10 comments/  48325 views/  16 favorites

Learning to Fly

By: Dinsmore



This is a work of fiction. While I was offered the opportunity to return to active duty very much as outlined, I passed on it and remained a civilian with no regrets. From everything I have learned over the years since, I made the right decision. As fucked up as the Army might have been in my day, it's even more so today and has been for years. What if I had made a different choice? Remember that this is fiction; I've intentionally blurred timelines and created fictional locales and conflicts while attempting to maintain a modicum of technical accuracy. 

Back when I was an Army Aviator our bible was a relatively thin Army Regulation known as AR 95-1 which covered flight operations. This was before our military and our society decided that no one should ever have to use judgment or make a decision and we all needed reams of rules to tell us exactly what to do in any foreseeable situation. Back then, officers were responsible for their decisions; if the outcome was unfavorable and equipment got bent or people got hurt or killed, it was your ass and you'd better hope the investigators bought your logic and your story.

Today as I've come to understand, a commander at any level can't take a dump without checking the regs. It's a sorry state of affairs and I'm glad I moved on before it got that way. I made good decisions and I made decisions that weren't so good. In the latter case, I got my ass chewed. 

Only once can I remember making a decision which ultimately resulted in someone getting hurt---fortunately not life threatening. I've reviewed that decision a thousand times and even in hindsight, would have made the same call. My boss didn't like the result: someone got shot. After his initial anger, he recognized that he would have probably done the same thing if it had been his call. 

In his absence and as his next in command, I had made the decision to allow a very competent pilot less familiar with the area of operation than I was to take a mission rather than jumping in and taking it myself. There were critical, time sensitive tasks to be performed back on the ground and looking around that day, there wasn't another officer in sight who I felt comfortable leaving in charge of supervising a series of tasks with which he would have zero familiarity or history.

The pilot who got shot flew over the wrong territory at the wrong altitude, or so it would seem. Looking back he probably got shot by one of our disgruntled allies who was pissed off that we were about to leave him to fight his own war. I wouldn't have made the same choice if I'd been the aircraft commander---but in view of the fact that the war was supposed to be over, who could have foreseen a clearly marked peace keeping helicopter less than a mile from one of the largest air bases in country taking a single round which just happened to come up through the floor and hit the pilot in command in the leg? 

Shit happens and when it does we are desperate to find someone to blame. An isolated event occurs, often as a result of a series of benign actions and the result causes people and property harm---and immediately there is a demand for new rules to ensure that it never happens again.

Very few of us have a lot of experience making instantaneous life or death decisions. I can't even imagine what is going through the head of some nineteen year old Marine Lance Corporal in Al Anbar province as a beat up Toyota Land Cruiser with blacked out windows comes screaming down the road at fifty miles an hour giving no indication whatsoever that it intends to stop at the checkpoint less than a hundred yards away. What would you do?

Anyway, on with the tale. Army Aviation...Above the Best!

This is romance, not stroke.

"No, no, no! You're over-crosschecking, Lieutenant! You're over-controlling! I've got the aircraft."

"You have the aircraft."

"I have the aircraft."

I'm getting too fucking old for this shit! What the hell am I doing here? Oh, yeah, that's right; I'm back in the fucking Army---have been for five years. I'm a relatively junior major commanding an aviation company. I'm thirty-four---almost thirty-five. I can retire in a little over three years. My CW3 standardization pilot should be doing this but he's grounded with the flu and my other warrant officer instructor pilots are either sick or grounded for too many flight hours in a month. Everyone has the damn flu in this godforsaken climate. At least that fucking redneck fool isn't the commander in chief any more.

The new guy in the White House was doing the right thing---throwing money at the military in a desperate attempt to rebuild after the atrophy which had followed that last stupid war. The obsolete Army helicopter fleet was being replaced with newer---hopefully better---aircraft. They were very complex and from a maintenance standpoint impossible to keep in the air in acceptable numbers. 

Seventy-five percent of his pilots had fewer than a hundred hours of flight time other than flight school. Over half of them came to the unit not qualified in the new utility helicopter that would ultimately replace the venerable but obsolete Huey. Lack of an in-country transition program meant it was his responsibility as the unit commander to get all of his pilots transitioned before all of the old helicopters were replaced and/or the shit hit the fan.

This bitch was supposed to be easier to fly and in some respects, it was but it was also far more sophisticated than the UH-1H. Additionally, new technologies intended to allow for vital new tactics provided their own host of issues. The early iterations of the night vision equipment were very difficult to get used to. Peripheral vision and depth of field were severely diminished. Spatial disorientation---vertigo---was an all too common and potentially deadly phenomenon.

As stress increased---as the "pucker factor" became more pronounced---while flying under blacked out, night conditions, the absurd attempt to fly visually using equipment not really intended for the three dimensional world of flying while also relying on a confusing array of flight instruments often led to the same result: over-controlling the aircraft. It would start almost imperceptibly and quickly deteriorate into severe over control and, ultimately, loss of control. Flying a few feet off the ground or trees---"nap of the earth"---there was little margin for error.

He had a handful of aging warrant officers who had done at least one tour in combat---most, like their CO had two tours---but not a single commissioned officer who had ever been shot at. The guys with a thousand plus hours of combat flying had an easier go of it: flying, per se, was almost second nature to them. They approached the new bird and the new tactics and technologies with a confidence and excitement that the younger, newer pilots just didn't possess. Having flown low level, "seat of the pants" at night with green tracers flashing around them in combat---and having survived---they quickly adapted to the new tactics and equipment.

The problem was simple. If this unit had to go into combat, he didn't have enough war hardened veteran pilots to put even one in each of his twenty-four helicopters. Add in the reality of the piss poor attitudes on the part of too many of the young commissioned pilots under his command. Most somehow thought they were better than the warrants and by virtue of their rank, should be in command. With few exceptions none of those young lieutenants or captains had either the flying prowess or the tactical sense to be in command of a moped. To add insult to injury, the prospect of real combat occurring in this third world hellhole within a matter of a few months was an increasingly likely probability.

He wanted to give his young student ample time to get her head back in the game before turning the controls back over to her. Her. Well, that was a whole different issue. While the politicians in Washington were still jerking off over the issue of women in combat, he had command of a unit which included over a third female aviators. Technically they were a combat support unit---which was a crock since they supported front line combat units and would be shot at in the opening minutes if the "balloon went up".

He certainly wasn't any more sexist than any other young field grade officer of his generation and certainly no misogynist. Sure, it irritated him that the best non-combat "sweet" assignments ferrying some general officer around Europe or the Far East in a twin turbo prop fixed wing were being handed to new female aviators within a few months of graduating from flight school. 

In the old days an aviator "earned" those kinds of cherry jobs after years and years of shitty assignments. Not any more. Since those jobs were classically non-combat---not even combat support---the female pilots got first crack at them. It wasn't right; female Army Aviators would never gain 100% acceptance until they were allowed to do every job a male was required to do. He knew it wasn't their fault; it was the fault of the idiot politicians back in Washington.

The feminists were already complaining that female officers weren't always getting promoted as fast as their male comrades---and why weren't they being selected to command line units? Could it be because most of them had never served a single day in a line unit and never been tested under fire?

The majority of the female aviators had flight skills as good or even better than their male counterparts coming out of flight school. If they shared a common weakness it was a tendency to overanalyze combined with a certain degree of tentativeness and a lack of confidence. They were careful...cautious---maybe too much so. They did their homework better than many of the men but didn't always do well on "exam" day. He laughed to himself as he thought back to a movie he had recently seen...Star Wars? Use the Force, Luke! Or another favorite, Caddy Shack: be the ball.

He had gone back to Fort Rucker not long after his return to active duty. He'd been intimately involved in the test and evaluation process for the new helicopter and the night vision equipment. He'd literally written the book on the use of this bird with its unique capabilities on the modern battlefield. He had doubtless been chosen to command this particular unit ahead of a bunch of majors who were senior in view of his unique experience and expertise. He wore the star over his flight wings of a senior aviator and within the year would have fifteen years of rated service and the requisite hours to receive the wreath around that star of a Master Aviator. There weren't a half a dozen majors in the Army who were Master Aviators.

As he checked out the adorable young blond lieutenant in the other seat, he searched for a way to help LT Jessica Wainwright wear the aircraft, feel the controls and see beyond the instruments. She was one of his better pilots. Sure, in a different world, he'd chase her tail. She was twenty-six, bright, engaging and filled out her flight suit extremely well. She was also two grades below him and in his chain of command---a total no-no. If she was a captain and not under his command...that would be a very different story. His mind drifted back to the series of events which had brought him to this point in his life.

***

Why was some full colonel from Army Personnel Command leaving urgent messages on his home answering machine? He wasn't in the Army any more. He'd joined on his eighteenth birthday and had served just over ten years, departing as a Chief Warrant Officer, W3. He'd received a couple of form letters about his, "Inactive Reserve Obligation" which he had ignored because he was sure that with over ten years on active duty he didn't have any reserve obligation, inactive or otherwise. Well, sure, he'd been Regular Army and he supposed that in time of war he could be called back but there was no war on and the Army was losing active duty members---particularly junior officers---as fast as it could.

They'd lost him for all the wrong reasons. He'd done everything he was supposed to do. He'd earned a degree in Aeronautical Engineering ---even a Masters degree ---in night school and Bootstrap (a degree completion program for career officers who can complete their degree in a year or less). After completing the Army Transportation Officer Basic and Advanced courses via correspondence and completing six months as a Brigade transportation officer, he had applied for a direct commission to Captain. 

He had an exemplary record and letters of recommendation out the wazoo. He was a highly decorated two tour combat veteran. Eight of his ten years in the Army had been in certified, "commissioned officer vacancies". He'd been granted a commission as a Captain, O3 in the Reserve Officer Corps---but had failed in his bid to achieve that same rank on active duty. 

Department of the Army said they had an excess of Captains in his respective year group on active duty, although the Transportation branch was short. He knew they were short TC(Transportation Corps) officers---that was how he, an aviation warrant officer, had ended up in the Brigade Transportation Officer billet. The war was over and the military was falling apart. The best junior officers were leaving in droves. 

After exploring every possible avenue he had given up and put in his paperwork to get out. The Army had dragged its feet. He was in a critical specialty, they said. He asked why he hadn't been assigned to that critical specialty in over three years? They didn't really have an answer for that. They also had absolutely nothing to offer him to entice him to stay in.

He was only twenty-eight. Four years plus after the end of the war the civilian job market was booming. He'd had to meet with some three star to tell him why he was leaving. He told him the truth to include the sorry state of the current, "All Volunteer" Army. The Lieutenant General hadn't tried to argue with him; he'd actually apologized on behalf of the Army and thanked him for his service. That had been pretty surreal.

He'd gone to a couple of job fairs and come away with half a dozen good offers. He'd picked the best company and the best location and headed off to become a civilian for the first time in over ten years. The transition had been difficult at first. Now, a year into his new job he "got it" and was doing extremely well. He was making good money and was viewed as high on the slate of the soon-to-be promoted. He liked his job and liked the people with whom he worked. While he missed some aspects of the Army he liked being a civilian. 

What the hell, he thought. Better call the bastard.

"Hello, this is Jim Davis, I'm returning Colonel Barrett's call."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Davis! The colonel has been expecting your call."

No wait on hold. Within seconds an overly friendly full colonel came on the line acting as if they were old friends. Asked how he liked civilian life. Told him he absolutely fucking loved it, blah, blah, blah. The colonel popped the question: what would it take to get him to come back on active duty? 

The Army had misjudged attrition rates and was now way under strength at Captain. The Captain's rank was his if he still wanted it with a date of rank back dated to when he had made CW3. Any schools he wanted, advanced aircraft transitions, choice of assignments, even choice of geography. Slotting for a command. No overseas tour for at least three years and then almost certainly it would be Europe for a long tour. Pretty much anything he could have dreamed of short of a blowjob.

He'd told the colonel he needed to think about it. That was fine, a written confirmation would follow. What assignment was top on his list? He told him. What part of the country? He told him that too. The colonel checked something on his desk and replied that that would be no problem! How was his health? His health was just fine. Weight? He had the same thirty-inch waist he'd had since he was sixteen. Physical fitness? Probably better than when he'd gotten out---he worked out or ran four days a week. Any problem passing a Class II flight physical? He actually flew recreationally as a civilian and his most recent Class II had shown no problems. Wonderful! He'd have thirty days to accept the offer. That seemed fair.

***

Thirty days later, he was back in uniform. After the obligatory six month command of a stateside transportation company---a ticket that had to be punched---he was back at Fort Rucker as the operations officer of the Aviation Test Board following completion of the Instrument Examiner Course and a Chinook transition. Three years of test and evaluation of the new utility helicopter followed. He was on part time loan to the TRADOC (Training and Doctrine Command) egg heads writing the new war manuals. 

His promotion to Major ahead of his contemporaries---he was a "five percenter" which meant he was among the five percent below the zone of normal time in grade for promotion selected early ---had taken him by surprise. He knew he had a stellar record but had assumed his assignment outside of his normal branch in a staff aviation assignment might hurt him. 

After a few months in a field grade officer's staff school---also earlier than the norm---he had been notified of his selection for command and dispatched to this third world dirt water, piece of shit country. Someone up above wanted to try out the new toys and this place was the most likely place to go ballistic in the foreseeable future. Unfortunately the new toys still had a lot of bugs and their operators were still learning how to play with them. His mind came back to the present as he contemplated how to get the pretty blond officer sitting next to him to wear the fucking machine and not try to operate it.

"Lieutenant---Jessica---take off the night vision goggles. Let's try something a little different." 

Subconsciously he'd had an idea and a place in mind. He remembered his early days in flight school in Mineral Wells, Texas--Fort Wolters--now closed. A young combat veteran warrant instructor pilot had helped him lose his tentativeness. He'd taken him out to a large Texas field and they'd chased Jack Rabbits. 

"Chase the friggin' rabbit. Don't think about horizons or sight picture or instruments---I'll help you keep the RPMs within limits, you just fly---and catch that damn rabbit. This is not a graded exercise---it's just supposed to be fun. Have fun."

An hour later he realized he had just learned how to fly. It had been fun---really fun! At the end of that hour he felt like he was wearing that TH-55 not trying to operate it. From being on the verge of flunking out of flight school, he had gone on to graduate in the top ten and it was that day which had turned it all around.

This particular part of the country had a large, barren area free of trees. There weren't any Jack Rabbits that he had seen but there were wild boar that came out into the wide clearing at night to forage. The three quarter moon illuminated the sandy ground. The reflection off the surface made it easier to see than over the woodlands where they normally practiced their stealthy, low level flying tactics. As he hovered slowly a few feet off the ground, he spotted his quarry. He flared slightly to disturb the nocturnal diner with his rotor wash and hit him with the landing light. That was all it took and the ugly critter was off with over sixteen thousand pounds of twin turbine Army helicopter in close pursuit.

The hog zigged and zagged in a futile attempt to lose his aerial predator. The chopper followed relentlessly, often barely a yard above the ground and with the terrified creature slightly in front of or even beneath his human pursuit. When he finally got an ounce of smarts and headed directly for the scrubby brush and trees beyond, Major Davis, spun the sixty-five foot aircraft to a hovering halt.


Learning to Fly



I was about halfway through a flight to Las Vegas when I first saw her. She had been working the front of the plane when we took off, but for some reason had switched with the flight attendant in my mid-cabin section (I usually sit just behind the wing.

She walked past me the first time, and with a glance, I was already in thrall. The slightly older woman was a little heavier than me; short, dark red hair framed her face perfectly. Upon watching her check the back of my section and return, I discovered that she had a really nice body to go along with her hair. She was a little heavy, like I said before, but just enough to complement a nicely curved ass, accentuated beautifully by her dark khaki uniform pants. Her chest rounded out nicely but not quite strained her neatly pressed white short-sleeved dress shirt, of which she had two buttons open at the top.

Thinking that she would at least continue up to the emergency exit row where another attendant was standing, I continued to watch her hips sway slightly as she walked up the narrow aisle of the 737. Suddenly, she turned around and saw my head sticking out.

Shit.

The flight attendant from heaven, whose coveted golden wings I could now see read "Rachel", walked over to my seat and smiled at me. "Did you need something?" she inquired.

I shook my head and muttered, "No, thanks," sliding back into my seat. I could feel the tips of my ears turning red like they did when I got embarrassed. How stupid did I look just then?

Rachel passed me again, rather quickly. Great, she was probably going to go laugh it off in the galley. I took a sip of my drink and cursed my bad luck.

A few minutes later she returned. "Here's another napkin, just in case," she told me, and laid it on the tray table. What the fuck?

As the captain made the announcement that we were beginning our final descent, I idly flipped the napkin over, wondering if the airline had changed the pattern since the last time I'd flown. There was no change; however, underneath the airline's route map was a phone number, Rachel's name, and the instructions to call in an hour. Now what had I gotten myself into?

I quickly shoved the napkin into my pocket before the fat grandma that had been working my section before came by to collect the trash. As we landed a billion different scenarios flew through my head. This was going to be one hell of a night.

I made it off the plane (not without Rachel smiling at me again on the way out, though) and outside in about ten minutes, thankful that I hadn't checked any baggage. There was even a shuttle waiting as promised, and within a half an hour I'd checked into my room at the MGM Grand.

The first thing I had to do was make up a huge excuse. I was supposed to be meeting up with a friend who had already arrived; we were planning on several days of hanging out and generally being stupid. Upon realizing that my cell phone a) worked and b) had the area code for L.A., I instantly called and, thank God, got voicemail. I left a message making an excuse that the flight was overbooked or something and I couldn't make it until the next morning.

Hoping she believed it, I shut my phone off and checked my watch. Fuck, that hour had gone fast. I looked at Rachel's number again and noticed it was long distance, which meant I had to turn my phone back on, and stop beating around the bush in case my friend decided to call me back. I took a deep breath and dialed.

"Hello?" she answered after a few rings.

"Hi, I'm not even sure if this is the right number... you gave it to me on the plane?"

Rachel laughed. "Hey, thanks for actually calling. What's your name, by the way?"

"Amanda."

"Cool. Listen, if you want to go through with this, I'm at the Luxor, room 1246."

I grinned. "What time is good for you?"

"I don't care, come over now if you want."

"Okay." An idea came to me suddenly."Hey, can I ask a favor really quick?"

"Sure."

"Can you leave your uniform on?"

Rachel laughed again. "See you in a few minutes," she said tantalizingly, and hung up.

I decided that what I was wearing would have to do - jeans and a T-shirt - grabbed my room key and my wallet and left the room. I walked down through the casino (briefly wishing that I could gamble for a few minutes), out into the blazing Vegas heat (why hadn't I worn shorts?), through the Excalibur (more slots taunted me), and grabbed the monorail over to the Luxor.

I tried to get out safely but got crushed in the sardines/tourists getting off the tram. Stupid sheep. I finally entered the pyramid and immediately spotted Rachel standing in front of one of the giant King Tut heads that graced the atrium.

"Hey," she greeted me. "I forgot that there were fucking guards that check your key, so I had to come down and get you."

"That's cool." She led me over to an elevator. "Can you believe the airline gave me a room in the pyramid? Usually we just get some shithole next to the airport."

Rachel showed her room key to the guard and he pushed the elevator button for us. "So what are you doing in Vegas?"

"I'm supposed to meet a friend... but my flight is overbooked and I'm actually still in L.A. right now." I laughed. "I think she's staying all the way down at the Sahara anyways."

Rachel gave me an inquisitive look. "A friend, or..." I blushed and looked at the floor. "I'm not really out to her yet...I'm not sure how she'd take it."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She gave me an apologetic smile as the elevator stopped.

As we walked down the hallway Rachel's smile widened. "I lied. They not only gave me a room, they gave me a fucking suite." She opened her door and we entered; I noticed that we were almost on top of the pyramid.

"Awesome," I commented. The bed was giant, the bathroom was huge with marble and a Jacuzzi; the furniture was all leather and marble and expensive-looking dark wood.

"Oh, yeah," Rachel said while bolting the door, "just for useless information, I'm 35, I'm from Phoenix, and I'm on a three day layover."

"That's not useless," I replied as she walked over to me. "I'm 24, I'm from Los Angeles ... and you're really fucking hot for 35."

"Thanks." She stopped about a foot away from me. "You don't look too bad yourself," she said in a low voice.

I took the initiative and stepped closer, brushing a hand over her shoulder. "I think you're one of the few people I've seen who actually look good in this," I breathed, trailing a finger over the airline's logo just over the top of her left breast.

She just smiled again, then reached up and slowly undid the third button of her blouse. "I think it would look better if I took it off right now, huh?" she asked me teasingly. Staring me down, she continued to slowly unbutton her shirt, untucking it and letting it hang open when she reached the bottom.

"Better, yeah?" she nearly whispered.

I couldn't do much else at that moment than smile and nod; Rachel then leaned in and kissed me. Her lips were soft and full; instantly I felt desire stir through me. After a few moments I pulled away and slowly pushed her blouse off her shoulders; she in turn pulled my T-shirt up over my head and dropped it on the ground. Bras came off next, and we kissed again deeply; I moaned as our breasts pressed together.

"Well, that didn't take long," Rachel observed as we pulled away. She gently stroked my right breast. "You have really nice breasts, by the way."

"Thanks... actually, I think yours are better," I said, blushing. Rachel's were a little bigger than mine, with slightly larger, darker nipples; I couldn't help but gently suck on both of them. "Yeah, that's good..." she groaned in response.

She stepped back for a moment. "I'm thinking we should slow down a little, you know, enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, so to speak. What say you?"

"I'm thinking Jacuzzi," I replied.

"Oh, yeah, I didn't think of that. Good idea." Rachel started to turn towards the bathroom then stopped, giving me a wicked look.

"What?"

She sat down on the black leather sofa, sinking into it with a hiss. "I want to see you take your pants off," she said huskily.

I raised my eyebrows at her. "Okay," I laughed. I stood in front of her and kicked my shoes off, then undid my jeans and slowly pulled them down. Rachel couldn't resist; she spread her legs and slowly began to stroke herself through her uniform pants.

"You have no idea how hot that is," she muttered. I pushed down my panties, peeled my socks off, stepped out of the pile of clothes on the floor, and walked over to her.

"Yeah, but it's going to be even hotter when you do it," I replied, reaching out to help her off the sofa. 

Rachel stood up and kissed me briefly. She grinned and rubbed herself a little more through her pants, then undid her belt and the clasp on her pants and slowly pushed them down. Black panties soon became visible, which she rolled down her thighs then let fall to the floor with her pants. I couldn't help but glance at the neatly trimmed hair between her legs as she stepped out of the pile of clothes and walked over to the bathroom with me, hitting the switch to turn on the Jacuzzi on the way.

The Jacuzzi was about the size of two rather large bathtubs. As the tub filled and heated up, I surveyed the bathroom and noticed a small cabinet directly in front of me.

"I wonder..." I thought aloud and opened the door. "Hey, a mini bar," I commented.

"Cool." Rachel looked inside and pulled out a few Heinekens. "Want some?"

"Aren't those, like, ten bucks each?"

"Nah... they'll pay for it." She opened one of the bottles and took a sip. I accepted the other one from her and did the same.

By then the Jacuzzi was ready so we got in facing each other and sat down. I groaned as the water instantly began to relax my muscles.

"This is really nice," I said.

"It is." She finished the rest of her beer, put the bottle aside, and moved closer towards me. I finished my drink as well and smiled at her.

Rachel raised an eyebrow suggestively then put a hand on my thigh, slowly stroking it. I moved over enough so that our thighs were pressing together, then leaned over and kissed her again, this time letting my tongue slip inside her mouth.

"Oh... that's nice..." she groaned in between kisses. She put her hands around my waist and repositioned my body so I was pressing against her; I then realized that the seat was wide enough so I could wrap my legs around her torso to steady myself and did so. Upon doing this Rachel groaned again, reaching down to fondle my breasts, then trailing her hands down my stomach to rest again on my now-open thighs.

She looked me in the eyes and grinned. "God, you feel beautiful. It's been a while," she said softly.

"Thanks... you do too." I repeated what she had just done, enjoying the feeling of her nipples growing hard as I ran my palms across them. At this point I was so turned on I couldn't resist; I let my right hand dip between her legs, very gently running my fingers over her.

"Mmm, you read my mind." Since Rachel's hand was already on my thigh, it didn't take long before I felt her fingers insistently stroking my labia, then as I moaned, pressing harder and pushing me open, circling around my swollen clit. My back arched as an intense wave of pleasure washed over me, pushing me farther against her as my lips found hers yet again and my hand continued to echo her motions; I wanted her to feel the exact same way I did.

"Fuck... oh, god, I'm almost there already..." Rachel pulled away and gave me a glazed, desire-filled look. "Hey, Amanda, I think we should continue this in bed, hon."

I smiled at the endearment. "Sounds good to me." We shut off the Jacuzzi and helped each other up out of the tub. In between some of the most amazing kisses I'd ever experienced, we dried each other off and collapsed on the bed, somehow managing to pull the sheets down in the process. Rachel hungrily trailed kisses down my body, and without hesitation, started right in on my clit with her tongue. "Fuck, you taste good," she commented as her other hand roughly, with wide strokes, pleasured herself.

"Not as good as you probably do," I managed to laugh, which was cut off by my building ecstasy. "Ohh, fuck... where the hell did you learn to do this so good?" I cried out.

"In the air, where else?" Rachel paused and smiled at me mischievously. "There are uses for flights with two passengers that sit in the front and sleep the whole time."

"Oh, God, I want a job there," was my hasty reply.

Rachel laughed. "We'll see," she said teasingly and returned to me. I instantly returned to the point of arousal I had been at before, moaning as I came nearer to exploding. "Oh, please... don't stop, babe... that feels so good," I pleaded as her tongue continued to slide over me.

Eventually, she could see that I could take no more. Rachel looked up at me, grinned wickedly one more time, then let her teeth just barely scrape my clit. She then gently bit down.

The most intense orgasm I'd ever had rocketed through me. "Oh, fuck, Rachel!" I screamed, arching myself as far as I could into the air. She grabbed my ass and continued to suck me for the duration; I had almost come again when she released me and let me fall back onto the bed.

"Shit...that was amazing," I groaned and pulled her back towards me. I could taste myself on her lips as I kissed her then immediately started to return the favor, stroking Rachel's clit for a moment again before slowly lowering my head to her.

Rachel was already pretty wet when I started, so it was easy to just let my tongue slide around her folds, not really knowing what she liked. It turned out that what I was doing was exactly what she wanted; it didn't take long before her breath shortened and she groaned every time my tongue flicked her clit.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, that's good, don't stop, right there..." As she had directed, I continued to circle her clit with my tongue, flicking it almost incessantly. Rachel let out a deep moan; her hands raced across her body and reached up to twist her nipples. I could feel her body shudder as she jerked against my mouth, grabbing my head and holding it against her as she climaxed. I continued licking and she squirmed, screaming, eyes squeezed shut in concentration; finally she had had enough and suddenly pushed my head away, falling back onto the bed.

"Oh, fuck, I needed that," she groaned. "You, woman, are undoubtedly one of the best people I've ever fucked."

"Same here," I laughed, bringing myself back up to lie beside her. She pulled me to her and kissed me softly.

"Mmmm, you're right, I do taste good," she commented. I giggled and tousled her hair.

"I think," she then almost whispered, "I may not be able to let you go, even." I could see desire flash in her eyes, then linger there; I pushed a strand of hair out of her face and she smiled.

"I know." I gestured over to the pile of clothes on the floor. "I swear I'm going to frame that stupid napkin or something."

Rachel laughed and got up from the bed, switching the light on as she did so. "So... you've still got until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest... what do you say we get cleaned up and hit a few casinos?"

"You had to ask?" I smiled at her and we walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind us, now unnecessarily.



Learning to Fly - Claire



Copyright 2008 Dualduet. All rights reserved.

Be sure to read the other side of the story by James

Learning To Fly

Such a wonderful treat, Daddy, to be out with you, to relax and have some time where we can relax together. To laugh and be silly and have some fun.

To dance, swaying slowly together, your hand tenderly curled in the small of my back and my cheek resting on your chest.

To feel the promise of later pleasures pressed against my belly. I sigh.

Exiting the club, I am surprised when we don't go to the parking lot. Disappointed even -- still, I feel a certain energy radiating from you and my hand tightens on yours. You have something on your mind, but I must be patient. Always a challenge.

"Daddy?" I whisper, leaning close. Not necessary, the street is deserted. I just love to be near you, I'll take any excuse to touch you, be closer to you, to press myself against you and feel your strength. You're silent, but still, I press.

"Where are we going, Daddy?"

Your chuckle is deep and mysterious, knowing I'd ask, knowing how your answer would drive my anticipation even higher.

"Someplace special." I search your eyes for a clue. As usual, you're impassive save for a small smile. One block, two, three, and you steer me into the deeps of a deserted alley.

What? My jaw drops slightly, you've anticipated my reaction.

"Hush girl, trust me."

Yes, Daddy, I do. 

"But..." There may be crazies. It's so dark. I can't see well in the dark. It's dangerous.

"Hush." Deeper, a reminder of the trust I have put in you. Steeling myself against a rising sense of apprehension, I tighten my grip on your hand, taking comfort in our warmth. Still, my body reacts -- I feel my palm dampen at the sudden flush of adrenaline.

It's spooky in here, as if conspiring to add to my uneasiness. Strange smells assail me from the overflowing dumpsters lining our path. Papers skitter in an illogical breeze, clattering on my nerves. A flash of eyeshine reveals the path of a stray, his glance seemingly malevolent; or is it fright that makes him flee across our path?

Ever solicitous of my needs, you stop, circling your arm around my waist and drawing me in for a kiss. I'm sure this is meant to assure, but I tremble as I return your caress. I feel -- distracted, nerves sending sparks throughout my body.

Releasing me, we go a few more steps and stop at a door; large, dark, forbidding steel. A keypad code grants entry. The hinges squeal in protest, sounding like metal screams. Is this all calculated to be as nerve wracking as it seems? Or is it real? You guide me forward, but uncharacteristically I resist, my tortured nerves needing reassurance.

"James? I'm scared. What is this?" I know I'm risking a swat; I have no reason to fear. But my heart drums on my ribcage nonetheless.

"Trust me girl. Always trust, remember?" I know, I know! 

"Yes but..." My senses spin fantasies of the unknown, fed by the foreboding sound of a door unused, unknown by the light.

Your lips touch my ear and your presence envelops me. "I'd never do anything that hurt you girl, not ever. Inside now, no more foolishness." 

Again, your command, soft in a whisper, but inviolate. I know better than this. For a moment I'm sad and enter, feeling shamed. Then, the squeal of the rusty hinges energizes me again and I jump, this time in excitement, allowing myself to enjoy the experience you're obviously arranged for me. I surrender to you, allowing you to guide my senses, what I see, what I feel -- I am yours, Daddy; thank you for never letting me forget that.

Black, black, black, sensory deprivation. My heartbeat doubles its pace, and then triples as you slip the blindfold over my eyes. My senses are sharpened and I start at a sharp click, wondering what's in store. 

Already I am straining, wondering, needing to know what happens next.

My voice is a whisper, pleading. "Please, Daddy."

You're silent as you lead me. Six steps, then down a hall, our footsteps echoing hollowly, another sensation. You stop me and another squeal of screaming metal slashes at my self-control. Oh, yes, Daddy, I trust you -- but I think you want this, for my nerves to sing. Through the door, you stop me, and as you turn from me to lock the door, I feel the loss of your presence keenly, even though you're only a step away. But then you're back, your heat, your scent, your breath in my ear.

"Listen carefully girl."

"Yes Daddy."

"We are in a room. I have locked the door and bolted it. No one can get in and we are entirely alone. Furthermore, the entire building is empty and locked. You saw me use the keypad. Understand?"

No, I don't. I don't know where I am, what I am to do. I feel unreal, disconnected, and it's frightening. "No, not really."

"I mean that we are alone and safe."

I am frustrated with myself, with my uneasiness; I'm petulant. "OK, if you say so."

Your chuckle warms me a little. "Yes girl, I say so."

Your fingers at my blouse are startling, unexpected.

"What do you smell, little girl?" 

I am reminded to breathe, to calm, and inhale deeply. For the first time since this started, something familiar -- and delightful. "I smell salt and water and wet sand and Oh! I smell the ocean."

My blouse whispers on my skin as it falls away. But this new element is intriguing. Is there? Yes, a breeze? How is that possible? A gull calls overhead -- another answers, farther away. A sense of wonder fills me as the breeze caresses my breasts and my lips curl, enjoying its fluttering touch, bemused, as you take off my clothing piece by piece.

Is it? Yes, now the surf. Impossible to imagine in the near terror of moments before, once again, you've asked for my trust and given me magic in return.

"I love you little girl." The adrenaline running through me turns to the mercury of desire with your declaration.

"I love you Daddy." I do, Daddy, oh so very much. Each day with you is a gift, your love a benediction. I give myself over to you, to the spell you've created. The waves become louder, the gulls fiercer. I reach out beyond sight, opening my senses to your direction. Sudden lips on my nipple magnify a gentle tug into a sharp pull -- you've begun, and I tremble in anticipation again.

You are quiet, but authoritative. "Easy, girl." A signal, something new is coming. I trust you, Daddy.

I mentally close my already blind eyes and take a deep breath, letting you guide me back and down. Incongruous, but somehow right, there is a soft platform on the beach, and I wonder what is going to happen next. Your movements are so careful, so deliberate; helping me and laying me back gently. Then, your hands, warmth radiating from them, delicate as the wind whispering to my skin; gentling, soothing up and down my body, and then, teasing, promising as they brush. The softest of caresses, near planes that ignite, excite and delight, but never actually right there. I start to squirm, the gulls' cries spurs to action. But this is not to be. 

You catch my arms and bind them, over my head; fear wings in momentarily and just as swiftly flies away. The rope is soft, the binding functional, but not tight. I test the bonds, my freedom of movement, even as you systematically take it away. So this is to be a total experience. I feel you move around me, soft cotton wrapping my ankles, the pull of the ropes, your hands bending each knee almost fully, and then, ropes to pull my knees apart, exposed, open to the elements, to you. My vulnerability to you arouses me; my nipples become erect. I can't see it, but I know you are smiling, there is a subtle difference in your breathing. I cast myself on sensation again, letting go of thought. The waves crash on the seashore; blood rushes and breaks under my skin. I imagine the waves crashing between my legs, bent to my hips and spread wide, and my hunger surges.

My body wants to surge too, your fingers now sliding gently, smoothly, tracing the paths of my desire. So close and yet so far from where I want you to touch, need you to touch, and then -- oooooh -- you slip, dipping in between fevered lips, your palm cupping and cradling my mound. One hand, then two, idling, teasing, drawing, and now, with purpose, plucking my nipples and the tightly drawn strings deeper inside. Yes, you play me; a quiet song of need softly leaves my lips, carried by the gentle breeze wafting across me. The music of my love for you is a duet with swells and crashing of the waves, punctuated with the cries of the gulls.

Smoothness intrudes, slowly sliding into me. Withdraw, and deeper, withdraw, coming to rest, held snug against the eye of the storm you're brewing within me. Oh, Christ - pulsing throbbing like a rumble of thunder, deep and dark. I bear down, wanting more, unable to otherwise influence its caress. My song grows throaty with craving as you fingers dance upon my skin; my cries grow sharper and the gulls circle and scream. I can hear the waves, closer now, even feel them crash on the shore, faster and faster as the tide rolls in. In the distance, clouds congregate, growling and muttering among themselves.

All around and inside me, sensation, energy gathers. Your fingers at my breasts, teasing maddeningly below, create tides of sensual pleasure that ebb and flow. Always, deeper, the powerful pulsing drives me higher, feeding my frenzy.

"Daddy, please! I need more!" Reacting to your touch, the elements of the sea and the sky, I am almost there, so close, on the precipice, buffeted with the rising wind. But not yet, still, you tease me, choosing your moment. Thunder growls now, closer, louder -- I am the sea, churning with want, your hands the wind, creating foaming wavelets.

"Easy girl. Daddy will give you what you need."

The words are almost meaningless, but your deep rumble is a promise. Higher, more powerful I am rolling. I strain against restraint, arching, aching. Sky speaks to sea.

"Yes girl, that's right. Do you want to? Do you? Come on girl, such a good girl for me come on girl." 

Sea roils, the tsunami builds. Sky rumbles, encouraging, demanding.

"Come on that's right. Are you ready? Are you ready for me? Are you going to for me?"

Beating, thrashing, whipping, sea swells higher and higher. Brilliant light crackles in the howling wind.

"Come! Come Now! Do IT! Come!"

From the deepness of the tortured brine, it has been drawn from far off, building, growing, larger and faster and powerful. The tidal pull is unstoppable, inexorable. Sky thrashes sea in a gales of violent passion until the rolling crest breaks, breaks, breaks...

"OHHHH DADDDYYYY!"

The gulls scream, the wind roars. Sky shouts, triumphant and sea breaks, crashes, foaming and singing her wild, wet song.

"COME! COME NOW!"

Again, on the heels of the first magnificent rush, the undertow pulls back, receding out to expose the quivering life on a stretch of clean white sand before rising again, higher, stronger, and faster again.

"COME! COME! COME NOW!"

Sea is pounded by thundering Sky, laid waste, helpless and mindlessly crashing, over and over again.

"Come on girl, you're not done yet are you?"

The question in your rumbling voice brings me back, the soft ropes on my skin, the throbbing pulse in my dripping pussy, your fingers, plucking and stroking, drawing more, demanding my all. But I am flagging. The blindfold slips away, but I do not see.

"Come for me girl. COME NOW! Right FUCKING NOW!"

Your command, my wish. Yes, Daddy, yes! I am yours, yours, yours -- lost to your fierce and tender love. Thunder claps, booming across sea, roaring.

"NOW SLUT! RIGHT NOW! COME NOW!"

Consciousness blinded in a brilliant flash of light, the storm breaks. Hissing, bubbling, foaming bliss -- effervescent -- expanding -- out of the maelstrom a single gull cries...

"Fly away little girl..."

Aloft, lifted by a whisper of love. Riding free, wind ruffling my feathers, the sound and fury of the earth falls into endless shades of blue.

"Fly little girl, fly..."

Ahhhhh, the sweetness of a thermal kiss turns my wings to breathe and I am one with the sky.

"Fly my girl, fly for me.

As tender as a whispering cloud, your love sets my soul free.

~-~-~

Coming back to earth there is no place I love more than the circle of your love, in your arms.

"Daddy?"

"Shhhh, quiet girl, just relax"

Tender, solicitous, you love, me, care for me, knowing exactly what I need. Water for my lips, from your fingers, sweet, dark chocolate I suck from your fingertips. For a moment, I open my eyes, marginally curious on how you managed to weave your spell. A room of blue, a special room, just for this purpose. Your work, your love in another physical form. It is, you are -- perfect.

The lights dim and so do I, drifting, cuddled, safe in your arms.

I was flying, Daddy, flying...

~-~-~

Thank you for reading "Learning to Fly" by Claire of Dualduet. We hope you enjoyed reading and hope you'll let us know you enjoyed it -- Claire and James.



Learning to Fly - James



Copyright 2008 Dualduet. All Rights Reserved

Learning to Fly

For Claire

My Friend and Love

My Little Girl

Be sure to read the other side of the story by Claire

The music dims as we walk from the club out onto the sidewalk. We can still hear the muted sounds of the utility band that played old rock, country and blues from the seventies and eighties. Your hand tightens on mine as instead of crossing the street to the parking lot, I lead you south down the sidewalk.

Leaning close, you whisper, "Daddy?"

The sidewalk is deserted for the most part and I'm not so cautious about speaking. "Yes girl?"

"Where are we going Daddy?"

I chuckle for I knew you'd ask. "Someplace special."

You look up at me a moment, probably trying to guess where I'd be taking you so late. It's after midnight and usually, we'd be on our way home by now. About three blocks down I turn us into an alley and now, you get nervous. I don't blame you one bit. If I didn't know where I was, I'd be nervous about walking into this dark alley too.

You open your mouth to say something and I am ready. "Hush girl. Trust me."

"But..."

"Hush I said," and you close your mouth as your hand tightens firmly on mine. 

I feel your palm suddenly become sweaty. The alley is dark, forbidding, and there are overfilled trash cans, dumpsters and litter is everywhere. A stray dog skitters out of our way, giving us sidelong glances. I walk briskly down the alley, leading you and about halfway in I stop and kiss you. You kiss me back but your nervousness is evident. With my arm around your waist, I feel you shiver.

A few more steps and the door in front of us is dark steel. I push the buttons on the keyless entry pad and hear a click. A pull on the handle and with a groan the door opens, the hinges giving a tortured, grating squeak. Inside it is darker than the alley. With my arm around your waist, I guide you through the door and now finally, you do resist, stopping in the entry. 

"James I'm scared. What is this?"

"Trust me girl. Always trust, remember?"

"Yes but..."

I lean close and whisper, "I'd never do anything that hurt you girl, not ever. Inside now, no more foolishness."

Even in the dark I see your shoulders slump and you step through the door. I follow and pull the door shut behind me, the hinges groaning until the door slams shut. You jump at the sound and it is utter darkness now. I can hear your breathing increase and I'm sure, were I to feel your pulse, it would be racing as well. From my pocket I take the cloth and bind it around your head. A blindfold. You hear a click and wonder what it was.

You whisper, "Please Daddy..."

I knew you'd be nervous and there's nothing I can do for it really. You'll just have to trust in me this time. 

I carefully guide you up six steps and through another door. Down a hallway that echoes our footsteps and then we stop. I am wondering what you are thinking. I'll ask later. Another door, this one with hinges even more ancient than the outside door. We go through that door and I stop you inside. I lock the door and go back to you.

"Listen carefully girl."

"Yes Daddy."

"We are in a room. I have locked the door and bolted it. No one can get in and we are entirely alone. Furthermore, the entire building is empty and locked. You saw me use the keypad. Understand?"

Your voice is quiet and small. "No not really."

Of course you don't understand. But I'll try again. 

"I mean that we are alone and safe."

"OK if you say so."

I chuckle at that. "Yes girl, I say so."

I start with the buttons on your blouse and you nearly gasp. 

"What do you smell little girl?" I ask, mostly to distract you.

You inhale through your nose, probably the first breath you've taken through your nose since we entered the building. "I smell salt and water and wet sand and Oh! I smell the ocean."

I take your blouse off you and set it aside. You hear something, turn your head towards the sound but it is already gone. "Hmmm," I answer and manage to undo your bra. You feel a breeze on your face a moment, then it's gone. As I start on your skirt, you hear a seagull, then another, off in the distance. I see a small smile form on your face. The breeze hits you again, stays a fleeting moment and is gone again.

Without my asking, you step out of your skirt as I lower it. Your stockings peel off easily and I put them and your shoes with the other clothes. I see you've relaxed a little and now, not only seagulls but waves rolling up on the beach. 

I turn you a little, the breeze brushes across you, a whisper touch on your bare skin. I kiss you as the wind blows your hair and the gulls cry. 

"I love you little girl."

"I love you Daddy."

Waves roll on the beach and the gulls cry loudly while I lick your nipples just a little. You gasp when I suddenly bite one, not hard, just a nip. 

"Easy girl," I tell you quietly when you tremble. 

I guide you backwards a few steps and help you sit down on padded cloth surface. Although you've relaxed a little, you are still a little nervous. The breeze brushes your face and body, the gulls cry and the waves roll endlessly on the sand. Smaller shorebirds make their cries and you can almost see them in their small flocks, rising into the air to circle and land on the sand again. 

Gently I move you to lie down and begin. 

I run my hands over your body, touching everywhere except the sensitive places, your erogenous zones. I carefully avoid them, yet with each pass of my hands, I come close, sometimes seeming to be about to touch them, but moving off in another direction. 

I move your arms over your head and with soft ropes, I bind your wrists together. Not so tight but you won't be easily getting out. When I'm done, I watch you try to move them, but they are attached to something and you can't. More rope touches your waist, then under and around it. Five times I pass it under and around. Except for the sound of the ocean and the birds, you hear nothing but me moving around you.

The knots finished about your waist, I begin with your left ankle. Four turns of rope, a knot. With the left ankle I do the same. I wonder what you're thinking. The ocean breeze comes and goes. I notice your nipples are hard and smile. 

I take your left leg and bend it until your heel is nearly touching your thigh. You can feel the ropes tugging while I tie the knot. Then on the other side, the same thing. Your heel is nearly touching your thigh and the rope around it is fastened to the rope about your waist. 

Feel the breeze girl, hear the ocean. The scents and sounds and wind touch your senses, awaken them.

About your knee I turn another rope. Gently it pulls to one side and holds you there. On the other side it is the same. I've tied you up before and I see the arousal it brings in you. Now I have you before me, unable to move, open to me, knees wide apart and your most private places bared to me. Not that you would withhold them from me, but like this, I can do anything. Anything at all. 

Are you wondering what will come next?

Down the inside of your thigh I run my hand, softly, gently. I brush across your mound and up the other thigh. A soft, smooth caress. Down again, up your belly to your breast and over it to your shoulder and up your arm. Down the other arm, crossing your shoulder, caressing your breast and then your belly again. My hand moves slowly, the middle finger pushes towards your damp slit as my palm caresses your mound. Nearly there it becomes two and they separate, sliding across your labia. For the first time, you moan softly.

My other hand begins it's own exploration of you. The two seem to have different destinations. Different purposes. Teasingly my fingers toy with your nipples. First one, then the other. Distracted by that, you gasp as my finger delves between your folds, finds you moist with desire and seeks inside you. Slowly it moves in and out. My thumb begins a gentle circle around your clit giving me more soft moans that make me smile. 

For a while, I simply tease and play a little. I can tell when you begin to be impatient and my voice soothes you, caresses your ears. I pause momentarily, just a second. The breeze passes and reminds you it was there all along. The gulls and birds and ocean fill your ears. 

Hard plastic slips into you, its entrance made easy by slick folds and just a little lube. In a little, then out and back again. Slowly. Each time pressing a little deeper. It finds that spot inside you; is shaped to make it easy to do so. A slow, steady throb begins, pulsing against that place. Moaning you try to press against it, but cannot move. 

No girl, tonight I will be the one that makes it happen.

Fingers dance on your breasts. They tease your nipples. Sometimes lightly pinching, sometimes squeezing, tugging, pulling. Ripples of pleasure dance though your loins, ignite flames within your depths. 

My other fingers tease and tickle your clit. Almost enough but not quite. The intruder that is making your insides burn, pulses and throbs while the ocean pulses in your ears. Thunder rumbles in the distance now. Far off. Gulls cry and scream their way around you. 

"Daddy please I need more!" The first time you've spoken since I began this tortuous tease. I say nothing in reply, but I'm sure you know I'm smiling.

I so love to give you the things you want, to make you cry out in pleasure. To watch and see you come for me. Right now, my impulse is to give that to you. But I resist. Tonight I want something. Something for you, but something I want badly as well. Something I have wanted badly from you. Tonight you will give it to me.

Even as I continue, your arousal grows yet doesn't reach that fevered pitch you want so badly right now. I trail my fingers up a little as I bend and kiss your mouth. 

I whisper in your ear, "Easy girl. Daddy will give you what you need." 

A little longer and your body arches against the ropes. Your chest heaves to meet my fingers and hands. I see you strain against the ropes on your waist. Quickening my finger dance on your clit, I see the first one coming. 

My voice starts out quiet, soft. "Yes girl that's right. Do you want to? Do you? Come on girl, such a good girl for me come on girl." 

And deeper now, not quite but almost a command. Just a teasing of what is to come. "Come on that's right. Are you ready? Are you ready for me? Are you going to for me?"

I see the pebbles dance across your breasts. Your breathing quickens and nipples harden. Your areolas tighten and crinkle. The flush climbs your body, reaches your breasts.

The Voice comes to me. "Come! Come Now! Do IT! Come!" 

A gasp and a cry. "OHHHH DADDDYYYY!" And there it is, the wave rises up and breaks over you. 

I smile as the thunder rolls closer. The cry of the gulls seems more frantic, the waves break faster on the shore. I am not done though. This is only a beginning.

Moments barely seem to pass before the second. For the barest moment, I wonder if the scents and sounds and the wind are gone from your senses, replaced with my fingers and voice. Again I call your pleasure forth and again your body responds to my call. 

A third time and a fourth! A fifth!

Thunder crashes around us. Rolling around us. Gulls scream in the wind. 

"COME! COME NOW!"

And you wail, cry, strain against the ropes. Again and Again. I've lost count now and I'm still going. You're still going. Panting, begging sometimes wailing. 

All around us the storm rages. Thunder booms and crackles. The wind is a near gale.

A momentary pause. Not much. I slip the blindfold up and wonder if you notice. It no longer matters to you but I need your eyes. 

"COME! COME! COME NOW!" It barely works. You are slipping away from me. I see it, know it. Perhaps dimly you know it. Perhaps not.

I turn the pulsing vibrator up, make sure it's in place properly. You are panting, sweating. For long moments your breath comes in great heaving gasps, then you pant again.

"Come on girl, you're not done yet are you?"

I get only a moan in response. 

You jump against the ropes as the egg touches your clit. I rub it back and forth and around. 

The Voice Orders You. "Come for me girl. COME NOW! Right FUCKING NOW!" 

You whimper and strain and I know you must come back to me a little.

"NOW SLUT! RIGHT NOW! COME NOW!" The shock of it sends you over once again and I work frantically. I have you right where I want you if I am careful. Right where I need you. I see the glaze in your unseeing eyes. The orgasms roll through you one right after another with nearly violent spasms. 

There it is. Now James. Don't fuck up now!

Yes! 

I see it come and... The wave crashes and you are. .... floating. 

"Fly away little girl..." And you are soaring with the gulls in the wind. Feeling so far away. Thunder rolls, not so close now. It's moving off. The storm is passing.

"Fly little girl, fly..." my nearly whispered voice buoys you up. Lifts you away on the wind. You feel your hair flying. Everything is gone but the gulls and ocean far below. You soar with them, flying ever higher. 

"Fly my girl, fly for me..."

And for once, there is no me. There is no you. There is no care or worry of anything. There is only peace and wind and air. Even the gulls are gone. You soar, flying high...

*~* Later *~*

Slowly, you become aware that I am holding you. In my arms you come back to me. We are sitting sort of. My back against the wall. Your back against me, sitting between my legs and my arms about your waist.

"Daddy?"

"Shhhh quiet girl, just relax." 

I bring a water bottle to your lips and give you a sip. A small chocolate is next. More water, more chocolate. 

Finally you look around. The room is large, sparsely furnished and painted in shades of deep blue, even the ceiling. There is a refrigerator and a sink, a microwave. A padded table and a chair. We sit on a full size bed with no head-board or foot-board. 

You relax again, leaning against me. In moments you are asleep. Exhausted. 

I use the remote to turn the ocean back on and turn the volume down. Another button shuts off the lights. The breeze is gentle again. I pull a blanket over us and close my eyes. 

I am so content now. The rush is over. 

I wonder girl, as I drift off to sleep myself, if you liked....

Learning to fly

*~* The End *~*

Thank you for reading "Learning to Fly" by James of Dualduet. We hope you enjoyed reading this and hope you'll let us know what you thought. -- Claire and James. 



Learning to Fly Pt. 01



 (This is the soft, first part of a series on a woman's awakening... King was my first love. He was also my first Dom. I was 18. I've never looked back.)

I was a bitch in heat, except I didn't realize it. 

I've always been small, taking after my grandmother. She barely grazed grandpa's armpits but she could make him shuffle with one look. I was grandma's namesake, though instead of Divine, the family called me Dove.

I was not dove-like. Growing up, I preferred books to dolls and climbing trees to playing house. At 16, I got my Wushu black belt. I was a nerd, with few friends. My martial arts scared the boys; the girls thought I was butch because tracksuits were my favorite outfit.

I had, still have, boyish hips. But my breasts were full and high up and tilting in a way that had the boys ogling since 6th grade. I did not like the leers and slouched to hide the offending protuberances. 

Thirty-four C would be normal by Caucasian standards. But I was Asian with delicate bones. I once complained to grandma. She said I'd be grateful in a few years. She also said something strange, that some men would find my round, firm ass and boyish hips and tapered legs more interesting. 

I was a late bloomer. After despising boys most of my teenaged years, in the last three months of high school I discovered men. 

My first crush was a 21-year-old artist with the hair of a Botticelli icon, the build of a fawn and a sweet tenor that filled me with heat. He was the son of my dad's best friend; they lived four blocks from our home. For some reason, our fathers thought the Vasquez sons were my nursemaids.

I read up on flirting and tried my best. I was a flop. Roman alternately treated me like a kid sister or an acolyte of his Ananda Marga group. He taught me my first guitar licks but passed me on fast to King, his older brother.

King was 28. He told his brother to shove off. He'd just arrived from abroad, already a veteran entrepreneur. He was my idol but in an aspirational, not sexual, way. 

He'd taught me to dive, from a platform and under water, to the chagrin of two sets of parents. He was the one who convinced Dad to allow Wushu lessons, pointing out that no amount of dancing talent would persuade me to follow a ballerina aunt's footsteps.

I grouched the first day King took over Roman's escort duties. 

"He's too old, Dad!" I whined in King's hearing. "He'll scare my friends!"

King snorted. "Good!" he barked. 

I glared at him. He shrugged and grinned at Dad. 

"A few less brats to cope with," he quipped. He dodged my kick, laughing. 

Actually, more friends trooped to our home that year. But all the oohing and aahing targeted at King disgusted me. I quickly got rid of the pests.

By the start of summer, I was convinced King was the better brother. He had muscles and a physical grace honed by years of martial arts and basketball. His skin was gold burnished by the setting sun. Unlike the ascetic Roman, he wore tight, faded denims and spoke in a deep baritone. King owned a landscaping business and built forest trails but his large hands, while calloused by hard work, were always clean.

I loved best those times when we took a break and he brought out his guitar. He preferred slow blues or slow rock and jazz. I'd close my eyes and stay quiet during the first few songs. I loved the frisson his voice traced across my skin. Then he would coax me to sing, solo or in a duet with him. I have a soft alto voice, husky, a bit sultry. 

"You sing like a fallen angel," King teased a day after my 18th birthday. I'd partied till dawn and was sleepy, sprawled on our lawn, singing with head cradled by my arms.

I swiped at him. He chuckled as he caught my arm. I rolled over and rested head on his thigh. I felt the muscle flex and started to apologize but King began to stroke my hair. 

I was innocent but also very sensual. I rubbed my cheek against his warm skin. He rubbed an earlobe. I craned my neck and wrinkled my nose at him. He smiled and cupped my jaw. I snuggled into his hand like a kitten searching for warmth. 

That was the day King first draped an arm around my shoulder. He had delivered fertilizer to their farm and we'd been walking around, sassing each other and laughing and he mussed my hair and drew me near for a hug. It seemed natural to continue walking with that strange, new weight. A few minutes later, I put an arm around King's waist; he drew me closer.

We met old Thomas, their family retainer, and stopped for a chat. King sat on the ground, against a tree. I knelt down beside him but he snagged my waist and settled me between his splayed thighs. I leaned against his chest and his arm on my ribcage. My right hand lightly rubbed his thigh.

I felt heat rising from where both our hands lay. King bent his head and kissed my temple. I must have closed my eyes. The next thing I saw was Thomas' raised brow and smile as he bid goodbye. 

We watched the old man hobble off. King's cupped my chin. And for the first time, I felt lips on mine, very gentle, barely there. But the air sizzled, sending currents right and left. 

Unbidden, my mouth opened and his pressed harder. He captured my lower lip and I moaned and clutched at his thigh.

King broke the kiss, his chest heaving as fell back against the tree. I didn't know what to do or say. I bent my head, wondering if he didn't find me pleasing. His fingers started to massage my tense shoulders. 

"Let's go home, Babe," he whispered. But his mouth found the skin just below the end of my pixie haircut. It pressed and rose, tracing an outline of fire. 

My head bent lower. The wet warmth pierced through skin and spine, straight to my breasts. His tongue started laving and a hand palmed my left breast. I finally cried out when a fingertip touched the cloth round a nipple. King suddenly froze. For a long moment, we were like statues, except for our raspy breaths. Finally, his legs move. A hand stretched out for me to take. 

I stood up. I felt weepy. I was a bit angry. I didn't know what was happening, only that I wanted more and he didn't seem to feel the same way. I also didn't know how to ask. I stalked to his pick up. He caught up and forced me to face him.

His face stunned me. It felt like a punch to the gut. But within seconds the look of shame and anger softened. His hands reached out and clasped my face.

"Let's take it slowly, Babe, okay?"

I stayed silent, searching his eyes. He did not flinch. I nodded and turned to clamber into the cab.

We drove home in silence. At our gate, King cleared his throat. 

"Do you want me to come in? Or are you too tired?"

It was lunchtime and I invited him to eat. The pasta and salad revived our spirits and mocking the radio shock jocks allowed us to settle into our normal teasing ways.

King said he had some office papers to sign but would be back by four. It was a Saturday so I rolled my eyes. He swiped my butt and said he worked hard to afford the books I constantly wheedled from him. I pushed him away, grinning at the outrageous charge. 

***

Re-organizing our family library, which had almost a thousand books, was hard work. King and I worked in brusque, comradely fashion, grunts, curses, and pointed fingers and pursed lips taking over our usual jiving. At least, air-conditioning meant we didn't stink like pigs. 

We gave a yell of triumph as the last book slid in its assigned space. Cook sent up snacks and we gulped down ice drinks and devoured the ham sandwiches. 

I pressed the remote button of the CD system. From all corners, Elvis Costello warbled his haunting, slightly dopey serenade. "She... may turn each day into a heaven or a hell..." 

With no prodding, we both sang softly as we lazed back on the divan. I felt King's hand take mine. I pressed his. We continued the sing-a-long until the last note. 

The playlist had gone to "You Are So Beautiful" when King loomed above me. 

I opened my eyes. He cupped my face in one hand, speaking the lyrics in a murmur. 

I'm a wuzz and, embarrassed, responded with a joke and a funny face. Such low standards, I half-mocked the man, pointing to my snub nose.

I also crossed my eyes, something that always drove King crazy. 

"Do that again and..."he warned.

And of course I did.

King swooped in, trapping my lower lips, rubbing for a few seconds before releasing me. I dropped my eyes, swallowed against a suddenly parched throat. My hands twisted the pink gingham shift.

King waited a few moments. Then he raised my chin. 

This time he kissed me properly, nibbling at my lips, laving them. He tugged my head back and then dipped his tongue inside my mouth. I kept my hands by my side but allowed King entry and whimpered as his tongue rasped against mine. I strained upwards to give him more access.

King drew back before things got out of hand. He kept my head tilted back. He forced me to meet his eyes as he traced my mouth with a thumb. I gulped as it pressed against my teeth. 

"Open," he ordered. 

I obeyed with a moan, suckling, making a guttural sound as his other hand trailed down to the deep V of my dress.

Then I panicked and broke apart. King saw my tears and gathered me close, rubbing my back, murmuring reassurances I couldn't understand.

"It's okay, it's okay," he murmured. "You have some growing up to do."

(To be continued)



Learning to Fly Pt. 02



** 
Just a clarification: King and Dove met when they were youngsters and, yes, there is a decade that separates them. But I must underscore that there is ABSOLUTELY NO UNDERAGE SEX IN THIS STORY. The passsages describing Dove as a minor merely underscore the fact that their friendship--and yes, there are relationships and marriages that have their seeds in long-term family friendships that mature into something more--began when our protagonists were young. That said, both characters are DEFINITELY in their majority when the sex between them happens.

(Part 2 of Learning to Fly continues the tale of a young woman's awakening as a submissive, told in the voice of King, her first love and Dom.)

Taking Dove

The picture is two decades old. It is in black and white. Dove was 19 then; by the morrow she would turn 20.

The sun's early morning rays slip through half-open blinds. On the huge bed, Dove's body is taut, her arms forced high, bound by silk ropes to post rings. Her breasts jut up, perfect cones. Her nipples are hard, surrounded by shadows of the bruises made by my hands and teeth.

Her legs are spread, her torso arched inches from the face of a woman. Fingers pierce her cunt. The camera has captured her scream – and her spray. Her eyes plead. Wild fire pierces through a blanket of tears. With Dove, shame and ecstasy were often one and the same.

She was insatiable. And she hated that.

She was too young. I should have known better. Chemistry is a poor excuse for seducing a girl barely out of childhood. Had I waited, she could have come to me more formed and empowered. Instead, she had to burn me to find her freedom.

But those two short years were days and nights of rapture or, following periods of separation, the desperate rutting of animals.

** Coming Home

I'd been away for four years. I left when she was 13. The tiny tomboy called me "kuya", older brother in our language. There was a ten-year gap in our ages. I was long-haired then. She sported a short mop of deep brown hair and a golden tan with red undertones.

Dove and my younger brother, Roman, were buddies. Since I left our hometown, phone chats were our only contact. She squealed out demands over the intercontinental static -- swimsuits, rare blues records, vintage posters.

Without mothers, Dove and Roman grew wild. Our widower fathers tried their best but their children were natural guerrillas, pausing only to recover and plot their next act of mayhem.

The brats liked updating me about their new adventures. They shared latters. She wrote; he took the photographs.

A photo of Dove leaping down a waterfall snapped my patience. They'd bribed a truck driver to take them to this remote site, 150 km from our homes.

I made a phone call and our fathers grounded them for a month. 

The rascals accused me of "betrayal". This was in 1980. No Internet was available to ease their confinement so they spent their time writing angry screeds or drawing me as the devil in all his forms. It stopped only when I threatened to stop sending their Stateside goodies.

Over those four years Dove hadn't seemed to grow at all, except in the chest area. Always slim, she mostly wore shorts and t-shirts.

Then one day, I got photos from her prom: Straight shoulders and a long, delicate neck above a bustier and a ballerina skirt. Roman was her date, of course. They both looked elegant but spoiled the effect by affecting martial arts poses.

One picture punched me in the guts. Dove leaned back against the balcony rail, her arms spread out. The lighting cast shadows across her face and shoulders. Her top was cut really low; tight and breasts rose from a deep cleavage. A lopsided smile displayed her right dimples. Roman had scrawled at the back, "Eat your heart out, bro!"

I asked him if a romance was budding. He laughed. Soon after, he started taking an interest in alternative religions. And I came home to trouble.

Roman had joined a religious group. He started going around in hand-woven robes and sandals. Dove stormed and bitched and pined. But she soon tired of trailing after a would-be monk. When Roman announced he was leaving for Sri Lanka, she blew him a kiss and demanded he send her cotton cloth.

When you're 17-going-on-18 a ten-year age difference is huge. I may have been the idol of her pre-teen days but the day I stepped in for my brother Roman, Dove was very pissed.

Our fathers were great pals and very busy men. Dove was an only child. Her Nanny couldn't keep up with her. My brother and I had been her surrogate minders. And when I came home, there was just me.

Dove lost her temper. She stormed, that at almost 18, and didn't need a nursemaid.

She threw manners to the wind. "He's old," she accused, pointing at me. She claimed I'd scare off her friends.

Our fathers cooed and coaxed. They promised to bring back souvenirs and anything she wanted. I ignored the theatrics and ticked off the things we could do during breaks from work.

Her jaw dropped at "work".

Unlike our father, hers never thought of his princess learning life trades. I had my own business, which took me out of town to some quaint places. She was unmoved. I dangled a book allowance. The brat simmered down at the bribe.

Dove turned out to be a good comrade. She was kept pace with every physical and intellectual assignment. She did give my women friends the runaround but that was part of her job as general factotum. There was nothing romantic between us. I didn't want to make a mess in my backyard. At 17, she was jailbait and too young to be introduced to my lifestyle.

I was already an experienced Dom. I learned the ropes from the wife of the president of the local chamber of commerce. She introduced me to the pleasures of domination when she visited New York City on my university freshman year. She was just playing – the lash, the belt, nipple clamps. Mostly, she was an exhibitionist who liked being told to take two men at the same time.

I soon tired of her. But in the club I met Mindy, ten years my senior, a Domme, and her sub, Mary. Mindy had a mantra: Every Dom should know how it is to be a sub. Or, at least, know how it is to be on the receiving end of Domination.

Both women were bisexual. It was an arrangement that pleased everyone until they relocated to the wilds of Midwestern America. I raised my skill level with a series of other subs, most of them older women. Then I went home to my Asian country.

Dove and I had seven months to grow closer. After protesting my zero-tolerance for underage drinking, she kept to the narrow on the nights my jazz band smuggled her to watch our shows. 

She always wore jeans and white floating blouses with deep necklines. Her sultry voice and her sensual movements gained a steady following. But nobody dared approached with me around. I'd already grabbed the shirt of some Lothario, hissing he had one foot in jail. 

**

The platonic warmth slid into a sexual blaze the day after her 18th birthday.

Maybe it was the day. Maybe it was the air. Maybe, I was just a bastard taking advantage of a sheltered girl. Within a week, she was screaming in my bed.

Indigo shorts barely covered her bum cheeks. Tanned legs ended in ankles I could encircle with a hand. Dove was on her belly, head on her arms. She sang along to "Black Coffee". Her legs were raised, flipping in time to the slow blues beat. Her hips rolled to the music. At "blaaaaack", she pressed breast and loins to the grass.

Two hours later, we were at my farm and I was kissing her for the first time.

She was pliant, offering her lips and body to my touch. But she zigged and zagged from bratty to ultra shy. I saw emotions rush across her face. I knew she felt vulnerable. I feasted on that.

Before that day, I wouldn't have believed it of this pampered, assertive daredevil. With physical contact, I knew: A natural sub: the best kind, feisty on the outside.

I kept on turning her face up, turned on by the mixture of fear and a desire to give in to my demands. But we were in the open. And I wanted to savor the experience. I wanted it to simmer. I wanted her frustrated and wanting. I wanted her to beg.

Later that day, in her home's huge library, I pressed harder. I sat her on my lap. I tested her limits. My thumb traced her lips. I slowly pushed it in and stroked her tongue.

I saw panic in Dove's eyes but she opened up with a moan and suckled. She pressed down harder, with shallow breaths, as my other hand trailed down to the deep V of her dress. I slipped my hand in and softly rubbed nipples barely covered by a lace demi-bra.

Dove broke off first. She was gulping air in, almost hyperventilating.

"It's okay, it's okay," I comforted her. "You have some growing up to do."

But we knew a line had been crossed. While no words of love were spoken, we were no longer just friends. That day, Dove dropped the "kuya".

I dialed down tension and slid Dove off my lap, teasing that she'd miss her afternoon jazz lessons. I also had to get back to landscaping duties.

As the chauffeur drove off, I spied Dove's dad frowning at the window. He'd seen the kiss. Later, I learned he'd called up Dove's grandmother, fretting his daughter was too young. There was no question about my eligibility. We moved in the same circles, though I had other secret ones he didn't know about.

Dove's Nana told her son not to come down heavy. The forbidden is more enticing, she warned. She had more reason to be nervous. She knew but kept mum about how her women friends tittered over my exploits.

When she sat me down for a talk, she mentioned my insistence at protection. I raised a brow but said nothing. It wasn't a question. Nan was wary but accommodating. She died before Dove walked away.

It was after dinner when I phoned Dove.

"What are you doing, Babe?"

"Taking a bath," she blurted out. I choked on coffee. She sputtered apologies. 

My cock swelled. I tried not to imagine Dove in that moment.

I cleared my throat.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay." The whisper was shaky. Dove never did shaky.

"Scared, baby?"

Dove mumbled, yes. I asked if she wanted to slow it down. She said it was up to me.

I sighed. It would be a balancing act, coaxing out the wanton without scaring the tomboy away. I veered to more normal topics, keeping the conversation light. After ten minutes, I ordered Dove out of the cooling water, telling her to call when she was getting ready for sleep.

Her husky voice came on the line an hour later. I tried to ignore the sexual tension. But after 10 minutes of talking about nothing, desire flared.

"I want to be with you, watch you sleep."

Dove gasped. I pushed. "Would you like that?"

"Yes, King," she confessed.

"But you drove me batty today!" she wailed.

I ordered her to repeat it. I made her do it several times. I couldn't get enough. Her husky tones grew more pronounced each time she repeated the statement. The last ended with a soft sob. And then I said goodnight.

I called her then next morning.

She was sleepy, still in bed.

I told her my schedule for the day. A friend was celebrating his first child's baptism. It would be like a high school class reunion.

Dove was silent for a long time. I thought the line had been cut, always a possibility where we lived.

"Babe?"

"Um, are you asking for my permission?"

I said yes. The silence lengthened.

I frowned at an old photo of Dove catapulting above a balance beam. I hadn't thought her the jealous type. We'd often exchanged notes about women who attracted me.

"You don't want me to go?"

"What?!" Dove's voice was the closest to a shriek an alto could get. "Why would I stop you?!"

I was floundering. We were on different wavelengths.

I asked what was bothering her.

Dove made a false start then raised a question in the most tentative manner I'd heard from her.

"Do I have to get your permission for everything I do also?"

I chuckled, trying not to show expose relief.

"No, Babe. You're under your Dad's care. You go to him for permission."

"But I'd appreciate being informed so I don't search high and low for you."

That made her laugh. Two weeks back I had to scour neighboring parks when Dove failed to appear for dinner. For days my friends called me the Kindergarten Cop. I'd found her playing tag with some bedraggled kids.

During the party, I went to find a phone. I needed to hear Dove's voice. I told her that. In response she whispered my name. 

After lunch I slept off the effects of alcohol. I gardened for an hour, then showered and got into cut offs.

I arrived at Dove's house at dusk. Her dad was away. 

Dove raced into my arms. We kissed. At her moan, I slid my tongue into her mouth. This time she needed no prodding. Her tongue met mine. My cock surged as she laved at my gums.

I cupped her breasts. "Miss me?" 

It was almost a hiss. She wasn't wearing a bra.

Dove pressed against my hands. I tightened my hold, my thumbs and forefingers gently squeezing her nipples. She moaned my name. 

I drew back to repeat the question. She nodded.

When I bent down to her lips again, they were open and ready. As the kiss deepened, my hands clasped her butt. Dove rose on her toes to squirm closer.

We were in full view of the street so I led Dove to a shaded, quiet grotto at the back of her Dad's home office. The breeze gently swirled around the scent of jasmine, that lady of the night.

I sat on a low, long stone platform and tugged her close. A dim pin light glowed down on Dove's face.

I pondered my dilemma. What was I supposed to do when Dove seemed determined to let me set the pace?

Many teenagers have sex. I knew Dove, at 18, was a virgin. And I very definitely knew her father would hold me responsible if I upended her life.

I kissed Dove's forehead and told her we needed to talk.

Dove frowned.

"Why are you suddenly acting like an uncle?"

I hugged her for reassurance.

"Dove, you're only 18..."

She cut me short, her jutting chin announcing rising temper.

"Are you changing your mind?"

She tried to get up. I held tight. I'd seen her stalk off before and didn't want that to happen now.

"No, Babe. But I also have to be responsible. I'm 28, you're ..."

She jumped in again.

"Don't worry. I know everything."

My jaw dropped.

"What do you mean you know EVERYTHING?"

I felt a muscle twitch in my cheek. I saw Dove try to take a step back. I wanted to kick myself for scaring her, but god help the boy who...

I reined in the green monster. Made an effort to modulate my voice.

"Just what is everything?"

Dove spread her arms, clearly exasperated.

"Sex, King! I'm not dumb."

The last sentence came with a toss of her head.

I leaned against the wall and studied her.

"You've had sex?"

Dove shook her head.

"So what's this about knowing EVERYTHING?"

"I read, don't I?" Dove challenged.

I nodded for her to go on.

"I got it today from a pile in the library."

Dove had this self-congratulatory grin. I imagined Penthouse or, heaven forbid, Hustler. I waited.

"The Happy Hooker!" Dove said.

I gaped at her.

"Also, Stella's Diaries!"

I silently cursed whichever elder of hers in the household was careless enough to leave those books around Dove.

"Have you read it?"

Dove's smile faltered. Four chapters of the Happy Hooker, she said, including the part about being taken against the wall.

This was clearly just all bravura. She was 4'11" to my 6". If I fucked up she could run to some callow youth who could hurt her or, worse, ruin her reputation.

"Happy Hooker isn't the best education material around," I told her, trying for an air of levity. I wondered if she'd started on Stella yet.

Dove knew this was serious talk. She imitated my pose on the other end of the platform and eyed me to gauge the mood.

Then, like talking to a grade school laggard, she explained that hookers lived to please and that's what she was interested in.

I wanted to hoist her over my shoulder.

"Glad to hear that."

"But what about your pleasure?"

The look Dove gave said she'd just slashed 70 points off my IQ.

"Pleasing you makes me happy," she said with the frankness of the innocent.

She blushed but forged on: "Besides I like everything you do to me."

I wanted to throw her to the ground and just start humping. I tried to keep my breath even.

"Everything I've done so far," I pointed out. "What about what I may do?"

It was time to jolt her a bit. Frisky pups could get into big trouble.

She couldn't be moved.

"How will I know what I want and don't want if I stop now?"

She leaned close and began tracing my lips with a finger.

I lost it. I scooped her up, crushed her lips, nipped at her neck, her earlobes, her jaw. She grabbed my head and brought me back to her mouth. I drank so long, so thoroughly. It left us trembling, out of breath.

I stopped when she drew my hands to her breasts. She gave a sound of protest but I held her shoulders immobile.

She glared at me. I had to shake her a bit.

"I don't want to stop!"

I raised one hand and almost tore at my hair. "I want to slow it down a bit, give you a little time."

"And you must promise to say, 'No' when you feel like it. I'll take it very seriously."

"No."

"No, what?"

"I won't say, No."

I rose to my full height.

"You cocky little twit. You don't even know what I'll ask of you!"

Dove froze, shocked and hurt by my tone. Then her face flushed and she pushed back.

"Don't fucking treat me like a child!"

"Then don't act like one!"

I cursed and stalked off to regain some calm.

Our first big spat. Over sex. And we hadn't quite done it yet.

I turned back and found Dove fighting tears. Not good. Dove got even angrier when she cried.

I hugged her from behind.

"I'm sorry, Baby, but you don't understand how dangerous it can be."

She stayed silent for several minutes. Slowly, she relaxed. Equally slowly, she disengaged, turning to face me, determined to be an equal.

"May I talk?"

I nodded, keeping my hands still. Dove would not welcome any gesture that remotely looked patronizing. 

"King, I know it's dangerous. That's why I haven't slept with anyone yet."

A hand pushed hair off her forehead.

"I know what I want. It's not a boy, not a jock, not some silly, mindless kid."

I bit back a smile.

"I want a man. Not just any man. Or I'd just as soon drape myself on the mall railings."

Her impish smile broke out.

"There are very few men I respect. Most of them are relatives or friends of relatives."

My gut started churning.

"I respect you. I trust you."

I braced for the blow.

"And yes, I know you've been around because your women just have to share."

She sniffed.

"They told YOU?!"

She shrugged.

"They talk in groups and they're hard to ignore."

I was silent, waiting her next move. I did not help her. She bit her lower lip, looked at fingers twisting against each other.

Dove cleared her throat. She smoothed her skirt. But she eventually raised her gaze back to me.

"It's not those stories that make me want you. But I thought it was stupid to pine for someone so much older."

I winced.

"You always had my full attention, Babe."

My brow rose again.

"I thought you liked Roman?" She'd wailed enough over him.

She shook her head. "Who wants a monk?"

I laughed. And then sobered up.

"I have never felt like a baby-sitter," I pointed out.

Dove gave a snort.

Okay, maybe sometimes I did feel that way. Not anymore.

She reached out and held my arms.

"But why are you fending me off?"

The little thing tried to shake me.

"King, I'm not going to rape you, just telling you I trust you enough to be in control."

The world froze. For a very long moment, the only thing I saw were almond eyes.




Learning to Fly Pt. 02



I doubled up, laughing. Laughed so much that my jaw ached.

Rape. The image of the little punk....

She started chortling, too. When we caught our breaths, we stared at each other for another long minute.

I threw in the towel. I pulled Dove over for a long, slow, sensual kiss and for the first time declared my love.

She didn't give a clear answer but pressed for another kiss; that was enough for me that day.

Soon, I felt her shudder as my fingers toyed with the sides of her breasts. I took my time with her creamy, smooth undersides. I traced the faint blue veins that led up to pink nipples. I circled her buds, barely covered by cream-colored lace. I drew circles of air until she begged, calling my name.

Then I slid some digits into her balcony demibra and feathered her nipples with work-hardened fingers.

"Look at me, Baby."

When she didn't immediately open her eyes, I stilled the two fingers. She came back from some secret place and focused on me. She blushed and ducked her head.

"Look at me."

My whisper reached her. She let me feast on her face, training all the passion of her eyes on me.

"Please..."

"Please, what?"

"Touch me... please."

I smiled and resumed teasing with an even lighter touch. The sound of her rasp fired me up. I took out my hands.

She moaned in protest. "No! Please, King!"

I began to squeeze her breast against the lace. I rolled my tongue around one orb and then another, laving, flicking and then gently biting the tips.

Dove keened. She arched to bring me closer. I brought one nipple into my mouth and sucked, softly first and then harder and even harder.

The lace offered little protection. It was also all wet. I knew the suction would mark by the morrow. Dove just moaned, yes and yes and yes... and begged every time I paused for breath.

I caught the other nub between thumb and forefinger, rubbing it like a coin you fondle for luck. The friction from the lace heightened the sensations. I slowly increased the pressure and began twisting....

Dove had brought a hand to her mouth. She bit down to muffle her sounds. I pulled took it off and urged her to tell me how she liked being touched here, or here, or here? Did she like some more?

Yes, she gasped. Again and again, she said yes. Her voice was hoarse from the screams left unleashed. The last "yes" ended in a full groan as I clamped both nipples between my fingers and bit her neck.

It was an undulating sound, rising and falling as I toyed with her breasts and found other sensitive spots on her ears, her nape, shoulders and armpits.

I drew Dover down on my lap.

"I want to look at you. Keep still. Keep quiet. Just let me see your face."

Dove's hands gripped my thighs as I slid down her blue tank and opened the bra's front hook. My tongue began another slow dance. Her fingers scratched at me when I bit one nipple then licked around it, then suckled.

She bit her lower lip to stifle cries. Sweat drops showed the effort it cost her to stay still. But she did as I ordered. She gave me freedom to roam across her body. She tensed her thighs. I could see the effort not to jump and then to grind against the hand that cupped her cunt.

The feel of very wet panties made me rougher. My other hand pulled and twisted her nipples. She let me, quiet even as she panted in pleasure.

Wet! I exulted. Wet. Very wet.

"Wet them some more for me, Baby. Show me you want it."

I rubbed harder as I urged her on. I drew a whole breast, a pert B apple, and as my mouth clamped on firm flesh, I felt her spurt. She gushed on her white jersey skirt.

She just didn't trickle. She gushed and it spurred me on. I rubbed harder, withdrawing now and then and landing back. I heard myself grunting, urging her on, wanting to feel her spurt with helpless need.

Her eyes were glazed, her mouth open in a silent scream when I broke off and opened my pants.

Dove sprawled on the stone step, eyes closed, breath harsh and ragged, thighs still wide open for me. I kneeled before her and kissed her hard then raised her chin.

"You are beautiful," I whispered.

She licked her lips and looked down. I forced her chin up.

"Do you know what a submissive is?"

Dove blushed and I knew she had read Stella. But I wanted to hear it from her.

"One who gives up fully to what her Master wants," said my trembling lover.

I waited.

"Pls, King, own me. Please." Incredibly, Dove's eyes started tearing. I drank the salty trickle. It felt like... communion.

I knew I was lost. I could no longer rebuff Dove nor did I want to. I just had to balance sexual domination with allowing her autonomy in all other aspects of her life.

I pushed just one last time, gesturing for Dove to draw her skirt up and spread her thighs farther. She did, though she looked at my shoulders rather than at my eyes. Her mouth was open. She looked hungry, wanton.

I started rubbing again, ordering Dove to gush as much as she could, to gift me with her juices, to prove she really wanted my ownership.

I rubbed, she gushed. I rubbed and she rubbed back. She squirted, spurted, flew like a river, silent but all giving, arching back to give me more access to her cunt.

I drew back and gave the final test of the day. I slid my hand beneath her panty. She was so slick I could slide a finger deep until my palm lay against her clit.

I massaged her and then slid in and out, rubbing my palm every time against her sensitive button. Her tongue stuck out between her teeth. I held my finger still and just rotated my palm left and right. Her muscles grip me. She was so, so tight. And so strong inside.

I licked her nipple again.

"Cum on me. Make love to my hand."

I bit down hard and suckled with so much force I knew she would be marked for days.

Dove held on tight, licking my skin and then stifling her sobs on my shoulder as she ground and bucked against my hand. She moved upwards, downwards, sideways, riding my hand hard as she came again and again and again.

At the end, she almost ejected my finger with her pulsing. She bit my neck to mask her screams.

I ripped open my fly buttons and dragged Dove's hand to my cock. She gasped at my size and heat. I led her hand up and down, squeezing and rubbing until I shot up hot cream.

When I got some breath back, I reached over to a faucet. I washed my hands then Dove's. I wet a handkerchief to wipe of the remnants of juices on her thighs. Her skirt was soaked. I took off her panties and she made no complaint.

I kissed and sucked at wet nylon, watching Dove's eyes widen.

"I'm keeping this," I told my lover. And then I brought her home, safe against my chest, to snuggle at the calm that followed our storm. 

(To be continued)



Learning to Fly



"You've got the aircraft, Jessica. Let's go find another hog."

"I've got the aircraft."

"I don't want you looking at anything inside this aircraft---or thinking about anything inside this aircraft. Chase the hog; follow him like your life depends on it---as if you're tied to his tail. There's one! Three o'clock. Go get him!"

It took a couple of hogs for her to stop over-thinking things and get into the game and fly instead of operating the bird. Almost an hour later as he took control of the chopper back, she was giggling almost uncontrollably.

"That was fun!" she exclaimed, turning toward him, grinning from ear to ear...so pretty in the moonlight...so damn cute...absolutely adorable.

"If only we could go to war against dumb animals in open fields on moonlit nights. Look, Jessica, sometimes all of the technology gets in the way. The night vision equipment is far from perfect, although sometimes I fear it provides too much---not to mention distorted---information. You can't fly visual on night vision equipment and fly the instruments---that's why we have two pilots assigned to this aircraft. 

"You're a very good instrument pilot; as a result, when you get a little disoriented you try to fallback on the instruments and depend on them---which you can't do low level over the trees when it's pitch black. You need to be flying ninety-five percent visual with maybe five percent instruments---and even at that, don't forget that you have another pilot with you. When you verify with the instruments don't try to check everything every time---altitude, attitude and airspeed. Use your co-pilot and prioritize. Don't over correct minor attitude, airspeed and altitude changes. Ready to try it again?"

"Yes, sir."

"You have the aircraft."

Things went much better right from the start. An hour later, Major Davis was confident that Jessica had turned the corner in her learning process. If she continued to progress over the next two flight sessions, he'd be able to sign her off as night, nap-of-the-earth qualified. He took control of the aircraft and flew the short distance back to their field base. Following the paper work and a quick walk around inspection of the helicopter, the two of them walked in silence back toward the operations hut.

It was the hot season; in spite of the environmental control system in the new bird it had been warm in the cockpit. It had been a stressful training exercise for the young lieutenant. She had perspired more profusely than he had and he could smell it. It wasn't remotely an unpleasant odor. Just for an instant, it made his dick twitch alarmingly. She smelled like a woman...just like a grown woman is supposed to smell. His mind wandered for a moment as he pictured her in different attire and in a very different setting. Just as quickly he was back in control...and back in command.

"Thank you, sir. I honestly felt like I was really flying for the first time...ever? Sometimes I---we---get so caught up in the procedures and..."

"And we probably violated more flight rules than I can count, Lieutenant. I'm glad it worked for you. Let's keep it our little secret---if you have no objections?"

"Yes, sir---I mean no, sir! Mum's the word."

"Go get some shut eye, LT. I know I'm going to."

"Yes, sir. See you in the morning, sir."

His was to be a six month command since there were lots of other young majors chomping at the bit to get their tickets punched. Two weeks before the change of command was slated, he felt damn good about what he had accomplished. The unit was running smoothly, leaders had been identified and promoted to leadership positions and the young commissioned officers were finally learning that the old warrants were a vital asset and a wealth of knowledge.

He had miscalculated his years of rated service. Evidently---and he wasn't going to argue---the clock had continued to run for at least part of the time he had been a civilian so he received his orders designating him a Master Aviator several months before he had expected it. The division commander, a two star, wanted to personally pin the coveted wings on his uniform in front of the entire company. 

He had asked the Major General if he would like to pin the new Captain's bars on his newest platoon leader, Jessica Wainwright.

"She's going to be a platoon leader? She's certainly not senior since she's being promoted today," the two star had asked and stated.

"She more than up to the job. LT Wainwright is an exceptional officer, a no nonsense leader and a stellar command pilot. Even my warrants agreed unanimously that there's not another Captain in the unit not already in a platoon slot who is ready or qualified. No equal opportunity or affirmative action in play here, sir. She's head and shoulders above the competition. She is very special."

"You always check with your warrants before you promote a commissioned officer to an important leadership position, Major?"

"As well as my senior NCOs, my XO and my existing platoon leaders, General."

"Good for you, Major. Let's get those new wings on you and those railroad tracks on your newest platoon leader."

He would be going to a staff job as soon as his command was over but where exactly had not been determined. He'd done battalion and brigade staff as a warrant officer. A Battalion S3 (Operations and Training) or executive officer slot would be appropriate for his career path but who knew?

It was a shame they were living in the field in an increasingly dangerous backward country. Jessica would not be in his chain of command in two weeks and was about to be promoted. He could have dated her, assuming she was even interested in him in that way without any violation of the rules once the chain of command relationship changed. They'd never flirted; other young female officers in the company had come on to him on occasion but he'd brushed it off as harmless. The truth was none of the others interested him the way she did.

He genuinely liked her but that had had nothing to do with making her a platoon leader. She was an exceptional young officer who learned quickly and wasn't afraid to take charge or take risks even if it meant being unpopular.

***

"Congratulations, Captain---on both your promotion to Captain and appointment as platoon leader. You deserve it." said one of the other female officers later that morning as they ate together in the company dining facility.

"Thanks, Sharon! That means a lot coming from you."

"Have you got any scuttlebutt on who our new CO is going to be?"

"Not a clue but whoever he is he's going to have some pretty big shoes to fill."

"You got that right! My God, I was playing with Barbie when the Major first flew in combat and he's not even that old! He certainly doesn't look old. I've got to say under different circumstances---hell! Under any circumstances...I mean...he's...hot!"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, girl. I don't think we knew at first how damn lucky we were to have him as our first CO. He's a great commander...I know I've learned a hell of a lot from him---about flying and leadership. I'll miss him...we all will."

"Be honest now, Jessica, if we were back in the states and you had the opportunity..."

"Would I go out with him?"

"Yeah."

"I guess...if he asked me. We're only eight years apart in age and...he's cute. I don't really know him---I mean I know him as my CO and all that but not as a...man. Who knows? We might not have a thing in common. I don't have any sense that I'm his type or that he's remotely interested in me in that way. Maybe there's a girl back home...who knows?"

"Lucky girl, whoever she is."

"Maybe, but keep in mind that we only see the professional side of him and as attractive as that may be..."

"Inside he's really an asshole?"

"I'd find that hard to believe but he plays it pretty close to the vest which I guess is what you have to do when you're in command. It has to be hard on guys of his generation dealing with women officers and aviators—always on your guard to be sure you don't say or do something that will be misconstrued. Up to now, I've been just another LT in the flock. Now as a platoon leader I guess I'll get to know him a little better...maybe get some idea of what really makes him tick---although only for another two weeks."

***

Fate would extend Major Davis' command. The balloon went up, the shit hit the fan, the rebels came pouring out of the bushes and full scale war broke out threatening to unseat the duly elected, albeit weak government and sow the seeds of anarchy. It happened two days before the change of command was scheduled. The senior commanders agreed that all changes of command would be put on hold until the crisis at least became manageable.

Under what would later become known as the Powell Doctrine, the U.S. had strong international support and allies and an overwhelming if largely untested force in place. There were problems; equipment didn't always work as well as one might have hoped. Confusion reigned supreme in the early hours as the fog of war and the enemy's actions disrupted carefully prepared plans.

People got wounded; people died. The unit performed their missions admirably. Four weeks later the conflict was essentially over. The rebel forces had been killed or driven back into the bushes. The indigenous forces performed better than had been expected and were actively pursuing the rebels into their safe zones and killing or capturing them with ample logistics and air support from the U.S. and allied forces. 

In short order the majority of the allied forces would depart, leaving a small contingent of aviators, security elements, advisors and civil affairs components. The lessons learned from the conflict would prove invaluable in preparing the equipment, training and tactics of the U.S. forces for future conflicts.

It was during that month that the unit gained a true understanding of how lucky they were to have Major Davis at the helm. He was an exceptional combat leader. The unit would receive numerous unit and individual citations for their expertise, devotion to duty, mission performance and sheer bravery. All agreed that it was the Major who was the glue that held it together---the force which made it all work.

Jessica Wainwright began to gain a better appreciation of the man behind the gold oak leaf clusters. Her respect and admiration for him grew exponentially as she watched him command from the close up vantage point of a direct subordinate. Little did she know that she would someday command an aviation unit; she would in fact be the first woman aviator selected to command a line unit of the same type. She would be an exceptional commander. It would be the critical lessons she had learned during those few short weeks of combat under Jim Davis' tutelage which she would apply again and again in her own command years later.

Disaster struck. It had been pegged as a routine, albeit critical re-supply mission. Delays in on and off loading supplies coupled with the desire to get one last load to the local forces still facing sporadic contact with the rebels had resulted in the final drop off being completed just as darkness fell. 

Jim Davis was in command of that single ship mission not only because he led from the front but because when the unscheduled re-supply call had come in, virtually all of the other command pilots in the unit were either already on missions or well over their twenty-four hour flight maximums. 

The pilot who should have taken the mission was inexperienced and green. The mission was in unfamiliar territory. Major Davis had looked into his young pilot's eyes and made the decision. Dismissing the co-pilot, he'd taken command of the mission. What he then saw in his young pilot's eyes was a sense of relief, not disappointment.

Coming out from their last drop off, they took heavy automatic weapons fire. Damaged but still serviceable, they attempted to climb out to a safer altitude when the rocket propelled grenade exploded, disabling their tail rotor. Miraculously, the crippled ship stayed in the air, desperately trying to get to open ground where an emergency landing might be survivable. 

Less than a kilometer from an open area that might have afforded them a relatively safe landing, the multiple failing systems and puncture lines took their toll and the aircraft started going down to the horror of the observers on the ground. When last seen, it had crashed into the thick woodland canopy only a few hundred yards from a clearing.

Based on the reports from the observers on the ground, higher command delayed dispatching an Air Force search and rescue team. It was night time, the weather was deteriorating, the terrain was inhospitable and in the absence of any emergency radio beacon, it was assumed that all on board had been lost. Some worthless, fat assed desk driver said, fuck 'em. 

In the last big war, a rescue team would have been sent out regardless of the situation and sadly, too many times the rescue chopper succumbed to the same fate as those they were trying to save. In an attempt to preclude further casualties and cover their ass, higher command elected to respond gutlessly---in spite of the fact that the air rescue crew wanted to go.

Shortly after the word reached the unit within minutes of the crash, Captain Jessica Wainwright was in a heated discussion with the company executive officer.

"This is bullshit, Sharon! The fucking Air FARCE pussied out on attempting a rescue? What the hell is that all about?"

"I just got off the horn with Air Force Search and Rescue. They claim they were cranked and loaded when they got the order from the Army to stand down. I've already pretty much put my ass and career on the line---all the way up to Division and they wouldn't budge. The Air Force guys are as pissed off as I am---you are...we all are. A bunch of bullshit about additional casualties, weather, nightfall no emergency radio signal...no one alive to activate it...worst case assumption. No rescue attempt, a recovery attempt tomorrow after daybreak. Friendly ground troops are working their way toward the crash site---won't get there until morning."

The first sergeant stuck his head in the door. "Ma'am?"

"What is it, First Sergeant?"

"There are a couple of Air Force enlisted men out here that need to talk to you, Captain."

"Send 'em in."

"What are you fellows doing in my compound?" the XO asked acerbically.

"Frankly, ma'am, we're UA (Unauthorized Absence)---AWOL, although our Major---unofficially of course---knows where we are. We're para-jumpers assigned to Search and Air Rescue. Our boss has been told he will face a court martial if he attempts to take off in the Jolly Green. We're here to offer our services."

"Wait a minute! Sharon, did anyone specifically order you not to attempt a rescue?" Jessica inquired.

"The subject never came up. I was trying to get the Air Force...I never asked for permission to..."

"Look, Sharon, I'll take the fall for this. I'll tell 'em I didn't clear it with you; the first thing you knew, I was taking off and refused to answer the radio."

"Hell, Jessica, I hear Fort Leavenworth (home of the Army's main prison) is great this time of year...probably wasn't going to make Major anyway."

"Let's go, gentlemen. I've already got an aircraft standing by and ready to launch."

"You're flying the mission, ma'am?"

"I'm the best fucking night pilot in this unit---other than the Major---and he's not available. I've got one of my best senior warrant officer aviators in the other seat. Grab your shit and let's get moving."

"Yes, ma'am," the two Air Force enlisted men replied in unison.

Twenty-five minutes later the Army chopper approached the edge of the woodlands.

"How the hell are we going to find 'em, Ed?" Jessica said to the man closer to the Major's age than her own sitting beside her.

"Ground observation of a crash is always suspect. By my calculation, they could be anywhere within this 1,000 meter grid square and the canopy is too thick to see the ground. We're going to have to set up a search grid, not more than fifty meters wide and look for signs---hope someone is alive down there and can signal us."

"Ed, you've known the Major longer than I have----back to the last war. What would he have been thinking?"

"Trying to get to an open area but then, once he knew it wasn't going to happen, try to zero it out---in spite of the loss of rudder control--- settle in level...pray they didn't get skewered by a tree."

"Plot a course from their take off---we know which direction they departed. What do you think about starting in the middle of that grid square and working our way out in concentric circles?"

"Makes as much sense as anything. Wait a minute! The Major is a stickler about going over the terrain maps---doesn't fully trust all this modern navigational shit. He might not have attempted the most direct route to the clearing---once he knew he wasn't going to make it. He'd want to avoid crashing through the trees and ending up on the side of a hill and rolling over...he'd look for reasonably level ground---assuming I'm not full of shit and he even had time to think. Fuck, he always has time to think! Jess, let's start right here." the chief warrant officer said, pointing to a spot on the map.

"You got it!"

Ten minutes later as they circled over the outside edge of what was the largest patch of level ground within the search area, one of the Air Force men in the back shouted over the intercom.

"Stop! Wait! Pivot and go back about seventy-five meters. There! Hold your hover! There are broken branches at our three o'clock almost directly below us and I swear to God I see something flickering down there!"

"We're not going to have enough fuel to do this too many times. How sure are you?"

"I've seen this before, Captain---we've got to give it a shot! Hook me up. I'm going in."

The five people on the helicopter waited for word. The minutes ticked off as if in slow motion.

"Why the hell isn't he talking to us? What the hell?"

And then the most important words Jessica had ever heard crackled inside her helmet.

"I've got 'em! They're alive but pretty beat up. Get that litter down here pronto and send my partner down---I need some help getting one of 'em free from the wreckage and getting 'em stabilized. They're okay! Some broken bones for sure, shock, cut up but alive...no one is bleeding out...no fire."

Ten minutes later the first member of the crew came up in the litter, awake, smiling wanly, his leg and arm splinted and a nasty gash across his cheek. The next two came up in the ensuing minutes in similar condition. Jessica waited anxiously for her commander. She saw the final litter come up. He was awake; he was smiling ever so slightly. As soon as he was on board, he grabbed a headset and spoke.

"Jessica! Ed! Glad you could make it. It's taken me most of the last hour to get out of that Goddamn seat. We hit a little nose low and it crumpled the dashboard so to speak---pinned us both in. I was trying to get Mike out when the cavalry arrived with their special tools; I'm afraid Mike's got a couple of broken legs."

"Why didn't you activate your emergency radio?"

"Well, as you know, we deployed without enough emergency radios---only one per aircraft instead of one per air crew member---and guess who forgot to check the batteries on the one assigned to this bird? Yours truly."

"Are you okay, sir?"

"My back hurts like hell and I have a splitting headache but I'll live. Damn! Almost five thousand hours in the air and I've never crashed one. There goes my spotless record."

The para-jumpers were hoisted back on board. Jessica nosed the aircraft over to head back home. They headed toward the field hospital pad which was actually less than a thousand yards from their own base.




Learning to Fly



"Make the call, Captain. I'm thinking there are some folks back at the unit that might like to hear the news." Ed said over the intercom.

"Oh, shit! I almost forgot. As low as we were in that little valley with line of sight transmission they probably don't know."

Her deep blue eyes were moist as she composed herself to make the all important radio call.

"Champion operations, this is Champion two-six."

"This is Champion Five actual, go ahead two-six."

"We are twenty minutes out from the medical pad with four additional souls on board. All are stable and conscious and...standby."

Jessica turned to the Air Force man closest to her. He gave her four fingers and then circled his thumb and forefinger.

"With no life threatening injuries. Champion two six...out."

Over his initial objections, the Major accepted his fate and accompanied his air crew to the hospital for examination---although he did refuse a stretcher. All Jessica could do was grin like a silly little girl as tears filled her eyes. 

"Take us home, Ed; I'm all flown out for the night."

"You got it, ma'am. I've got the aircraft."

"You have the aircraft."

The appearance of the very shiny helicopter with two stars painted on the front parked in front of the operations hut quickly brought her back to a level of composure more suitable for a flight rated, combat tested Army Captain.

Exiting the aircraft and donning her cap, she marched toward the Major General, came to attention and reported. He appropriately returned her crisp salute.

"At ease, Captain. First, let me apologize to you and every one in this unit. I have chewed some serious ass in the last half hour---not to mention relieving at least two senior officers for gross stupidity—and I may not be done yet on that count. I was out of country briefing the combatant commander. The order forbidding the Search and Rescue team from doing their job was about as wrong headed as any order ever given. It violates everything we hold sacred.

"It gratifies this old war horse no end to realize that we have junior officers that recognize bullshit when they see and hear it and aren't afraid to put their careers, necks---and lives---on the line and do the right thing in the service of their comrades at arms. Well done, Captain, well done indeed. I'm very proud to shake your hand."

"Thank you, sir."

"Do you remember the day I pinned those Captain's bars on you?"

"Vividly, sir."

"I challenged Major Davis on appointing you as platoon leader. He had some very nice things to say about you. He said you were very special. That you indeed are! You make me proud to wear the same uniform, Captain Wainwright. Candidly, I'm a little old school. I wasn't exactly excited about the idea of women in combat. I was wrong---thank you for proving me so. Carry on, Captain, I have some more ass to go chew."

In the back of her mind she knew that if it had gone wrong in someway she and the two star would have had a very different conversation. 

The Major thinks I'm very special!

To her chagrin, she didn't get the chance to see Major Davis the next day. All four crew members were medically evacuated back to the states. The Major had a fractured skull, a concussion and minor spinal compression fractures that needed to be evaluated and treated in a modern, stateside facility. She had later heard through the grapevine that he and the others had recovered completely and returned to full active duty.

Within a month of the new commander taking over, the order came to redeploy back to the U.S. Not long after, Jessica received permanent change of station orders. She would be attending her own officer advanced course. In the interim, she got some medals and got her picture on the cover of several magazines as the new face of the modern Army.

She completely lost track of her former CO although hardly a day went by when she didn't think about him. He had been the best officer and best commander she had ever known. Somewhere deep inside her heart she wondered if he had been even more. The best man she had ever known? He had unquestionably been a significant influence on her life. She chuckled as she thought about the irony. You taught me how to really fly; you taught me how to lead...how to command. And I in turn hauled your skinny butt out of the boonies and brought you home. A fair trade?

Jessica got her own branch command immediately following her advanced course followed by the obligatory staff assignment. She did a stint in a major headquarters and even served as a general's aide. To her shock, she was selected for promotion to Major well ahead of her contemporaries and barely four years after making Captain. A few days prior to actually pinning on the rank of Major, the command list was released with her name on it. She would be the first female Army Aviator to command a line aviation unit.

The Major General who had pinned her Captain's bars on her lapel was now a three star general, a corps commander in her chain of command and he had requested the honor of promoting her to Major. He brought a familiar face with him: Lieutenant Colonel Jim Davis, the Corps Aviation Officer, recently graduated from the War College and slated for a battalion command within the year.

Jim beamed with pride when he saw her; she beamed right back at him. Four years had been a long time. She'd missed him more than she could have imagined but even a quick hug wouldn't have been appropriate in public in uniform.

"General, I guess we better get this show on the road."

"What's your hurry, Jim? It's a beautiful day for a promotion ceremony."

"With all due respect sir, if you don't hurry up and promote Captain Wainwright to Major, I can't ask her out to dinner---which is something I've thought about doing for the last four years."

"How are you with that idea, Captain?" the general said with a smile.

"I'd like that very much, General...very much indeed."

"Outstanding! Let's get this show on the road!"

The two of them had a few minutes to chat at the brief reception which followed the promotion ceremony.

"That Distinguished Flying Cross looks very good on you, Major."

"As does yours! Funny, I've never seen you in a Class A uniform before. Am I to assume the Purple Heart is a result of..."

"The one medal I never wanted to wear. I tried to fight it since my injuries were the result of the crash, not hostile fire but...as far as the DFC, that's from the last war before the one you and I shared."

"If it hadn't been for hostile fire, you wouldn't have gone down and been injured."

"Something like that...not to mention spending a few weeks in a hospital."

"As you certainly know, the Army sent engineers in to clear the crash site and recovered that bird---sent it back to Fort Rucker for detailed analysis. I read the reports; you were not only cleared of any culpability, the unanimous opinion of the board was that there was no way in hell you got that thing down in one piece."

"It's funny; I probably wouldn't have in a Huey but at the same time when all that automatic stuff gives out that baby is a real bitch to fly---particularly without a tail rotor! Still, the armor plating over critical components, the ability to sustain a vertical impact three times what a Huey could have survived, the advanced crash-worthy fuel system and a lot of luck keeping it between the trees and landing reasonably level kept us alive. The front end definitely needs reinforcement; that damn instrument panel crumpled up like an aluminum can---we came in nose down due to the center of gravity shift from the tail rotor loss. The new ones off the line have made improvements in that area and as the older ones go in for third echelon overhaul they're being modified. 

"Not checking those batteries on the emergency radio still pisses me off. I was in a hurry and just a little lazy. I didn't want to walk all the way back to my hut to get my flight gear so I took the co-pilot's vest, radio and helmet. You know what they say about assumption."

"I noticed a new procedure was put into effect Army wide soon after that. Batteries replaced on a set basis and radios live checked with operations each day."

"I might have had something to do with that."

A few minutes later and out of sight of prying eyes and in spite of military protocol concerning signs of affection while in uniform, their hands met and clasped. Jessica stopped, turned and moved in close.

"Kiss me, Lieutenant Colonel Davis."

"With pleasure, Major Wainwright."

That kiss told each of them almost everything they needed to know about the other. Another special kiss a few months later at the front of the post chapel would tell the world---at that instant neither of them had any inkling where things were going or how quickly.

"You mentioned dinner?"

"Absolutely! Let's get dressed up. There is a really neat place down on the river, terribly over priced but quite exceptional. Let's head out early so we can catch up, say...1800?"

"That'll work. Until I take over my command I'm pretty much in a 0730 to 1630 mode."

"Where are you living?"

"I've rented an apartment for six months---it's actually between the main gate and the river. Here's the address. How about you?"

"It looks like I'm here for three years at least so I took the big plunge and bought a house, ah...on the river. It's an antique and needs some work but its got...character."

The two field grade officers exchanged another quick kiss and then departed for their respective responsibilities.

***

As Jessica dressed for her dinner date many hours later she chuckled at how impulsively she had asked him to kiss her. It had just seemed right...it had felt more than right. As she examined her thirty-one year old form in her full length mirror she was not remotely displeased with the image. Her fair complexion and short blond hair perfectly accentuated her only luxury item of apparel, a designer black dress...the quintessential little black dress. A pearl choker with simple earrings to match, a touch of blush, a little color on her lips and she did not resemble anyone's preconceived notion of what a U.S. Army major was supposed to look like. The thin, elegant black pumps were the crowning touch.

She met him at the door exactly at 1800; of course he was punctual...he was an Army Aviator for God's sake. She was ready to go when he arrived. She remembered something he had said years earlier when they had trained as a unit for troop insertions: Army Aviation is never late and never early---they are always right on time---to the second.

He looked good—damn good! She'd never seen him in a civilian suit before---wasn't sure she'd ever seen him in anything civilian. The man wore good clothes well.

"Nice suit, Colonel! I'm doubting that you picked that one up off the rack at the PX."

"Right you are! I spent some time in the Pentagon after we parted working for the director of Army Aviation---a one star---and we wore suits a lot more than we wore uniforms. He got promoted, came down here to take over a division and then the three star snatched me away to be his aviation officer."

"You're getting a command too, an aviation battalion as I recall?"

"The other division not yours---not that I wouldn't enjoy having you as one of my company commanders, but then..."

"We couldn't go to dinner together?"

"You read my mind!"

The car was her next surprise.

"Jim, somehow I always pictured you as a pickup man. This is positively...elegant?"

"When we first met I did own a pickup truck. With all the work the new house needs I may end up getting one again. My boss in DC hated staff cars and hated driving. After he ragged on me one time too many about the damn truck, I traded it for something more...civilized. If I forgot to mention it in view of my limited dating experience over the last few years, you look positively stunning."

"Thank you."

Dinner was relaxed and elegant. They took their time, caught up on their respective military careers and related their life experiences prior to the Army. They were in fact from opposite ends of the continent and had grown up in very different environments although it quickly became evident that they had both enjoyed nurturing families and possessed similar value systems and religious backgrounds. 

Their world views were similar. As she thought back to that conversation she had had years earlier with Sharon, the unit XO, during which she had wondered if it was possible if Jessica Wainwright and Jim Davis had enough in common to have a meaningful relationship, the absurdly simple answer hit her like a ton of bricks. Her startled expression elicited a response.

"What?"

"Years ago when I was relegated to admiring you from a respectful distance and really only knew you professionally, I suppose I never envisioned this moment...getting to know each other as...as a man and a woman. I wondered back then if we really would find anything in common out of uniform---not that any alarm bells are going off---you?"

"Not remotely."

"Good! Because it just hit me that all of this is less important than I thought it would be back then."

"You finally figured it out?"

"I just figured it out! Jesus! It doesn't get much simpler. We have things in common that 99.99% of the people in the world will never have---the Army, flying...serving together in combat...understanding the rigors of command...trusting each other with our lives..."

"So you see some future here?"

" I hope so! I'm not into the dating scene, Jim...not interested in...a casual..."

"Me neither."

"Thank goodness. How far is your new home from here?"

"Ten minutes."

"Let's pass on dessert."

"You read my mind."

I told you at the beginning that this wasn't a stroke story. Suffice to say that their first coupling was suitably amazing, the earth moved and everything was as it should be. The final piece of the puzzle was snapped into place. In the early morning hours, wrapped in each other's arms they chatted about the future...their future...together.

"After my command, I wouldn't mind..."

"Getting pregnant?"

"Yeah...a couple of times, maybe?"

"That works."

"Attitudes and policies within the Army are changing...for the most part we should be able to serve on the same installations."

"So I'm told."

"What are your plans...career wise?"

"Jess, all I ever wanted to do was make Major and command an aviation company. I could have been happy retiring after that---hell I could retire tomorrow. But now I've got the chance to command a friggin' aviation battalion! That's pretty hard to walk away from. Assuming I don't screw up, full bull is almost a lock. How about you?"

"I'll juggle it as long as I can but not if it interferes with being a wife and a mommy. I love the Army; I love flying. If it gets to be more than I can handle, I'll resign and check out the reserves. Are you okay with that?"

"As long as you're happy and we're together."

"What took you so long...to come back and find me?"

"Well, I could ask you the same question! Jess, I was attracted to you way back then but I couldn't show it. With age comes wisdom. I realized that after four years during which you were the only woman I ever thought about---and the neatest woman I'd ever known--- it was high time to test the waters. I didn't know if you saw me as..."

"Someone I could fall in love with?"

"Well...yes."

"Your timing was perfect! Oh, hell, I respected you, liked you, admired you---even worshipped you! It took a few years to realize that there wasn't a chance in hell I was ever going to meet a better man than you...and that I...loved you."

***

They were married a little over a month later with the corps commander serving as best man. Jessica left active duty almost exactly three years later. She had a baby to raise and they were working tirelessly to have a second one.

Jim made full colonel and ultimately returned to Fort Rucker, Alabama, to take over as President of the Aviation Test Board, a position he held for four years before electing to retire rather than accept a promotion and relocation to another post. Both he and Jessica became civilian contractors and flew for many years as test pilots for the Army.

Both of their children, a boy and a girl, ultimately followed in their parents' footsteps and wore the wings of a U.S. Army Aviator. Jim and Jessica are retired and living on a few acres just outside of Enterprise growing peanuts and watermelons. They are a deliriously happy couple. Look them up next time you're in southeastern Alabama; they're in the book. Don't forget to thank them for their service.

Edited by Techsan



Learning to Forgetting to Love



Author's note: It's been a while since I posted a story, so I hope this gets the ball rolling again. This chapter sets up the story, but there's also some sex at the end of the chapter. Thanks for reading, sk11.

*

Tom walked into the classroom and immediately froze in his tracks. All around him, students were quietly seated at their desks, each of them with a stack of papers face down in front of them. As he hurried to find an empty seat, Tom struggled to remain calm, obviously unprepared for an exam. Sweat began pouring down his face, and anxiety further distorted his features as each second passed. It is at that time, of course, that he woke up.

It had been years since Tom had graduated college, yet it seemed that that particular nightmare would always stay with him. As he sat up in bed and stretched his arms, he looked at the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. Another ghost of the past, though this one brought back far more vivid memories.

"Figures," he said to himself quietly.

He had met Diana in college and they'd quickly fallen in love. They got married after graduation, but after three years of blissful holy matrimony, the woman he had believed to be the love of his love had abruptly stepped out of it. Ever since, Tom had lived in a fog: he thought he glimpsed her in crowds, yet it was always someone else; he thought he sometimes caught her scent as he wandered around his apartment, but she had never stepped foot in his new place; and, most of all, he was convinced he would find her beside him upon waking up each morning, but that had not been the case in 751 days and counting.

"Get your lazy ass up!" yelled a female voice from across his bedroom wall. Shortly after, the words were punctuated by sharp raps on his door.

Tom slowly dragged himself out of his bed, recalling how Diana had always woken him up with a kiss -- either one on the lips or one below the sheets. He sighed and wondered when he would finally be able to let her go, yet at the same time fearing the day she did not occupy his first and last thought every waking day. After experiencing his idea of paradise in the years they were together, nothing else could compare anymore. She was his soul mate, his other half, but also his Pandora's box now that she was gone.

As Tom wandered into the kitchen, he found his roommate already helping herself to a bowl of Froot Loops.

Tom and Layla's mothers were friends and colleagues, so the two of them had known each other since they were kids. They'd gone through pre-K to Grade 12 together, and their childhood friendship had remained strong up until this day. At the time that Tom had moved to Philadelphia to start his graduate program in Developmental, Stem Cell and Regenerative Biology at UPenn, Layla had been looking for a roommate after finding a job in the area, so they'd quickly reconnected and decided to share an apartment.

"Took you long enough. You weren't jerking one off in there, were you?"

"Fuck off."

"You know, have I told you how tired I am of your constant moping?"

Layla wasn't shy about calling him out on his inadequacies and giving him a hard time, but Tom knew she did it with the best intentions.

"It's too early in the morning for this, Layla. Just leave me alone."

"No, not until you're finally over that bitch. How long has it been? Two years?"

"751 days."

"Jesus Christ. Okay, let's just put aside the disturbing fact that you know that exact number. It's time to get off your ass, Tom. You know how worried your mom was the last time she called. I'm getting worried, too."

Tom sighed. Anger had spurned his move to Philly and his dedication to his professional life instead of his personal one, but since then he'd moved on to the next stages of grief. UPenn was not exactly a walk in the park, and he now seemed stuck in the depression phase, his academic work consequently suffering.

"Well don't. Like I told both of you, I'm fine."

Layla frowned, unconvinced by his words. Suddenly, she popped out of her stool with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"I know! Let's get you laid!"

"Stop it Layla, I'm not cheating on my wife."

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit, Tom. You and I both know that you're married in name only. I'll call up one of my friends who thinks you're cute and set up a date for you two."

Tom shook his head, but before he could say another word, Layla had already dialed the number and was currently chatting with someone else.

Completely apathetic by this point, Tom just walked away, looking for some cereal as he tuned out the chatter in the background.

A few days later, Layla came back from work and was immediately on Tom's ass to get dressed and get cleaned up.

"Why?" Tom asked, clueless. Of course, he had completely forgotten about the date Layla had set up for him.

"You have to get ready for Sally, idiot!"

"Who's Sally?"

"You know, tall blonde, big boobs, she came by the apartment once before we went clubbing together."

Tom still had a blank look on his face.

"Come on, we don't have much time."

"I don't want to do this, Layla."

"Stop being such a pussy. Besides, I already called your mom to tell her you had a date and she sounded so excited on the phone. You wouldn't want to disappoint her, would you, Tom?"

Tom glared at her, but Layla just had a Cheshire grin on her face.

"Fine, I'll go on your stupid date. But after that, you have to leave me alone, alright?"

"Deal. Now start shaving," she said, as she handed Tom his razor.

As Tom removed several weeks worth of facial growth, Sarah went rummaging through his closet, finally settling on a navy blue blazer, a plain white Oxford shirt, and a pair of khakis, all of which she laid out on his bed.

"Hey! Put on your contacts while you're in there!" Layla yelled from his bedroom.

Tom just grumbled his assent, and got out a couple of dailies; he hadn't worn any contacts in years. When he finished the struggle to put them on, Layla herded him into his bedroom and ordered him to get dressed quickly. It took him a couple of minutes to do so, and Tom finally slipped into some brown loafers before stepping out of his room.

Layla was immediately upon him, massaging gel into his scalp to bring order to his unruly hair. After a few minutes, she was done and stepped back to admire her handiwork. She stood silent for a moment, and Tom looked back at her, extending the silence. As they made eye contact, a slight blush touched Layla's cheeks and she smiled as she slowly stepped forward. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as step by step, the distance between them diminished, until finally Layla was no more than inches away from Tom and he could feel her short, rapid breaths against his skin, see the gold specks in her amber eyes, and feel his own heart racing. Layla brought a hand up to Tom's face, caressing his clean-shaven cheek and seemed to hesitate, finally seeming to snap out of the trance and come to her senses. She swiped a finger across his cheek and just as quickly, turned around and started walking away from Tom.

"You look very handsome, Tom -- Sally's a lucky girl," Layla said, as she raised her finger to show Tom the shaving cream he had missed cleaning off.

Tom then exhaled for the first time in over a minute.

"What the hell just happened?" he said quietly.

Tom was actually having a good time, surprising even himself. His parting encounter with Layla had somehow jolted his senses and he felt more alive than he had in weeks. As a result, he was having a very pleasant conversation with Sally as they enjoyed their meals.

"So what do you do?" he asked.

"I'm a chemist," she said, gauging his reaction as she did so. Smiling when he didn't react, she said, "Most people don't believe me when I tell them that."

"Why not?"

She raised one shapely eyebrow and gestured towards her body. Tom looked her over at that point and realized what she meant: she had long legs and an ample cleavage that were emphasized in the tight dress she was currently wearing; most would probably think her day job's attire consisted of the latest in haute couture, not a lab coat.

"You're an interesting guy, Tom. Clueless, maybe, but that's cute," she said with a giggle.

"Sorry, I haven't been on a date in years, so I probably lost whatever minimal mojo I once had."

"Well, I'm having a good time tonight and don't worry, Layla told me about your last relationship. So where do you work?"

As Tom elaborated his studies, Layla seemed keenly interested and they stayed on the subject of stem cell research for several minutes.

"I guess we're just a couple of nerds," Sally finally said with a laugh.

"Guilty as charged," Tom replied, placing his right hand over his heart.

From there, the conversation switched to TV shows, movies, and books. They often found common ground in these topics and before long, their meals were long forgotten and the waiters came by to collect their cold dishes.

"Come on! I admit I might be biased because of my profession, but Breaking Bad is definitely the best show of all time!" Sally said.

"Nope, it was without a doubt a great show, but I think everyone's a bit caught up in the honeymoon afterglow. The Wire is a masterpiece and it'll always be the best in my books," said Tom, putting an end to the current discussion. "Anyway, would you like some dessert?"

"I think I just want to get out of here."

Tom nodded and caught the eye of their server to ask for the bill. When he arrived, Sally tried to pay for her half, but Tom firmly declined.

"It's not every day I can treat a beautiful woman to a wonderful dinner."

Sally beamed and said, "Would you excuse me for a second?"

"Of course."

Sally got up to go to the washroom. Once there, she got out her phone and gleefully texted Layla.

"Why didn't you set us up ages ago?!"

"I take it you're having a good time?"

"He's smart, charming, and I don't think he realizes how totally hot he is."

A pause.

"Sounds like you really like him"

"I think I do, we share the same interests and he's so easy to talk to. I think I might break my rule for first dates."

There was another pregnant pause before a reply came.

"Should I make myself sparse?"

This time, Sally took a few seconds before typing out her reply.

"Do you like him, Layla?"

This time, no reply came for half a minute and Sally decided to dial her friend. It was picked up after a few rings.

"Hi Sally."

"Hey Layla. Listen -- I know you guys have known each other since forever, so if you want to make a move, I'll back off."

"No! There's nothing between us, Sally. He's been depressed for a while now and he needs to be with someone. Don't worry about me and just go ahead."

"Alright, love you, bye."

"Love you too."

Sally returned to the dining room, walking back towards their table.

"Damn," she thought to herself as she reseated herself in front of Tom. "And I really liked him."

Tom returned home, appearing even more depressed than he had looked over the past few weeks. He had really warmed to Sally and thought that the feeling had been mutual, but that had obviously not been the case.

"Sorry, Tom, could we just be friends?" she had said at the end of the night.

"Sure," he replied, surprised.

Although he was still in a fragile state, he thought he was ready to at least give another relationship a chance. Sally's rejection had broken him back into tiny little pieces. After exchanging numbers, they'd said their goodbyes, and Tom had wearily dragged his feet up the stairs towards his apartment. He collapsed face down into his bed, unafraid of the nightmares that might come in his sleep as they could not be any worse than those that plagued his reality.

The next morning, or afternoon actually, since it was well past noon, Tom got out of his bed and trudged into the living room, where he promptly plumped himself on the sofa and turned on the TV.

Unbeknownst to him, Layla had been looking at him since the moment he'd left his room, at first skittishly, but soon after with sympathy after assessing Tom's current state. She sat down in the bean bag beside the sofa and began watching the cooking show that happened to be playing.

"That looks delicious, it's making me hungry. Do you want anything to eat, Tom?"

No response as Tom continued to stare dazedly at the screen.

"Tom!"

"Sorry, what?" he said, looking at Layla for the first time that day.

"Do you want anything to eat?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

Layla sighed, remembering how his appetite had slowly been recovering over the past week or so. Looks like they were back to square one.

"Listen, I heard from Sally about what happened last night and I'm sorry it didn't work out between you two."

Tom's attention had returned to the TV, and Layla was visibly pissed.

"Hey, douchenozzle! Pay attention when I'm talking to you!"

Layla's anger made it through Tom's haze and he looked sincerely apologetic as he turned back towards her.

"Sorry, Lays, you've been a great friend to me, it's just I don't care about anything anymore."

Layla smiled widely at the nickname, one he hadn't used since their teenage years when she had yelled at him for using it in front of her friends.

"You can't call me that!" she had said.

"Why not? You love those chips and that's how I've been calling you since we were kids."

"I don't care, it's corny and my friends will make fun of me."

"Fine, if that's what you want, I'll stop."

And he had, but thinking back, that might have been the first wedge that had slowly separated the two of them as they went through the turbulent phase of puberty. Layla deeply regretted it now, thinking of the wasted years during which they'd grown apart.

"Don't give me that emo bullshit, Tom. You knew Sally for one goddamn night!"

"Two . We met that time you guys went clubbing."

"Ha! I knew you wouldn't forget someone with tits like hers!"

Tom had the decency to blush and he put on a small, embarrassed smile. It seemed he was already getting back to his previous self.

"I liked her eyes..." he said, unconvincingly.

"Oh yeah, what colour are they?"

When Tom struggled to remember, Layla burst out laughing and Tom soon joined her.

"Okay, so maybe it wasn't that aspect of her appearance that attracted me, but I can assure you I was a gentleman the entire night."

"So she tells me."

"Then why did she give me that bullshit line about only being friends? I know I haven't been on the dating scene in years, but I'm still like 95% sure she was into me. That's what hurt me -- the first time I take a chance on someone after Diana and I'm completely shot down."

"95%?"

"Gotta have a margin of error. Two standard deviations is standard."

Layla just shook her head; on an intellectual level, it did seem like Tom and Sarah were indeed a perfect match.

"Really? She told me that she didn't think there was any physical chemistry between you two, and that's why she gave you that line."

"Physical chemistry? We didn't touch each other the entire night."

Layla looked at him questioningly, before saying, "Excuse me one second."

Tom watched as she went to her room and slammed the door behind her. Shortly after, he could hear her talking to someone on her cell phone, presumably Sarah. About a minute into the conversation, he heard some yelling, before Layla finally stopped talking and he saw her return sheepishly to her bean bag, a sight quite foreign to Tom.

"So it seems I had it all wrong, Tom."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I think I might be partly to blame for the current situation."

When Tom didn't speak, Layla took a second to gather herself and then continued.

"Okay, so maybe entirely to blame. You see, Sarah had this crazy idea that I was into you, and that's why she called the whole thing off. You weren't wrong, Tom, she totally had the hots for you and thought that there was definitely something between you two."

"Is it true?"

"I think so, Tom. She totally came clean --"

"No. Is it true that you're into me?"

A blush creeped up into her cheeks as Layla turned her gaze downwards, giving Tom all the answer he needed, but he pushed forward.

"Answer me, Lays."

After another moment of silence, she did.

"Yes," she said with certitude.

Suddenly, he was upon her, his body draped over hers and their faces just inches away from one another.

"So you're telling me that you're the reason I had my heart rebroken? That all this time, if you'd been honest with me, I wouldn't have had to suffer through all that?"

She looked apprehensively at him, but finally nodded briefly.

"Then I guess you have to pay the price."

And suddenly, his mouth was on hers, aggressively trying to purge everything from his body and allow only passion to consume him. Layla, taken by surprise, did not react at first, but then quickly returned his fervor with years of pent up emotions. Their tongues clashed at a frantic pace in their struggle to discover one another, leaving the couple struggling for breath but not caring.

Soon, Layla was back to her normal personality, and she smiled lasciviously as she pulled roughly on Tom's shirt to get it off. She then removed her own, revealing the lacy bra that enclosed her large breasts. She then suddenly stood up and began walking towards her bedroom, unclasping her bra and tossing it aside as she did so. Tom got the message and he hurriedly followed after her, removing the remainder of his clothing as he tried to catch up. When he got to Layla's room, he found her lying completely nude on the bed while looking ravenously at him.

"I've waited way too long for this moment."

"I guess we have to make up for lost time, then."

Tom was rapidly on her, showering kisses behind her ears and neck as he massaged breasts that were more than a handful. As he tweaked her nipples, she gave out a shriek of pleasure and their mouths collided once more, discovering the sensations to be new, yet somehow familiar. Tom then descended Layla's body, kissing her neck, breasts, and navel as he did so. As he began kissing around her pubic region, he discovered that Layla was already soaking wet.

"Just fuck me, Tom!"

"Let me get a condom."

"No need, I'm on the pill."

Tom needed no further persuasion, and he raised his body back up so that it was parallel with Layla's. He watched the arousal in her amber eyes, probably the only emotion he had never seen reflected in them in the years he had known her. Then, he plunged into her.

"Yes, Tom! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

He grunted as he pistoned rapidly into her, setting a strong and constant speed. At the same time, he kissed Layla, further building the fire of their passion. It was clear neither of them was going to last long, and Tom focused his attention on bringing pleasure to Layla.

"Oh, fuck! Just like that, Tom! Fuck!"

Tom increased his speed, loving the feel of Layla's tight pussy on his cock. As he did so, he brought one hand up to one of Layla's ample breasts, while the other went down to play with her clit.

"Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit! I'm going to cum, Tom! I'm going to cum!"

"Cum for me, Lays. Cum for me."

"Ooooohhhhhhhh," Layla said as her whole body seized into the biggest orgasm she had ever had, which made her pussy clamp spasmodically on Tom's cock.

"Ahhhhh," said Tom, as he came inside Layla, shooting spurt after spurt into the quaking pussy that was milking his cock. Just when he thought he had nothing left to shoot, Layla's pussy would once again contract and make Tom cum again. Finally, after what seemed like minutes, Tom settled down on the bed, cradling Layla as small spasms continued to wrack her body. He brushed her short, dark brown ringlets with one hand as he circled the other arm around Layla's abdomen.




Learning to Forgetting to Love Ch. 01



Author's note: It's been a while since I posted a story, so I hope this gets the ball rolling again. This chapter sets up the story, but there's also some sex at the end of the chapter. Thanks for reading, sk11. 

*

Tom walked into the classroom and immediately froze in his tracks. All around him, students were quietly seated at their desks, each of them with a stack of papers face down in front of them. As he hurried to find an empty seat, Tom struggled to remain calm, obviously unprepared for an exam. Sweat began pouring down his face, and anxiety further distorted his features as each second passed. It is at that time, of course, that he woke up.

It had been years since Tom had graduated college, yet it seemed that that particular nightmare would always stay with him. As he sat up in bed and stretched his arms, he looked at the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. Another ghost of the past, though this one brought back far more vivid memories.

"Figures," he said to himself quietly.

He had met Diana in college and they'd quickly fallen in love. They got married after graduation, but after three years of blissful holy matrimony, the woman he had believed to be the love of his love had abruptly stepped out of it. Ever since, Tom had lived in a fog: he thought he glimpsed her in crowds, yet it was always someone else; he thought he sometimes caught her scent as he wandered around his apartment, but she had never stepped foot in his new place; and, most of all, he was convinced he would find her beside him upon waking up each morning, but that had not been the case in 751 days and counting.

"Get your lazy ass up!" yelled a female voice from across his bedroom wall. Shortly after, the words were punctuated by sharp raps on his door.

Tom slowly dragged himself out of his bed, recalling how Diana had always woken him up with a kiss -- either one on the lips or one below the sheets. He sighed and wondered when he would finally be able to let her go, yet at the same time fearing the day she did not occupy his first and last thought every waking day. After experiencing his idea of paradise in the years they were together, nothing else could compare anymore. She was his soul mate, his other half, but also his Pandora's box now that she was gone.

As Tom wandered into the kitchen, he found his roommate already helping herself to a bowl of Froot Loops.

Tom and Layla's mothers were friends and colleagues, so the two of them had known each other since they were kids. They'd gone through pre-K to Grade 12 together, and their childhood friendship had remained strong up until this day. At the time that Tom had moved to Philadelphia to start his graduate program in Developmental, Stem Cell and Regenerative Biology at UPenn, Layla had been looking for a roommate after finding a job in the area, so they'd quickly reconnected and decided to share an apartment.

"Took you long enough. You weren't jerking one off in there, were you?"

"Fuck off."

"You know, have I told you how tired I am of your constant moping?"

Layla wasn't shy about calling him out on his inadequacies and giving him a hard time, but Tom knew she did it with the best intentions.

"It's too early in the morning for this, Layla. Just leave me alone."

"No, not until you're finally over that bitch. How long has it been? Two years?"

"751 days."

"Jesus Christ. Okay, let's just put aside the disturbing fact that you know that exact number. It's time to get off your ass, Tom. You know how worried your mom was the last time she called. I'm getting worried, too."

Tom sighed. Anger had spurned his move to Philly and his dedication to his professional life instead of his personal one, but since then he'd moved on to the next stages of grief. UPenn was not exactly a walk in the park, and he now seemed stuck in the depression phase, his academic work consequently suffering.

"Well don't. Like I told both of you, I'm fine."

Layla frowned, unconvinced by his words. Suddenly, she popped out of her stool with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"I know! Let's get you laid!"

"Stop it Layla, I'm not cheating on my wife."

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit, Tom. You and I both know that you're married in name only. I'll call up one of my friends who thinks you're cute and set up a date for you two."

Tom shook his head, but before he could say another word, Layla had already dialed the number and was currently chatting with someone else.

Completely apathetic by this point, Tom just walked away, looking for some cereal as he tuned out the chatter in the background.

*****

A few days later, Layla came back from work and was immediately on Tom's ass to get dressed and get cleaned up.

"Why?" Tom asked, clueless. Of course, he had completely forgotten about the date Layla had set up for him.

"You have to get ready for Sally, idiot!"

"Who's Sally?"

"You know, tall blonde, big boobs, she came by the apartment once before we went clubbing together."

Tom still had a blank look on his face.

"Come on, we don't have much time."

"I don't want to do this, Layla."

"Stop being such a pussy. Besides, I already called your mom to tell her you had a date and she sounded so excited on the phone. You wouldn't want to disappoint her, would you, Tom?"

Tom glared at her, but Layla just had a Cheshire grin on her face.

"Fine, I'll go on your stupid date. But after that, you have to leave me alone, alright?"

"Deal. Now start shaving," she said, as she handed Tom his razor.

As Tom removed several weeks worth of facial growth, Layla went rummaging through his closet, finally settling on a navy blue blazer, a plain white Oxford shirt, and a pair of khakis, all of which she laid out on his bed.

"Hey! Put on your contacts while you're in there!" Layla yelled from his bedroom.

Tom just grumbled his assent, and got out a couple of dailies; he hadn't worn any contacts in years. When he finished the struggle to put them on, Layla herded him into his bedroom and ordered him to get dressed quickly. It took him a couple of minutes to do so, and Tom finally slipped into some brown loafers before stepping out of his room.

Layla was immediately upon him, massaging gel into his scalp to bring order to his unruly hair. After a few minutes, she was done and stepped back to admire her handiwork. She stood silent for a moment, and Tom looked back at her, extending the silence. As they made eye contact, a slight blush touched Layla's cheeks and she smiled as she slowly stepped forward. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as step by step, the distance between them diminished, until finally Layla was no more than inches away from Tom and he could feel her short, rapid breaths against his skin, see the gold specks in her amber eyes, and feel his own heart racing. Layla brought a hand up to Tom's face, caressing his clean-shaven cheek and seemed to hesitate, finally seeming to snap out of the trance and come to her senses. She swiped a finger across his cheek and just as quickly, turned around and started walking away from Tom.

"You look very handsome, Tom -- Sally's a lucky girl," Layla said, as she raised her finger to show Tom the shaving cream he had missed cleaning off.

Tom then exhaled for the first time in over a minute.

"What the hell just happened?" he said quietly.

*****

Tom was actually having a good time, surprising even himself. His parting encounter with Layla had somehow jolted his senses and he felt more alive than he had in weeks. As a result, he was having a very pleasant conversation with Sally as they enjoyed their meals.

"So what do you do?" he asked.

"I'm a chemist," she said, gauging his reaction as she did so. Smiling when he didn't react, she said, "Most people don't believe me when I tell them that."

"Why not?"

She raised one shapely eyebrow and gestured towards her body. Tom looked her over at that point and realized what she meant: she had long legs and an ample cleavage that were emphasized in the tight dress she was currently wearing; most would probably think her day job's attire consisted of the latest in haute couture, not a lab coat.

"You're an interesting guy, Tom. Clueless, maybe, but that's cute," she said with a giggle.

"Sorry, I haven't been on a date in years, so I probably lost whatever minimal mojo I once had."

"Well, I'm having a good time tonight and don't worry, Layla told me about your last relationship. So where do you work?"

As Tom elaborated his studies, Layla seemed keenly interested and they stayed on the subject of stem cell research for several minutes.

"I guess we're just a couple of nerds," Sally finally said with a laugh.

"Guilty as charged," Tom replied, placing his right hand over his heart.

From there, the conversation switched to TV shows, movies, and books. They often found common ground in these topics and before long, their meals were long forgotten and the waiters came by to collect their cold dishes.

"Come on! I admit I might be biased because of my profession, but Breaking Bad is definitely the best show of all time!" Sally said.

"Nope, it was without a doubt a great show, but I think everyone's a bit caught up in the honeymoon afterglow. The Wire is a masterpiece and it'll always be the best in my books," said Tom, putting an end to the current discussion. "Anyway, would you like some dessert?"

"I think I just want to get out of here."

Tom nodded and caught the eye of their server to ask for the bill. When he arrived, Sally tried to pay for her half, but Tom firmly declined.

"It's not every day I can treat a beautiful woman to a wonderful dinner."

Sally beamed and said, "Would you excuse me for a second?"

"Of course."

Sally got up to go to the washroom. Once there, she got out her phone and gleefully texted Layla.

"Why didn't you set us up ages ago?!"

"I take it you're having a good time?"

"He's smart, charming, and I don't think he realizes how totally hot he is."

A pause.

"Sounds like you really like him"

"I think I do, we share the same interests and he's so easy to talk to. I think I might break my rule for first dates."

There was another pregnant pause before a reply came.

"Should I make myself sparse?"

This time, Sally took a few seconds before typing out her reply.

"Do you like him, Layla?"

This time, no reply came for half a minute and Sally decided to dial her friend. It was picked up after a few rings.

"Hi Sally."

"Hey Layla. Listen -- I know you guys have known each other since forever, so if you want to make a move, I'll back off."

"No! There's nothing between us, Sally. He's been depressed for a while now and he needs to be with someone. Don't worry about me and just go ahead."

"Alright, love you, bye."

"Love you too."

Sally returned to the dining room, walking back towards their table.

"Damn," she thought to herself as she reseated herself in front of Tom. "And I really liked him."

*****

Tom returned home, appearing even more depressed than he had looked over the past few weeks. He had really warmed to Sally and thought that the feeling had been mutual, but that had obviously not been the case.

"Sorry, Tom, could we just be friends?" she had said at the end of the night.

"Sure," he replied, surprised.

Although he was still in a fragile state, he thought he was ready to at least give another relationship a chance. Sally's rejection had broken him back into tiny little pieces. After exchanging numbers, they'd said their goodbyes, and Tom had wearily dragged his feet up the stairs towards his apartment. He collapsed face down into his bed, unafraid of the nightmares that might come in his sleep as they could not be any worse than those that plagued his reality.

*****

The next morning, or afternoon actually, since it was well past noon, Tom got out of his bed and trudged into the living room, where he promptly plumped himself on the sofa and turned on the TV.

Unbeknownst to him, Layla had been looking at him since the moment he'd left his room, at first skittishly, but soon after with sympathy after assessing Tom's current state. She sat down in the bean bag beside the sofa and began watching the cooking show that happened to be playing.

"That looks delicious, it's making me hungry. Do you want anything to eat, Tom?"

No response as Tom continued to stare dazedly at the screen.

"Tom!"

"Sorry, what?" he said, looking at Layla for the first time that day.

"Do you want anything to eat?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

Layla sighed, remembering how his appetite had slowly been recovering over the past week or so. Looks like they were back to square one.

"Listen, I heard from Sally about what happened last night and I'm sorry it didn't work out between you two."

Tom's attention had returned to the TV, and Layla was visibly pissed.

"Hey, douchenozzle! Pay attention when I'm talking to you!"

Layla's anger made it through Tom's haze and he looked sincerely apologetic as he turned back towards her.

"Sorry, Lays, you've been a great friend to me, it's just I don't care about anything anymore."

Layla smiled widely at the nickname, one he hadn't used since their teenage years when she had yelled at him for using it in front of her friends.

"You can't call me that!" she had said.

"Why not? You love those chips and that's how I've been calling you since we were kids."

"I don't care, it's corny and my friends will make fun of me."

"Fine, if that's what you want, I'll stop."

And he had, but thinking back, that might have been the first wedge that had slowly separated the two of them as they went through the turbulent phase of puberty. Layla deeply regretted it now, thinking of the wasted years during which they'd grown apart.

"Don't give me that emo bullshit, Tom. You knew Sally for one goddamn night!"

"Two . We met that time you guys went clubbing."

"Ha! I knew you wouldn't forget someone with tits like hers!"

Tom had the decency to blush and he put on a small, embarrassed smile. It seemed he was already getting back to his previous self.

"I liked her eyes..." he said, unconvincingly.

"Oh yeah, what colour are they?"

When Tom struggled to remember, Layla burst out laughing and Tom soon joined her.

"Okay, so maybe it wasn't that aspect of her appearance that attracted me, but I can assure you I was a gentleman the entire night."

"So she tells me."

"Then why did she give me that bullshit line about only being friends? I know I haven't been on the dating scene in years, but I'm still like 95% sure she was into me. That's what hurt me -- the first time I take a chance on someone after Diana and I'm completely shot down."

"95%?"

"Gotta have a margin of error. Two standard deviations is standard."

Layla just shook her head; on an intellectual level, it did seem like Tom and Sally were indeed a perfect match.

"Really? She told me that she didn't think there was any physical chemistry between you two, and that's why she gave you that line."

"Physical chemistry? We didn't touch each other the entire night."

Layla looked at him questioningly, before saying, "Excuse me one second."

Tom watched as she went to her room and slammed the door behind her. Shortly after, he could hear her talking to someone on her cell phone, presumably Sally. About a minute into the conversation, he heard some yelling, before Layla finally stopped talking and he saw her return sheepishly to her bean bag, a sight quite foreign to Tom.

"So it seems I had it all wrong, Tom."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I think I might be partly to blame for the current situation."

When Tom didn't speak, Layla took a second to gather herself and then continued.

"Okay, so maybe entirely to blame. You see, Sally had this crazy idea that I was into you, and that's why she called the whole thing off. You weren't wrong, Tom, she totally had the hots for you and thought that there was definitely something between you two."

"Is it true?"

"I think so, Tom. She totally came clean --"

"No. Is it true that you're into me?"

A blush creeped up into her cheeks as Layla turned her gaze downwards, giving Tom all the answer he needed, but he pushed forward.

"Answer me, Lays."

After another moment of silence, she did.

"Yes," she said with certitude.

Suddenly, he was upon her, his body draped over hers and their faces just inches away from one another.

"So you're telling me that you're the reason I had my heart rebroken? That all this time, if you'd been honest with me, I wouldn't have had to suffer through all that?"

She looked apprehensively at him, but finally nodded briefly.

"Then I guess you have to pay the price."

And suddenly, his mouth was on hers, aggressively trying to purge everything from his body and allow only passion to consume him. Layla, taken by surprise, did not react at first, but then quickly returned his fervor with years of pent up emotions. Their tongues clashed at a frantic pace in their struggle to discover one another, leaving the couple struggling for breath but not caring.

Soon, Layla was back to her normal personality, and she smiled lasciviously as she pulled roughly on Tom's shirt to get it off. She then removed her own, revealing the lacy bra that enclosed her large breasts. She then suddenly stood up and began walking towards her bedroom, unclasping her bra and tossing it aside as she did so. Tom got the message and he hurriedly followed after her, removing the remainder of his clothing as he tried to catch up. When he got to Layla's room, he found her lying completely nude on the bed while looking ravenously at him.

"I've waited way too long for this moment."

"I guess we have to make up for lost time, then."

Tom was rapidly on her, showering kisses behind her ears and neck as he massaged breasts that were more than a handful. As he tweaked her nipples, she gave out a shriek of pleasure and their mouths collided once more, discovering the sensations to be new, yet somehow familiar. Tom then descended Layla's body, kissing her neck, breasts, and navel as he did so. As he began kissing around her pubic region, he discovered that Layla was already soaking wet.

"Just fuck me, Tom!"

"Let me get a condom."

"No need, I'm on the pill."

Tom needed no further persuasion, and he raised his body back up so that it was parallel with Layla's. He watched the arousal in her amber eyes, probably the only emotion he had never seen reflected in them in the years he had known her. Then, he plunged into her.

"Yes, Tom! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

He grunted as he pistoned rapidly into her, setting a strong and constant speed. At the same time, he kissed Layla, further building the fire of their passion. It was clear neither of them was going to last long, and Tom focused his attention on bringing pleasure to Layla.

"Oh, fuck! Just like that, Tom! Fuck!"

Tom increased his speed, loving the feel of Layla's tight pussy on his cock. As he did so, he brought one hand up to one of Layla's ample breasts, while the other went down to play with her clit.

"Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit! I'm going to cum, Tom! I'm going to cum!"

"Cum for me, Lays. Cum for me."

"Ooooohhhhhhhh," Layla said as her whole body seized into the biggest orgasm she had ever had, which made her pussy clamp spasmodically on Tom's cock.

"Ahhhhh," said Tom, as he came inside Layla, shooting spurt after spurt into the quaking pussy that was milking his cock. Just when he thought he had nothing left to shoot, Layla's pussy would once again contract and make Tom cum again. Finally, after what seemed like minutes, Tom settled down on the bed, cradling Layla as small spasms continued to wrack her body. He brushed her short, dark brown ringlets with one hand as he circled the other arm around Layla's abdomen.




Learning to Forgetting to Love Ch. 01



Kissing the back of her head, Tom whispered, "You know, for some reason, I'm in the sudden mood for some chips."

Layla just turned around and punched him hard on the shoulder before resettling into the comfortable embrace and sighing contentedly.

*

Hope you enjoyed! Please rate and/or leave comments! Thanks :)  



Learning to Forgetting to Love



Kissing the back of her head, Tom whispered, "You know, for some reason, I'm in the sudden mood for some chips."

Layla just turned around and punched him hard on the shoulder before resettling into the comfortable embrace and sighing contentedly.

Hope you enjoyed! Please rate and/or leave comments! Thanks :)



Learning to Fuck Again



I was lonely. I was hurt, lonely and broken. Excuses, I know, but that was how I felt when I landed in bed with my neighbor's 18 year old son. My husband of twenty years had just left me for a younger woman. I was no longer the tall, thin and hot girl he married and had become older, overweight and no longer sexy. My large breasts sagged and my hips grew wide. I was nearing forty and probably looked every bit of that age, if not older. I wasn't getting his cock up anymore so he left me for someone who did.

Anyway, it had been a month of staying inside and avoiding any and all contact. I went to work and came home to cry myself to sleep. That happened after I would force myself to eat dinner, rewarding my fat ass with a large bowl of cookie dough ice cream. I cried my way to the shower, cried in the shower and then cried in bed. Sleep was nothing but horrible dreams of seeing my ex with his new bimbo, her large tits sticking out as he wrapped his sleazy arm around her skinny waist and paraded her around town, making sure everyone knew I couldn't make him hard so he found something better.

My productivity at work started to drop and my boss decided to give me two weeks off, a vacation of sorts so I could get my shit together. "Look... we love you here and we hate seeing you go through this but he doesn't deserve you. You are beautiful inside and out and yada, yada, yada..." I heard the speech from everyone I ran into after the divorce, I was better than him, he didn't deserve me and I will find someone better than him. It didn't make it easier though, if I couldn't make his almost 50 year old cock hard then how in the hell was I going to make anyone else's hard?

So anyway, now it's Friday, 6 pm and I am sitting in my car after leaving Publix for my groceries, in my garage, the new pint of cookie dough ice cream melting in my trunk as the tears begin falling once more. Great, now I had two weeks to sit here and do this shit. I forced myself out of the car and took the food inside. My usual nightly routine began; dinner, tears, ice cream, tears, shower, tears and then to bed with more tears.

***

The sun blasted through the curtains and I began cursing myself for not closing them tightly. My bedroom faced the backyard and I had a wooden fence running around the yard. It wasn't a tall privacy fence, it only came about chest high, but I wanted it so the dog could run around freely. Unfortunately the bastard took the dog when he left me. Anyway, I got up to yank the curtains closed and was suddenly frozen. The neighbor's son, Jeff, was out back mowing their yard. He was such a good looking boy, around 6'4 with a toned body from playing football. He had dark brown hair and tanned skin and was wearing a pair of basketball shorts, no shirt. I felt a tingle, the first tingle in a very long time. I dipped my hand into my pajama pants and felt moisture. 

Jeff had reached the back end of the yard and turned around, pushing the mower towards the house. I watched the sweat glisten off of his chest and my fingers slid between my swollen lips, rubbing at the hard little nub that had finally awoken. I began to fantasize, imagining that I was younger and hotter and outside with him. He finished the pass and started back up, just as I brought myself to an orgasm, my legs weak and shaky and my breath coming out in ragged gasps. 

What in the hell? I felt embarrassment flush my face. I couldn't believe I just imagined fucking an 18 year old boy, of course it wasn't really me now but the much sexier, younger version of me. I pulled my hand out and closed the curtains. Fuck it, I would do some yard work, my own yard becoming very neglected and overgrown since my husband left. I changed, slipping into a pair of not so sexy lace undies that had become quite stretched, loose shorts over those and a sports bra. I figured that Jeff would be inside and maybe heading out with friends by the time I made it out back so I didn't have to worry about anyone seeing me. I pulled my long, brown hair into a ponytail and looked at myself in the mirror. My belly pooched out but my tits did look great being suffocated in the tight sports bra, no longer sagging to meet with my belly.

I went into the kitchen and poured a glass of orange juice and then sat on the couch for a minute to watch the news. Typical Florida weather, 8 am and the temps were already in the 90's. I really do need to move to someplace cooler. I heard the mower shut off and waited a few more minutes, giving Jeff time to put it away and hopefully head inside before I went out back. Ten minutes and several boring news stories later, I turned the television off and made my way out back.

The heat blasted you hard, almost knocking the breath out of you. I slid down my sunglasses and walked around my pool, now green with algae and muck and leaves, to the shed. I pulled the door open and drug out the nearly new mower. I have yet to ever mow a yard so this would be my first time. I sighed, grabbing the pull string and giving it a hard yank. Nothing. I pulled again and again and still got nothing. Sweat was pouring off of me and my shorts were now sticking to my large, round ass. I looked over the damned thing trying to see if there were directions on it or something else I needed to do to get it to start.

"Good morning Mrs. Bates! I think you need to push the choke on it before pulling it!"

I jumped, nearly screaming as though I had seen a spider. I turned to my left to see Jeff standing at the fence, a smile as bright as the sun on his handsome face. I gave a little wave and then turned to the machine again, bending to find this so called choke he mentioned.

"Uh... where would I find it at, Jeff?" I asked, not wanting to turn around and let him see my red face as I felt like a total fool.

"Mind if I come take a look, Mrs. Bates? It should be on the right but it could be a lever and not a button. I'll be right there!"

Before I could tell him that I would forget about it and just clean the pool, I heard the fences, his and then mine as he walked on over. I stood up, looking down to see the white sports bra I had so stupidly chosen to wear was now see through from all of the sweat. I crossed my arms over my chest in hopes that he wouldn't notice.

"Here... let me take a look. Usually they need to be choked a few times before they start, especially after sitting for so long. Hey... why don't you let me mow it for you, free of charge!"

He stood up, looking down at me. I couldn't help but shudder at how gorgeous he was. Wishing I could fall into a hole in the ground, I shook my head no.

"Thanks Jeff but I need to learn how to do these things now that I am on my own. If you could just show me how to start it then I should be okay."

"Mrs. Bates, I don't mind at all, really. Look, you do something else, maybe clean out the leaves in the pool and such. I will mow the yard for you, every two weeks. I don't mind helping you out since the asshole left you."

My jaw nearly fell to the floor. How did he know?!

"Sorry, I heard my folks talking about it. Mom said he was asshole. Dad told me to come over last week to offer help but I had to finish up with school, graduation and shit takes a lot of time."

"Uh... okay. I guess I can let you mow. I will work on the pool. Thank you, Jeff."

I didn't know what else to say so I walked back into the shed, leaning against the wall where he couldn't see me so I could catch my breath. I swear I felt his eyes running up and down my body but figured that I was just going insane from the heat. I pushed off of the wall and grabbed the pool net.

We spent the next couple of hours in silence as he mowed the entire yard and I cleaned the pool. By the time he finished, I had the pool back to it's beautiful blue color and we were both dripping in sweat. I put the pool stuff back in and then moved out to let Jeff put the mower back in.

"Thank you so much Jeff. I would still be mowing the lawn if you weren't here to help. Would you please let me get you something to drink? Actually, why don't you come inside, enjoy the ac and let me make you lunch?"

"Thanks Mrs. Bates, that would be great!"

"Please, call me Jessie. The divorce was final last week, no more Mrs. Bates." I said, hearing the sadness seep from my voice.

"His loss... come on, Jessie, let's go eat!"

He then winked at me, reaching around and giving my ample ass a good smack before heading towards my house. Was he? No... no way in hell. He couldn't be. He had opened the slider and was staring at me, a shit eating grin on his face as I wondered if he was flirting with me. I closed the shed and made my way to the house.

***

My stomach was in knots. I had spent half of my life married to one man and now he was gone. I made Jeff's sandwich as he sat at the table, his back against the chair, one arm thrown over the table and his legs spread. I won't lie, I tried to see if I could look up his shorts. Any woman who says she would never is a damned liar! He was tall and I couldn't help but wonder if the myths were true, tall guys had long ones while short guys had fat ones... I had only ever had one, remember?

Jeff smiled, telling me all about graduation and the kick ass party he went to last night. There was so much booze and the girls were putting out all night long. I had to ask, blushing because I didn't know what that meant to put out. He laughed, his voice deep, pulling on an invisible string that ran right to my pussy. My nipples were hard and I was hoping like hell that he hadn't noticed. Of course he was talking about hot young girls from school so surely he wasn't looking at my old and fat ass.

"Jeff, would you mind if I took a quick shower? I seem to be getting a chill from the sweat and then being in the cold ac..."

"Not at all Jessie... I'll just finish my sandwich. If you aren't done by the time I am then I will let myself out."

He had a twinkle in his bright blue eyes and I shuddered again. I gave him a little smile and bolted through the house, down the hallway and into my bedroom. I closed the door and quickly stripped out of the wet clothes, running into the bathroom. The hot water felt amazing so I quickly lathered my hair and rinsed, grabbing the sponge to soap up my body. I wanted to hurry so he wouldn't have to leave. I don't know why, it just felt nice having someone to talk to.

"Damn... he is a complete ass for leaving you."

I nearly screamed again, turning to pull the shower curtain shut. I must have left it somewhat opened and now Jeff was standing in my bathroom, leaning against the counter, staring at me. I grabbed the curtain and pulled it to my body.

"Jeff! What are you doing in here?! Please... give me a second, I am almost finished."

"I gave you several seconds, actually. Long enough to finish the sandwich, which was great by the way. Thanks. Now... please move the curtain, I was enjoying the view."

He sounded older, his voice issuing a tone of authority. I looked at him in shock, not processing what he was telling me.

"Jeff... seriously. I am old enough to be your mother, please... I will be right out."

My face had turned bright red and I watched in horror as he pushed off of the counter and walked towards me. If I was confused about his intentions before, it vanished instantly when I watched him drop his shorts to the floor. He had on nothing under them and was walking towards me with a nice, stiff cock. He raised his hand and took the curtain from my fingers. I couldn't help but step back, pressing myself against the wall. I looked for a towel so I could hide myself.

Jeff was just inches in front of me, his head down as he looked over my naked body. I was shaking, not from the water since it was still hot, thankfully, but from his stare, from it having been so long since a man looked at me. I think I had forgotten how to breathe.

Jeff put his hand under my chin and pulled my face up, his lips pressing against mine. His kiss was soft as he opened his mouth and poked at mine with his tongue. I hadn't French kissed a man in years, even that has stopped happening with my husband and that was so long ago I couldn't even remember.

I opened my mouth and let his tongue in. He gracefully explored my mouth as I explored his. He placed his hands on my shoulders and slowly ran them over my body, down my arms and up my sides and over my breasts. I placed my hands on his chest, pushing him back a little. I didn't want him touching my body, I didn't want him feeling the extra fat I had on me. I thought I could possibly sleep with him but it would be under the safety of a blanket on my bed so he couldn't see me.

"Jessie, stop hiding from me. You are a beautiful woman." He said as he pulled away from my lips and began kissing along my neck and over my ear. I trembled, my heart racing. I heard the words he said but couldn't process them.

"Jeff... please..." I moaned softly, unsure of what I was really begging him for. 

"Shhh... relax and enjoy this. I know I am going to."

He then began kissing over my shoulder, his hand cupping my large breasts, his fingers tweaking my hard nipples. Suddenly his mouth was on them, sucking them and biting them. I moaned out as one of his hands slipped between my legs and began rubbing my pussy.

Jeff released my tits and turned the shower off. He then told my to lie down in the tub. I hesitated, watching as he grabbed my shaving cream and a razor. He stepped back and sat on the edge. I finally relented, sitting on my ass and then laying back. He smiled as he squirted the cream into his hand and then moved it towards my pussy. Embarrassment crept up again. I hadn't shaved or trimmed down there in a very long time, didn't have a reason to anymore.

He was soft, spreading the thick cream around my pussy. He then crawled down, sitting between my legs as he began to shave me. I wasn't sure what he was going to do, keeping my eyes closed so I wouldn't have to see any grimace from his face. It felt amazing though and I was soaked as he ran the razor over my skin, his fingers spreading my lips to shave every inch of my pussy. When he was finished, he turned the water back on, flipping the lever in the tub so it would fill up the bath.

He then grabbed the sponge and finished washing my body, his fingers causing goosebumps to travel over my flesh as he played with my nipples and teased my clit. I forgot that he was only an 18 year old boy and that I was a 40 year old woman. 

We washed each other, I made sure to take my time caressing his body, feeling the rippling muscles flex under my fingers before wrapping them around his cock. I was fighting a battle and I knew I wouldn't win. Part of me was telling myself to send him home, how would I ever be able to look at his mother again? The other part of me was enjoying the tender moment we were sharing while another part of me wanted to be fucked hard and rough, to feel him slamming into me with all of his strength. I was going to lose because I wasn't going to send him home.

We turned the shower off and began drying. I figured I would give him this one time, this one chance; he was a kid and surely it wouldn't last long. I was lonely and needed this, although I still wanted to hide under the covers. I couldn't understand what he found sexy about my body. I clutched the towel tight against my body as we left the bathroom and walked towards the bed. I was nervous and couldn't understand why since I just let him shave my pussy bald!

He spun me around, his lips pressing against mine as he walked me backwards until the bed was pressing the back of my thighs. I pulled away and sat on the edge, reaching forward to grab his cock. I wrapped my fingers around the thick shaft and began stroking, twisting my hand around as I moved up and down. He moaned, tangling his hands in my hair as I leaned forward and licked the pearl of pre-cum that glistened on top. It had been far too long and he tasted delicious, igniting a spark inside of me. I opened my mouth and slid him in, my lips hugging his velvet shaft tightly.

I was like an animal possessed and I began bobbing up and down his pole rapidly, slurping and sucking as I reached between his legs and rubbed his balls. I wanted him to fill my mouth, I wanted him to grab my head and thrust his hips and gag me with his cock.

"Hey now... slow down, beautiful! I want to make love to you... take your time, enjoy this," Jeff said, pulling my head back so he cock fell from my wet lips.

"I don't want slow, I don't want love. I want you to fuck me. Fuck me hard and fast and all night long." I begged as I pulled against his hands, my hair getting pulled as I leaned forward to take his cock back into my mouth.

I forgot about my insecurities, my out of shape body with its extra padding, my saggy breasts and my wide ass. I sat on the edge of that bed and sucked his cock like a starving woman. Drool dripped from my stretched lips as my tongue slid out and tickled his balls while the head of his cock slid down my throat. I made him growl like a beast as he grabbed my hair and fucked my mouth. 

Reaching around his muscular ass, I slid a finger into the crack and began pressing against his asshole. He tightened his muscles and tried to fight me but I wasn't having it, I pushed until my finger broke the barrier and then I pushed some more. I was in to my first knuckle, rubbing his prostate and listening to the guttural moans coming from this gorgeous young man. It was only a matter of seconds and he cried out, his seed shooting from his cock and spilling down my throat. I gulped and gulped, sucking for every last drop. I hadn't tasted cum in almost twenty years and now I felt like I couldn't get enough.

He pulled me up as I swallowed the last rope of hot cum, feeling it slide down my throat as he pressed his lips to mine, his tongue diving in to explore. I was worried that he would get grossed out from tasting his own cum, my husband would have been pissed if I tried to kiss him after that, even twenty years ago. However, it seemed to fuel Jeff.

He reached down and picked me up, my legs wrapping around his waist. I felt his cock pressing against my opening and I shuddered. He began crawling up my bed and I couldn't help but be amazed that he was holding me. We made it up to the middle where he laid me down and pulled my arms and legs from around him. His lips left mine and he began kissing down my body, slow and gentle. I pressed up, pushing my body into his, wanting it harder. He took my breasts in his hands and squeezed, his warm mouth pulling my hard nipples in, his teeth clamping around them and causing me to yelp. It felt amazing to be handled roughly.

He lowered his mouth until he was over my newly bald pussy. I looked down at him, not so embarrassed since I was on my back and didn't look so fat. He smiled wickedly, blowing hot breath over the smooth skin. I was so wet and the smell of my arousal filled the air. I watched as he snaked his tongue out and ran it over my swollen lips before using his fingers to spread them, my clit popping out for a tongue lashing. He flicked and sucked on my clit until I was writhing beneath him, my fingers grabbing at his brown hair as my hips pressed up and pushed my pussy into his face.

Jeff brought me to the edge and as I screamed out that I was coming, he stopped, pulling away and sliding his tongue down to my virgin asshole. I groaned in frustration, desperate for a release from something other than my own fingers or a damned vibrator. He continued this torture several more times until I screamed out in utter frustration.

"Please Jeff... please let me cum!!"

His mouth latched onto my clit, flicking and sucking until I finally came, my body thrashing on the bed as tears rolled down my cheeks. He worked me over for a few more minutes, several more orgasms and even more tears until he finally crawled back up, his arms hooked under my knees to bring my legs up. He slid his hard cock deep into me, my pussy accepting him with ease since I was so wet already. I was finally filled and he began fucking me, hard and fast just as I had begged him to do.




Learning to Fuck Again



My tits bounced all around between us and his hips met mine with every thrust. I felt his balls smacking against my asshole and it felt like his cock was going to come out of my mouth. I was screaming in pleasure, nails clawing into his back as he fucked me harder and faster. Sweat poured from our bodies, he pulled out and flipped me over. I was now on hands and knees, his cock slamming home once more. His balls smacking my clit, my tits swaying heavily beneath me as his hands grabbed my hips hard enough to leave bruises. 

In all my life, I had never been fucked like this. I was tall and thin and gorgeous when I met my husband and he didn't even fuck me like this. Jeff made me forget who I was and what I was going through as he drove his cock deep inside of me. I tightened around his shaft, milking his cock as he made me cum over and over again.

He pulled out and laid down on the bed. I looked at him, my body exhausted and dripping sweat.

"Are you finished? I didn't feel you cum yet..."

"Nope... not finished. You are getting on top, come on now." 

I looked at him in total fear, there was no way I was climbing on top to have my belly and saggy tits in his face while I fucked him.

"Jessie... get on top now. I don't see a single problem with your beautiful body and if you can't do this then we will end it now."

I looked at him in shock. I wasn't sure if he was saying we would stop the sex now or stop it for good. Why was I even thinking there would be more?! I lowered my eyes and slid on top of him, his hands softly rubbing over my body, around my breasts and even my stomach. I lifted myself as he held his cock so I could slide it inside of me. 

I bottomed out, my clit rubbing against his hair as I began to slowly grind myself on top of him. Jeff, reached up and pulled my head down, his lips pressing against mine while his tongue explored my mouth. I was moaning as I rode his cock to another orgasm. 

He pushed me back up and told me to lean back, his hips thrusting up and pushing his cock deep inside of me. One hand worked my clit while the other squeezed my tit, pinching and pulling on a nipple while we fucked. There were groans and grunts and swearing and he said things that made me feel amazing and forget that I didn't like my body. I was soon fucking him with wild abandon, slamming myself up and down on his magnificent cock without a care in the world.

It felt like it took forever but he finally came, shooting his hot seed deep into my body. I tightened around him as my own orgasm coursed through me, finally falling down on top of him and then rolling onto the bed to catch my breath. 

"Holy... shit! I.. uhhhh.. oh God! I can't even talk!" I said between deep gasps of breath.

"Yeah, that was fucking hot!" Jeff said, rolling over onto his side so he could trace the curves of my body with his fingers.

"Your stamina is insane... wow! I ... I have never..."

"I'm 18, remember?! And I suggest you get used to it, I am definitely not done with you."

I shuddered as a final little orgasmic tremor rolled through me, his fingers working on my hard nipples once again. This may turn out to be the best summer of my life but now I had to figure out how I was going to speak to Jeff's mom without giving anything away, surely she wouldn't be thrilled to know her son is banging the 40 year old divorced woman next door!