INSTALLMENT TWO
The helicopter landed with the evening chow. We were holed up in a little grove of trees. Al was headed in to be processed back to the states. I was going to miss him. He’d been different. A challenge but the best damn RTO in Nam. I always hated this process of heading home and had done it a couple of times myself: heading home, back to the world. It was a fantasy that every Vietnam vet carried with him. Unfortunately, the reality of the fantasy didn’t always work out, more likely than not it didn’t. A soldier like Rabinowitz, tomorrow he is on the streets of Detroit or New York or wherever and expected to resume life. Bullshit, adjustment, give me a break. My mind thought back to the beginning with Alan. He had gone to 3d Platoon, I made sure. They were a crazy bunch and somehow seemed to be more cohesive than others. Life had changed for the Vietnam soldier. As we lost more and more men, they were replaced with those who had no ties to the unit. A challenge.
Word got back to me that Rabin was not adjusting. Word had followed from the base camp that he was a “fruit.” Another soldier turned it into a crusade and one of the platoon members took him on. It was about to be choosing sides. I knew these soldiers and what their pressure points were. Wilson was a doper and everybody knew it. I knew that eventually I would have to deal with it. The Platoon Sergeant told me he was also being supplied from the “ville” and therefore was pushing it on the other troops. We had an atrocious firefight and Wilson took one in the head. Guess that took care of the problem. Someone said that O’Toole killed him. I didn’t doubt it for a minute.
When I got to Nam as a young Lieutenant, Platoon Sergeant O'Toole was the first person I met. Captain Smith, this brute of a man, was the company commander. Platoon Sgt O’Toole and Captain Smith were a little like, “good cop, bad cop.” He was one scary individual, mainly that he had taken some shrapnel in his face and it pocked marked his skin, plus a droopy eye. Damn, why was he still in Nam. He really never left and was on his third year. When he got hit the last time, he was gone a bit but came right back. He elongated Lieutenant when he didn’t merely say LT. “I’m giving you a gift, Lieutenant. You don’t have a fucking clue how great this gift is but you will. I’m giving you the finest platoon sergeant known to man. You are one lucky mother fucker,” he said. O’Toole, get your ass in here.”
O’Toole had a red face and it was damn obvious to me right off the bat that the ugly fuckin Captain was screwing me. The platoon sergeant didn't show open disdain for me but my sense of ignorance to him was palpable. It was awkward. “Sergeant O’Toole, you got you a green ass Lieutenant here. Naturally, he knows shit. Try to keep him alive for at least 24 hours. Lieutenant, get the fuck out of my office. You’ll be going to the “line” as soon as I can get your ass out of here.” Welcome to Vietnam.
I was smart enough to let him run the show and stayed out of the way. In time he warmed up to me. What Platoon Sergeant O'Toole was death on was our troops smoking dope. It was his first lecture, "Men, if I ever catch you smoking grass while we're in the field, I am fucking going to kill you and it ain't going to be a pretty picture. That stuff will fuck you up and it will cause you to let your buddies down and they will die. I will kill your sorry ass. Trust me on this." We all believed him.
The first encounter with, "Charles", as O'Toole called him was literally as we were headed up country. On the map, it looked like a pretty straight shot and not all that far. We boarded on these deuce and a half trucks which had a canvas around then. O’Toole wouldn't hear of it. He wanted those canvas tops off. "No fucking way am I going to have my men not be able to see who is trying to kill them. The driver looked at me as though to countermand the platoon sergeant. Noway. I think it was the first time O'Toole began to have confidence in me. Stop, stop he screamed at the driver. "LT," he said, “see those tree lines we have to pass." I did. The VC could conceal themselves. I suggest we dismount and send a squad to the left and one to the right and pinch those tree lines." I nodded. Think I'm going to go against the Sergeant? He conveyed the goal to the squad leaders. Suddenly all hell broke loose. There was firing from the tree-line. Apparently the VC saw what we were doing and they didn't mess around. By this time we were laying down fire. I was scared shitless and don't even think I fired my weapon.
O’Toole was an Irishman and rumor had it that he took leave every year to fight for the IRA. Damned if I knew. One war was all I could be concerned about. My RTO rotated home and I needed someone. A radio telephone operator has to be smart and on top of it, he’s the voice of the commander. I decided on Rabin. Then every time I turned around, Smitty kept showing up. What the fuck! Smitty was a medic and good. At first he had been a consciencous objector but after a couple of firefights, he was a handy, “gun.” I decided to have the candid talk with Alan. “Al, I don’t give a fuck what you or anybody does when you are on your own but this is no place for anything but war. Got it?”
I got it, Captain. Smitty was killed a couple of days later. It was one of those crazy things that happen but he stepped on a bouncing betty. He knew better but somehow had gotten off the beaten path and on a trail that hadn’t been swept. Alan and I had a long talk whether you ought to make lasting relationships in war. “I think so, hell, why not. Better to have loved and lost than not to have loved.” He kind of stared at me as though I was giving him a “load.” I wasn’t and honestly believed it. Relationships are really the only important things in life. You have your family and the people you meet along the way who make you into what you are. Ibelieve it.
“Captain Peterson, thanks for what you’ve done.”
“Alan, you’ve done it all yourself my man.” I wanted to keep it casual as I hated goodbyes.. “What’re you going to do when you get back home?”
He smiled, “I don’t know. To be honest, I never thought for a minute that I’d get to this point.” Silence. “I thought I’d buy the farm before and I owe it all to you.
“Bullshit” Silence.
“Right now I’m not worried about it. I’ve got to face some things but they’ll work out. You’ve given me back my life, you know.”
I didn’t respond right away. “What about your Dad?”
“Hell, I don’t know. I’m going to have to think about it a long time.”
I decided to give him some advice. “Al, we’ve gotten pretty close in the last few months, been through a lot of shit together. Be as cool as you can when you get back. Don’t trust anybody. Sometimes you’ve got to play the game. If you’re going to be AC/DC, don’t spread the news around. It’s nobody’s business but yours.”
He smiled at me.
When the ‘log bird’ departed with Al, I
momentarily had a sinking feeling, like the loss of a relative,
knowing he wouldn’t be around when I reached for the radio. I
figured it was the last time I’d see him, but little did I know
that my life was about to take a different turn because of Alan
Rabin.
Two weeks later, a general came to see me with a strange look in his eye. “Captain, you’re being transferred to Saigon for your last six months.” All my protests were to no avail and I had no hint of what was going on until three weeks later. A little scribbled, hardly legible note came in the mail. “Thanks for giving me back my son. My debt to you will last forever.” It was signed Car los Rabin.
CHAPTER 2
Atlanta is the hub of the South and I love it. I once lived there and when Aimee’s Mom decided to let her spend her high school days at a prep school, I mused about Atlanta with some degree of fondness. It is hard to know about things. I was in the Army and volunteered for what I thought was somewhat of a routine assignment, “the officer in charge of PPP (the provisional parachute platoon). What I didn’t realize is that this was one hell of a dangerous gig but then again maybe I did. I was at a tough spot in my life. The woman I loved more than life was dead. What in the fuck am I going to do. Mary Alice had gotten run over by a trash truck in DC. Fuck. A long story. My life was a mess anyway you looked at it.
I had been assigned after Vietnam to Germany. I wanted to settle into what I hoped would be a good life as a military family. For me, it was some sort of romantic illusion. Restless, missing my men, combat. Short tempered, drinking too much. Now I know it was PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). Fighting it, mainly I thought, “what the fuck did I expect? It has to be the difficulties that every person at war knew. There was nothing to do but endure. To Beth’s credit, she grasped what a mess I was and decided not to accompany me to Germany. I was assigned to the 3d Infantry Division in Wurzburg. A beautiful place and honestly I tried to give it my best. But, here I was an infantry combat officer and now I was suppose to soldier. Noway can I make it, I kept saying as I was headed to formation every morning. Formation for the uninitiated is that time every morning when you count the troops and figure out what the hell you are going to do all day.
It was in this environment that I met Mary Alice. Rarely did I drink, one beer and it went right to my head. This particular time, I was at the bar at the Officers Club. One of the other officers who lived in the BOQ (Bachelor Officers Quarters) had talked me into showing. I was fighting my demons bigtime. Sitting a couple of stools down was this Lieutenant Colonel, talking really condescendingly to everybody. I thought to myself, “I’d like to bust the fucker in the mouth.” He must have read my thoughts because he came over and said, “What the fuck are you looking at Captain?” He’d obviously had way too much to drink. Well, to be honest, I was looking at this black haired beautry on the seat next to him. She had these piercing eyes that could stare right through you and this was from a distance. “Nothing really,” I had hoped this would get me out of it. He was drunk and in my mind, I played out what I was going to do. I stood up and put some money on the bar and walked out. To be honest, I was congratulating myself that I didn’t fuck him up. Thanks Prefix 3 training. In Special Forces, they teach you, never fight, do anything in the world to avoid it. Run away, lie, do anything. However, if you get cornered and there is no way out, kill the perpetrator. And, one of the best ways out if you are cornered is to announce that you don’t want to fight but if you must, it is not going to be a regular exchange of blows. You are going to kill the mother fucker. I smiled.
What I couldn’t get out of my head was the beauty next to the fuckin Neanderthal. The very next time I saw her was at the library. She was the librarian. It was always one of my stops. A voracious reader of anything, I would hang out for hours. Some of my buds called it, “hiding out.” Her name was Mary Alice. We talked, mainly about books, my heart was always racing and the adrenalin pumping. Mary Alice looked to be about my age and in great physical condition. Fit as someone said, never say to a woman, you look buff.
We played tennis, she was good and we often fought to draws. And, we talked. I wanted to fuck her bigtime but tried to play it cool. Talked about my wife, child, not hiding anything. Hell, she was engaged to some guy back home and that sorry ass Lieutenant Colonel was hustling her bigtime and she appeared to be wavering. What was it. She shared that her fiancée had recently cheated on her or she suspected. Suddenly, without warning, I came to the library one day and she was gone. She didn’t even say goodbye. Dang, I missed her, what the hell. She came back and was sorry about her lack of commo. She was thinking about marrying the LTC. Fuck, I thought but I’m in no position for anything.
I stewed about it for a bit, deciding that I was going to cut my losses and not see her again. I failed. While on the tennis courts with her, a Sp 4, sent to fetch me as my Dad would say, the Colonel wanted to see me. I was going back to Vietnam. HooAhhhhh. This is what I wanted, if I was going to stay in this man’s Army, I sure as shit couldn’t do it in a peacetime environment. When I told her, we were playing tennis and kind of chatting at the net. She was flushed from our last volley. The cleavage showed sweat between them. I was immediately aroused. Down Elvis. I smiled. She smiled,
“I got orders yesterday and I’m headin back to Nam.”
“What! You’ve already been.”
“I know but I volunteered, why not.” Long silence.
She dropped her racket and suddenly was clinging to me, sobbing. I didn’t know what to do. In what seemed like an hour she released me and said, “sorry”, picked up her racket and was gone. “Fuck,” I thought, why do people always run away, you see it in the movies, everywhere, there’s a crisis, something, they run away. Mary Alice was always cool and she could not have been all that naïve, we knew each other but we didn’t. She didn’t mind sharing her feelings, her views. I was more guarded but we had become close and I wanted to fuck her but she didn’t know that. Well, the fact was that I wanted to fuck every woman. I am one sorry mother.
And, hell, the asshole LTC was in her future, what did she mean by this. Damn, I didn’t get it. I was just coming out of the library, actually hoping to catch Mary Alice but she was nowhere to be found. Damn, I was suddenly face to face with Mr. LTC. I saluted him. He blocked my path. “Captain, I hear you are going back to Nam. Good as I don’t want you to see Mary Alice again.” I just looked at him. What an asshole. “Do you hear me, Captain,” he was right in my face. I tried to go around. He stepped in front again and then he made the mistake of grabbing my shirt. Be cool, remember your Special Forces training. In milliseconds I was processing it, the time it would take me to knock him on his ass or break his neck. You do anything in the world to avoid a fight, you run, anything but if you get cornered and there’s no way out, “kill the son of a bitch. He turned me loose and I walked on past him.
I essentially quit work. Beth received the news kind of stoic with little comment, “Are you coming home?”
“I don’t think so.” No comment. This was the first inkling that she had somebody else or at least was involved. I hoped so. She deserved better. I was emotionally a mess and she knew it and I knew it. I would never give up Aimee and she knew that--no worry there.
There is no way to convey the emotion the first time Mary Alice and I made love. It was in my BOQ room. Apparently, Mr. LTC had told her of his bullying, strutting around like a peacock, showing that upstart Captain, the so called “war hero.” She was less impressed but said nothing.
I was sitting on the little sofa in a corner of the room, reading a book of short stories when the knock came on the door. “Come in,” I uttered. Mary Alice came in as I stood. Without saying anything, she was into me, kissing and slightly moaning. With no words between us, me touching her silky body, rubbing slightly across her breasts. I wanted to undress her but she did it on her own and pulled back the covers and slip into the bed. It was magical. Her body was unbelievable as I ran my hand over it. She had pubic hair that was like a forest. I was so ready and started to move to taste her when she pulled me toward her and I met the wetness that was so enormous that I slipped in easily, “Oh my God,” she moaned. I thrust gently and then fully, her kissing was so passionate and then she turned on her stomach and I entered as she worked her hands on her clitoris. Talk about a turn on as she turned back and I moved to the “promise land.” She moaned and began to make slight jerking motions. I didn’t know if she was having orgasms or not. I wanted to please her.
It was my passion, pleasing her or any woman who gave herself to me. This may sound weird and I can assure you that I was not thinking this then but I had this worshipful attitude toward women, not sure where it came from, well, I kinda knew. I had been taught to have a deep respect for women. If a woman gave herself to you, it was sacred. She was the source of life and it was never a small thing. Nobody that I ever ran across believed this while most good buddies thought I was fuckin nuts. I should write a book.
I came up to her again, she was kissing passionate. She was small breasted but I tasted them anyway with my philosophy “more than a mouth full is wasted.” She turned slightly on her side and slid me between her legs where I entered again. Her hand was gently massaging herself, harder I could tell as I slipped in and out and could feel with my hand the in and out. From time to time, she moved my hand over hers. Her breathing was coming faster and faster and then she orgasmed. Her moan was muffled but her entire body convulsed, over and over and over. Coming was so great that I often thought that it could not last so long or you would die. She went on and on and clawed my back and squeezed with each convulsion. I had read somewhere about this guy, Lewin or something like that who believed that orgasm was a kind of death. I think so and vowed to explore the theory more. She gazed at me with misty, hazed, skimmed over eyes and then the convulsions slowed but went on, finally slowing with a last one I thought. I was on my side, squeezing her and for the moment, it was the single best sexual experience of my life. Her eyes were closed. Then in a last one arching her back, blew her breath out and lay back and was immediately asleep. I had never known anything like it. I watched her sleep. A time or two she opened her eyes slightly, but immediately closed them. Her eyelids fluttered. She was out. I forced my self to not move. I had to keep thinking and staying still. I knew about orgasm. Men’s only lasted eight seconds but a woman’s 20. With Mary Alice, I didn’t know. I’d read that women’s orgasms were strictly for pleasure. Anthropologists say that men are trying to populate the earth but for women, it is just nirvana. I like it.
The Atlanta airport was the only drawback and was laid out with inconvenience in mind. Time Magazine once did an article rating the airports and Atlanta was the dregs. Today was no different. After the Army, I lived in Atlanta for a bit and was trying to make it teaching school at the community college. It was mainly to be close to Aimee--my life was a mess?
I heard from Al about every week, almost like clockwork. It was mostly BS. He would tell me about bullshit things. Sometimes, it seemed to be a disguised call for feedback. Some management problems. He was learning the business. “What business is that Al?” We would laugh. Then one day we are talking and he drops the bombshell. He is getting married. “Come and meet his bride.” My jaw is on the floor. With no questions asked, “Sure.” We met in a great little Italian restaurant just off Flatbush Ave. The help/owners were constantly bowing and scraping. The heir apparent "son in waiting." His intended was, well, I don't know what I expected. I knew Al in a particular environment and this was a little alien. The intended was a little fleshy as my mom would say and Al appeared to be a combination solicitous and nervous. Like he had to impress me more than anything and he wanted her to like me. The Captain, as he kept calling me. Al didn't mention meeting his dad or family. It was as if he wanted a little secret compartment of himself and I was part of it. But, for Al, he doesn't want me too closely associated with the family either. I had to be shielded. Over the next few years I got it.
We were holed up in this little village which had long ago been abandoned to the Free fire zone philosophy of this crazy goddamn war. FFZ was a stupid ass policy that meant basically that GIs had a license to kill any living being that they came across because nobody was suppose to be in villages or in the area. Yeah, just because it was their home. I had told my men that I’d have their asses if they adhered to that stupid ass idea. Fuckin Generals didn’t know shit. I was some kind of tired. Damn. “Al, tell the men to hunker down.” Al didn’t move.
“Al, wake the hell up.” He was staring off into space. My plan was to hang out here and let the company rest. We had humped our asses off. Suddenly we heard the whoop, whoop of mortars.
“Fuck,” I yelled. “Al, can you see where they’re coming from? I pressed down on the call button of the PRC 25, affectionately called, prick 25,
“Fire mission. Fire mission.” Al, was reading the coordinates into the radio. Good, almost instantaneously, we could hear it going over our heads. A Battery was doing its job. The mortars stopped. It was a little like a game. They fired on us. We called the redlegs, who dumped some artillery on them as they ditty maled back into their holes. “Capt.,”Al crawled up beside me. “I’m leaving tomorrow but I want to do one more thing before I leave. I want to waste those mother fuckers.” I smiled. “You have become one bloodthirsty mother, Rabin.”
“You get the hell home. We’ll get their asses sooner or later.”
“No Captain, I’m serious, I would like this to be my final act before I go.”
“Damn. OK, get third platoon.” Third platoon was my go to platoon. I had tried them all, worked out in my head but somehow, 3d Platoon was smarter, a little nuttier and they had a platoon leader, Westy, who was on the nutso side. Reminded me of O’Toole who went on R and R and never came back. I tried like hell to find out but never could. I exhausted every single channel. It was as though he had vanished off the face of the earth. Westy had been trained by O’Toole. He was a little guy, maybe five two or three and often looked like he was going to sink under the weight of grenades, and who the hell knew what else in his pockets. “Rabin is leaving tomorrow and wants a present.” I chucked once I said it, Rabin was gay and everybody knew it but he’d proved himself and become a hell of a warrior and in this fuck up war, that was all that mattered.
“You got it 6. Take out the sniper and get my RTO a present.”
When I went for the wedding, it was an event. Car picks me up, trip out to Long Island, King's Park, I believe. It was out of the movies. Steel gate blocking the entrance, circular driveway, palatial mansion, gigantic backyard, more like a golf course. Tents. We're a long way from Nam. Al opened the door. "Captain, welcome to Vietnam, East." He bellowed.
"Damn Al, got your own RTO probably now?"
“You got it, Captain.” He led me through the door past a couple of guys who looked like they were from central casting, whatever that is. He knocked at a door, some whispering and the door opened, "Captain, this is my dad, Carlos Rabin." I started to put out my hand when I was wrapped in a bear hug. "Come, let me show you around. Alan, you go ahead, I'll be In charge of the good Captain for awhile." With his arm around me, we walked through another archway almost like another house. "This is my favorite room, my private office." The walls were lined with Al's awards and decorations. The bronze star with V, 3 purple hearts. The soldier's medal. I remembered the day exactly. We had a soldier wounded from a booby trap. A medivac helicopter came in. It took fire. The wounded soldier was exposed. The Company laid down a wall of firepower. Al and I ran for the wounded soldier and put him in the chopper which took off. I put Al in for the Soldiers Medal which is given for the heroic act toward another soldier. Al deserved it. I walked over and looked at the picture that all the medals surrounded. It was a picture of me with a helicopter. I'm talking on the radio and Al is looking intensely at me. I had never seen the picture before but immediately recalled the incident. We were just on the one side of a gigantic berm. We had taken fire from a distant tree line and had called in artillery and someone had countermanded my call. I was pissed but now for the life of me couldn't remember how it was resolved. I smiled. So long ago. Just above the picture was a neat little mahogany box. It had a small door with a tiny lock. I hesitated and Mr. Rabin must have noticed as he said, “I guess it’s a little joke you fellas have.” I didn’t respond and he said, “the RTO present.” I smiled and guessed it was a VC ear. “Not very civilized,” I thought but what the hell, “we were at war.”
Mr. Rabin said, "Captain Peterson," and then he hesitated a moment, "I hope you don't mind me calling you, Captain." I nodded, "It just seems right.” SILENCE
I thank you so much for what you did for my son." LONG Silence.
"Your son was a great soldier," I said. Suddenly tears were streaming down the old man's face and without warning, he fell into my arms and was sobbing. Just as quickly he composed himself and said, "I'm embarrassed." I shook my head as to say, forget it. Then he said something that seemed to be so confessional in nature that I was at a loss.
"I've never told anybody this but I had my son sent to Vietnam in hopes that he would be killed. And, you sent him back a war hero. I can never repay you." Silence. It was one of those times that you don't know what to say or do.
I stood looking over the assembled mass. I could still see the ceremony in my mind's eye. A priest, a bishop, did the ceremony. Up and down. I don’t know how the Catholics do it. Tables of every imaginable food in every direction. Servers in tux meandered throughout the crowd. "My Captain, my captain," Alan hugged me. "I want you to meet someone." He took my arm and walked toward several beautiful women hanging out with an equal number of escorts, probably husbands. Most had been hanging out at too many beer palaces as opposed to working out. Inwardly, one of those quick thoughts. Who put me in charge?
"Bernie," Al didn't use the captain but then seemed to catch himself as he said to this adorable woman, tall, long legs, right up to her neck as my buddies would say. "Joanie, this was my boss in Vietnam, meet, Bernie Peterson, the best man in the free world."
I was embarrassed. Bernie squeezed my shoulder. She put out her hand. It was warm, long fingers. It was hard not to hold onto. Suddenly everybody kind of disappeared but us. "Captain?" She said, kind of whimsical. "Captain of what?"
I smiled, "How about nothing.”
Silence.
"Seriously,
why do they keep calling you Captain?"
I smiled, "Oh, it
really is an inside joke more than anything."
“I beg to
different. It surely has meaning to Carlos and Alan,” she smiled.
Teeth as white as a glistening glacier. “I've heard lots about
you."
Silence.
She hesitated as though not knowing what to say or not wanting to go further. "You know, Alan left here disgraced." I didn’t say anything. Silence is definitely the best course. Thank you Lord. She shook her head as though remembering something so painful. "His dad, Carlos almost lost it. I knew he was sent away, hoping he'd die or worse."
Silence.
"And, now look at it. He's the chosen to replace his Dad. A war hero. Damn, fuck," she said with a shake of the head and laughed. "You know, I did everything to get Alan to go to Canada or anywhere. I marched against that sorry war you know. I hated you." I could have told her a thing or two about her attitude: Being identified with Vietnam, somehow our fault. I can’t tell you the number of times, I’ve heard that bullshit. Inwardly, when I wrestled with it, I wanted to kill somebody. But, one of these days, all that bullshit of blaming us will quit and if it doesn’t, I don’t give a shit. My feeling had been since Nam, we did our duty and if somebody doesn’t get it, fuck ‘em. She stopped talking for a moment and just looked at me. I held her eyes.
Silence as though pondering her next move.
"And, Captain, I've heard about you, a cunt hound."
Silence.
“You are embarrassed. Don't be. I asked Al once if you were a ‘switch hitter.’ He laughed so hard that I thought he was going to bust a gut. He said that your love for women was epic and could not even come close to describing it.” Silence. She was smiling as if remembering those conversations.“He bent my ears for hours with war stories and how great you are. Are you a hero?"
I smiled. "It is overrated."
"How about cunt hound?" She took me by the hand and led me toward a little small house, guess it was kind of like a servant's place. She seemed to know her way around. I didn't resist but thought about it as she locked the door behind us.
"Wait here I want to powder my nose." I glanced around. She walked back out with nothing on but her blouse. I almost died. I didn't know whether to shit or go blind.
"I had to put in my diaphragm," she said. I thought about telling her I'd had a vasectomy but thought better of it. "Captain, we don't have much time." She leaned over the bar. She was smooth and round. Without another word, I entered her with a big moan from her as she came. I had known women before who could reach orgasm with the first thrust but not many. She reached behind my buttocks and held me so I couldn't move, "just give me a second," she whispered. I got it, she needed a few seconds to let the orgasm subside. Suddenly into my head came this idea from some guy, Lewin that orgasm was akin to death. The fact that I had read that orgasm stimulated the brain and that a woman’s orgasm had no real purpose other than pleasure. Right. I wanted to be an expert in women’s orgasm. When she released me, I gently thrust again with only giving her a couple of inches, I even knew that the first couple inches of a woman’s vagina constituted most of the sensation. How’s this, up to the first knuckle of the forefinger. She whispered, "I want it all." I thrust again and with the second thrust, she came again, this one was more of a flutter. I stopped again and waited. She reached back and felt me and moaned again. After three or so thrusts, she came again, another flutter, followed by a moan. I waited. Another one but a little longer. She said, "no mas, no mas, your turn."
"I'm fine," as I pulled back and pulled my trousers up as she went to the bathroom. Emerging from the bathroom, we walked outside into the sunshine. "You are really the captain and skillful too I might add."
She began working the crowd. I stood watching her. She moved with a grace that defied logic. Well, logic for me. A bit ago, we were fucking like bandits. She was coming, not one but several times and then, it was over, on to the next thing. I was impressed. Alan sidled up to me and said, "Anything special happen to you today big boy." I smiled. He smiled.