified that you now hate her."

"Hate her? Doc, I lov-LIKE her. Like her a lot."

Oh crap, did I nearly tell my psychologist that I thought I was in love with someone I had barely known for just over a month, and had actually only seen three times? She would probably think I was the one who was crazy and needed counseling!

"Sam, you know of course I have a degree in psychiatry, but did you know I also minored in English?" she asked.

"Um, no," I answered.

"I just bring this up to let you know that I am not familiar with that word you just used."

"What word?" I asked.

"Luv-like? I must confess I haven't heard that one before," she said, and I could hear the laughter in her voice.

"Yes, well, that means that I really, really like her . . . a lot!" I answered, and could feel my face turning red.

"Are you blushing Sam?" she asked, and again I could hear the laughter in her voice. "Hey, it's alright Sam. I may be an old lady now, but I remember what it felt like to be young and in love. My husband and I had known each other all of two weeks when we got married. And that was 35 years ago."

"How . . . how is she Doc? I've got to know, I'm dying here," I implored her.

"She is going to be fine Sam. FINE! It's just going to take a little time," she answered. "I meant it when I said she is an extraordinary woman. So strong in some areas, so . . . well confused in others.

"But between us Sam, between you, me and her . . . she is going to be fine.

"Do you have any idea how much she likes . . . luv-likes you?" and again I could hear the laughter in her voice. "It's just going to take a little while. She still has some issues from her past she is finally now beginning to deal with.

"I learned a lot about her in those five hours. I also read every one of the e-mails the two of you wrote each other! That was the most fun I have had in years!"

I could feel my face turning red again, "You read all . . . ALL our e-mails?"

"Yes, and she also told me all about you, Obediah! What a dirty trick to play on her. But I know she is really excited about showing you her bikini now! Once I convinced her you didn't hate her."

I think my face turned even redder.

"She, uhh, told you about that?" I asked.

"Yes, she did. Oh, and talking about your e-mails reminds me of something.

"You said you are going to pay for all these counseling sessions, so you need to understand my rate fee. You know I have one rate I charge the county, and a separate rate I charge my private clients?"

"Yes," I said.

"Well I am going to have a new, special premium rate I only charge people who make endless, juvenile jokes about my beloved alma mater. You do know I graduated from the University of Georgia don't you?"

"Oh, shit, I mean crap," I stumbled along, "Look, Doc, I didn't know that . . . but at least it explains something."

"Explains what?" she asked.

"Since you graduated from UGA, it explains why you didn't know the word 'luv-like,'" I said.

Dr. Andrews actually laughed out loud.

"Why Sam Baker, that is going to cost you even more money! By the time I am finished with you and Jessie . . . why I will be able to afford plane tickets to Athens, Greece after all."

"Doc, and I mean this, if you can help Jessie . . . then I will buy you and your husband round-trip, first class tickets to Athens, Greece," I declared.

"I may just hold you to that, Sam," she said.

"When can I see her, Doc?" I asked. "I'd like to drive over tonight if I could."

"Give it a week or two Sam. Jessie is to meet with me Monday, Wednesday and Friday of this week, and the same next week.

"Can you wait two weeks?" she asked.

"If I have to," I said, and I knew she could hear the disappointment in my voice.

"Can I write her?" I asked.

"Of course Sam, and I know she would love to read anything you write. Just kind of go a little easy on the 'luv-like' part. I mean you can tell her how you feel, but concentrate a little more on the 'like' part, and a little less on the 'luv' part. I mean you can tell her you love her, in fact I think that would be wonderful for her to hear, but maybe not quite yet."

"Thank you Doc. I mean THANK YOU so much," I said.

"Goodnight Sam."

"Goodnight Doc."

Within 30 seconds I was Googling a song, then within another minute or so I was writing.

My Dearest, Dearest Jessie,

There is an old song I heard many, many years ago. It was very sad, because it was talking about someone who thought he had lost the most important thing in his life.

The song was by a guy named Charlie Rich, and part of the lyrics are:

'Hey, did you happen to see

The most beautiful girl in the world?

And if you did, was she crying, crying?

Hey, if you happen to see

The most beautiful girl that walked out on me,

Tell her, "I'm sorry."

Tell her, "I need my baby."

Oh . . . Won't you tell her that I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .'

And if you want to know what I want to tell you, then you will have to Google the song and listen to it.

Oh, Jessie, I am so sorry.

I feel so responsible for what happened.

As much as I wanted to be with you last night,

And believe me, I WANTED to very much,

I should have realized it was just a little too much, too soon, too fast.

At times I can't believe that we have known each other for barely over a month.

And that yesterday morning was actually only the second time I have ever seen you in person, and last night only the third.

Can YOU forgive me Jessie?

Tell her, "I'm sorry."

Tell her, "I need my baby."

Oh . . . Won't you tell her that I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Your friend, and more than friend,

Samuel Obediah

XOXO

P.S. That reminds me. I have always heard that deforestation is a terrible thing. But now that I know you have undergone your personal deforestation (Big, BIG Grin), I can't wait until I can see you in your bikini!

I hit send, then waited. I knew it usually only took Jessie a few minutes to respond. I waited . . . and waited . . . and waited.

I glanced at the clock and realized, to my shock, it was nearly midnight.

Let's see, it was after nine pm when Dr. Andrews called back, and we probably talked for an hour. Then I wrote the e-mail to Jessie, which I probably sent about 10:15.

Jessie was probably already in bed. From what her mother had said I knew she had barely gotten any sleep last night, and today had to be really emotional for her.

Crap! I had been waiting for nearly an hour-and-a-half and she was asleep all this time.

I was just starting to turn the computer off when I heard, "Ping." I knew I had mail. Then, quickly, "Ping," "Ping," Ping," and more "Pings." Altogether I had 14 e-mails!

I opened the first one.

My Dearest, and I mean Dearest Sam,

I loved the song.

The only change I would make would be:

Tell HIM, "I'm sorry."

Tell HIM, "I need my MAN!"

Oh . . . Won't you tell HIM "I . . . love him."

Now I am crying again, dammit!

Sam, I am the one who needs to apologize.

I felt like such a fool. And I knew you probably never wanted to talk to me again, and probably would hate me forever.

When Dr. Andrews called, at first I thought my parents had made her call, but when she said that you had asked, that you were worried and concerned about me . . . Sam I just broke down completely.

Sam, she made things so easy for me to understand. I had been fooling myself for so long.

She told me I can't see you for at least a week. It will be the longest week of my life. I don't even want to think about it perhaps being two weeks.

But we can write. I can't believe you still want to write to me.

Oh, I had better warn you. She said she is really going to make you pay for all the University of Georgia jokes, since she is a graduate of UGA. Not sure HOW exactly she is going to make you pay, but watch your backside.

I have got to end this quickly because my roommate is already so mad at me she may never talk to me again. First, all day long I have done nothing but cry and wouldn't tell her why. Then when Dr. Andrews came over I kicked her out. After I got your e-mail, I have been running around like a totally crazy person.

Tell me Sam, do Marines think about ANYTHING other than girls in bikinis? That is, other than getting them OUT of bikinis?

Tell me please, that's ALL they think about? I still remember when my Mom told me there really wasn't a Santa Claus. I was so disappointed. Don't destroy my one remaining dream, that Marines are ALWAYS thinking about girls in bikinis, and then getting them OUT of bikinis?

After your e-mail, I took a quick shower, then made my roommate blow dry my hair and help me style it. Then I made her help me with my makeup. She was complaining about how tired she was the entire time.

While I was getting dressed, she actually went to bed and fell asleep, so I had to make her get up and take pictures.

I hope you don't have ANY trouble falling asleep tonight (evil grin!) Wonder what you are going to be dreaming about?

Your friend now and always (and I hope soon a lot more than friend)

Love,

Jessie

I have to admit it was with some trepidation that I clicked on the second e-mail.

Just what had she sent me?

Oh. My. God!

The entire screen was filled with a picture of one single breast, barely covered by about a single square inch of almost translucent cloth. I could see how hard Jessie's nipple was in the picture and could almost taste it in my mouth.

The next email had a picture of her other breast, again with a tiny little square of cloth that barely covered the nipple.

Next came a picture was of her ripped stomach. You could see the individual muscles. To tell you the truth, I hadn't really noticed that the night before.

The fourth picture was from the navel to just above her thighs. There MIGHT have been two or three inches of cloth there. I mean it BARELY covered what it was supposed to cover. Yes, you would DEFINITELY have to have a complete wax job to wear that.

The fifth picture was from the waist down her incredible long legs.

The sixth picture was of her butt. My God, a thong bikini, and the thong was, again, a tiny little strap between her two butt cheeks.

I have to confess that by now I was a little uncomfortable, and had to start wiggling a little to relieve the pressure.

The seventh picture was a back shot, from her waist down to what must have been six inch heels. Do woman have ANY idea what high heels do to a woman's legs? How it drives men crazy?

The eighth picture was a full shot of Jessie from behind, looking over her shoulder at the camera.

The ninth picture was similar, but now she was bent over with her butt stuck out even more.

I think I was salivating. It was all I could do not to lick my computer screen.

The tenth picture was a full frontal view of Jessie in her bikini, with her hair perfectly done and makeup applied. Of course it took me a minute or two (or more) to raise my eyes that far up! Hey, I'm a guy!

My God, she is stunningly beautiful! And sexy!

The eleventh picture was again taken from behind, about a three-quarters view, only this time Jessie is not leaning forward quite so much. She is looking back at the camera, and holding the top of her bikini in one hand. Her other arm is across her chest and she is cupping her breast in her hand.




Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 04



The twelfth picture is again from the front, waist up, and Jessie is still holding the bikini top in one hand, while her arm covers one breast, and her hand cups the other.

The thirteenth picture . . . the thirteenth picture is full front, from head to feet. Almost the same picture as before, meaning her one arm is over one breast, while that hand cups the other breast. But now she is not wearing her bikini bottom either! Her other hand is strategically placed over her mound.

Now I know what she meant when she said, with an evil grin, that she hoped I would not have any trouble falling asleep! I would be lucky if I got ANY sleep tonight. And if, by some miracle, I did get any sleep, I knew what I would be dreaming about!

Dear Jessie,

You are truly, truly an evil person!

And I love it . . . and you.

I can't write anymore because I don't have any blood left in my head.

It is being used elsewhere.

Your babbling and drooling friend,

Sam

P.S. Don't tell me you were thinking about wearing this to the "Y"?" We would both have been arrested. You for wearing it, and me for what I was trying to do you WHILE you were wearing it.

I guess at some point I did fall asleep. The next morning I had another e-mail from Jessie.

Dear, Dear Sam,

Can't talk. Overslept because I stayed awake last night taking "interesting" photos for some dirty old man

And don't say a word about time management when it is YOUR fault I was up so late.

Love you,

Jessie

My Dear Jessie,

That's right, blame someone who wasn't even there.

I'll go in for my 24-hour shift at 6 pm, so I don't know how much time I will have to write tonight.

Dr. Andrews actually told me to go easy on the big "L" word, so let me say this about that.

Like, Like, Like, Like, Like, Like, Like, like you like crazy.

Sam

Dear Jessie,

They just called me and I have to go in early. One of the other firemen injured his back, and they want me to finish his shift. Don't know if I will be able to write tonight or not.

LIKE, LIKE, LIKE you,

Sam

That night she wrote me a much longer letter.

My Dear Sweet Sam,

I had the most incredible day today. Best Monday of my life.

First, I had the goofiest grin on my face ALL day. People kept asking me, "What's wrong?"

Haven't they ever seen anyone who is happy?

Oh, well perhaps they haven't seen me happy in the past two years.

I really need to ask you a very personal, very private question.

In your e-mail you mention that you were my "babbling and drooling friend."

At your age, how -- exactly -- is that different from any other day????

Have any trouble sleeping last night? I hope so.

And another even more personal and private question.

What did someone tell me one of the Marine Corp mottos was: "The Marines have landed and have the situation well in hand?" Is that right?

I hope, after looking at my photos, that you had "the situation well in hand," last night. (Smirking at you)

I had a very good session with Dr. Andrews this afternoon. How does any one person get to be so smart? Oh, that's right. She attended UGA, and was never a Marine!

Yes, I cried some. Maybe more than some. Things that I thought were far behind me weren't. They had just moved from one side to the other, waiting for the right situation to come out again.

Sam, there is no other way to describe it, but I was really "fucked up." And thought I was doing such a good job of adjusting to it. I even remember telling you once that I had had an additional year to get over my grief, and was wondering if I was being fair to you.

You are so far in front of me I only hope you will continue to wait for me.

Please, wait for me Sam? Please?

Dr. Andrews was a little upset with me for sending you the photos. And no, she did not see them, I just told her about them. After today's session, and with my understanding more about myself, I know why she was a little upset.

But I still hope they drive you CRAZY!

I also understand what she meant about being careful with, as you describe it, the big "L" word. So I will try to tone that down a LITTLE! Not completely, but a LITTLE.

On a really encouraging note, Dr. Andrews said that if my Wednesday and Friday sessions go as well as todays did, then I might be able to see you Sunday. I would say Saturday, but Georgia's soccer teams are playing a charity match against Georgia Tech's soccer teams. All the money is going to MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving), and I really want to play.

On a discouraging note, she also said that while kissing and holding hands is okay, she STRONGLY advises against touching. At least yet.

Sam, if you can come up Sunday (I don't know your schedule), then you are going to have to be the strong one. I know that as soon as I see you I am going to want to jump your bones! So, I don't care how much I may beg, or plead, or cry, no touching under the clothes! Okay?

But don't be surprised if I try to suck your appendix out through your mouth. (Evil grin)

Your now and forever friend,

LIKE, LIKE, LIKE, LIKE, LIKE, LIKE, LIKE, love,

Jessie

See, I told you I would try to tone it down a LITTLE!

My Dearest, Sweet Jessie,

Did you hear about the two blondes who decided that this Christmas they wanted to cut down their own Christmas tree? So they drove two hours into the country and walked deep into the woods to find the perfect Christmas tree. They had planned the trip well, especially considering that they were blond. They were dressed warmly with boots, warm coats and hats. They had a chain saw, hatchet, a bag to protect the tree and rope to drag it back to their car. Every detail was covered.

First, I am glad to hear that you were smiling so much Monday. You have such a beautiful smile. I am just sorry that it is now so late on Tuesday night, and I am just getting a chance to write. I actually went in four hours early Monday, and worked over six hours today, so you can imagine I am a little tired.

Because of the other fireman's injury (he will be fine, just needs to rest his back) they have had to change all of our schedules.

So, instead of 24 on, and 48 off, for the next few days I will be working 24 on, 36 off. That means I may have to work Sunday. I will know more later in the week, but I was really looking forward to seeing you Sunday.

My God, Jessie, are you trying to kill an old man?

Those photos!!!!! Wow!!!!! I wanted to lick my computer screen!!!!!

Jessie, I will wait for you as long as it takes!

And if when we do finally see each other, then all we can do is hold hands and kiss? I would rather hold hands with you than kiss any other woman in America. And if I can just kiss you once or twice when we do meet, then I will consider it a blessing.

And in answer to your letter from Sunday, I can't speak for other Marines but I know this Marine is only thinking about a certain young lady wearing a bikini . . . and dreaming about the day he can get her out of said bikini.

Now, my precious one, I have to get some sleep. I hardly got any sleep Sunday night FOR SOME REASON!!!!! And we were so busy Monday night and Tuesday all day, I only got about three hours sleep. Now it is Tuesday night and I am exhausted.

Your tired friend,

Mega-Likes,

Sam

P.S. The two blondes searched and searched for the perfect Christmas tree. They had gone to all this trouble, nothing but the perfect tree would do. They searched for hours through knee deep snow and biting wind. Finally, five hours later with the sun beginning to go down, one blonde says to the other, "I can't take this anymore. I give up! There are hundreds of beautiful trees out here. Let's just pick one whether it's decorated or not!"

After getting up Wednesday, I spent most of the day working outside. Jessie had sent me a short email Wednesday afternoon, just before her meeting with Dr. Andrews. She said she would write more after the meeting, but by the time I went to bed Wednesday night, I had not received anything else from her.

When I got up on Thursday, I had something of a different type of letter from Jessie.

Dear you lying good-for-nothing, low-life, scumbag (but I still love you, Sam, although you have a LOT of explaining to do),

I was so mad at you last night I couldn't write.

I actually got up an hour early just to write this.

HOW? How could you lie to me like you have?

Poor, "Oh, I've never been to college."

Yesterday I had another great session with Dr. Andrews. After the session ended, she asked me if we were still writing each other daily -- and if you were still including UGA jokes? She really seems to be interested in how many UGA jokes you send me. Why?

I told her "yes," to both counts, then mentioned something that has really amazed me since we started writing.

I told her that I sometimes actually had to look up some of the words you used, and told her how incredibly beautiful some of your letters were.

"I can't believe someone who has never been to college can write like that," I think I said.

Dr. Andrews started laughing and said, "Never been to college? He has more college credits than anyone I know who actually hasn't graduated. I think he only needs one required course to obtain his degree. He probably has enough credits for two degrees."

Once she realized I truly didn't know, that you had told me you hadn't been to college, she clammed up, saying she had already said too much.

"You'll have to ask Sam about that," was all she would say.

OKAY, MARINE ASSHOLE (is that redundant?), what gives?

Have you been lying to me since the first day we met?

And it had BETTER be good.

Your honest as the day is long friend (apparently can't say the same about you),

Jessie

Dear My Sweet, Precious, Beautiful, Understanding and Forgiving Jessie,

Okay -- First of all I did not lie to you: Technically.

And even more than that, I don't think you could say I lied in any way, shape or form. Perhaps I omitted one thing, but that is not the same as lying.

You have to look at it from my point of view.

One day I decided to pull the weeds out of my flowerbeds. After working very hard, I heard someone yell, "Look Out!" Thinking someone might be in trouble and need my medical assistance, I jumped to my feet. Having been kneeling for so long, when I stood up so quickly, I got dizzy. At approximately the same time, I was struck in the head by (at that point) an unknown object. The object itself had barely the force of a feather hitting me, but the combination of the very light impact, together with my slight dizziness caused me to lose my balance momentarily.

The next thing I know some beautiful, half-naked goddess (perhaps fallen from Mount Olympus?) was thrusting her -- assets -- in my face. Very delightful assets I might add!

I was discombobulated for a minute.

Then this delectable creature, this gorgeous flower of femininity began speaking.

It was immediately apparent that if she had fallen from Mount Olympus . . . well she must have landed on her head because she started saying she had knocked me out. That, of course, NEVER happened.

This beautiful creature then insisted on helping clean out the third flower bed, during which time I don't think she ever paused from talking. I don't think I have ever seen anyone talk for 30 minutes before without taking a breath. Then one quick breath, and another 30 minutes of talking.

If I had wanted to say something, I would have been unable to do so.

Yes, at one point the question was asked, as best as I can remember: "Have you been to college?"

I answered factually, truthfully and honestly. "No, I have never been to college."

At no point was the question EVER asked if I had taken college courses, how many courses, how many credit hours I had earned, or anything else.

A direct question was asked, and in the one-third of a second I was given to answer, I said, "No."

Again, let me say this: I have never been TO college. Even when Debs graduated, I was unable to attend, so no, I have never set foot on a college campus, nor have I ever sat in a college classroom.

Computers, and the Internet, are wonderful things. You can take college courses while sitting in a tent in the middle of the desert in Iraq. You can also take college courses while sitting in your living room in Charlotte, or a hotel room in Atlanta.

As Dr. Andrews implied, yes, I have more than enough credits to graduate, but I have one remaining required course in English.

If the correct questions had been asked, and if I had been given an opportunity to answer, then I could have explained all this.

Bottom line: The questionee answered the question asked. It is not his fault that the questioner did not ask the correct questions.

Your honest as the day is long also friend,

Sam

XOXO

Dear less than completely truthful Sam,

Withholding information is a form of lying.

I have sometimes heard the phrase, "Some people have it, and some people don't, and he is full of it." I now understand that statement.

You are so full of it I don't know how it doesn't slosh out of your ears when you walk.

Just out of curiosity, when you lose your balance "momentarily," as you put it, do you usually fall face forward into flower beds, and have to then spit out a mouthful of dirt before you can say anything?

And the next time I see you, YOU HAD BETTER HOPE AND PRAY that I don't have a soccer ball with me, or we will see how much impact a well-kicked soccer ball has upside your head!

And don't think I don't see through your transparent attempt to get on my good side by calling me a "beautiful, half-naked goddess." It won't work, buster!

By the way, "beautiful goddess," with "delightful assets?" Thank you. But you still aren't on my good side YET!

And if I was, your comment about "landing on my head," would have ruined that!

I don't think I have ever seen anyone stare without blinking for an hour before.

Okay, I will concede that perhaps I should have been more specific in my line of questioning. But then again, I normally don't deal with people who apparently have a penchant for telling less than the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I will try to remember that in the future when engaging in a conversation with Marines in general, and one certain dumb-ass Marine in particular.

When are you going to complete your remaining course so you can graduate? And don't obfuscate!

The way I see it, you owe me SEVERAL meals at my favorite French restaurant.

Oh, Sam, I think I have laughed more in the last six weeks with you than I have in all the rest of my life put together.

But I am STILL a little mad at you.

Your goddess with the delightful assets,

Love,

Jessie

XOXO

The rest of the week was spent exchanging similar e-mails, and trading insults, blond and UGA jokes, and Marine Corps jokes. I honestly never knew it could be so much fun to receive, and send, insults before.

Yes, guys always insult each other, and yes, we enjoy it. But being able to trade barbs with Jessie was truly one of the most fun things I have ever done.

In her letter written after her meeting with Dr. Andrews on Friday, Jessie again wrote how productive the meeting was, and her disappointment that I would not be able to see her over the weekend.

The fact is . . . well . . . I didn't exactly lie, I just told a small fib.

Okay, I lied.

My shift ended Friday night at midnight, so I went home and went to bed, waking up about 6 am Saturday. I drove to Athens, Georgia, arriving at about 9 am. I knew Jessie's soccer match was scheduled for 10 am.

I drove around the campus for a little while before finding the Turner Soccer Complex where the match would take place. I bought a ticket and program, then sat down and watched Jessie play.

I was stunned. I knew she was good, but she was amazing. She scored three goals to lead the Lady Bulldogs to a five to three win over the Lady Yellow Jackets. Jessie was all over the field, and her speed was breath-taking.

Once I saw Jessie kicking the soccer ball, I realized why she had nearly knocked me out that day.

Wait, once I saw Jessie kicking the soccer ball, I realized why she had slightly stunned me that day.

After the match was over, they announced that all the ladies, from both teams, would be signing autographs while the men's teams were warming up.

I waited until there were only a few people in line, and finally made my way up to Jessie. I had noticed that usually she would just sign her autograph, then look up at the person while she was handing them back the program.

When it was my turn, I handed her my program, and said, "Sign it to my honest friend, Sam."

She actually had started writing, "To my hon," when she recognized my voice.

She looked up at me, and I'm not sure when I have ever seen such joy in a person's face before.

I was only standing about a foot away from Jessie, but she yelled my name out loud. Then as her teammates were turning to look at her, Jessie's arms were around my neck and we were hugging each other.

Jessie's uniform was soaked with sweat and her face and hair were still wet from playing. It was wonderful.

"Sam, Sam, I can't believe you are here! Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" she asked.

"I wanted to surprise you," I explained. Then I handed her a box that contained a dozen roses.

Jessie started tearing up, then was in my arms again hugging me. Our lips met in a quick kiss.

Finally Jessie broke the embrace and start saying, "O God, I must look awful. I am hot, sweaty and stinky."

"I think you look beautiful," I said, before I heard someone else say, "Crap, can we throw up now?"

When Jessie and I looked up, I was completely surrounded by about six other players on the team.

"Girls, this is my . . . my friend Sam," Jessie said.

"Sam? This is Sam? This is the jerk who has all the blonde jokes?" asked one member of the team -- a blonde.

"This is the butthead who tells all the Georgia jokes," asked another, obviously a Georgia native based on her deep Southern accent.

"This is the dipshit who tells all the University of Georgia jokes?" asked a third. This one was about three inches taller than I was, and did not look happy.

"Down, girls, down," said Jessie with a smile. "Yes, he might be a jerk, a butthead and a dipshit, but he is MY jerk, MY butthead and MY dipshit."

"You let them read my letters?" I asked Jessie.

"No, dickhead," answered the tallest member of the team, "but she sure tells us all your idiotic jokes!"

"Look girls, I really need to go take a quick shower and change clothes," Jessie said. "Do y'all promise not to hurt him, at least not too much, until I get back?"




Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 04



The tallest member of the team, who I later learned is named Rachel, told Jessie: "Okay, Jess, but hurry. I don't know how long I can keep this group under control."

Jessie handed me the flowers, then the next thing I know I am alone, surrounded by six girls -- none of whom really look that happy to be with me.

"Uhh, do any of you know any good Georgia Tech jokes?" I asked, trying to break the tension.

My inquiry was met with a resounding silence.

Finally, the really tall one (Rachel) leaned over me and looked down at me like I was some particularly repugnant specimen under a magnifying glass.

"Hey, Ass-wipe, do you know there is only ONE reason we are not stomping and kicking the crap out of you right now?"

Not trusting myself to speak, I just shook my head.

Rachel then leaned back and actually smiled: "Jessie and I have been in school together since the first grade. In the past two months I have seen her happier than I have in years.

"Now, while I may want to kick your teeth in -- and believe me I could do it -- we're going to let you live. At least for a little while. But if you ever hurt Jessie . . . the entire Marine Corps won't be able to protect you."

After that, the other team members seemed to loosen up, and started joking with me -- a little.

They all had some little story to tell about Jessie, and how much she had changed in the past six or eight weeks.

Her teammates were also the ones who told me about how Jessie had broken her nose and gotten the stitches in her eyebrow from a soccer ball, but refused to come out of the game. She finally allowed the team doctor to put a small Band-Aid on her eyebrow to keep the blood out of her eye. She went on to score five goals in that game, then spent nearly three hours at the emergency room afterwards.

Almost before I knew it, 20 minutes had passed before I heard one of the girls say, "Here comes Jessie."

Then I heard someone say: "Oh My God. She's fixed her hair.

"And she's wearing makeup," someone else said.

"And lipstick," added another.

"Holy crap! She's wearing a dress! Jessie is wearing a dress," said someone else.

"Actually," said the blonde, "she's wearing my dress. The one I planned on wearing after the game when I go out to eat with my boyfriend."

While they were saying these things about Jessie, I was trying to see, but most of the girls were standing directly in front of me, including tall Rachel. Finally they moved as Jessie came closer.

Hot Damn! Had I actually been dumb enough to say that Jessie was cute, in an athletic sort of way? This girl . . . this woman . . . walking towards me was absolutely stunning. Her long blonde hair was cascading down her front. Her outfit was a simple sleeveless dress cut pretty low, and the hem was . . . well higher than mid-thigh. It was immediately obvious from the movement of her breasts and the way her nipples were pushing against the thin fabric that Jessie wasn't wearing a bra.

As Jessie walked up to me and put her arms around me, I heard one of the girls say, "Damn, Jess, you should dress up more often."

Jessie briefly brushed her lips against mine, then turned to her blonde teammate, "Susan, I hope you don't mind if I borrow your dress?"

"Hell no, Jessie, in fact it looks a lot better on you than it does on me," was her answer.

I don't know how the dress looked on what's her name, but I do know it was beautiful on Jessie.

Jessie turned back to me, "Well, I don't see any blood, so I guess they weren't too hard on you!"

"A couple of broken ribs, lots of internal injuries, but it was worth it, just to see you now," I said.

A couple of the girls snickered.

"Silver tongued devil," I heard one say.

"Wonder what else his tongue can do?" another asked, and I think both Jessie and I blushed, which evoked a lot of laughter from the group.

As Jessie and I got ready to leave, Rachel leaned down and gave me a hug and kissed my cheek, then whispered, "You be good to her, or so help me I will find you and rip your balls off."

One by one, each of the girls gave me a hug. A couple kissed me on the cheek. Then all six hugged Jessie.

When I handed the roses back to Jessie, she held the roses in one arm while putting the other around my neck. This time it was a LOT more than just brushing her lips against mine. In fact, it was a very passionate, tongue-in-mouth kiss, prompting her friends to start "ooing" and "ahhing," as well as making comments about PDAs (Public Displays of Affection).

Jessie grabbed my hand and said, "Let's get out of here."

We stopped at my car to leave the flowers since Jessie said she wanted to walk. Then, holding hands, we walked all over the UGA campus for nearly two hours.

Neither of us talked very much. Really, neither of us needed to . . . just being together, holding hands was far more important.

Jessie would tell me about some of the different buildings we passed, or about some of the areas of campus, and I would ask some questions, but mostly we just enjoyed each other's company.

Finally, after about two hours, Jessie asked if I wanted to sit down and rest for a little while. We were walking along a path around a small lake, so we walked over to an old oak tree and sat down.

I sat with my back against the tree, and Jessie sat down in front of me, then scooted herself back against me until her back was pressed against my chest. She then leaned her head back against my shoulder. I put both my arms around her, just under her breasts and she put both of her arms over mine.

After about 15 or 20 minutes of just sitting together, Jessie finally begin talking.

"Sam, I could just sit here with you for the rest of the day. I can't believe I feel so peaceful and calm."

Jessie gave her head a little shake.

"I could never have sat here like this with John Bennett. When I was with him, I always felt like I had to be up doing something.

"Sam, for the last year of his life we were planning our marriage. That is supposed to be a wonderful time in a woman's life . . . but for most of that time I was miserable. I think I hid it, I don't think John Bennett knew, but I kept wondering if I was making the biggest mistake of my life."

"Why do you always use his full name?" I asked.

Jessie laughed. "His last name was actually Mitchell. John Bennett Mitchell, but he always introduced himself as John Bennett, then John Bennett Mitchel. Kind of like in the Bond movies where he always says, 'Bond . . . James Bond.

"I'm not sure if that is a Georgia thing, or a Southern thing?" she said.

"Oh, definitely Southern thing," I told her, "I had several friends like that."

"Anyway, John Bennett and I met in the fourth grade. We had our first date, a movie, in the ninth grade. We had sex with each after our senior prom. He was my first, and I was his first. In fact, until last Saturday night I had never kissed anyone else before."

She turned her head towards me and kissed me on the cheek.

"That was so wonderful . . . dancing with you, then kissing you.

"When John Bennett asked me to marry him . . . it just seemed like the natural thing to say yes. I really didn't think a lot about it. But I remember I was more . . . I don't know . . . relieved than excited.

"As we began the planning, well, it seemed more like I was planning it for someone else then me. I just couldn't get excited about it. One of my friends even told me that at times I acted more like I was planning my execution than my wedding. 'Don't you love him,' she asked.

"When she asked that, I finally realized that while I did love John Bennett, I was not IN love with him."

Jessie was quite for several minutes. I just hugged her harder.

"Two days before the wedding, I finally told John Bennett I wasn't sure if I could go through the wedding, that I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing . . . that I wasn't sure if I loved him.

"That was the first time I had ever seen him get mad. First time I had ever seen him really cry. 'Two days before our wedding is a hell of a time to decide you don't love me,' he yelled at me, then walked out.

"I called my Mom and told her. She told me that whatever I decided, she would stand by me, but this was a decision only I could make. I thought about how John Bennett looked, how much I had hurt him, then called him on his cell and apologized, saying it was just a case of nerves, pre-wedding jitters.

"I told him I still wanted to get married, and he was so happy. He said he was going to stop at a store and buy some beer for us, and would be home in 30 minutes.

"After hanging up, I curled up on the couch and cried myself to sleep.

"I woke up three or four hours later. He wasn't back yet. I turned on the television and they were reporting about an attempted robbery that had gone wrong. How one guy walked in to a convenience store and was shot and killed by the robbers.

"On TV, they were showing the front of the convenience store and I recognized his car. I knew immediately.

"If we hadn't had the fight . . . . . if I hadn't told him I wasn't sure about getting married . . . he wouldn't have been there and would still be alive."

Jessie is softly crying now and the only thing I can do is hold her tighter.

After several minutes, she finally continued.

"I actually managed to convince myself that the fight never happened. That I was madly in love with John Bennett. That I was looking forward to the wedding.

"At least until last week. When we were making love . . . oh, God, did I want to make love with you . . . and then I called out his name. It all came back to me. All the guilt, all the pain, all the anger. It was overwhelming, Sam, so overwhelming.

"I had to get away. Do you understand Sam, why I had to get away?"

I told her I did.

"Mom and I talked for hours that night. Of course she already knew the doubts I had been having, but I had never told anyone else, and deliberately tried to make myself forget.

"The next night, you sent Dr. Andrews and that was the first time I ever told anyone else about how guilty I felt. That I blamed myself for John Bennett's death. We met for five hours and I think I cried for at least four of those hours.

"She helped me to understand that it wasn't my fault. That it was a horrible accident. That John Bennett has chosen to go into that convenience store, in a bad part of town. I still had trouble accepting that until she told me another story.

"She never mentioned any names, but told me about another patient of hers who blamed himself for his wife's death because he was tired, and his wife let him sleep late one morning. How he had almost killed someone else because of his anger . . . not against the other person, but against himself.

"She never told me Sam, but that person was you wasn't it?"

I had never told Jessie any of the details about Deb's death, and at first I just nodded, "Yes."

Then I told her what had happened that last morning when Debs was killed, and how it had taken several firemen and police officers to pull me off that other driver several weeks later.

Jessie and I both shed some tears as we remembered.

By now Jessie and I had been sitting under the tree for over an hour. She had shifted until she was mostly facing me, with her legs across my thigh and her head resting against my chest.

We had both been silent for the past 10 or 15 minutes, just taking pleasure in the closeness of the other when Jessie lifted her head up, looked at me and said, "You know what, Mr. Walker?"

"What, Miss Johansson?" I said, turning to look at her. Our faces were just inches apart.

"I have half a mind to kiss you," she said.

"Only half a mind?" I started to say before her lips met mine.

Again, the kiss was incredibly tender and gentle. As before when we exchanged our very first kiss, it was more sensual than sexy, more playful than passionate. When we finally broke the kiss, we were both smiling.

"I really like your half mind," I told Jessie. "And since you're a blonde and attend UGA, I guess I had better get used to it."

She didn't say anything at first, just started tickling me. I finally managed to grab both of Jessie's hands to stop her assault on the ticklish parts of my body. We were both laughing.

"Like I told the girls, you might be a jerk, butthead and dipshit, but you are MY jerk, MY butthead and MY dipshit," she said.

I am not sure just who kissed who, but we suddenly were kissing again, only this time it was a very sexy, passionate kiss. I soon had my hands around Jessie's back, pressing her against me.

Jessie then surprised me.

When we decided to sit and rest, we had walked about 50 or 60 feet from the path over to the oak tree, but were in full view of anyone walking by. There actually hadn't been that many people walking along the path, but every 10 minutes or so we would see someone.

Jessie grabbed my hand from her back and put it inside her low-cut dress. As I began squeezing her breast Jessie began moaning.

By the time we finally broke that kiss, we were both breathing hard, and I could see the hunger and desire in Jessie's eyes. I knew it probably mirrored my own.

"I thought . . . I thought," I gasped, "you said we have to be strong, and no touching under clothing." My hand was still inside her dress, squeezing her breast.

"If you remember correctly," Jessie answered, "I wrote that YOU have to be strong. I have decided that I am going to do everything I can to drive you absolutely crazy with lust and desire. I plan on trying to seduce you today, Mr. Walker."

As I was about to reply, my stomach beat me to it and growled very loudly.

Jessie began giggling.

"Obviously, you are hungry in more ways than one," she said with one of her patented smiles.

I had stopped for a country ham biscuit on the drive to Athens, but that was now (looking at my watch) some nine hours earlier.

"To tell you the truth, I am starving also," said Jessie, "both for food . . . and you."

Since Jessie still had both her legs across my thigh, she had to get up first. What should have been a very simple act probably took her at least a minute, since she seemed to feel the need to keep thrusting her butt right in front of my face.

"Can you brush . . . my behind . . . off for me," she coyly asked.

I brushed some leaves and grass off her beautiful butt, then took my hand and gave her a rather sharp smack!

She yelped.

"Why Mr. Walker, suddenly I see a whole new side of you," Jessie said, while slowly licking her lips with her tongue.

I just shook my head and stood up. We again hugged and kissed passionately, albeit briefly before walking back to my car. It actually took half an hour to walk back, and by then Jessie's stomach was also growling and we were giggling at each other. Well, Jessie was giggling . . . Marines don't giggle, they laugh.

One of my friends had told me about an excellent Italian restaurant in Athens, so I drove there where we enjoyed a two-hour lunch. We had barely sat down at a table with Jessie across from me when she slipped off her shoes and immediately stuck both feet into my crotch where she started trying to massage me with her feet! Luckily I found out that she is intensely ticklish on the bottom of her feet. I knew I had to store that little factoid for future reference!

Undaunted, she then sat down beside me where she tried to keep one hand strategically located between my legs. It was all I could do to try to keep her hands above the table for the entire meal.

It didn't help matters when, after Jessie left to use the bathroom, she returned to tell me she was now "commando," having taken her panties off.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. After that, she kept trying to grab my hand and put it between her legs.

After eating we returned to the car. As I held the door for her, Jessie took an inordinate amount of time getting in, making sure I could see that she was now "commando."

"Now what?" Jessie said, and again I could see the desire in her eyes.

"Girl, you are either going to drive me crazy, or kill me," I declared!

"Actually, I just want to screw your brains out," Jessie said with an enticing smile. "If I drive you crazy . . . well that's just a bonus."

I shook my head and tried to act uber-serious and stern, "What I SHOULD do, Miss Johansson, is turn you over my knee and give you a spanking for the stunts you just pulled in the restaurant."

Jessie was sitting down on the seat of the Mercedes, but immediately turned around and put her knees on the seat and thrust her bare bottom, sans panties, towards me.

"Oh, please Mr. Walker, please," she cooed, "like I told you once, I've never tried spanking, but I've read Fifty Shades of Grey."

Despite myself, I laughed out loud. Then I gave her a sharp smack on her bare butt. She yelped.

"I don't care what Dr. Andrews says, you are seriously disturbed," I muttered as Jessie joined me in laughter.

"Maybe I could find an Athens-Clark County police car and borrow a pair of handcuffs to control you," I threatened.

"Oh, handcuffs and bondage," Jessie purred. "If you want to tie me up, we could stop at a Lowe's or Home Depot for some rope."

We both started laughing as Jessie turned back around until she was again seated.

"God, you are one CRAZY lady, Miss Johansson," I said.

"That's your influence, Mr. Walker," she countered.

Jessie leaned over towards me, and somehow I met her halfway and we were kissing again.

I was just about to the point where I no longer cared what Dr. Andrews said. I mean there is only so much a normal, 100 percent red-blooded American boy (and ex-Marine) can take.

My hand began caressing Jessie's inner thighs, with the intent of caressing a lot more when Jessie reached over and stopped my hand.

"Sam, I want you so much it's almost killing me," she said.

"But since you brought up Dr. Andrews, I keep thinking about what she said. Can we wait for one more week?" she asked.

"Jessie, Jessie, Jessie," I sighed, "you really are going to drive me crazy or kill me!

"Yes Jessie, yes," I said, "we can wait for one more week."

Jessie promised she would try to control herself for the rest of the day, but only reluctantly agreed to put her panties back on.

"I like going 'commando' with you around," she teased.

We went to a movie, and, for the most part, Jessie behaved herself. Several times her hand dropped down between my legs and she began rubbing me through my pants.

"This next week is going to be the longest of my life," she complained the third time I made her stop.

After the movie we stopped for ice cream, then it was time to take Jessie back to her dorm.

To tell you the truth, I think both of us were a little afraid of what would happen if I found myself alone with Jessie in her dorm room, so we kissed . . . and kissed . . . and kissed while sitting in my car. Even then, it took considerable will power not to allow anything else to happen.

In between kisses, I found out that Monday of the following week was a school holiday, so Jessie and I made plans to spend the long weekend together.

Of course little did we know that a killer tornado was going to disrupt everyone's plans for that weekend?



Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 05



Again, I suggest reading the first four chapters before beginning this one. Also, I want to emphasize that if you are expecting a story with non-stop sex, then you will be disappointed.

Jessie & the Tornado, Ch. 5

Distantly I heard someone saying, "Sam? Sam? Sam?" then felt someone shaking my shoulder.

I looked up, and realized I was still sitting outside Jessie's hospital room, and that Janice had been trying to get my attention, before finally having to shake my shoulder.

Jessie was standing beside Janice and was grinning like crazy. She had a small bandage on her forehead.

"The doctor has finished his exam, Sam, and there is no sign of physical . . . or mental problems," Janice said with a huge smile. "Jessie called her parents and told them about the tornado while we were waiting for the results of the x-ray."

"Where were you Sam? We've been trying to talk to you for several minutes," said Jessie.

I could feel my face flush.

"Just thinking about the past few years," I said, and I knew Jessie could see the pain in my eyes because she immediately grabbed my hand.

"And especially about the past few months. Ever since I met this totally crazy woman who is attending UGA," I added. Jessie squeezed my hand very tightly.

"Are you sure she is okay?" I asked Janice.

"Yes, Sam, she is fine. Not going to be fine, she IS fine. Jessie might have a little headache, but that is all," Janice confirmed.

"In that case," I said, stood up and grabbed Jessie and kissed her. And she kissed back.

Our kiss was becoming more and more passionate, at least until I heard someone making a theatrical coughing sound. When we broke off the kiss, Dr. Wilson was standing there.

"Sam, Janice tells me you are probably the best Paramedic in the fire department," he said. "Sam, the hospital could really use your help . . . I could really use your help. I know this might not be a good time since you are concerned about your fiancée . . ."

"She's not my fiancée," I interrupted.

"She is his fiancée," Jessie countered.

"Well . . . whatever she is, I know you are concerned, but in the last 30 minutes the Emergency Room has not only filled up, but people are standing outside just waiting to get in. All injured in some way by the tornado," he explained.

"We are completely overwhelmed. We really need help, Sam," he emphasized.

I looked at Jessie, and she nodded "Yes."

"What can I do?" I asked.

"Triage," he explained.

I knew instantly what he was talking about since that was something I dealt with every working day. In any medical emergency, where there is more than one injured person, the responder has to make instant decisions.

Triage is from a French word which dates back to the Napoleonic Wars, and means divide into threes. In any medical situation, there are three types of patients: those who will likely live, regardless of what medical care they receive; those who will likely die, regardless of what medical care they receive; and those for whom immediate medical care can mean the difference between life and death.

Obviously you don't want to ignore any patient, but quite frankly, some can wait, and for some . . . it really won't matter. You have to concentrate on the ones who need help the most.

Janice threw a medical kit at me, and since I was still soaked from the rain while trying to get to Jessie, a set of hospital scrubs. After changing clothes, I examined patients' non-stop for the next 10 hours. Checking blood pressure, respiration, symptoms and severity of injuries. Many patients only needed bandages and tetanus shots, along with antibiotics.

Jessie had asked if she could help me and with Dr. Wilson's approval, became my "runner," keeping me supplied with bandages, syringes and whatever medicine I needed to administer. I was also assigned a junior nurse to write down my assessment of patients, and immediately rush those most seriously injured inside.

In several patients I recognized symptoms of a heart attack, and was able to stabilize those until they could be taken inside. Twice I had to use the defibrillator to restart their hearts.

Several times I had noticed a photographer taking pictures, but really didn't think much about it. Newspapers and television news departments usually showed up at most of the emergencies we would respond to, so that wasn't unusual. They had a job to do, and a little publicity never hurt -- especially whenever the county started talking about our yearly budgets.

Even when I saw Jessie talking to some of the reporters, I didn't think much about it since I was so busy. At least until the next day.

It was nearly midnight when I examined my last patient. He just needed a few stitches and a tetanus shot.

I honestly don't think I have ever been as tired as I now was. Once I realized the last patient had been dealt with it was as if all the life had been drained out of my body. As keyed up as I had been while helping at the hospital, now it was almost more than I could do just to put one foot in front of another. Jessie actually had to help me inside.

As I sat down, Jessie handed me some food and something to drink and I realized this was the first thing I had had to eat or drink all day. Several times Jessie or a nurse had tried to get me to stop and take a break, but people needed help. I feel asleep sitting in the chair before I had finished half my sandwich.

Somehow Jessie and a nurse managed to revive me enough to have me lay down on a hospital bed where I slept for nearly 12 hours. When I woke up, Jessie was sitting down in a chair beside my bed, holding my hand.

"Good morning, beautiful," I said.

"Well, good morning, my Hero," she answered.

When I tried to protest that, she immediately put her hands over my lips.

"You are famous," she said, with a smile. "Everybody is talking about you. The newspapers and television stations all want to interview you."

"Interview me? About what?" I asked.

"About this," Jessie said, as she handed me the local paper.

The paper was folded in half, and on the top half was the headline, "Killer Tornado Devastates Area." A small headline said at least 10 people had been killed in the county.

"Look at the bottom half," Jessie volunteered in a very quiet voice, then walked down to the foot of the bed.

When I flipped the paper over, I immediately saw that about one-fourth of the bottom was a story with a box around it, and the headline: "Local Fireman Rescues Fiancée From Demolished House, Treats Hundreds More At Hospital."

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I began reading.

Basically, the story was about how local fireman and EMT-Paramedic Sam Baker, frantic with worry about his beautiful missing fiancée, UGA star athlete Jessie Johansson, ignored danger as he began ripping apart the remnants of a demolished house looking for her.

Once he found the beautiful young woman, he administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation until she was breathing again, then carried her over a mile, dodging downed trees and power lines, to his truck. Arriving at the hospital, even though he was frantic with concern for his beautiful fiancée, he immediately volunteered to help others who had been injured in the tornado.

The article quoted, extensively, Jessie Johansson, the beautiful, all-time leading scorer for the UGA soccer team, as well as quotes from Head Nurse Janice Rand, and the hospital's new Director of Emergency Services, Dr. Wallace Wilson.

I was credited with saving the lives of at least two heart attack patients at the hospital, as well as helping hundreds of others.

Nurse Rand and Dr. Wilson were also quoted making comments about how worried I was about my beautiful fiancée.

"It is obvious how much they love each other," Nurse Rand said.

"Even though she had been a patient herself just minutes earlier, Miss Johansson was adamant that other people needed help more and insisted on helping her fiancé, Mr. Baker, as they saved others," said Dr. Wilson.

The article, which continued to inside pages, included a number of photos of me and Jessie, taken at the hospital. Some of the photos also showed Jessie handing me items as I was treating patients. At one point, apparently between patients, Jessie and I were kissing. I don't even remember that photo, or the kiss. The paper also must have obtained a head and shoulder shot of me from the fire department, as well as a great picture of Jessie from UGA.

The paper also mentioned I had spent four years in the Marine Corps, and had served two tours of duty in Iraq, and was a "highly decorated veteran who had been wounded in combat."

The final paragraph in the story stated that I only needed one more course in English to obtain my degree, and that I was hoping to be able to complete that course through the University of Georgia so I could soon join my beautiful fiancée as UGA grads.

I hadn't said anything as I was reading, and Jessie? Well, for once Jessie was being as quiet as a church mouse!

I was so stunned I didn't know what to say, or even really what to feel.

Should I be mad? Should I laugh? Should I start shouting?

As I folded the paper down, I looked at Jessie. Jessie was standing at the foot of the bed, and would not even look at me.

I couldn't help but notice that her hands were shaking as she waited for my reaction to the story.

Just looking at Jessie I felt something in my heart began to expand. "God, she is scared to death of what my reaction is going to be," I thought.

"Hey," I said, very, very softly, "come here, you."

When Jessie looked up and saw my smiling face and open arms, she first gasped, then her face transformed into a smile that could have turned the night into day.

Jessie ran around the bed to my waiting arms.

I first heard the thud, then Jessie's scream as she fell face first onto the floor, barely getting her hands up in time to protect herself from the impact.

Jessie, who was barefoot, had rammed two toes into the bed post.

Two hours later I carried Jessie and her two broken toes out to my truck, then went back inside for her brand-new pair of crutches.

"I carried you in, and by golly, I'm carrying you out," I told her as she laughed through the pain.

While I had been sleeping, Jessie had taken a shower at the hospital, and one of the nurses loaned her some clean clothes. While Jessie was having x-rays taken of her foot, I had called a friend from the fire department who brought me a clean uniform I always keep at the station. While she was having the toes taped up, I used the opportunity to also take a shower and shave.

"Are you as hungry as I am?" I asked Jessie, once we were in the truck.

"Starving," she said.

"French?" I asked, "Or is your foot hurting too badly?"

"French food now," she said with a raised eyebrow, "French something else later!"

Ooh la la.

I had offered to carry Jessie into the restaurant, but she insisted on using the crutches the hospital gave her. Once we walked in -- me in my white fire department uniform, Jessie using crutches -- something extraordinary happened.

At first, I saw a few heads turn to look at us. Then a few more. Then spontaneously, people started standing up and applauding. Obviously a lot of people had read the article.

Throughout dinner, people would stop by our table and shake our hands and offer us congratulations on our upcoming wedding. Invariably, they would ask when, and of course the only thing we could say was we hadn't picked out a date yet.

The more people who came by our table, the quieter and quieter Jessie became.

Most of those people who came by would also drop a bill or two on the table. A lot of $20s, some $50s, and even a few $100s.

Throughout dinner Jessie had been as quiet as I have ever known her, and was just picking at her food. I wasn't sure if it was because her foot was really hurting her, or something else. Then she finally started talking.

"Does it bother you, about the engagement thing?" Jessie asked at one point. "I don't know why I said it, about being your fiancée. I mean I do know why I said it, because I wanted to tease you a little at the hospital and then it just seemed to take on a life of its own, and when I was helping you outside the hospital last night and the newspaper reporter asked if he could ask me some questions about you and I said sure because I was so proud of you, the way you were helping people, how much you cared, how kind and considerate you were, how incredibly competent you were, then I thought I would tease you a little about UGA and how you wanted to get your degree from there, and he asked me at one point 'why is your name so familiar,' and I told him I was on the UGA soccer team, but I never told him I was the all-time leading scorer for the team. I mean I am, but I never told him that, I guess someone at Athens told him that, and I told him about how you dug me out of the crumpled remains of my house and carried me to your truck, but I never said it was a mile and never said anything about downed power lines, and I never said anything about you having to give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to revive me, he just made those up, then the reporter asked me about our engagement because apparently Janice or Dr. Wilson had mentioned it to him and then he was asking me and I didn't know what to say and I couldn't just say well we aren't really engaged after all because people were already talking about it like we were engaged and I didn't know what else to say and I am so sorry if I embarrassed you and now I feel like an idiot and I know you are probably upset with me and I don't blame you if you are, and if I could go back and change it I would, but I don't know how to change it now, but I will stand up right here and right now and tell everyone we really aren't engaged, but please don't be mad at me and don't yell at me because I just couldn't take it right now and would probably start crying like crazy and my foot hurts and I feel like I am about to be sick to my stomach . . . and . . . and . . ."

Jessie finally ran out of words and was now just looking down at the table. Tears were streaming down her face. I had once kidded Jessie about talking for 30 minutes straight without taking a breath. She hadn't exactly just finished talking for 30 minutes, but it was several minutes and I honestly don't think she stopped once to breathe.

"Jessie, (she looked up at me and I could see how scared she looked) . . . My love (suddenly the fear was gone and something else was taking its place) there is only thing that really bothers me about that," I answered.

So . . . I stood up and started hitting my glass with a knife.

"Could I have everyone's attention for a minute?" I asked.

"I assume many of you have read the newspaper article about us, and I would like to clarify something," I said. "The newspaper said we are engaged. The fact is, we are not engaged. Jessie is not my fiancée, and I am not her fiancé. Yet! I want to take care of that right now."

I dropped to my knees beside Jessie.

"Jessie, yesterday when I saw your demolished house and knew you were inside I went berserk. I didn't know if you were injured . . . or worse . . . but I knew right then just how much I love you and that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Jessica, my love, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Yes, Oh God Yes," Jessie said as tears began streaming down her face again. They were also streaming down my face as well. We were hugging and kissing.

We received another standing ovation.

Shortly after that, we finished eating (actually I had already finished and Jessie finally started) and Jessie slowly made her way to my car.

We had barely gotten inside when Jessie reached over and tried unbuckling my belt. "I promised you French something else," she said.

"Patience, Miss Johansson, patience," I admonished her, pushing her hands away.

"Patience, Hell," she answered. "I saw a cartoon once, it showed two buzzards waiting for an animal to die so they could eat, but one buzzard said, 'Patience, Hell, I want to kill something.' That's how I feel now, I want to eat you NOW!"

I punched in an address on the GPS, and 20 minutes later we pulled into one of the nicest hotels in downtown Atlanta.

"What's this?" asked Jessie.

"Patience, Miss Johansson, patience. You kids today are so impatient."

When we walked up to the counter, I said, "I believe you have reservations for Mr. and Mrs. Walker?"

Jessie gasped loud enough for the clerk to look up and smile.

"Yes, sir, the honeymoon suite," he said. I gave him a credit card and he gave us a magnetic key and told us how to find the room.

After getting off the elevator, we were walking to the room when Jessie couldn't contain herself any longer. Jessie put one crutch in front of me so I had to stop.

"Reservations! Honeymoon Suite! Just what is going on Sam?"

I pulled Jessie against me.

"I talked with Dr. Andrews Friday night. She said she thought we were ready, IF, IF, you wanted to that is. So I made reservations for us here. I had hoped to bring you here last night, but that tornado interfered.

"Are . . . are you ready Jessie?" I asked, very gently.

She didn't actually answer me. Instead Jessie put her arms around my neck and jumped up, wrapping her incredible legs around my waist and was soon sticking her tongue half-way down my throat.

I took that as a "Yes!"

We were actually only a few feet from our room, so I just carried Jessie like that over to the door, then slid the magnetic key down the slot.

Once inside, I -- regretfully -- put Jessie down so I could turn and lock the door. When I turned back around, Jessie was waiting for me. She didn't rip the shirt off like she had the previous Saturday, but she unbuttoned it. Then Jessie undid my belt, unsnapped my trousers and pulled them down with my underwear.

Before I could do or say anything, Jessie dropped to her knees and the head of my penis was in her mouth. I know her toes had to be hurting from kneeling like that, but apparently Jessie didn't care.

After gently sucking on the head for a minute or two, Jessie pulled back, then slowly started licking the length of my penis with her tongue. She lowered her head and licked my balls, then gently took one at a time in her mouth and sucked.

I gasped, and Jessie resumed licking my penis, then took me back in her mouth.

The first time Jessie tried to take me into her throat she gagged, then pulled back enough to say, "God, you are so BIG, Mr. Walker." Before I could respond (my blood had left my head by now), she had me back in her mouth and this time I slid deep inside her throat.

I was moaning and groaning at the feeling; her throat was so tight and her mouth and tongue were absolutely incredible.

Before long, I finally managed to tell Jessie that if she didn't stop, then I was going to cum. Rather than stop, Jessie redoubled her efforts until I could hold back no more. I think I shot harder, and more, than I have ever cum in my life. Jessie continued sucking and cleaning me off until I was soft.

I think the only thing that kept me vertical was the fact that I was, by now, leaning back against the door.

Jessie stood up and was in my arms as we exchanged a deep, deep kiss. I could taste myself in her mouth.

"Come on, let's go to bed," she said, grabbing my hand and turning away.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on my stomach, barely getting my hands up in time to catch myself before I would have hit the floor face first.

I had forgotten that I hadn't actually taken my pants and underwear off. They were still pushed down around my feet, so when I tried to take a step I fell down.

Jessie, displaying some sadistic tendencies, was laughing so hard I was afraid she would hurt herself!




Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 05



"This reminds me of when I first saw you, lying helpless at my feet, after I knocked you out!" she declared.

I growled at her. She continued to laugh. I growled some more.

"Payback, Miss Johansson, can be a bitch," I warned Jessie.

I rolled over and finally got my pants, underwear, shoes and socks off, then stood up.

As I started to look for Jessie to administer the threatened "payback," I stopped cold in my tracks.

Jessie . . . Jessie was looking at me with a look that I can only describe as pure love. Yes, there was lust and desire, but there was also something else. Some undefinable "something" that I think my heart recognized.

"Oh, Jessie," I said, as I held my arms out. She quickly moved into my arms and we were kissing again.

"Sam, do you mind if I take a shower first?" she said, "I was laughing so hard at you after you fell I think I . . . peed myself."

"Do you need any help? You know, washing your . . . back . . . or something?" I asked.

Jessie actually blushed.

"I'd love to take a shower with you . . . later," she said, "but I promise I won't be but a few minutes." Luckily the hospital had given us some plastic bags and waterproof tape so I quickly wrapped those around her injured foot.

True to her word, five minutes later she limped out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel. By the time she reached the bed, the towel was laying on the floor.

It was still early afternoon, so I had turned the lights off and pulled the curtains partially shut, but there was still plenty of light in the room.

As I watched Jessie limp over to the bed I was almost speechless.

I don't know how, in five minutes, she had managed to not only take a shower but to also comb her hair but she was so beautiful it almost made my heart ache just to see her.

I had a very naked girl standing directly in front of me, with one of the most well-conditioned and sexiest bodies I had ever seen, and yet I could not even look anywhere but into her eyes.

For some strange reason, I immediately thought back to a week earlier when we had almost made love for the first time. That night, Jessie had been trembling with fear or nerves, and when I had looked into her eyes I could sense lust and desire, but I could also tell she had been scared.

Now, all I could see was love almost radiating out of eyes.

I was still sitting on the side of the bed and was almost afraid to touch Jessie, to break the intimacy of the moment. Looking into her eyes, I knew my life would never be the same again. I knew from this moment forward, Jessie would possess me, and I would possess her -- totally.

"You are so beautiful," I finally managed to whisper.

Jessie smiled, then held out both her hands. As my hands grabbed hers, she pulled me up until we were standing face-to-face, lip-to-lip. Tentatively almost, our lips met then we were exchanging the most mind-blowing kiss of my life. Our bodies were tightly pressed together.

I don't know if we kissed for five minutes or fifty. Time no longer seemed to have any meaning. We kissed until we finally had to stop.

"Make love to me, please, Mr. Walker," Jessie whispered against my lips.

"Gladly . . . Mrs. Walker," I said.

Jessie started crying.

"Don't cry Jessie, but it is going to be a little awkward if after we are married I become Mr. Johansson," I teased her. "Or maybe you want to become Mrs. Johansson-Walker?"

By now Jessie is both laughing and crying. "No, no," she said, "I think I am going to love being just plain old Mrs. Walker."

"There is nothing plain or old about you," I said as our lips met again.

After kissing for several more moments, I finally reached down and picked up Jessie in my arms, then gently laid her down on the bed.

I could not help but to pause and just stare at this incredibly beautiful woman for a minute. And as I did, my mind relived those first few seconds, just the day before, when I saw the almost total destruction of her house.

Almost as soon as I saw what was left of the house, I had just shut down that part of my mind. I had refused to even consider the possibility, or probability, that she was lying dead somewhere in the wreckage.

The devastation had been so complete it had seemed impossible that anyone could have lived through it. At first, my fear for Jessie had been almost paralyzing.

Now, as I remembered the incredible despair I had felt in those few seconds, before my fire department and medical training had kicked in and did what I was trained to do without even thinking, my eyes filled with tears.

"Oh God, Jessie, I was so afraid you were dead," I cried, "I was terrified you had been killed. And I had not told you just how important you are to me. I never told you just how much I love you."

Jessie didn't say anything, just wrapped her arms around me and pulled me down beside her.

"Oh, Sam," Jessie finally said after several minutes, "I was afraid of the tornado, but I knew you were coming back to me, and I knew you would save me."

Then her lips curled up in a mischievous smile.

"Besides Sam, I knew you loved me," she grinned. "I've known that ever since you regained consciousness, after I knocked you out that first day."

I laughed, then rolled my eyes at her.

"I don't care what the doctor said, I think there must be some brain damage," I muttered. Jessie laughed.

"Now, are you going to screw my brains out, or do I have to knock you out again?" she asked.

As our lips met, I could feel Jessie's mouth open beneath mine. Our tongues began sparring in a passionate kiss.

When I reached over and gently cupped her breast, then started rubbing my thumb across her nipple I could hear Jessie moan, deep in her throat.

"Now, Sam, now!" she insistently proclaimed, "I want you inside me NOW!"

When I reached down between her legs, and inserted a finger inside her, I could not believe how wet Jessie already was.

"NOW, Sam," she again insisted.

Positioning myself between her legs, my rock-hard penis brushed against her waiting folds.

Jessie reached down and guided me inside her. It was like sinking into a glorious, blazing hot pool of fire. Jessie was so tight.

By the time I was halfway inside, Jessie was making incoherent sounds of pleasure.

When I finally felt our two bodies meet as I bottomed out, I heard Jessie sigh, "So full. Oh, God, I am so full."

I pulled slowly out, until just the head of my penis was still inside her, then started pushing in again, just a little faster than before.

Jessie reached up with both hands and pulled my head down to meet her. Our lips met again, then our tongues.

I began increasing the speed and force until Jessie was again reduced to almost incoherent sounds.

When I moved my head down and sucked one of her rock-hard nipples into my mouth Jessie screamed softly as her incredibly well-conditioned body lifted off the bed in the throes of a mindless orgasm.

I stopped while Jessie came back down to earth, then started moving inside her again.

Jessie's eyes opened in amazement.

"You didn't cum yet?" she asked.

"When I cum . . . Mrs. Walker . . . you will know it," I promised.

During the next 10 or 15 minutes, Jessie must have had a half-dozen more increasingly intense orgasms.

By the time I finally filled her insides with cum, the only sounds Jessie could make, in addition to moans of pleasure, were prolonged, "Yesssss, Yessss," or "Saaaammm, Saaammm."

By the time my body stiffened and I cried out, "Jessie, Jessie, Jessie," we were both drenched in sweat. That triggered another orgasm from Jessie.

We were both completely spent. I am not sure how long we just lay side-by-side, holding each other.

"Well, Mr. Walker, at least now I know one thing," Jessie said after 15 or 20 minutes of just holding each other.

"What's that, Mrs. Walker?" I asked.

"You are DEFINITELY one of the exceptional, gifted Marines. I think you can probably count to 21 and a half," she said with a big smile.

I just answered her with my own smile, then we gently kissed.

"Oh, crap," Jessie said, a few minutes later.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I just realized I don't have ANY clothes, other than what I wore here . . . and those I borrowed from a nurse at the hospital," she said.

"Well, I can't have my wife looking like a homeless person," I said with a grin. Jessie grinned back at me.

We quickly got dressed, then drove to the nearest mall. Since it was a Sunday, the mall would be closing early, but two hours . . . and several thousand dollars later . . . Jessie had a lot -- a lot -- of new outfits, including some very special ones from Victoria's Secret.

As thrilled as she was with the new clothes, she also kept complaining about how much money I was spending on her.

"Well, like I told you, I can't have my soon-to-be wife looking like a homeless person," I answered her. Jessie grinned.

Our final stop was one that Jessie had not planned on . . . one of the larger jewelers in Atlanta. They were supposed to close in 15 minutes, but when I gave the salesperson our price range, I was told not to worry about closing time.

We had been looking for about 20 minutes when one of the salesmen came up and asked, "Hey, aren't you the people in the newspaper?"

To make a long story short, the jewelers received a lot of free publicity, Jessie received a diamond engagement ring that had a price tag that was nearly equal to the cost of the first home I bought, and I received a nearly 50 percent discount off that price.

Talk about a win-win-win! If you have ever heard about a diamond ring with a stone big enough to choke a horse, well Jessie had one with a stone big enough to choke several horses.

After we drove back to the hotel, Jessie and I took our first shower together, which ended with us making love standing up in the shower. Then we made love on the bed, after Jessie tried on one of her Victoria's Secret outfits.

We ordered room service, then made love again after dinner.

Then we made love again before falling asleep together for the first time.

Early the next morning we made love, took a shower, made love, ordered breakfast and made love before driving back to my house.

Jessie quickly took sole possession of one of my two walk-in closets, and started making a list of additional clothes she would need. Meanwhile, I called my insurance company, and a roofing company.

In between phone calls, and hanging up clothes, we made love several more times.

Finally, it was late Monday afternoon, and Jessie had to get back to college.

Her car had been leveled when her parent's carport collapsed, so when Jessie asked how she was supposed to get back, and started talking about renting a car, I handed her the keys to Deb's Mercedes S65 AMG.

"Oh, my God, Sam, I can't drive that," she exclaimed. "Don't they cost around $150,000?"

I just smiled, because even the basic model cost a lot more than that. And Deb's car was NOT the basic model.

"You CAN drive it, and you WILL drive it," I told her. "It's probably the safest car on the road, and I am not going to have my wife driving anything less."

Jessie immediately teared up. "Oh, Sam, I just love to hear you say that, 'your wife,' but I can't drive your car . . ."

"Our car . . . OUR car," I interrupted her. "Once we are married, which I hope is very soon, it will be OUR car."

Then I grinned. "Besides, now that I know how clumsy blondes are (pointing to her foot), I absolutely insist. How do you ever manage to kick a soccer ball without tripping over it?"

At this implied insult to her soccer prowess, she scowled, then grabbed me and started tickling.

"Hey, listen up, you dumb-ass Marine," she declared, "Just because we are now engaged it doesn't mean I can't still kick your sorry butt. I'll just have to do it with a pair of crutches until my foot gets better!"

"Typical blonde," I said, "first you have to catch me. And a five-year-old can probably run faster than you can hobble."

The tickling soon turned to kissing, and the kissing soon found us back in bed making love again.

"Oh Sam, I don't want to leave you. I mean it will only be two weeks, but I don't know if I can stand being away from you for two whole weeks," Jessie lamented.

"Don't worry about that, Jess," I said. "On my days off you just might find yourself with a visitor for a day . . . or night."

Finally, after a lot of kisses and a few tears -- from both of us -- Jessie got in our Mercedes and returned to Athens. She took a number of the new outfits we had purchased as well, since all the clothes she had brought home to clean were now probably scattered across several square miles.

Jessie called me once she was back at UGA, and we reminded ourselves of how much we love each other before we both went to bed. I slept like a baby that night, and Jessie later told me she did as well.

The next day I received a beautiful e-mail from Jessie where she talked a lot about how wonderful the weekend had been -- well, other than the tornado of course.

She also told me that after seeing the new clothes I bought her, seeing the size of the engagement ring, and seeing the Mercedes she was now driving that Rachel, her friend from the soccer team, said what I needed was a REAL woman who could keep me happy . . . someone like, well, Rachel.

When I answered Jessie's email, along with my usual blonde joke and UGA joke, I also told her that she had better make sure I stayed happy, or I just might have to call Rachel.

During the next two weeks, I spent a number of nights in Athens with Jessie, and believe me, we did EVERYTHING we could think of to keep each other happy.

I was also sitting in the audience when she received her degree, with honors, in civil engineering.

"Civil Engineering?" I asked, after the ceremony, "I thought you dumb jocks majored in courses like basket weaving?"

"Listen, butt-head," she bristled, "you dumb-ass Leatherbrains probably don't even know what a civil engineer is . . ."

"Of course I do," I interrupted, countering with, "Marines love civil engineers. Civil engineers build bridges, roads, factories, and other buildings. Or, as we say in the Marines, civil engineers build targets that we can blow up."

That quieted her down for a while!

When Winston and Gloria returned home, they actually had no home to return to. So they moved into one of my spare bedrooms. They salvaged what little they could of their lifetime of memories and possessions, then watched as the rest of the house was torn down so a new house could be built.

After the graduation ceremony, we all went out to eat, then Jessie's parents returned to my home, while Jessie and I stayed in Athens at a hotel.

The next day we loaded all of Jessie's possessions into my truck and her Mercedes then drove back home.

Yes, it was a little awkward, having her parents there. Especially that first night when Jessie and I went to bed together, but Winston and Gloria had made it very plain how happy they were knowing we were together and would soon be married. Luckily for us, since Jessie tends to be quite vocal, their bedroom is on the other side of the house.

One day they showed us the plans they had had drawn up of their new house. It was beautiful, but was even bigger than their old home.

"Why are you building such a big house now, knowing that Sam and I are going to be married and living here?" She asked them.

"Well, we expect a LOT of grand-kids . . . SOON," Gloria answered, then as both Jessie and I blushed she and Winston started laughing at us.

Just a few days after Jessie moved into my house, I went to my mailbox one day and found a bill from Dr. Andrews.

It was with some trepidation that I finally opened it, with Jessie beside me.

It was a very detailed bill, showing our initial two hour phone call, her first five hour session with Jessie, her one hour follow-up phone call with me, plus two hours each session for all six follow up sessions with Jessie. All total, 20 hours at $200 per hour (her special 'premium' charge), plus a surcharge listing 287 UGA jokes at $25 each.

The total bill came to $11,175.

I really don't remember THAT many UGA jokes, but I wasn't going to quibble over it.

Especially since Dr. Andrews had written across the bottom, "This bill shall be considered PAID IN FULL as soon as I receive my invitation to the wedding." Jessie and I both got a little misty-eyed. Okay, a lot misty-eyed.

Soon after that, Dr. Andrews received her invitation to the wedding, along with a pre-paid voucher good, for up to a year, for two round-trip, first-class air fares to Athens, Greece.

Jessie and I were married a month after that (July 15) then spent two weeks in the Bahamas.

After we got back, Jessie was almost immediately hired by a large engineering firm in Atlanta.

That also brings up an interesting question.

I had spent four years in the Marines, and, at that point, been a fireman and EMT for over six years. Relatively speaking, I made a decent salary.

Jessie STARTED making more than double my salary.

What is it about me that attracts women who invariably end up making a lot more money than I do?

Of course you also have to add the money I make buying, restoring and selling houses. Every 9 to 12 months or so, Jessie and I will buy a run-down house, then I will spend six months to a year completely gutting it and restoring it to mint condition. We only buy houses that are actually in good neighborhoods, but need a lot of TLC. So far, I have managed to at least double the price I initially paid for every house.

After flipping our first house, and realizing how much money I was paying in commission to the real estate agent, I took some courses and obtained my real estate license so I could sell those houses myself and save thousands on commissions.

One day a buddy with the fire department asked if I would help him sell his house, so the two of us spent a couple of weeks working on his house, and put in less than a thousand dollars in improvements. He sold it for over $10,000 more than his last agent said it would bring in.

After that several more firemen asked for my help, then as word got around, several policeman also asked for help. The next thing I knew I was getting calls from fireman and policeman throughout Atlanta asking for my help in selling their homes.

Some months, I actually make more in real estate commissions than I am paid by the county as a fireman.

Because we don't need her money, Jessie is actually putting 50 percent of her salary (the maximum allowed by law), into a company-sponsored 401k retirement account.

If the truth be told, we could retire now since I still have most of the money I received from Deb's insurance policies.

I love what I do, helping people. In Iraq . . . well there is no easy way to say this: I killed people. Yes, they were people that truly needed killing, but it is such a blessing now to be able to save lives.

Jessie loves her job "building targets" as I keep reminding her!

We will probably continue to work until Jessie is 40 (I will be 48), then decide whether or not to retire. Even if we do retire, I will probably continue with the real estate business since it doesn't take up that much time.

I did complete that one remaining course, and did graduate from the University of Georgia. "How 'bout them Dawgs!" Or perhaps I should modify that, since I now have a degree in English, to: "Consider the Canines!"

When we started adding up all the college credits I had earned over the years we were shocked to learn that I actually was only six credits short of earning a second degree, but in history this time. In the years since then, I added that second degree and NEVER let Jessie forget that I have two degrees to her one.




Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 05



Jessie keeps threatening to drag me back onto a soccer field and this time she says she won't take it so easy on me.

She actually talked me into playing soccer against her ONCE. I played goalie.

This was only a month after she gave birth to the twins and I wasn't really worried. After all, how much damage could a brand new mom do to me? I mean she was still recovering from the long, long labor, still carrying some of the extra weight she had gained during the pregnancy, and I knew she had to be out of shape.

I had played soccer throughout my elementary school days, usually as a goalie. It was only after I was in high school I gave up soccer to concentrate on other sports, but would still sometimes work out with my high school soccer team to keep my goalie skills sharp.

Plus this would be the first time she had been on a soccer field since she had broken two toes the previous May. I thought I was safe.

BIG mistake.

It took me a couple of days to walk unaided. It took two weeks for most of the bruises to fade away. Even worse, she called some of our friends from the fire department and they taped the whole damn thing -- from multiple angles.

That is a source of endless amusement to everyone at the fire department.

They call it "The day the bad-ass, dumb-ass Marine got his ass handed to him by a girl."

My so-called friends from the fire department took all the different videos of the soccer debacle and actually hired some guy to put them together in the form of what looks like a Hollywood movie.

The film opens with a shot of the Marine Corps War Memorial in Washington, D.C., then pans to the inscription at the bottom, "Uncommon Valor Was A Common Virtue," which was what Admiral Chester Nimitz said about the Marines on Iwo Jima.

The film then cuts to a shot of a soccer ball bouncing off my head and into the goal.

Next, the film showed the inscription about "The Marines Have Landed And The Situation Is Well In Hand," which dates back to our landing in Panama in 1885.

The film then cuts to a shot of a soccer ball hitting me squarely in the stomach and my collapsing on the ground. The ball slowly rolled into the goal.

The next shot shows the immortal words of Gunnery Sergeant Dan Daly, who during the battle of Belleau Woods, during World War I, yelled to his men, "Come on, you sons-of-bitches! Do you want to live forever?"

The film shows me, after I got completely twisted around on a play, with the soccer ball bouncing off my butt into the goal.

The next shot showed an inscription I had never seen before: "The Marines I have seen around the world have the cleanest bodies, the filthiest minds, the highest morale, and the lowest morals of any group of animals I have ever seen. Thank God for the United States Marine Corps!" Eleanor Roosevelt, First Lady of the United States, 1945.

After that, well the film really turned nasty: at least to my point of view. I actually blocked several shots, but somehow not a single one of those made it in the final film!

After a number of additional shots of soccer balls bouncing off different parts of my body and into the goal . . . well the final shot showed a soccer ball hitting me . . . below the belt and bouncing into the goal, followed by my rolling around on the ground clutching my . . . privates.

Jessie was on her hands and knees crying, thinking she had probably killed me.

At least the film ended on a somewhat positive note: A quote by President Ronald Reagan in 1985, "Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference in the world. But, the Marines don't have that problem."

The film continues with some pictures of me in my dress blue uniform with my medals on my chest, followed by a close-up of just those medals. Next came the headline in the local paper about my rescuing Jessie from her house, followed by a number of photos of the absolute destruction of the house after the tornado.

Apparently someone had also gotten copies of the photos from the paper showing both Jessie and I helping people at the hospital, then the photo of us kissing between patients.

Then the film cut back to the debacle at the soccer field and the final play when the soccer ball hit me below the belt.

But at least the film ended with Jessie and me kissing, before she helped me limp to the car.

Jessie and I have done our best to make Winston and Gloria happy.

Six weeks after the honeymoon, we found out Jessie was pregnant . . . with twins, two daughters.

Two years later we added Samuel Obediah Walker, Jr.

It is now two years after that, and I am almost in a state of stunned disbelief. Jessie is pregnant again, and today we had a sonogram. I am soon going to be the father of triplets. It looks like two girls and a boy. That will be four girls, and two boys.

Jessie's mom says the twins are already taller than Jessie was at four years of age. My father is just over six feet, two inches, and Winston is even taller at six feet, four inches, so it is going to be interesting to see what happens in the next 14 years!

For the twins' recent fourth birthday, in addition to all the clothes, dolls and other toys, I also bought each a miniature soccer ball. After Jessie left the room to cut their birthday cake, I explained to the girls that while their mom liked to "try" to play soccer, she really wasn't that good and that any time they wanted to play, they needed to come and get me. I told them this would be "our little secret" and not to make their mom feel bad by asking her to play.

After we ate the cake, Jessie asked the twins if they wanted to play soccer with her, and she was more than a little disappointed when they both said they wanted "Daddy" to teach them.

Now, it drives Jessie crazy that any time the girls want to play soccer outside, they come and get me. Even when Jessie offers to play, to teach them, they just say, "Ah, Mom, Daddy can teach us."

Yes, I know that when one of them finally slips up and tells Jessie what I said she is probably going to kill me. And death will just be a start for what she has in mind. Probably cut my head off and use IT for a soccer ball.

Oh, and speaking of soccer, remember Jessie's friend Rachel, who once threatened to "rip my balls off?" She went on to play soccer professionally, and won an Olympic Gold Medal in soccer.

Every year Rachel visits Jessie and stays with us for a week or two. And every year Rachel tells both Jessie and me that I need a REAL woman to keep me happy . . . someone like, well, Rachel!

I will freely admit something, since Jessie knows and understands.

As much as I love Jessie -- and I love her so much it hurts to even think how close she came to being killed by that tornado -- on August 15th of each year I get a little . . . emotional. You never forget your first love.

Jessie always takes that day off, if it falls on a weekday, so she can just be with me. To offer a shoulder to cry on, or someone to talk to, to help ease the pain.

This next August 15th, however, will probably be a different story. That is Jessie's due date, and so far she has been completely on target.

Now, I will have something to celebrate, something to temper the pain I still feel every year.

Somehow, I feel Debs is up there, watching, and this is her way of telling me, like she did so many, many years ago "maybe we can hold hands and keep each other from crying."

So many, many years ago, I held her hand to keep her from crying, and I think this is Debs way of telling me she is still holding my hand, and telling me she doesn't want me to cry anymore.

She doesn't want me to only remember the pain when I think about her, but to remember the good times.

Yes, I love Jessie so much. But I still love Debs as well. You never forget your first love.

I feel so blessed to have had the love of two such incredible women. As baseball great Lou Gehrig once said, "I feel like I am the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

Speaking, as I was earlier, about the Georgia Bulldogs (my now favorite football team), I have one last little story to share.

During World War I, the Marines fought the Germans at a place called Belleau Woods in France. We absolutely kicked their butts. The Germans said the Marines were the most dangerous, relentless enemy they had faced during the entire war, and wrote reports back home calling the Marines "Teufel Hunden" or Dogs from Hell, or Hounds from Hell.

That was later translated as Devil Dogs, and since 1918 has been a proud nickname for the United States Marine Corps.

Do you know which breed of dog is the mascot of the United States Marine Corps?

The English bulldog.

The same breed serves as the mascot of the University of Georgia.

So, I say again, "How 'bout them dawgs!"