Shane Harris had developed a fast growing hatred for women ever since he had slapped around his fifteen-year-old high school sweetheart. "No, no," she begged. "Please don't make me put my mouth on that filthy thing." But Shane's surging prick would not be going home unsatisfied. He learned the compelling persuasion of a well-timed slap on the tit. He saw her beaten tits turn red from beating as he jammed his throbbing prick into her soft lips and squirted his love juice into the mouth of the prick-teasing virgin teen-age queen.
Then, before shipping out to Viet Nam, he taught his teen-age temptress sister a lesson she would never forget, a lesson in dealing with the volcanic sex drive of men that would save her much pain and punishment in the future.
Shane's abuse of women's bodies was driven by a festering hatred of sexual rejection that women practiced by waving their cunts in his face and telling him he couldn't have their pussy.
Shane's violence was a war against womankind that erupted with new fury when he finds himself caught up in the Viet Nam War, and Shane sees first hand the corruption and sex-for-money game that flourished in Saigon amid the flames of war and destruction.
Shane's hatred of women reaches its ultimate under the nerve-wrenching strain of battle and the urge of the life force in his prick, seeking relief from the fear of death.
CHAPTER ONE
The sharp penetrating rays of the overhead fluorescent lights cut into my eyes as I lay in my steel-framed bunk. The naked light tubes cast an eerie glow and created shadows on the corridor floor.. .shadows of the steel bars that kept me a prisoner in this stinking cell. I thought about pissing but gave up the idea because I was too exhausted to walk over to the seat-less toilet that peeked at me through its bowl that sat in the comer of the cell. I was a lump.. .a chubby, tired lump of flesh who grew too fat on the starchy prison diet that passed as food.
Somehow I had to get up. I was expecting a visitor
A visitor. A smooth-skinned brunette with a pretty up-turned upper lip that said she wanted to be kissed. At least that was the upper half of her. The photo she sent me was only a head and shoulders shot. I sank into a deep half-dreaming kind of bliss, just thinking about her.
There's lots of time for dreaming in prison.
We only knew each other from a series of letters. She answered my ad in a Manhattan newspaper for a female correspondent. She was the only one who answered it. Her name is Beth and the thought of her face makes me more anxious than ever to get out of here and resume my sex life. That is, a normal sex life. Most people would say I was a sexually normal guy. After all, I like girls, don't I ? That's what the judge said when he sent me to prison for seven years on a rape conviction.
I've always hated and despised women. That's what the prison psychiatrist says. Because I hated my mother. So I want to take out my hostilities on the women I meet. I agree with him about the hating of women.
They always looked to me like they cared more for appearances than than the way things actually are. That's why they wear those stupid high-heeled shoes when anyone can see that they're crippling themselves, cramming their feet into those tiny shoes, and then walking in them, risking loss of balance and falling on the pavement.
They marry men, trading their bodies for money and security then stab the poor asshole in the back. They lie on their backs for a few years then walk off with a whole house and the savings account . To them love is nothing but practical economics. They look in the mirror . at themselves for hours painting themselves up like Indy racing cars, then they study their bodies in the mirror and do exercises to make their breasts bigger because they can get a better, richer guy if their tits stand up at attention. They feel things. When you talk to them they don't listen like a man does, they hear only what they choose to. They think they're smart because they believe they feel more and therefore can know more because they can intuit things. They don't know what rational reasoning is and when they do they try to impress you so much with the fact that they can think rationally that they are almost like children with a new toy that they want to show off to their parents.
Yeah, I raped that stupid cunt after picking her up at a singles bar in Manhattan. I just missed killing her. It would have been better for me if I had. I wouldn't be doing time unless it was her testimony against me.
She was filled with media trends and how she had just bought a pair of roller skates and was taking disco lessons and was going to the EST seminar, Scientology training and a bunch of other crap about self-improvement. We both sat at the long bar and nibbled cheese and crackers as the stereo system pounded out its primitive beat that insisted you slap your feet in rhythm with the tune. I had taken a dislike to her as we drank on but I played it cool and made with the smiles and jokes and patronizing attentiveness that all women love. You see, all they care about are appearances and so they only care about what appears on your face and think the face is a reflection of what the mind is thinking. Stupid whores.
We went to her small, cramped studio on 1st Avenue near 77th Street. It was a four floor elevator ride. When we were inside her apartment she went to unfold the hide-a-bed mattress, then sbe began taking off her dress, a low cut black evening dress that gave a good glimpse of her breasts as you looked down into the bodice. I can't describe the feelings that overtook me at that moment as she was about to undo her bra. The sight of her brown thighs made my prick turn hard in my pants and she could see the bulge of my penis.
"You're going to ass a hole right in your pants," she said with that college girl educated smile that they use to show they're smarter than some guy. At that moment all the suppressed resentment at these phony Manhattan eastside college girls who pay outrageous rents just for a imagine mailing address on the east side, even when their puny salaries from some publishing girl friday job could only afford a hole-in-the-wall studio apartment.
I leaped at her and began tearing at her underwear in a frenzy of mixed rage and passion that welled out from within me and had been boiling up inside of me for years.
I held my hand tightly over her mouth and she couldn't scream. As her bra fell off, the sight of her big, brown tits had the effect of dynamite on my penis as the cock hardened to an unbelievable hardness under my pants.
She fought like a tigress, her hair flying wildly across her face and back as she struggled and dug her nails into my face and along the sides of my body as I fought to control her and wrestle my pants off at the same time. Finally I got her panties off even though she was kicking wildly and digging her knees into my chest like a running back for the NY Giants.
She had fought well but the struggling and kicking had exhausted her. She could only gulp for air through her constricted throat as we fought on the carpet of her apartment.
My lust rose to a peak as the expression on her face was a mixture of horror and fear. It was the look of hundreds of women who have been raped, their faces contorted with the disbelieving terrible face of fear that was the identical face of women in the throes of a major orgasm. The faces of passion and fear were identical I began to believe.
My rock hard penis was becoming still harder, shinier and the crown had hardened till it was the hardness of my fist. Her muffled screams turned to soft moans of pleasure as I slipped my cock inch by inch into her wet pussy that glistened from the sweat and secretions that flowed from within.
I began pumping my penis in and out like a jackhammer that whipped upward and downward with tremendous force. The pain of the carpet scraping against my flexed knees was enough to make me cry and I yelled out as the penis thrust in and out and in again, the tip of my penis brushing against the farthest reaches of her vagina where I knew it tapered to a narrow corner, a corner that was not safe from the searching eye of my cock.
Her shoulders were reddened and beginning to turn to blue from the massive bruising that she suffered from the rough handling I gave her. I slapped her twice across the mouth as blood formed in tiny droplets on her lips but she still was able to moan softly. I wished she would be quiet completely. The more I hurt her and slapped her the more she moaned and the more I felt the passion of lust rise within my prick. Then as I began slapping her large breasts she cried out in a last, piercing scream of pain as I lashed the nipples with my finger tips, bloodying them with the force of the blows.
The cum surged in the sack under my cock and pressure built to an indescribable peak as my final thrusts into her red and bloodened body brought a sharp, intense stream of love juice into her cunt that contracted and clamped around my prick like it was a vise attached to the prick. Even through the pain she could feel the intensity of my passion, which communicated itself through the intensity of my gushing prick.
I could tell from the sweaty, glistening drops that played on her lips and the look in her utterly tired eyes that she had enjoyed it as much as I. I let my slowly sagging cock remain in her body, letting my limp prick sleep there. When it had become hard again after ten minutes I felt the surge of passion begin again as my prick began to feel strong again and became hard within her quickly drying cunt. I had to hurry and began shaking her but it was useless. She had passed out either from the beating I had given her or the intensity of the orgasm she had experienced or both of these things. I gave up trying to cum again into her and set about the problem of reviving her for I feared she was dead. Slowly she began coughing and I knew she was alive but her breathing had all but disappeared
Satisfied she was alive, I lay down on the carpet. I was exhausted from the struggle myself. After a few moments I got up and went to the small refrigerator in the cramped corner of the apartment that served as a kitchenette. I got some ice out of the refrigerator and wrapped the cubes in a towel and pressed the cold package onto her mouth where the lips were still pouring forth their bloody droplets. It took a long time but Soon, with patience,, the blood stopped flowing. Wounds to the mouth are especially hard to stop bleeding. Then I applied the ice pack to her cunt which was red on the outside where the outer lips took on the look of something that had been on fire. I could only imagine the damage that I had done to the inside of her cunt.
I was sickened and ashamed of my own lust, a power that had controlled me ever since I had begun to have sexual intercourse when I was fifteen years old. At first the violent part of my nature had been suppressed but gradually gave way to still more violence. I changed by degrees, with each new sexual experience that dragged me deeper and deeper into the control of violence.
I remember once I had taken a girl to my room. We were both fifteen years old at the time and her body was well developed for her age. She had a woman's body with large, well-formed breasts and a perfect ass. Her complexion was perfect as it is with young girls and her cunt was sweet and-pink, even though she would let me only take her bra off and play with her tits and suck on them. She insisted on keeping her panties on. She would suck on my balls and prick until I came and she would sit on my face and let me lick her clitoris until it became erect and she convulsed and twitched as she squirmed while seated on top of my tongue.
Even as a young kid she had discovered cruelty and found out how hurt I was when I got a hard on and my penis stood erect searching for her cunt and my eyes told her I wanted to have complete pleasure and ram my large cock into her pink cunt. She watched my longing eyes and she understood the terrible power she had over me, not only me but all men. All the men and boys she knew now . All the men she would know in the future. She had the power to reject men, to deny them the use of her cunt, to deny them fulfillment and even to deny them their manhood. Once we had a fight over her dating another guy and she purposely lured me up to her room. Her parents had gone away for the weekend to visit relatives in Philadelphia. She undressed as she always did but only down to her panties leaving me standing there naked with my large prick hanging out erect and wanting to fuck her. She smiled and gave that cute smile of hers, the smile I later recognized in dozens of other women I was to meet.
"That's a nice long cock you got, Shane Harris. I bet you'd like to fuck me, wouldn't you?" Stating the obvious was always her talent. She stood there, her breasts young and supple, a flat tummy blending nicely into a widening, well shaped little hard-muscled ass that became the focus of my life and existence at that moment.
You can't fuck me, you can't fuck me, you can't fuck me," she sang as she did a little dance around the room and she came close to me continuing to sing "You can't fuck me"as she bounced her breasts against my chest and rubbed her young body all over mine and grabbed at my hardened prick till I could stand it no more.
Then she became the actress. As she rubbed her tits into my face, pulling my face down to kiss her nipples, she swooned and moaned as if the pleasure was making her wanton, uncontrolled. Her face was the face of a woman controlled and obsessed with ecstasy. It was that expression I was to see on the faces of many other women I was to meet in future sexual sessions. But this face was the face of an actress, a willful young temptress who was just beginning to try out her claws on men and drive them to a frenzy of passion.. .and of frustration.
I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her even more closely to my body and began kissing her neck, her ears her lips. And then suddenly she pulled away from me with a jerk, surprised and flustered at my sudden strength that broke her mood of performing the role of passionate temptress. She was now nothing more than a terrified, frightened little girl confronted with her own sexuality by a man with a penis who had wants and desires she was not physically or mentally ready to fulfill.
"What if I get pregnant?" she whined. "Don't you care about what happens? You didn't bring any protection with you." It was true. I didn't have any rubbers with me nor did I care. My passion was so fully aroused by her great performance that I did not care whether she got pregnant or not. All that existed was the single reality of my hard cock and its insistence on being satisfied. It was as if I was no longer in control, but my penis was doing the decision making for me. I pressed my arms tighter around her and grabbed her round, firm ass with my hands and clutched at the young, vibrant flesh. Then she burst into tears, the first time I had ever seen a woman cry. I recognized it instinctively for what it was. Another great performance of an actress who put her sexuality on the line in a sexual poker game and now wanted to get out of the game when her bluff had been called.
She squirmed helplessly in my powerful grasp, her tits becoming red from the friction of rubbing against my chest. She was still crying and now yelling and began screaming more loudly until I was afraid someone might hear her cries even though I knew we were the only two in the house.
I grabbed her neck on the back with my left hand and with my right I let loose a punch that fell on her chin. It was not a hard one and it only moved her off toward the other side of the room where she fell on the floor facing down on the rug. She shot a quick glance at me arid turned away. In that instant she looked at me I could see her fear and the knowledge in her eyes that that revealed she had tempted me too far and that there was no avoiding being fucked.
It was that one quick glance over her shoulder that aroused my sexual desire to the highest pitch it had ever known. I had asserted my physical strength over her and could see the fear in her eyes that told me she was in my power. I walked slowly toward her and grabbed her by the ass and threw her face down on the bed. I stripped her panties off and grabbed her tits from behind. I pushed her further toward the center of the bed and climbed over her. Parting the cheeks of her firm ass, I inserted my still rock-hard penis into her cunt which was still dry. But by now I was beyond caring about any pain I might cause her. She screamed as I pushed further and further into her, hurting my cock as well as her cunt as the roughness scraped and chafed us both. After some moments she began to get slippery in the cunt. My penis directed me to press still further, as far as it would go into her meaty roll. By now her screams were still, and she began a soft moaning sound that inspired me to begin thrusting my penis into her and out even though I felt some resistance coming from somewhere inside her cunt. It was something elastic that was holding my penis back. And I didn't know at that time that girl's had hymens that needed bursting. I had never had sex with a woman before in my life and neither had she but we had heard talk at school from others who had.
Faster and faster my stabbing prick twisted desperately to break through the elastic wall that separated me from my fulfillment. But still the wall would not break down. I didn't give up and finally I felt I was almost through. She turned her head over her right shoulder and said "It's hanging like a curtain". I knew what she felt and continued my thrusting against her sweet young ass as she moaned delightedly until there was no more work to be done and I glided through her like a racing canoe heading for the finish line.
As I continued my thrusting my mind switched into a new gear like a Sherman tank with overdrive and I was driving all the way in and completely out of her body as she began herself to move her buttocks up and down in time with my pelvic thrusts.
The time of day, the location, my parents, school held no meaning for me at this instant as all seemed to go black in my brain and the pounding of my heart reverberated in my brain so that I no longer knew or cared about anything except releasing the insistent pressure I carried within my balls. Finally it came, like a torrent gushing into her bruised and bleeding vagina as all became night and nothing mattered anymore. Time was lost and even though she was so close to me and I was in her, I had the impression she was such a long distance away. Perceptions of space and time became distorted as I continued coming into her and the thrusting became stronger than ever.
Even though I had shot all the milky fluid I had into her she pleaded, "Don't stop! Keep going, please ! ". I did as she asked and was surprised as my constant pushing and pulling out of her soft pussy got me hard again. I had the strength to come into her cunt again as the prick hardened and slammed into her womb with the force of a pile driver, rocking her ass up and forward so that her face was pushed into the bed sheet. Then I came again and exploded into her, this time not with the same force as the first time, because it is never like the first time ever again.
She got her balance on her knees and jumped off the now limp prick that had driven her to passion she had not expected. Now it was she who no longer cared whether she got pregnant. The orgasm was so complete she must have felt she was in love with me and, yes, even wanted to marry me.. .even though we both knew we were too young for such an undertaking.
I had plans to go to college and she wanted to be a nurse. We had personal goals for the future that we had to think about, I told her. We kissed in the most tender way on the lips as we felt each other's love for the other .
Then as we were kissing, I felt her hand touch the tip of my cock and she began gently brushing the shaft with the lightest touch of her fingers. Soon I became hard again and she whispered into my ear, "Do you want more?"
"I want you to suck it," I said.
She looked into my eyes with a sad look and and began crying as if I had asked her to shoot her best friend. "How could you ask me?" she said. "Put that thing in my mouth? I can't do it. I just can't," she wailed still holding and kneading my prick and sticking the middle finger of her hand at the entrance to my asshole. She was probably hoping I would be so aroused that I would be content with a little masturbation instead of being sucked off in her mouth.
But nothing was going to get me off the track. I had to see her mouth on my cock and working it, sucking and blowing on it until I erupted into her mouth. It was the only thing that would satisfy me.
"I want you to suck it off," I told her and held her face tightly between my strong hands as I said it. She began to cry again. The thought of mouthing her sweet lips over the head of my prick was repulsive to her.
She insisted she couldn't put that dirty thing into her mouth. It was then that I began choking her. Her face turned red as she tried to breath and then as she gasped for air she cried out "All right, I'll do it! I'll do it. Just don't choke me, please, please!"
She raised herself up on the bed slowly and looked away from me and then with a determined look glanced down at my prick that was aimed straight at the ceiling as I was lying on my back.
"It isn't so bad," I said. "You might like it if you get a taste of it.. Now, go on . . . do it. I want it now!"
Slowly and deliberately, she bent her head down over me and took the enlarged penis in her mouth. "Like this?" she mumbled, her mouth and lips blocked by the huge penis that her mouth hung on. She was much like a huge fish that gets caught on a hook I thought. I felt her teeth against the shaft as she began moving her mouth up and down the penis until it again became so hard I thought I would scream. I almost laughed to see her head bobbing up and down along the shaft of my penis, the saliva dripping from her lips and coating the prick like varnish on a flag pole.
It was a moment like this that gave me my greatest satisfaction, to watch her bend her will to mine, to watch her break under the force of my desire and to do things she had thought she hated, only to find they pleased her as well it did myself.
"Watch the teeth," I said. "You're biting me ! "But the warning came too late as the slight trickle of blood ran from somewhere below the crown to the beginning of my balls. Now she could taste the salty taste of my blood and the perspiration of my cock and balls as she glided up and down the same route over and over again.
I screamed at the pain she had caused me as her teeth were still rubbing against my cock and causing me pain. I-slapped her hard on the side of the head. The shot was against her ear and made her head ring. But now she was afraid and did not stop. She kept on working on my prick despite the hurt to her head and even drew her teeth in and rounded her lips so that the teeth did not scrape against the shaft of my prick.
I encouraged her and she went on with the same rhythmic motion. While she had not come close to making me blow my wad into her head, she had excited me. "Now use your tongue," I ordered. She made a fumbling attempt at swirling her tongue .
Slowly, she whirled her tongue in gentle titillating circles around the hardened corona of my gigantic prick. The huge organ was nearly choking her as she sought to breathe. The struggle to breathe was a losing battle for my hard prick occupied the whole circle of her mouth as it was pressing down on me, whipping my prick into a frenzy of excitation which seemed to make everything appear so distant to my eyes. My vision was directed away from my own penis waving in the air, but waving gently only when her mouth would come to the tip of the cock. Then there was some play in the movement of the throbbing penis that I somehow refused to believe was mine, so independent was the living throbbing beast with its veins standing out on the shaft like some erotic roadmap.
I could see only her head slamming down and up like a pile driver that used a human head. I stared, fascinated as she concentrated her entire effort and mind on getting the huge prick to come into her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down, now faster, using a jerking kind of rhythm which made the brain hot, my chest pink as the passion rose within me and I felt no other feeling than wanting to burst my cum into her face and then to see her swallow it.
It was amazing that she did not tire because it seemed like minutes she had been bobbing her head up and down. But on she went like some automaton that was only programmed to do one thing-suck cocks. And it was mine she was sucking off at this moment!
My prick had been slow to come into her mouth because I had already shot my prick into her cunt and the well was almost dry. And I hadn't had any rest since we had to cram all the fucking we could into the smallest amount of time since her parents would be coming home that evening.
But from somewhere the strength came and the cum rose in my bag like water beginning to simmer in a pan before it boils over the stove. It was the feeling of a giant gear switching into high as my brain was struck by kaleidoscopic images and I thought my prick must shoot up to the ceiling if it were not in her mouth. But the prick was in her mouth and it exploded with volcanic force into her head and I watched her head recoil backward as if blown by the force of my shooting prick. I thought it would never stop coming. It was everywhere on her face, dripping from her lips, the sticky milky fluid dribbled down her lips and formed thread-like strings that ran down to her wobbling tits-and still she kept her bobbing mouth in motion as the last of the sperm trickled out of her mouth and my prick felt drained and as empty as it could ever be.
She turned her head to me and some come still flecked her lips although I had seen her gulp down most of it. She had the eyes of one who was humiliated and ashamed of what she had done to me. But it could also have been the look of a woman of passion who is in love.
"Okay, Jocko! I've fucked you, I've blown you and sucked your cock until it's drier than the Sahara. Now get out of here and don't come back! I'm so disgusted with myself!"
"But you enjoyed it. We made love and you responded to me," I said.
"You forced me. You probably would have knocked me in the head if I hadn't fucked you. For all I know, you might have killed me! I'll never tell my parents what happened but I'm telling you this. I never want to see you again. Now get out!"
That's women for you. One minute they're writhing in ecstasy on the end of your prick and the next they think you're using them to satisfy your own lust. The hypocrisy of these sluts, these fucking cunts to believe that desire and lust is the exclusive property of the men and women are only there to cuddle and mutter sweet sentimentalities. This was the pattern of my sexual life until graduation from high school. Always the girls would be flaunting their tits and asses at me and always I would call their bluff by using force-mild force. Usually a slap on the side of the head would be sufficient to get them to fuck or give me a blow job. They feared me and they did not trust figures in authority such as their parents and the police. And so they kept their silence. And I kept my freedom.
CHAPTER TWO
In June of 1965 I graduated from high school. That was the year that the American government was convinced the Viet Cong was going to overrun Viet Nam. The American troop commitment was increased and millions of students and young men were wondering if the draft was going to snatch them up and plant them, maybe forever in foreign soil. I saw it as a great opportunity. I would lie in my bed at home, masturbating and wiping the oily Coppertone suntan oil all over my balls and prick dreaming of fucking one of those Viet Cong women terrorists I had read about in the newspaper.
I began to believe a war was just what I needed. It would be a great chance to get over there and fuck the women and I would be able to use much more force than I could in the States. After all, in those foreign countries, especially in Asia, the white man could still hold himself above the law. In wartime in Asia, the white man when armed would become a god and the women of Viet Nam would lie down in front of me and treat me as a god. There would be plenty of Vietnamese snatch to keep me occupied.
The thought occurred to me that I might get killed over there, but I figured that the pleasures I contemplated would only be available in wartime and there were certain risks that had to be run.
The idea of fucking Vietnamese women obsessed me. I was so taken over by the idea of going to Viet Nam that I read every book I could get on the subject and soon became expert on the area and people. I even got some Vietnamese language books out of the library and could speak a bit of the language, which made me just a cut above all the others.
Finally, I decided that I would join up in the army instead of waiting to be drafted. I would be able to get more choice in assignment and the only place I wanted to go was Viet Nam. My parents had wanted me to go to college, but I believed if you want to fight a war you have to go when it's hot. I thought all those college students with their chicken student draft deferments were all a lot of candy-assed chicken hearts and I told my family so. They were foolish and believed that I was joining up for purely patriotic reasons. The truth was I had nothing more patriotic in my mind than painting the American flag on the walls of some Vietnamese cunt's vagina.
And so I enlisted and took the oath. Basic training was rough and they screwed up my opinion of myself permanently. From the day I got my first G.I. haircut to the day they cut out my orders to join the 173rd Airborne Brigade, I ached all over from the marches and the sores from the parachute straps straining at my shoulders.
I was cut off from the opposite sex for all practical purposes and it was strictly flogging the old log for me as it was for most of my buddies in training at jump school at Fort Benning, Georgia. Sometimes in the mess hall we would talk of what we thought it would be like in 'Nam. One drip said we were fighting for the freedom of the Vietnamese people. Another, Slattery who was my bunk mate, thought the war would be over soon since we had too many technical weapons for the primitive Viet Cong. Goettrich was a German who came over to the United States expressly for the purpose of joining the American army and going to fight the Viet Cong.
"I'm going to fuck me some Vietnamese frauleins," he would say in his excellent English grammer but heavily laden German accent. "Once I get hold of one of them cunts in the black pajamas," he would say, "I will tear her panties off and stick my big German sausage into her until she chokes!" We all laughed when Goettrich talked like this because we didn't believe any of it. It was like joking among high school kids, not serious talk among men. For myself, I privately thought that I might have a chance to actually do some raping myself and thought that war would give me the chance I had been waiting for. But I never spoke these thoughts aloud. Somehow it seemed proper coming out of the mouth of a big German like Goettrich. Those Germans loved war and considered killing and rape a sort of pastime that soldiers indulged in from time to time.
After jump school we all knew we were going to Viet Nam. We had thirty days leave to straighten out our affairs at home and genuinely felt like conquerors on the way to a holy war against communism. We went to our homes and basked in the admiration of our families and neighbors who gave us that special smile reserved for young men who may have to risk their lives and ultimately die in battle on the soil of a faraway country.
It had a special effect on the women who fawned over us and admired the paratroop decorations we wore on our breast pockets to show that we had completed jump school. Among the more interesting events of that furlough was the closeness that developed between my younger sister and me. We had never talked too much to each other when we were in school. She was only sixteen, two years younger than I was but she had a figure that said she was a woman. She had filled out only in the time I had been in the army, a period of six months. Her breasts were firm and she liked to show her new found physical wealth by wearing sweaters in the cold weather of the northeast. I had gotten used to seeing tits swing from September to March as they did down in Georgia where I went through jump training. The development of my sister, Jill was something to marvel at. She now possessed a tight, round little ass that bounced and jiggled as she walked. She flaunted it. She had only just started to use make up and it looked great on her fine-skinned face. She was tanned all over her body. I could tell when I'd catch a glimpse of her coming out of the shower. She often forgot to wrap a towel around her and would walk upstairs to her room completely in the nude right past me while I was sitting in the living room drinking a beer. Since my father was out to work as a foreign car auto mechanic and my mother was a secretary at one of the elementary schools nearby, neither Jill nor I felt the slightest bit shy about making cracks at each other.
Some days she would take a shower right after coming home from school and she would walk by completely naked, her young firm, brown tits jiggling and the cold shower water droplets glistening on her tan ass and tits. It was still pretty hot in September on some days, but the weather would get cool all of a sudden and then return to the heat of deepest summer.
Once, after my first week home, she pulled her stunt of walking in the nude and she stopped in her tracks and turned a glance toward me. I was lying on the couch, as usual drinking a can of Bud. "I bet you'd like to get your hands on some of this stuff, wouldn't you ?"she said. I was startled. I'd never heard my sister talk like that before. But she didn't catch me off balance. I was ready for her.
"Sure," I said, "anytime that you're ready."
This sort of flirting went on for about another week. Then one day it happened. In my mind I imagined sticking my prick into her lovely tanned cunt and it would be even more delicious because she was my sister and the forbidden lust that society denied us would be all that much sweeter. I could think of nothing else but grabbing hold of that tanned nubile body and throwing it down on the bed and sticking my prick into her. I imagined the most crude and wild things to do to her. I would piss into her mouth while she swallowed. I would have her shit on my face. I would have her suck my asshole until it was blue with bruises. I could conceive of nothing but the extremes of lust with my sister. Nothing else would do. When one is breaking the forbidden laws of incest, one had better really break them to the extreme and not do a poor job of it. There must be nothing left to keep regret from reentering the mind. There could be no going back or fear or guilt. It had to be everything or nothing.
I was into my third week of furlough when it happened. One day she took her shower as usual and pranced through the living room, walking with the exaggerated bouncy walk she always used so that her breasts and ass would bounce up and down. All the time she knew what it was doing to me. She would give me that sly smile and wink at me. She stopped as she always did after her shower and this time she walked over to where I was lying on the couch and put her hand on my crotch. I was wearing only shorts without any underwear underneath. Then she began to rub her hand in a circular motion until she could feel my prick hardening under the thin cotton cloth of my shorts. All the time she would be giving me this wicked, cute little smile that seemed to say: "It's all right. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
As she rubbed my prick through the cotton cloth I felt my prick wanting to stand up. I felt myself wanting to grab at her sweet, tanned breasts and begin to kiss her nipples. But the the old fear of the incest taboo held me back. But her hand job on my now completely erect penis was such a pleasure that I felt no desire to stop her, or even scold her for being a naughty girl.
Then my prick began throbbing with the continued, steady massage and she asked me if I wanted to take off my shorts. I said yes. There I was lying in the nude on the couch and my sister Jill was completely naked as she began to lower her mouth to my penis and insert it into her young pink lips. She let the tip of the penis rest gently on her pink lips without sucking on my hardened cock. Then, changing her expression from wicked smile to icy determination, she brought her whole mouth down the length of my stiff rod to the base where the balls began and began working her lips and tongue in a way that I had never experienced with any girl before.
The passion rose quickly as I had not had sex for two months, except for fucking an ugly whore who picked up GI's outside Fort Benning. She brought her head down to my thighs and began that magic tongue of hers, gently flicking the crown of my passion until I couldn't endure the pleasure any longer and shot my cum into her mouth with a pent up force that had been held in check for months. The milky cum dribbled from her mouth as my upper body and face turned a reddish color from the force of my orgasm.
"My, you're all red," she said, or rather mumbled as the cum still filled her mouth and the sperm oozed onto my lower stomach.
We confined ourselves to this activity for about a week. But each time she sucked me off, I could sense a yearning in her eyes, a desire that told me she wanted something more.
Now it had become a routine. I would lay on the couch naked and she would come and suck me off, but only after she had had her shower. This day would be different I said to myself. As usual she began masturbating me and then began to blow me. I held her head away from my hardened prick and suddenly grabbed her by her firm, young ass and spun her around. With all my arm strength I drew her toward my waiting -prick and physically rammed my seven inch cock into her cunt, not too expertly. At first she screamed "You're hurting me ! "I worked my prick manually into the outer lips of her pink, almost hairless cunt and then she began to ooze her sweet, musk-smelling liquid and my entry was easier as if my prick had eyes of its own. Still I had not put it in right. It was hurting her.
"Let me do it," she said.
"Are you sure you know how to?" I asked.
"Of course, silly baby. Do you suppose I'm still a virgin. Do you think I'd let my brother take my cherry ?"
Her openness about her sexual activity took me by surprise. I suppose it was jealousy rising within me. For I would, indeed have loved to break her hymen open, but somebody had beaten me to it. I felt enraged, the anger coming in flashes that threatened to make me lose my erection, which actually happened.
My prick softened as it slid slowly out of her cunt. Although the prick had only had its head in, I felt cheated of my pleasure and told her so. I told her she shouldn't have made that remark about someone else busting her cherry. She gave me that knowing look that women do, as if to say, "you poor child, if only you would grow up and be a man." Then she looked at my limp penis like it was a poor, unfortunate balloon that had been pricked by a pin and now lay lifeless on my thighs, still carrying its unwanted cargo of sperm and unreleased pleasure.
She laughed at me and laughed at my penis. "Don't get mad at me, Shane. It's not my fault that you can't keep it hard long enough. Maybe you're just scared because I'm your sister and maybe mommy and Dad will find out." She gave that wicked laugh again and jumped up merrily, bouncing her breasts as she jumped. I began to feel the stirrings of passion again as my prick stiffened somewhat. She continued her little jig on the living room floor and now she was purposely raising her chest violently, each jump of her upper body sending her breasts upward and then down, as she laughed with her face raised toward the ceiling.
Something angered me as I watched her dance, her breasts jumping up and down, her laughter becoming louder and more shrill. I was reminded of the fifteen year old girl I had slapped and hit until her mouth was bleeding. It was the same wanton dance of the young temptress that had infuriated me and driven my rage to a fever pitch. Suddenly, I decided I did not like my sister at that moment. She was just another cunt like all the rest, using their cunt to drive men crazy and make them lose their control until the woman had the control she wanted.
Normally men can protect themselves from the temptations of the woman's cunt by remaining passive. By pretending to ignore them. This is man's defense against them. The defense is necessary because women make men lose control over themselves. This creates anger in men which is suppressed. When control fails the man, total violence is the only alternative.
But my philosophizing was about to translate itself into action.
"Come over here, you little bitch!" I firmly commanded. She looked at me and her lips began to tremble as she realized she had aroused a raging beast who until a moment ago had been caged. I began moving toward her. She was so terrified she couldn't move and stayed planted where she was as I came toward her and twisted her arm up behind her back to near the breaking point. Then I slapped her hard two or three times across the mouth until the beads of blood formed at the corner of mouth and the sight of her blood filled me with desire as I looked upon her terrified face. She crumpled to the floor and I stuck my first two fingers into her cunt working them roughly so that her cunt also began to bleed slightly. Then my prick became hard, stiffened to a hardness I could never achieve without using some form of violence in the cunt I was fucking.
She tried to roll over on her stomach to free her arm. I let her because that's the way I wanted her-on her stomach. I jumped on top of her round, tanned ass and thrust my rock hard penis roughly into her ass hole which she did not expect. She screamed "No, Shane, not in the asshole! I can't stand it. Please, please, no," she pleaded.
"If you play the temptress and you try to tease me or any other man this is what you'll get," I said. It will be a good lesson for her, I thought. I worked my penis in and out, trying to do it as roughly as possible, at the same time pulling her long, auburn hair tightly so that her neck was bent backward as I was screaming and thrusting my long shaft into her asshole. With each forward thrust she screamed horribly and the screams drove me to still further ecstasy as the prick reached the maximum hardness and the scum burst forth from my cock inside her asshole. I could feel the contractions of her sphincter muscles clamping around my prick and squeezing the last drop of cum out the spurting organ. She didn't speak to me for a couple of days after that. The fat lip she got from my hard slaps across her face were explained away to our parents as an accident suffered when she failed to catch a baseball I had thrown toward her. She feared me but at the same time I could see she was impressed by the rough way I treated her. I noticed she did not stop taking her routine shower after school and still walked naked past me.
By the third day she was making little faces at me to show her dislike. But I knew it wouldn't last long. We had a terrible secret between us that only we shared and no one else. She enjoyed just the thought of our sexual activity and was queerly excited at the dark secret we both kept from our parents. She could even forthrightly say that we had never ever fucked each other since I had not penetrated her cunt and shot off into it.
I was getting impatient to actually fuck her for I had only three days left on my furlough. Soon I would have to pack my duffel bag and head out to Travis Air Force Base in California where I would meet Slattery and Goettrich for the flight to Saigon. Only I knew what a lonely trip that would be since I would be leaving behind family and friends for an alien land , danger and very possibly death.
I could see in my sister's eyes that she was thinking the same thoughts. She would look at me like some poor sacrificial lamb and her eyes would become wet almost to the point of tears and then she would come over to the couch where I was sitting and begin to masturbate me as if to tell me she forgave me for hitting her and everything was all right again. She had brought a jar of vaseline with her and presented it to me as a surprise. Then she began working the jelly like a sculptor around the crown of my penis first. Then with artistic dabs she would apply larger gobs of the jelly to my penis, rubbing in enough to grease each side of my already hardened cock.
As she did this I began to put my fingers in her cunt as she knelt on the carpet on the living room floor. She softly sighed as I dug my fingers deeper into her vagina massaging the lips of her cunt and at the same time, greasing her tits with the vaseline until the nipples on her breasts stood erect and shone like polished door knobs.
Then she stopped her hand from running up and down the shaft of my penis and took my prick in her mouth as she tasted the greasy, oily vaseline and let it coat her lips and tongue. She held my balls tightly in a clenched fist that seemed to compress all the come in my jack, then she took her mouth off my oily prick and began tenderly kissing my balls and I offered my asshole to her. She responded and soon was again masturbating me as she was licking my asshole and murmuring words to herself. I couldn't hear or understand. Then the muscles in my asshole twitched as she stiffened her tongue and began the final strokes with her hand and I shot my wad of cum into the air, the sticky liquid spurting upward and arching over as it fell onto her hair, her head still stuck firmly between my legs. Then I heard a knock at the door. It was Dad, home early from work. I could tell from the silhouette in the opaque glass of the front door. Jill got her head out of my ass and stood for a moment, terrified in her greased up nakedness. "Go to the shower, "I told her. She was too frightened to think of anything else to do and ran like a startled squirrel into the shower room. I followed her toward the direction of the bathroom and went into my room at a fast walk, quickly toweled the come off my prick and thighs and jumped into some blue jeans.
I went to open the front door for Dad. He noted that I didn't have any T-shirt on which I usually wore with blue jeans, but otherwise his eyes didn't say anything or betray any suspicions he might have had about any sex going on between us. I searched those eyes for hours at a time and perhaps watched his moves too much at dinner, hoping that he would not notice any difference in the behavior between me and my sister. But I needn't have worried. Jill was already an accomplished actress and played the role of a younger sister like an Academy Award winner.
Only my mother seemed upset about something at the dinner table. And I felt by her downcast gaze that she suppressed at times, that she may have suspected what was going on. But it could only be her woman's intuition and she could not have any hard knowledge. And wouldn't dare breathe her suspicions to Dad. All Jill had to do was keep her mouth shut and even the memory would fade away in time. She could even go back to being fucked by some acne-faced creep at high school. For me the options were even better. I was leaving and on my way to a great adventure in Viet Nam. And even though I never fucked my sister, I enjoyed that furlough as no other vacation in my life.
It was just like play between children, what Jill and I did for each other. And besides I was going away and for all Jill knew, we might never see each other again. I regretted the violence I used against her, but I think it taught her something about men and the way they think about women. I hope now she won't grow into a tease and try to flaunt her cunt in front of men . Then maybe she won't be hurt by that uncontrollable rage I felt toward her when she laughed at my deflated prick.
CHAPTER THREE
The trip across the country to California was as lonely and full of fears as I had anticipated. I wore my army greens and was treated especially courteously by the cute stewardess that had charge of our section. I imagined I might attack her or somehow get her into one of the lavatories and then screw the daylights out of her. My prick got hard just looking at her as she twitched her fine ass as she walked on her rounds of the cabin.
I was depressed though, and stopped thinking about her. It would have been a waste of time. It was too easy to be caught in a situation like this. I thought about Slattery, that great wiseacre from jump school. I thought about Goettrich, somewhere in New York City sharpening up that eight inch German sausage for the women of Viet Nam. And I thought about death, the possibility of it now became a very real thing and I had never really thought about the subject at any great length.
Once we arrived at San Francisco International, a limousine or airport transport bus took me to the bus terminal in San Francisco where I boarded a US Air Force bus to Travis Air Force Base. Slattery and Goettrich had phoned me to tell me they were on the same flight-the Military Air Transportation Service (MATS) flight. The plane was an older model Boeing 707 chartered from World Airways. The flight was crowded as it was packed with nothing but men in uniform and the lovely stewardesses that were frostier than usual since they treated us as if we were baby rapers instead of men putting their lives on the line for their country.
I didn't feel like talking much, but Slattery who had a window seat was full of words as he gazed out the window at the mountains of clouds off to either side. He and I had never even been out of the country unlike Goettrich who had seen most all of Europe.
I was still depressed. And it didn't help matters when we were picked by an intelligence officer to watch some crates of secret material in the hold of the aircraft upon stopping over at Honolulu. The officer was worried some of the Hawaiian baggage men would unload the crates by mistake. So we spent the entire stopover sitting on the fucking crates watching these Hawaiians to make sure they didn't get carried away and unload all the boxes, especially the boxes we were sitting on.
Then came the ten hour leg to Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines. Goettrich spent most of the time in the terminal men's room stomping on ten legged giant insects with his combat boots. The heat was stifling. Slattery said we'd better get used to it because there'd be a lot of that kind of heat where we were going.
Then we reboarded for the final two hour leg to Saigon's Tan Son Nhut Airport. Where we could see languid GI's sitting on the hoods of jeeps, waiting for our arrival. They seemed to wear the oppressive heat like a heavy coat as they slumped on top of the jeeps. Then an officer, a Lieutenant Colonel came on board the aircraft and told us how we would be debarking. He called out the names of several units I did not recognize the names of. Then he mentioned the 173rd Airborne Brigade.
"That's us," said Slattery, urging us into the aisle of the plane.
We walked down the gangway and were directed by the officer to the terminal building that had a corrugated tin roof covering its large area. We were herded into the building. There were no folding chairs left to sit on. All of them were already occupied by a couple hundred men dressed in starched khakis.
The air was even more oppressive inside the building even though it was well ventilated, all the windows open and the overhead fly fans turning not too rapidly. A Specialist Fourth Class was conducting an orientation to Viet Nam for us new arrivals. The blue bottle flies, some the size of bombers looped through the air carelessly, unconcerned with all the people who were too lethargic from the heat to give any but the most casual swat of the hand to send them away to bother other people.
The Specialist was talking about sex. It was going to be a problem for the military in Viet Nam. But I never suspected how much of a problem until later events taught me.
"I direct your attention, gentlemen, to the brochure just distributed among you, "the Specialist said. Turning to page three we can see are listed the four C's of VD prevention. VD is a serious problem here and we want all you fine young men to go back home in one piece, and that means with your dick's still swingin!
"There are some wild strains of gonorrhea and syphilis operating in Viet Nam. One's called the 'Candle', which wastes your prick away until it melts down to the size of a wart. Needless to say, this one will put a crimp in your sex life. The other one to watch out for is called Bull Head clap which turns the channel you piss through into a corduroy road of pus balls that make it so painful to piss you'd be wishing you could piss through your nose. The only way to cure Bull Head clap is to take the umbrella cure. The umbrella, for those of you who've led a sheltered life, is an instrument with sharp metal blades folded into a metal shaft. The shaft is inserted all the way into your penis and then the blades spring out just like an umbrella, cutting open the pus balls inside your dick. Needless to say, this is not a pleasant operation to go through.
"I'm not trying to scare you, gentlemen, just trying to warn you about some of the temptations that may come your way and how to protect yourself against them. Now, in
Saigon they have "these bars and they have hostesses in these bars. They'll come up to you like your the greatest looking guy on earth. They'll tell you, you look just like Errol Flynn and probably fuck as well, too. But don't be fooled, gentlemen. These little sluts are not only out to get your prick in their slanted cunt, they're also getting a hand into your wallet and will drink you under the table if you buy them a drink, because all they drink is ' Saigon Tea' which is mostly left over coke or colored water.
"But just watch out if you're planning to ride bareback on these cunts, because you could wind up in the hospital with a case of syph or clap and, as I've indicated this can be very, very expensive pleasure for you. Some of them will have pussies hotter than a four alarm fire. They'll look perfectly healthy, just like they've been working out at the gym every day, but they might be carrying the disease straight to your prick and eventually to your brain.
That is why we recommend highly to you the four C's of VD prevention Continence, Condom, Cleanliness and Care. Now let's go over these four C's individually.
Continence-that means don't fuck. That's the best way ever thought of to prevent VD, How are you going to get VD if you don't fuck ? No way ! Condom-that means use a rubber and you significantly minimize the risk of VD. Cleanliness-wash your prick and asshole as soon as you can after making contact. Care-be careful. Look at the cunt you're fucking and maybe you won't want to fuck. Put it under the microscope and look for inflammation, swelling and other symptoms. Remember Gentlemen, it's your dork, so don't sell it short ! "he said in conclusion. Then an officer stood up and told us there were trucks to fuck up certain units. He called out the names of the units and the men exited to their assigned area. The officer announced that new arrivals assigned to the 173rd Airborne Brigade would be quartered at the Headquarters Reception Unit at Tan son Nhut until transportation could be arranged to Bien Hoa. Slattery, Goettrich and I picked up our duffel bags and walked outside where we met a Captain Clark from Headquarters Company. He was forty-five years old and still only a captain and not even airborne, at that. The Captain ordered us into the jeep and told us to push our duffel bags in the jump seat in the rear.
We arrived at the Headquarters Reception Company and went through the usual routine of handing over our service records to the two clerks who sat smugly behind the counter, wearing white T-shirts and jungle fatigues just like they were real warriors.
We were assigned three bunks in a hootch with screens for sides and a corrugated tin roof. After unpacking the three of us made plans to go on the town and take a look at some of these dangerous cunts we had been warned about. After the VD lecture we were beginning to think that sticking our dick into Vietnamese pussy was like Russian roulette. Naturally, being airborne we we knew the stories were mostly bullshit and was just supposed to put the fear into us so we could stay operational as long as possible.
The guy in the next bunk over was named Yanovich, and he was on some kind of drugs. I think it was reds by the look of his eyes. He was completely hopped up. All three of us were wearing neck ties close to the neck. Yanovich said, "What are you wearing those things for, rookies. That's for stateside, man. This is the tropics. You don't want to be seen wearing one of those things." Then he started untying my tie. I kicked him in the shin with my right boot and he screamed like the Saigon Commando he was.
"Ouch," he screamed." What the hell did you do that for?" I felt like a heel for doing it to him, but Slattery and Goettrich were there and a few other permanent headquarters people were lying in their bunks staring up at the ceiling like they were meditating on some profound things. Or probably, they were only thinking about getting their next piece of ass to slide their sweaty pricks into.
"I'm only trying to help you guys out," cried Yanovich. "Hey, maybe you need someone to show you the sights in Saigon. You won't be here long before you're out humping the bush. Let me take you into town tonight. I'll show you some pretty cunts I know on a first name basis. They might even slide you some pussy for free. That's how good they know me!"
I said it sounded all right to me. Slattery and Goettrich seemed to think it was all right, too. But first Yanovich was urging us over to the service club for a few drinks before going into town. That way we could really enjoy Saigon. It was not a good town to be sober in.
The four of us, after showering and dressing in civvies walked over to the service club and bought some chits and signed for them. Then we took seats at the round table nearest the front of the building. The fly fans turned slowly overhead. It was getting late. One of the busty Vietnamese waitresses came over in her blue and white uniform complete with small hat and took our orders.
Normally, you don't expect Vietnamese women to have big tits but the Americans like them with big tits. And when the service club manager finds them, he hires them just like that. So this golden faced cunt comes over with our drinks placed on her tray and sets them down in front of us. As she bent down to serve the drinks, I could see down the front of her dress and gazed into the valley of her tits so that my prick became hard from looking. She was a cute one and knew all along what I was doing and smiled at me. Well that was just fine with me.
She bent over for what seemed a long time, giving us a good look at her well shaped, brown breasts and talking like a bird all the time in pigeon English.
"You new to Viet Nam?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "We beaucoup new here and don't know anybody. Maybe you be my friend and give me a place to stay?"
She laughed as all Vietnamese do when they become embarrassed. Then she did something strange. She came over to my side of the table, to take my chits, I thought, and as she did so, she ran her left hand over my cock and played with it for an instant. The other three noticed it and laughed and the waitress stood up and laughed. While she was running her hand over my cock she bent very low and let me have a very long look at her tits, which I could see were beautifully shaped and brown.
"You like Viet Nam, GI?"she said. "I like," I said.
"You beaucoup," she said and laughed before turning toward the kidney-shaped bar to get some more drinks from the Vietnamese bartender who was dressed in a plain white short-sleeved shirt and black bow tie, the uniform of all Vietnamese bartenders.
"I wonder what that was all about," I said.
"She means you've got a big cock, Shane. She likes you. Most Vietnamese women like men with big cocks. They're so used to the smaller kind that hang on the zip men. The zips don't have very big cocks," said Yanovich.
"That's one nice piece of snatch," Slattery said.
"Yeah," said Yanovich. "She's probably screwed every guy in the unit ten times each. That's how she makes ends meet. Saigon is expensive for the Vietnamese since the Americans came and drove up the rents and food prices with all the green
"Have you fucked her yet, "said Goettrich to Yanovich.
"Sure I have. Several times. She gives blow jobs too, but you have to get her to like you for her to do that."
I looked around at a few of the other waitresses as they ferried drinks from the bar to the tables. They were all nice pieces of ass, with cute little butts and soft, well-shaped breasts that lit a fire in my prick and made it stand on end.
But these waitresses were nothing compared to the cunt who had just come in with some Vietnamese musicians. The three music men were connecting up their electric guitars, setting up drums and fine tuning the baby grand piano that stood at the front of the club.
The Vietnamese woman was dressed in black silk stockings and nothing more around her body than a garter belt. She had no bra on, her yellowish breasts were brown at the nipples and shook with every step she took. She wore her hair up and the bare nape of her long graceful neck turned my penis to stone as I looked at her.
The band went into a funeral version of "Hang on Sloopy, Sloopy, Hang On," as the electric guitar pounded out the rhythm and the piano player carried the melody. The T-shirted GI's in f pants and combat boots turned to look as the girl shook her ass around and pranced among the tables, every now and then coming up to a drunk, but happy-looking GI and running her hand over his cock and then letting the GI grab and hold her two breasts for a moment before pretending to be both hurt and disgusted with men and then running off to another table where she let still another GI fondle her large breasts and stick his fingers into her cunt. Everyone in the joint laughed at this, even several of the officers at the bar enjoyed the show. Except myself, Shane Harris. I hate prick teasers and I wanted to take this woman's cunt by my entire hand and tear it inside out. I was also depressed. I wondered how much all this imagine club and entertainment were costing the American taxpayers.
Then for a finale the girl straddled a coke bottle that had been weighted to the floor and she began to do a limbo straddle, gradually lowering herself onto the Coke bottle until the lips of the bottle entered her cunt and the GI's screamed and applauded as she sat on the Coke bottle, the entire top half of the bottle inside her cunt. Then she got up and walked around the club to the beat of the guitars and drums with the Coke bottle clamped firmly in place in her vagina. The amazing thing was that the bottle was full of Coca Cola and she never spilled a drop of liquid from her cunt. Then she proceeded to lower the bottle to the floor gradually and released it from her cunt's vise-like grip. Then she released the bottle in a perfectly upright position and took her bows.
"That's Madame Yvette," said Yanovich. "She's got a cunt that can squeeze you till you think you're going blind! Believe me, I know."
"We've killed this place," said Shane. "Let's head into Saigon and see what's up for grabs."
"Okay," said Yanovich, beginning to sound a little drunk after several rounds of martinis. "We have to get a Lambretta taxi to take us to the main gate of the base, then we can get a taxi or a motor-driven cyclo to take us into town. First we'll go to Tu Do Street or Rue Catinat as the French call it."
We went to one place called the Bristol Bar where the girls were all topless and you could play cards with them if you bought them drinks. Yanovich was playing with one girl's tits instead of playing cards. If you paid them really a lot of money you could fuck them in the back rooms but the prices were outrageous. The Vietnamese police, the white mice, seldom bothered to arrest the girls even though prostitution was against the law in Viet Nam.
Next Yanovich took us on a wild ride in a taxi to the Da Kao section of the city to a bar called Renee's. The four of us sat at the crowded bar drinking beer Vietnamese style, with ice in it as we looked at the tits on the topless girl bartenders and decided which of them we were going to fuck in one of the back rooms.
Renee's was a "short-time" bar where some people in the diplomatic corps and some foreigners connected with the construction companies went to unload their sperm before retiring for the night .
I drew a busty bar girl with a tight ass, and those thick, meaty thighs, that I enjoyed putting my head between. I offered two hundred piasters for a fuck, and said, "It better be good."
I said I'd double the money for a very good blow job. The heavily made up girl rested her large breasts on top of the bar as she blew smoke into my face. This one was spoiled by those who spent all their pay on this gorgeous slut just to rub their faces in her hefty tits and sink their hard cocks in her cunt.
"It will cost you for that cunt," said Yanovich. "Her name's Celine and she does 'around the world' terrific. I had her suck on my asshole for two hours straight once. It took her all of one hour just to suck on the balls. And she spent almost three hours on my prick. She dragged it out that long before I came like a whale spouting sea water!"
Yanovich didn't mention how much all this attention from Celine cost him, but he must have been broke the rest of the month, for having a good time.
Celine was beautiful with the natural tan coloring of the skin that gave her skin a golden color. Soft shoulder came down from her dress straps as I looked at her breasts resting there in their shallow containers which was a half-bra she wore under the deep neckline of her dress. Her breasts had the softness and firmness combined into a beautiful combination of tits. They filled me with desire for her whole body as I stared in a trance, absolutely captivated by her perfect shape and softness of texture.
She must have noticed I was looking at them pretty hard, because she leaned toward me and we were almost face to face.
"You like these, GI?" she said, taking her left tit out of her dress top and waving it in front of my face. The sight of the tit and the smell of the cheap perfume that she must have rubbed on her breasts filled me with desire.
"I like," I said.
"You know lots GI like these tits. For tits you have to pay some. For my ass you have to pay ti-ti more. For my pussy you will cost a great deal, maybe one thousand P for short-time."
"That's a lot of money," said I. I began to think I could bargain her down to maybe five hundred, but if I couldn't I was prepared to pay the one thousand, so hot was my desire for this golden goddess with the neat set of tits.
"How about five hundred P?" I offered. But she knew what her body was worth. Her beautiful body-just a commodity with a fluctuating price on it like it was a bag of rice or a shipment of hog's bellies.
I surrendered and passed her the one thousand piasters in the form of two 500 piastre notes. She took them and tucked them down the front of her dress into the nice warm spot where her tits met and where I hoped I would soon be nestling my head.
Celine came out from the behind the bar and led me through a beaded curtain to the back of the bar. This was where the short-time fucks took place and where we would be fucking each other shortly. The only thing wrong was that there was a whole crowd of people at the bar who had the same idea and we saw seven or eight Americans in their underwear, briefs and shorts evenly mixed. Their girl partners were down to their panties already, stripped for action and tits wobbling. This must be one of the finest collections of tit in Viet Nam I thought as I waited my turn in line and hugged and kissed Celine, sticking my fingers down her panties and into her cunt just to get her loosened up to take my huge hard penis.
The other couples were also doing the same thing. One girl was laughing wildly as she masturbated one of the Americans ahead of Celine and myself. He was a forty-five year old man who looked like he was a sergeant. You can always tell those types by the pot belly from too much beer drinking and eating. The Navy and Air Force wouldn't permit that so easily, I thought.
The middle-aged N.C.O. was really upset by the girl jerking off right there in front of the other couples who were waiting to go into one of the small compartments that had a bed. He was worried he wouldn't be able to come when the real thing came along and he would have to 'put his dick in keep it in or risk laughter and embarrassment from these women who only judged men by one standard, how long their prick was when hard and how long they could keep it that way.
From one of the compartments off to my left, I could hear painful moans from behind the bed sheet that was strung up as a screen for privacy. The moans became louder, till I thought the guy must be killing the girl.
Finally, the girl ran from behind the screen nearly knocking me over and she was crying. She had a nice tight ass and small but firm tits. I would have liked to fuck her myself except her cunt was bleeding like a stuck pig.
Then out from behind the screen stepped a huge American negro with a shiny, black prick waving in the breeze of the overhead fans. The prick dripped some cum on the wooden floor and I could see it was about a foot long even though the lighting was not too good and the heat was beginning to make my head go fuzzy.
I saw one man, a rather distinguished looking gentleman who was two places in line ahead of Celine and me. He looked like the sort who shouldn't be at Renee's. He was in his fifties and had a gray-haired crew cut and he was tall. While he was waiting on line he spent his time sucking on his girl's tits and finger-masturbating her. Then I saw him jam his first three fingers of his right hand up her asshole. I think with a little effort he could have got his whole hand up in there.
I was watching this and then it was our turn. Celine led me into the tiny compartment and immediately she went on her back and signaled me to come to her. She wanted the old missionary position so she could save herself the trouble of moving her ass around.
I was truly going to be fucked if I let her get away with that old trick. So I grabbed her by the tits and yanked her up to a sitting position that threatened, it seemed, to pull her breasts off her body. She screamed loudly but now I had an attentive audience to listen to me.
"You not on back," I said. Then I made a gesture and said, "You suck, suck, okay?"
She said nothing but seemed both embarrassed and physically in pain from having her tits pulled. But that was the risk these girls took when they got into bed with hard-fighting GI's. These men were not about to be pushed around by any cheap Vietnamese tramp who waves a cunt in their faces. And I wasn't going to let them do it to me either. I knew begging them for sex, it could never be any good. Once the first step was taken to kiss the asses of these bitches a man would lose his balls and there would never be any good sex for him. The women would be doing all the fucking since they used their shiny cunts to make a man less of a man. So my motto was not to give an inch.
I slapped Celine around the face a few times just to stop her whining and to convince her that I wasn't kidding about giving me a blow job. At first, almost reluctantly, she got on her hands and knees, her breasts hanging downward. I lay on my back as she bent her head over my semi-hard penis and then she began to take it in her mouth, at first gently then more firmly. She seemed to know what she was doing. I wanted that very special 'around the world' operation Yanovich had mentioned.
As Celine planted her face on top of my now rigid prick she went straight down on it violently. The strokes her mouth made as she went up and down, went clear down to where my balls met the shaft of my dick.
I told her she was going too fast and that I wanted her first to work on my asshole before blowing me off. She mumbled something at me, her speech garbled by the huge mass of penis still in her mouth. She looked cute when she spoke this, just like a kid with an all day sucker to use her tongue on. I was enjoying the blow job, but it was too fast for me. I was dreaming of some agonizingly slow blow job starting with a tongue in the ass to get me good and worked up. I pointed my finger down toward my asshole and she understood and nodded her head up and down, my prick still in her mouth. She was probably hoping she would force me to blow my cum all into her mouth and she could get her thousand P without doing anything except giving me a blow job. That would save her the problem of douching and she wouldn't even feel like she had to wash her hands-just a quick gargle with water and you could kiss old Shane's prick goodbye.
Celine was holding out for more money and was beginning to go into the selfish whine that all Vietnamese whores went into when they thought they were being cheated out of what they were worth.
I grabbed her cunt by the short hairs until they were pulled out as she began to scream from the intense pain of the hair removal process and finally she pleaded and cried for me to stop pulling out her cunt hair. I promised I would if she would give up ideas for any more money and start giving me the slow roll of her tongue around my asshole. She agreed.
The cum and sewage stink that came from the outhouse toilet in the adjoining room. Plumbing was not Viet Nam's strong suit.
But even with the rankness of the smells around me I began to be intoxicated by the odors rather than repelled. I smelled Celine, that strange exotic smell of oriental women with their small pores in fine, soft skin. And that was Celine as her breasts touched the sheets as she knelt down to stick her outstretched tongue into my beckoning rectum.
She worked her tongue in circular soft motions, licking the lining of my anus and using subtle, strange pressures I had never felt before.
She used a variety of twists, rolls and loops of her tongue to excite every nerve ending of my anus and bring tears to my eyes, so intense was the pleasure. Yet, as pleasurable as this was, it was not the direct erotic penis-hardening type of pleasure. I simply enjoyed her, watching her in her bent over, kneeling position entirely at my command and willing to do anything to keep me from getting angry again. Her face had swollen a little from the slaps, I noticed.
Then she began to work her tongue around my balls and lick the area directly in front of the balls and around the little hollow of skin that connected the balls to the shaft of the penis. She was becoming aroused herself as she saw the rock hard staff of my prick stand at attention and flourish in its life as her tender lips took the head into its caressing folds and she began to suck on it and I could see Celine's eyes go moist. She began to stick her fingers into her cunt while she continued to suck on my prick. She rammed her first three fingers into the hidden folds of her little, pink cunt as her soft moans excited me and I pressed the side of her ass to urge her onward. She quickened the tempo, her own masturbation and her blowing me out. My brain congealed with the feelings of lust that engulfed me as night went dark and I could feel my entire being concentrated into my penis. Then it was like the ground trembled. I spurted forth a rocket of sperm into her mouth that threatened to drown her where she knelt. Her own hand was still moving inside her cunt and her body suddenly convulsed with a jerky motion that seemed to last for several seconds. Then it was over and we both lay back exhausted from the effort of our orgasms.
I complimented Celine on the way she blew me out.
"You did that number one, Celine," I said. "But you no fuck me," said Celine. "We'll save that for another time," I said. I was in a hurry to get out of Renee's place for it was getting to be time to head back to Tan Son Nhut, or we would soon be in big trouble with the commanding officer, Reception Headquarters Company. He was a Captain who had been assigned to look over us transit guests to make sure we acted like real soldiers while we were in Saigon and didn't fuck up too badly and make an ass out of ourselves and of him. I looked for Yanovich, Slattery and Goettrich, but it was impossible to tell these guys from other GI's in the dim light and since all the men were either nude or wearing underwear. I was amazed at how similar men look under their underwear.
Yanovich came walking toward me with his arm and the hand attached to it covering the left tit of the very young teenager he had taken into some other compartment.
"How was Celine, Shane. I told you she could ream a lead pipe with that tongue of hers, didn't I."
"Yeah, she was great," I said. "But we have to get back. It's about 10:30. If we don't get back soon our ass will be grass and I have a feeling that captain of ours is going to be the mower."
Just at that moment Slattery and Goettrich came toward us still clad in their underwear. They were pissed off because they hadn't been able to get a compartment to fuck their girls in. They both had cute ones, too. One had a Brigitte Bardot hair do with the hair worn up and had small, very delicate breasts but the curvature the breasts made with the waist and her hips made her seem much bigger in the tits than she actually was. This one was Slattery's girl and she appeared to be very friendly and the type you could probably take advantage of. She was so young a whore that she was still unspoiled by the money she was making but that would all change in a year or two. The girls age fast in this profession and she was bound to put on two years of age in her face for every one year in actual time. Goettrich's girl, if you could call her that, was in her middle thirties but was still attractive in her way.
She had the hardness the professional prostitute that comes to the face with years of fucking. I really had to admit that Oriental women withstood the hardening process of prostitution better than American women did. It was barely perceptible in the faces of the older Vietnamese prostitutes.
I wondered about the past of this damn woman, whose breasts were still firm but wose cunt had a rough, worn look around the edges of the lips of her cunt. How many French Foreign Legionnaires had she screwed during the French Indo-China war when she could have started her whoring life as a teenage cuntress.
I could tell that she had been quite beautiful once. Maybe she had been discovered by some big time French general and chosen to become his mistress for the duration of the war. But time was going fast. I knew it and so did Slattery and Goettrich. We were all enjoying Saigon for the time being, screwing the women, eating at the fine restaurants and behaving and feeling as if we owned the place.
The three of them would sure be in hell if we didn't get back to base soon. Slattery and Goettrich almost jumped into their civie trousers and found a taxi stopped in the street outside the bar. There was an elderly
Vietnamese couple talking with the driver, probably about the fare to some point in the city.
"Wait there, mother fuck!" shouted Slattery at the cab driver. "We want to go to Tan Son Nhut, do you hear that boy.. .Tan Son Nhut."
I felt like I must have the cab to simply avoid the punishment I knew was coming if I did not get back to base by ll:00 and sign in at the orderly room. But Goettrich solved the problem for me.
Goettrich took the old Vietnamese man and woman and with one sweep of his arms , took both of them and replaced them down on the ground two or three feet from where they had been standing, in front of the taxi door. They had been blocking Goettrich, Slattery and I, and the only way to get into the cab was to remove them. Actually the old woman had taken the first step to entering the cab before Goettrich whisked both of them aside. The cab driver was holding out for a thousand P for the long drive to Tan Son Nhut and he refused to turn the meter on.
Slattery was about ready to kill the fucker. "What does this guy think he is, a blow job artist.! That's what I pay for imagine-assed blow jobs from good looking Vietnamese whores, but not from cab drivers!"
Finally, Goettrich lost his patience and pulled out a .45 automatic revolver and held it to the driver's head. The poor guy almost shit in his pants. At least I'm sure he pissed in them for he turned on the meter and started off like a bullet for Tan Son Nhut and got us back just in time. I had to admire Goettrich for the way he does things. I had to respect him. I was always doubting myself like a regular Hamlet. But old Goettrich just pops out the gun at the right time and off we go. Problems just seem to be brushed aside when he's along. And the way he carried away the old Vietnamese man and woman who were about to get away with our cab. Man, he did it so swift and the timing was perfect. I know it sounds rough but this is a military country filled with soldiers and there isn't much room for observing decencies to civilians when their civilian rights come into conflict with soldiers requirements to avoid being disciplined. If we hadn't taken the cab from them some other GI's would have.
Three days later I was to remember this night with sadness. I noticed a yellowish liquid oozing out of my penis and staining my white cotton drawers. That Celine had given me the clap. I thought I was playing it safe by having her give me a blow job but she had the crummy clap and gave it to me anyway! In humiliation I had to go to Third Field Hospital two days before I was scheduled to leave for Bien Hoa. But Slattery and Goettrich would be leaving as scheduled. I would be staying behind in Saigon another week. because I couldn't travel while sick. That's according to army regulations.
At the field hospital, a punk army clerk told me, "Okay, take down your pants and let's see what you got!"
He told me they were going to do a 'Green Stain' test. They rudely shoved me a glass slide and told me to dribble some of the pus from my prick on the glass. Then they put it under a heavy looking microscope.
"Ah, there it is," he said. "straight cocci. You'll be fine if you take tetracycline for it." Then he asked name of the girl I'd fucked. I didn't want to admit that I'd been blown because these were army guys and they might think a guy who has that done is a little strange. They wouldn't believe me if I told them I didn't fuck this girl. But I also didn't want Celine to get in trouble especially if I was going to see her again. I still would like to have her masturbate me while she's masturbating herself before I go up to Bien Hoa. If I reported her to these guys in the white coats, they'll send over a list of names and addresses to the Vietnamese authorities and drag Celine into some clinic by force if need be. These buckaroos don't fool around with peasantry. It's just the old knock at the door in the night sort of thing, and that's it, they're gone. Well I wasn't going to be a stoolee. And I didn't really care if other GI's got it off her either, especially since it seemed to be a very plain strain of gonorrhea and nothing like the Bull Head clap or other horrible forms of VD.
But even though I still wanted to see Celine I quietly hated her for giving me the clap. I was torn between love of those tight blow jobs and hate for what she had done to my prick. The pain was beginning to get serious in my prick the same day I went to the hospital for treatment. I would consciously postpone urinating until I felt I had built up enough courage to stand the pain. I would brace myself against the concrete wall of the latrine and hold my breath and pray there wouldn't be much piss coming out this time. It was too painful and I felt as if I hated all women for doing this to me. It was the crime of them all because the VD was like a weapon that I believed they carried and used it as a threat against men, a minor castration that temporarily robbed us of the pleasure of using our prick on women's cunts.
While I was at the field hospital a Doctor Johannes came by in his white smock and gave me a standard lecture complete with pictures. The lecture concerned VD and he showed me horrible pictures of testicles without pricks of living human beings. "The Candle," the doctor said. Then he showed me a picture of a prick covered with round holes that covered the shaft of the penis and the head of the prick itself.
"It's called 'sinkhole' Syphilis," he said. "Those holes get deeper and eventually destroy the veins and the whole prick has to be amputated to prevent infection from spreading."
He showed me another picture of a penis with a thin metal rod running through the piss-hole. "That's called 'the umbrella', "said Johannes and it's got little metal razors that zip out at the push of the button to slash pus balls and sores that won't discharge. If you let this kind of clap or any clap go long enough it will ruin you sexually. Just normal clap will cause sterility. Some of these photos I've shown you demonstrate forms of clap that will require castration if left untreated."
The doctor looked sad-eyed as he stared at some of the photos.
"These here are all photographs of pricks that belonged to our GI's. Now the men that belonged to them are without hope of having normal sexual lives. They are all victims of the
Viet Nam war. I hope you don't become one of them, son."
Then as he turned to leave, he stopped and looked me dead in the eye. "You know, Harris, sometimes I think I could almost hate women when I see what they do to men's pricks." Then he left through the swinging doors of the laboratory and I could hear the steady, sad click of his heels on the linoleum floor of the corridor.
CHAPTER FOUR
While I was taking my clap pills and in general, just fucking off in Saigon at government expense I had a chance to wander around the city myself now that Slattery and Goettrich had gone ahead to Bien Hoa to join the brigade. In a way, I hated myself for not going with them. The sex and corruption of Saigon were making me sick. And my relations were not very good with the HQ personnel since they guessed that' I had contempt for them since they were the Saigon commandos and I was a genuine elite member of an elite fighting unit, the 173rd Airborne Brigade.
It was impossible not to feel contempt for these people who walked around in bush hats and made a hobby of collecting Viet Cong souvenirs which they bought from those who really had earned them by capturing them from dead or captured Viet Cong.
The HQ Company supply clerk, Tills was always getting in trouble with the commanding officer because of the letters Tills wrote home to his parents. Tills would write about how he couldn't stand the night attacks by the enemy and the roar of battle and the closeness of the guns. His descriptions of fictitious combat events were apparently so vivid that Tills' mom and dad wrote the commanding officer and told him it was terrible for their child to be living under such conditions and they would write to their congressman and get him to do something about the conditions over there in Viet Nam.
Tills' "Letters from the battlefield" were, of course, phony. They spent their off duty hours fucking everything that they could, but only if they had enough money to pay for it. These were the frustrated commandos of Saigon whose only war wounds would be the scar tissue left on the linings of their penis' interior.
I was completely fed up with Saigon by this time and was waiting to get the all clear before having my new orders cut to go to Bien Hoa. Then the orders were cut and I was called to the orderly room by the loudspeaker system. I had two more nights in Saigon and then I would join my unit at Bien Hoa.
I was so happy I could have jerked off right then and there when the captain told me himself. I was determined to enjoy my final nights there since I hadn't gone out much when Slattery and Goettrich left for Bien Hoa. When you have VD in the army they almost make you feel like a walking patient and you yourself believe you're in need of convalescence. But my prick had been healing well. I was still taking my tetracycline pills and the bottle was almost empty. So I figured I was ready to go out and try my prick out on the Vietnamese womanhood.
I decided to walk all the way into Saigon from the base and shunned taxis that followed me like sharks hoping to overcharge me for a ride into town. It was a good hour's walk but it was pleasant walking along under the shaded, tree-lined boulevards. I thought what a pretty place this city would be if only it was at peace. The war made the city ugly, with its prostitution, corruption and cruelty.
The war had devastated the countryside and refugees had come into the city and set up thousands of crude shacks without any plumbing or sanitary standards. These areas stunk from the accumulated garbage and sewage that emptied out into the ground.
As I walked along I was stopped by a small Vietnamese child. He waved me down and held his hand up for me to stop. "Wait, GI," he said. "You like fuck-fuck, I get you little girl. She's my sister. You no like, you fuck mama-san. Okay?"
I felt sorry for the kid. He was one of the refugees who lived in the shanty towns that dotted the Saigon metropolitan area. The pest holes that served as a receptacle for human waste, garbage and the crashed dreams of poor simple village folk who only wanted to be left alone. But the war had not let them alone. They had been bombed and burned and driven from their villages until the only safe places seemed Saigon itself since most of the countryside was raging with fighting and napalm bomb attacks.
This little child was without skills, as probably his mother and sister were. Now they too were statistics in the list of walking wounded casualties of the Viet Nam war. They had their skins, but that's about all they had. And now the mother and sister were probably forced into prostitution just to make a living in the inflationary economy the Americans had created.
The sorrowful thing was the pleading in his eyes for me to fuck his sister or his mother in that order.
"You fuck my sister. She eleven. Very tight. Only 400 P. Number one, you bet!" Then he came closer using his hands to brush at my trouser legs like some little midget pitchman. "You fuck mama-san, only one thousand P. She number one fuck, you bet."
The most distressing thing was the begging look in his eyes. Here was the true horror of war. When you think the horror of war has caused their condition, you are asked to help them. But they don't want charity. All these women had to sell was their sex and this was a very hot commodity in Saigon. I thought that if it came to a choice between starving and living by fucking GI's, I would have to say a life of prostitution was better than starving. Now I was being asked to help these unfortunate people by contributing to their meager money supply so that they could eat rice and stay alive yet another day in their now pitiful lives.
"Which you like, sister little girl or mama-san?" he asked, tugging insistently at my trousers. He was probably very hungry I thought and so were his mother and sister.
Finally, I thought, ' what the heck'. How could it hurt and maybe the sister was a tight cunt, after all just like the kid who claimed to be her brother had said. And I had no reason to doubt his word.
The kid led me down a narrow, muddy alley and made a left and a right turn which led us into even more narrower alleys where the homes gradually became cruder and cruder the farther we went down this twisting turning maze of shacks. They were nothing but packing crates, probably stolen from the docks where the American ships unloaded supplies. I lowered my head and walked into a small room. The walls were reinforced with corrugated tin on the outside to prevent this playhouse from dissolving in the rain. The boy introduced me to his sister, a cute little Vietnamese girl with shiny, reddish-black hair that took me by surprise. Her eyes looked at me, or rather stared at me and finally she broke into a smile. I noticed she had no breast development through her thin blouse, but the hips had developed into a womanly shape already. The mother, a woman in her early thirties sat silently by one of the cut out windows with cheap towels acting as droopy curtains. She gave me a perfunctory smile, but she had seen too many GI's and I gathered she had only recently begun selling her cunt to the GI's. But she seemed glad enough to get the 400 piastres as I grabbed the little girl, whose name was Mai, on the ass and began taking off her black silk pajama pants.
The mother and son left us together as they went out into the alley way to give me some privacy. I took off the little girl's pants completely and I was surprised to see that she was an experienced stripper in the company of American GI's,. I helped her off with her silk blouse and she stood in front of me, completely naked and I could see the buds of two breasts beginning to develop although it was hardly enough for me to grab hold . She came up to me like a mature woman. Somebody must have taught her how to do it-probably her mother. She put her little toothpick arms around me and began deep kissing me and sucking the air out of my mouth like she was a Hoover vacuum cleaner. My prick stiffened as she began unzipping my fly. She had worked her fingers through the fly opening of my damp underwear and now had my penis in her hands having strung it through the fly of my underwear and the fly of my trousers. She lowered her head and began sucking on the head of my prick and she tried not to use her small baby teeth on the prick but it was difficult because my prick was so large in her small mouth.
The passion swelled in me as she worked her mouth around the head of my prick that I began spurting sperm into her mouth before I even knew I was ready. I had gone without sex for so long because of the clap that the pressure for release was intense and immediate. She kept on sucking me off with her little mouth still working obediently, but her eyes looked sad because she must have hoped I would fuck her in the cunt and now I probably wouldn't be able to get it hard again soon.
The mother came in and spoke a few words in Vietnamese to the little girl. The mother spoke to me. "She say you come. She suck, you want fuck-fuck 400 P more".
I liked the little girl so much I agreed to this thievery. It was probably a standard gimmick to have the little girl or the mother blow a GI off and then ask for 400 piastres again for the fuck.
I was more than willing to pay the 400 P extra and handed it over to the mama-san, although I must have worn a pained expression since Saigon was beginning to strip me of all the money I had carried over from the states. Fucking and drinking had emptied my pockets. But I needed just one more wild fling before going off to combat. This time the little girl knew exactly what I wanted and pushed me lightly on my back as she scaled me like some huge, fleshy mountain and manually excited my prick to stand up straight. When she had my huge prick to the right degree of hardness, she took a long wondrous look at my organ, much like a child marveling at some new sight or event that captivates its perception.
Then when she was ready she climbed atop my prick and lowered herself by squatting on to the point of my prick gradually. Part of the reason I had paid the 400 piastres was to see if her eleven-year-old cunt could contain my seven inch prick. But I shouldn't have worried. She expertly spread the lips of her little cunt and guided the head of my dick into her cunt opening. Then, so gradually, that it seemed like minutes, she took a long time to settle on the prick. After what seemed like minutes she had gradually lowered herself by squatting so that her cunt had taken half the length of the shaft of my cock. Still more slowly she lowered herself even more and I could feel the moisture on the inside of her cunt ease the way of my prick.
When she had lowered herself completely and her cunt had consumed my entire penis I looked up at her face and she looked at me and we smiled at each other. Hers said, "Hey, there, I bet you thought I couldn't do it." My smile seemed to say "You surprised me. I didn't think you could do it."
Then she proceeded to truly amaze me by beginning a series of twists and swivels with her young tight hips that sent my prick to its hardest point that it had ever felt. The sheer tightness of her little cunt threatened to cut off the circulation of blood to the veins in my cock so that the effect of hardening was even more sensuous than I had ever felt before. She rode my hot penis, literally like it was some wild stallion and she squatted and had to jump up to polish off the tip of my prick and then squat down again to polish the lower length of the shaft. It was like watching a very little girl doing deep knee bend exercises on top of my prick and just happening to drive me to orgasm.
She quickened the tempo as my prick and her cunt became more lubricated and the sliding cunt seemed like it was a glove made for my penis. She jumped up and down, faster and faster and the world took on beautiful colors of red and blue that seemed to wipe out the war, the poverty, the prostitution and the corruption that was all around.
As my prick hardened to its most intense tightness as her tiny cunt squeezed it and pressured my prick I knew that I was going to shoot outward in a violent stream of sperm that would penetrate her small child's cunt and possibly impregnate her. I knew that I had licked the gonorrhea and so I had no fears about that, for I did not want to give the child my disease.
Then I came into her with the most concentrated force I have ever shot sperm with. It was into her and dripping out of her at the same time as her little cunt could not contain the flood of sperm that overcame her tiny vagina.
She hopped off when she realized I had shot my sperm bag of all its contents. She ran off to get a cold towel to wipe my head and got me my trousers and my shoes and socks. I dressed and was prepared to leave the filthy hovel, but the mother reappeared and demanded that I pay another 400 piastres for the extra special fuck of her daughter and for the towel service. That's the only sense I could make out of the pigeon English she spoke.
I made another move to leave but she barred my way and held her hand out. I punched her in the stomach and she moaned and fell in the doorway. By now I was afraid other neighbors of these squalid huts would come around to satisfy their curiosity. I kicked the woman in the mouth a few times just to stop the moaning and gave the little girl a brand new 400 piastre note which helped to stop her crying as she knelt, naked over the prostrate form of her mother.
The night had fallen and the stars shown clearly above me as I walked along the wide Cong Ly Boulevard with its graceful trees arching their branches over the boulevard. The taxi and bicycle traffic was hectic as usual as the graceful women peddled along the boulevard, their billowing pantaloons providing them a little sail power as a slight breeze relieved the oppressive heat of the dry season.
I walked down Tu Do Street in the financial and commercial district of Saigon, but I was fed up by now with the cheap whores who worked the bars along this street. Perhaps I shouldn't call them cheap because they wouldn't fuck you for less than a thousand piastres for a short time fuck. They were beautiful but they didn't have the guiless charm of the girls in some of the off-the-beaten-path bars that I knew existed but had not had a chance to visit.
I turned right off Tu Do Street, away from its imagine boutiques and air line offices and headed for the river area which I had heard, had many good restaurants, a lot of them owned by Chinese and serving French cuisine.
Instead, I found on the corner of a street called Vo-Di-Nguy a small bar which was lit only by candles on the inside. The bar girls sat in the back in plastic covered kitchen chairs against the wall and read their dog-eared Vietnamese movie magazines like they didn't have a care in the world. Perhaps the temporary electricity outage had given them a rest from customers seeking to get a beer or some company.
I took a seat at the tall bar stool and rested my elbows on the plain wooden bar top. The mama-san came over to me and asked me if I wanted a bottle of beer. She was wearing the traditional 'ao dai' or pantaloons with a long blouse that was slit up the sides to the waist.
I ordered a beer. She said she had some cool ones left since she always kept some on ice in case of a power failure. I drank the beer Vietnamese-style with a chunk of ice in the foaming brew mixed well with the Ba Moui Ba beer. I could see the pleasure on her face when she saw I was an American who adopted the Vietnamese custom of beer drinking with ice in the beer.
The three bar girls in the rear barely looked up at me and just continued to read their magazines, chewing on gum as they babbled to each other in their language which sounded something like ducks quacking.
I asked the mama-san if the power went off regularly. She said the power failures had happened more often in the last two weeks but it was only temporary. I noticed the heat inside the bar was oppressive, the fly fans stood still, their metal blades motionless as huge flies plied their routes through the air, back and forth and took some time out to rest on the bar top. One settled on my arm, a huge, ugly, green-assed thing and I swatted it and crushed it on my arm.
I asked the mama-san for a napkin to wipe my arm off and scrape the remains of the fly from my arm. She went into the back room of the tiny bar. I sat drinking my beer and wondered what places to go after here. If I had to stay in this joint it wasn't going to be a great way to spend my remaining evening in Saigon.
Just then, a Vietnamese kid, about twenty years old walked into the bar and took a seat two bar stools away. He ordered a beer and looked around slyly at me. I could tell from the way he was dressed, he was a 'cowboy', one of Vietnam's teddy boys or one of the draft-dodging hoodlums that spent their time riding around on their Hondas and going to bars. They spent most of their time drinking beer and going to American movies, trying to learn everything they could about American society and copying the look and manner of American movie stars to the best of their ability.
This one wore pegged trouser, French-style pointy-toed shoes and a thin cotton shirt unbuttoned to the waist. His hair was long and went down the back of his neck in a duck's ass style. The Vietnamese were always a little bit behind the American fashion, but in their own country the teddy boys represented the vanguard of western fashion.
The kid finally got up enough courage to address me.
"Hi, Joe. You out on the town. I bet anything you're going to paint the town red, huh?"
"Maybe," I said. "It's too bad I don't know the town that well."
"That's okay, Joe. Maybe I can turn you on to some good places. There are lots of hot places in Saigon where you can unwind."
The kid had learned his lessons well. He'd been studying all the western slang he could and it showed in his speech, but it never came out the right way. The phrases he used were about five years old or more, but I found it amusing to listen to his sing-song voice as he trotted out what he thought was the latest American slang.
"If you know some good places, I'd like to hear about them," I said. If I played my cards right the kid might give me a guided tour of some of those uniquely Vietnamese spots I wanted to visit, and would never have a prayer of finding if I went on my own.
The kid gave me a sly look, like he was doing an impression of Humphrey Bogart.
"Sure Joe," he said. "There's plenty of good places. I know one in Cholon where you can get a good dinner and the girls will blow your mind."
I was bored with this place and I decided I'd listen more to the kid. Probably he was angling for me to pick up the bill in return for his giving me a tour of the 'hot spots' of Saigon. By now I knew most of the angles going on in Saigon. I had some money with me. A friend in the states had written me a check for a thousand dollars and mailed it to me which I then mailed to my bank account in the states. He owed me the money anyway from a couple years back. I had the bank wire me the money. I was stupid. I should have had the friend mail me US greenbacks, then I could have changed them at double the legal rate in any of the bars on Tu Do Street where the money changers were gobbling up greenbacks as fast as they could.
But I had five hundred dollars on me tonight and felt ready for anything.
The kid looked me over and suavely suggested he could steer me himself to the restaurant in Cholon he had mentioned. "But it'll cost you," he said with a movie actor smile. I didn't care right now about money. The way I figured it, the war was only a couple of days away and I might be blown away before I ever had a chance to spend it.
The kid and I hopped into a motorcycle, a form a transportation that uses the passengers as bumpers. It consists of a metal seat with foot rest mounted over the front of a motorcycle. The two of us had no trouble squeezing in since I am slim and the Vietnamese kid was about half my size.
We turned on to Ham Nghi Boulevard and joined the throng of night traffic which consisted mostly of bicycles and motor bikes. I felt that the war really didn't exist as the Saigonese peddled as if uncaring on their way to night clubs and restaurants. The heavy trucks delivering military goods had disappeared at this late hour as we careened down the boulevard toward Cholon, Saigon's Chinatown.
We made a couple of tricky turns off Ham Nghi, after reaching the heart of Cholon and pulled up in front of a plain looking Chinese hotel which was manned at the front desk by and old Chinese man in singlet undershirt, shorts and the usual rubber shower clogs known as Ho Chi Minh sandals.
The kid said something in Vietnamese to the old Chinese man and the man led us to a back room where there was a stair case leading up to the roof. We went up three floors and came to a solidly padlocked door with a peephole in it.
The Vietnamese cowboy whose name was Minh knocked four times on the heavy door with about four seconds interval between knocks. An eyeball appeared on the other side of the peep hole and eyeballed us both for a moment. Then the door swung open and we were admitted to a single large room. The room was crowded with men sitting around circular tables, all in their underwear. They were eating from bowls filled with colorful, delicious-looking food. They were drinking the rough Chinese whiskey from pint bottles and I saw some bottles of Tsing Tao beer which I recognized from the green color of the bottles. The beer was brewed and bottled in Communist China and could only have come to Viet Nam from Hong Kong or North Viet Nam.
The loud laughter filled the room as I watched the men eating and drinking and waving their chop sticks in the air to emphasize the point of some story or tale of gossip they were relating to the others. The whole scene was made more rough to my senses by the blaring phonograph which played Chinese music over two loudspeakers and filled the room with its scratchy, shrill noise. I wanted to cover my ears, but knew it would be interpreted as rudeness and as a criticism of Chinese music. It was awful.
As we stood at the doorway, the Chinese man who had opened the door for us introduced a beautiful, young Chinese girl to my new Vietnamese friend and then he introduced her to me. There was one thing strange about the introduction to the cowboy. The girl, who had full breasts and the well-curved figure of the Chinese women, bent down and bowed to the Vietnamese kid revealing her large yellowish breasts and the nipples that seemed like they were oiled and erect. She was wearing a great western style mini-skirt and as she bowed she did a little curtsy, lifting her mini-skirt above her waist which revealed to us that she wasn't wearing any underwear.
I could see the navel in her golden, rounded stomach and the light golden color of her thighs as they encircled her cunt which had very little hair on it. What cunt hair there was, was fine and sparse as if she had shaved before meeting us at the door.
Then, I was surprised to see Minh stick his hand down toward the girl's cunt and stick his three fingers in the outer folds. He worked his fingers around the cunt as the girl kept her polite smile all the while Minh was doing this, Minh sunk his fingers in deeper and I could see the wetness of the girl's cunt spreading over Minh's fingers as he worked them around the inside of the girls cunt. The girl's smile w beginning to yield to an open-mouthed empty look as Minh continued his massaging of her yellow clit. The girl's eyes became moist as she looked at Minh and then at me and she began to sigh a soft sound that knew no language. Then I saw her body and hips shake convulsively as the nerve-endings in her cunt seemed to explode and drive her into a frenzy of delight. Her whole body trembled and she moaned as Minh was row jerking his fingers around inside her cunt more roughly than before. Then the girl's body stopped jerking and Minh could tell she had all-business hostess smile and turned to me. It looked like it was my turn to say hello. She bowed toward me and repeated the curtsy she had performed for Minh, lifting her mini-skirt above her waist and looking at me with that polite smile. At first, I could not conceal the embarrassment from my eyes as I gazed upon her golden, cute pink cunt "which was dripping her cunt juice down to her thighs. I looked at her and then I shot a glance over at Minh and he looked puzzled at my indecision.
"It would be impolite if you refused to masturbate her," said Minh.
I was a stranger to the far east and I did not want to offend these people or any of their customs. I reached my fingers toward the girl's waiting cunt and stuck my middle finger in it. It was slippery and well lubricated from Minh masturbating her. The girl laughed and said something in Chinese to Minh. Minh smiled.
"She says she is bigger inside than you think. She wants you to use four fingers."
I stuck in three more fingers and slowly began massaging the lining of her cunt using different pressures in different places. She was still aroused after her last orgasm and now her next one seem to be coming more rapidly than Minh had managed to do for her. She began that soft moan of hers and her eyes rolled back in her head as she rubbed her hands over and into her dress where she began massaging her nipples, her oily hands bringing the nipples to a quick erection. I offered my left hand and thrust inside the front of her low cut mini-skirt and began squeezing her nipples and sliding my thumb along the curve of her shapely breast as
I worked my fingers faster and faster inside the folds of her cunt. She swooned and for a moment I thought she was going to pass out as I whirled my fingers inside her cunt like a Maytag washing machine.
Then her body began shaking uncontrollably, her cute little ass began jiggling and swaying and her breasts were wobbling up and down as if she was suffering from some malarial shakes. The folds of her cunt were tightening around my fingers and I thought they would be squeezed off my hand as she began jumping slightly and working her cunt up and down my fingers. My fingers were sore and tired from the work I had been doing on her cunt and I wished she would stop, but she kept on sliding up and down along the length of my dripping wet fingers, faster and faster until I thought my fingers could not be held stiff any longer. Then she shook her body even harder and I could see her knees were beginning to wobble as the pleasure of my massaging reached an apex inside her cunt driving to new heights of pleasure. Finally, the shaking stopped and she slowed down her pelvic thrusting upon my almost limp fingers and slid her cunt a few times slowly up and down my fingers before gracefully hopping off my fingers.
Then she assumed her hostess smile and lowered her skirt. My fingers felt drained and empty of all strength. The girl waved her hand to Minh and I and beckoned us to follow her. She led us to a large round table in the corner of the large room and held the seat for Minh before he sat down. Then she did the same for me.
I left the ordering of the food to Minh, who evidently had been here before. He gave the order to the old Chinese waiter who shuffled off in his rubber shower clogs to the kitchen. Not long afterward he came back to the table struggling under the burden of a heavy tray laden with the colorful food of China. There was sweat and sour pork, fried rice and white rice, shrimp still in the shells and lying in lobster sauce. There was a large tureen of won ton soup and two empty smaller bowls. The waiter set the food down on the table and gave us a set of chop sticks which appeared to me to be plastic.
"They are pure ivory," said Minh. "This is a very exclusive club for wealthy Chinese businessmen. Some of them are even doing business with the Viet Cong. They are all millionaires in your country. Don't be fooled by their dress. It is the custom for Chinese businessmen of their wealth to relax in their private clubs and wear only underwear and rubber sandals. This is their private retreat where they can free themselves of the outward appearances that the business world requires."
It was difficult to believe the words of Minh as I looked over the room and saw these drunken Chinese men in their underwear. They ate like pigs and laughed like hyenas. Yet Minh had told me these were the millionaires of Indo-China who controlled the economy of Veit Nam.
The music from the phonograph blared on and the waiter brought over a tall bottle of Chinese rice brandy which Minh and I drank straight from our glasses without any mixer. We began eating and relishing the taste of the fine food and began to joke and laugh. We were laughing as loudly as any of the millionaires in the room.
After a few moments and a few drinks a lovely Chinese girl came over to our table and murmured something to Minh. She was not the same girl who greeted us at the door, but a shorter version, just as pretty and with a low-necklined mini-skirt dress all of one piece. Minh busied himself by grabbing her ass as she talked her sing song Chinese at him.
The girl smiled at me and then did a very strange thing. She did a deep knee bend and disappeared under the large round table completely out of our view. I watched Minh's face to see if there was anything written on it to tell me what was happening. He smiled.
"It is the custom at this club for the diners to enjoy all the hospitality and pleasure the club can offer," said Minh. I did not fully understand what he meant. But the next moment I began to understand as I felt a tug on the zipper of my trousers which took me by surprise. Then I felt a hand searching for my penis and tickling my balls as the hand poked through the fly of my soft, white cotton underwear. The hand came from somewhere under the table and I couldn't see it but could feel it gently lifting my balls up and down like it was a pair of tennis balls in a players hand before serving. Then I felt another hand clasped lightly over the length of my still soft prick. The hands began to work my prick alone, leaving the balls to fend for themselves as my prick began to tighten and the hands increased their caressing until the crown of my penis felt like it was as hard as a fist.
Then I felt the head of my prick encircled, as if swallowed by some undersea creature I could not see. The soft texture of skin encircled my prick and began to compress the head of my penis, pleasuring the penis and the hands began again to lift the sack that contained my balls. The room became hotter, much hotter than before and I signaled the waiter who came over at a trot. I asked Minh to ask the man for a fan.
"They have no electric fans here, but we have hand fans," said Minh.
Seconds later, another girl I had not met before came over and began to wave a fan in the air with energy. The cool breeze felt good as the fanning continued and my prick felt even better as the wet tongue of the girl underneath the table worked its way up and down the shaft of my stiffened prick and licked the delicate, sensitive part near the tip where I had been circumcised. The little pocket on my foreskin formed a a groove in the shape of a 'V and it was in this little hollow of the head of my prick that the tongue worked so skillfully that felt the pleasure rising within me.
Then as the head of my prick continued to become even harder, I wondered what new direction the blow job from this beautiful girl would take. This was the maximum of pleasure since I could not see what the girl was going to do to my penis. She was nowhere to be seen and I was too em harassed to look down to my cock for I knew Minh would laugh at me and use me as an example of the unsubtle American who cannot eat and be given a blow job at the same time. The lips and tongue of the girl began doing even wilder thinks to the hardened penis that I somehow did not perceive as being attached to myself because I could not see what she was sucking and blowing on.
I tried to appear calm and collected as I reached for my chop sticks and picked up some pork and put it into my mouth. After two weeks in Viet Nam I was already expert in the use of chop sticks and it was no great effort for me to appear to use them casually. Then I drank deeply from my glass of rice brandy. I was slowly becoming drunk and I felt the room was covered in layers of gauze as the noise of the room seemed to recede in the distance and the laughing, drinking Chinese businessmen no longer appeared strange to me as they sat in their underwear and blew the smoke of their cigars into the air which filled the room with smoke, giving me the sensation I was somehow disconnected from reality.
I could tell from the passive expression on Minh's face that he was respecting my ability to remain impassive all the time the girl was sucking on my cock underneath the table. Orientals admired impassivity in the face of highly exciting circumstances. But I was enjoying the sensation of the girl's lips and tongue around my penis so much that I wished I never would come out. In my slightly drunken state I wished I could let this blow job continue for eternity, the girl forever underneath the table and I forever with my stiff prick, never shooting out the sperm that I knew would eventually have to come.
But I felt the girl was getting tired, for it was taking me a long time to shoot. My suspicions were confirmed when I felt the fingers of the girl's hand going through my zipper fly and under the leg of my cotton underwear, seeking my asshole. The shock I felt when I felt her finger entering my asshole was enough to jar me out of my quiet passivity. The finger entered my asshole slowly but not roughly and I could feel the finger entering my asshole smoothly. I knew she must have lubricated her finger before sticking it through my fly. She rammed the whole long finger of her hand up into my asshole and I could feel the long nail tapping at the top of my anus but not sharply.
Then her finger began to move sideways in my asshole violently like some vibrator churning the nerve endings of my anus until I thought I would be shaken out of my seat. At the same time I felt her kissing my prick in different places along the length of the shaft and then as the veins felt like they would pop out of my prick she began long slow in-and-out swallows, gulping down the whole prick and then bringing back her mouth until my prick was almost out. Then she began furiously to suck in-and-out as her fingers vibrated in my asshole and I couldn't contain my sperm any longer as it welled out of me and spurted into the girl's mouth. I could feel my prick deflate and the finger came out of my asshole like a rip cord.
The lips under the table gave the head of my deflated prick several tender kisses on the head and then I felt my penis being wiped off with a cold cloth.
Minh was now smiling from across the table since he could see the redness on my face and the look of complete exhaustion. My look must have been silly for I felt completely relaxed and free and wished this evening could last forever, and I could hide from the war and the death that came with it.
But then I noticed a slight expression had come over the face of Minh, and I realized the girl was now blowing him under the table. Minh made a determined effort to appear casual and relaxed, but his over-casualness betrayed him as he used his chop sticks to put some Mongolian beef into his mouth, and he busied his hands by taking one gulp after another of the strong Chinese whiskey. He tried to use the same tricks I used to appear casual while being sucked off. His hands became busier as if there was nothing to do but to eat and drink gulp after gulp of whiskey.
He even tried to engage in casual conversation, but the girl under the table was working her mouth very skillfully on his prick and I could see him squirm in his seat and his upper lip showed that sliver of smooth flesh that is only revealed when lust is present.
I couldn't see him reddening in the face or neck when he came. The only evidence his prick had shot its sperm into her fleshy mouth was a deepening of tanned facial coloring and his eyes became a bit moist. He gave a sudden little twitch in his chair and I knew she had sucked the sperm out of his cock.
Much as I was enjoying the evening, I knew it was late. The time had passed with cyclonic velocity and was already nearly ten o'clock. I was blissfully relaxed while sitting there and at peace with the world. But Minh was quicker to spring out of his relaxed post-orgasm haze than I was.
"Well," he said, "we have had some great food and we've gotten our rocks off."
"Yes," I said, "it has been a grand evening, but I have to get back to my unit or they'll have me sucking their dicks at headquarters. It won't be anything like tonight."
We descended the staircase after I paid the bill which came to two thousand piasters. If I hadn't come up with the money I doubt if I would have left that place in one peace since they had some tough looking Chinese men upstairs that I don't think I would have liked tangling with, I left Minh at the entrance to the hotel and grabbed a taxi to Tan Son Nhut. This time I spoke to the driver in Vietnamese, telling him where I wanted to go. He turned on the meter as one of those little courtesies extended to foreigners who speak his language.
As the taxi slid through the darkness of Saigon's tree-lined boulevards toward the base I knew I only had one last night before taking the cargo plane flight up to Bien Hoa and beginning my career as a combat airborne trooper. I wanted that night to be one to remember.
CHAPTER FIVE
I awoke in a dream-like state as I lay in my bunk staring up at the ceiling trying to recall all the images that I perceived at the Chinese club in Cholon. I busied my mind trying to recall all the smallest details of that evening which now, even though only a few hours had passed, was something like a dream in my thought of the young firm, fleshy breasts of the hostess that had been masturbated by Minh and I. I thought of the tender lips of the beautiful Chinese girl who had given us blow jobs under the table and reflected on the strength of the life force within me. I had wanted that evening to go on forever. Not because of the intensity of the pleasure it gave me, but because deep in my heart I knew I was afraid of dying, of being left on some battlefield, castrated and mutilated by the Viet Cong. I would never be able to fuck a girl again if that happened. And then I turned my thoughts to the scum that lived and worked in Saigon, the army of military personnel and American Embassy officials and civil servants were making a bundle of money as the war rolled on to ever increasing involvement.
I was awakened from my day-dreaming and my thoughts when a shrill voice could be heard over the loudspeaker. I recognized my name. The voice said, "Pfc. Harris. Report to the orderly room!" The message was repeated several times. All I could do was sit there on my bunk.
Finally, I stirred myself and got up. There were only three other GI's in the hootch, all lying on their bunks, asleep. I dressed in fatigue pants and wore the white T shirt I had been sleeping in. I struggled to lace my boots and walked over to the orderly room where I met the face of the clerk who had just made the announcement over the loudspeaker.
"You want me?" I asked.
"That's right, Harris. I want you," he said. I could have kicked him in the face right then and there. This was the clerk I hated the most of all the Saigon commandos who worked in the orderly room. His name was Pfc. Caldwell and he had four front teeth missing. The people at HQ Company called him 'Gumms' for short. Caldwell stood there in his T shirt, his dog tags hanging down from his neck. His hair was wiry and reddish and cut in a short army style. He held a sheet of paper in front of him, looking very official.
"We just made up the guard roster for tonight and guess who's on it ?"He gave me a fiendish smile and checked my face for a long moment to see my reaction. I didn't feel good about it, at all.
"You'll be sitting at the guard shack at the main entrance to the compound. Check with the ordinance sergeant. He'll issue you an M-14 rifle and a magazine of ammo. And don't forget to show up with the steel pot you were issued. You go on at eight o'clock, okay?"
It wasn't okay with me, but it looked like the little bastard had managed to ruin my last evening in Saigon. I reminded him of the fact that I was scheduled to fly up country the next morning and couldn't he give me a break?
I didn't like to plead with the guy but I really wanted that last evening more than I ever wanted anything.
Caldwell was the clerk who made up the guard roster for the unit. I knew if anybody could change the roster, he could. Caldwell made a big deal about the fact that he made up the guard roster and could fuck anyone in the unit, even guys who were not in the unit but who were just waiting for transfer to their regular units. I even heard him bragging about his power once in the service club when he was drunk and pinching the waitresses on the cunt.
Caldwell looked me over once and could see that I was really disappointed about my last evening being shot. He knew I was scheduled to go up country the next day and he had planned to foul up my evening. Either that or he was looking for a pay off.
I tried to bargain with him. "Look," I said. "I'll make it worth your while if you take me off the guard roster. Would a thousand piastres change your mind?"
Caldwell blinked once and rejected it, but I could see from his eyes that he was thinking real hard about my offer.
"Make it two thousand and I think I can arrange for a substitute," he said.
I was very happy about this but I didn't like being held up by the likes of this Saigon commando who paraded around in a bush hat and wielded his clerical powers like he was some god. But I bit the bullet and plucked two thousand-piastre notes out of my wallet and handed them over. I was a little poorer, but at least I had the evening free to explore the pleasures of Saigon in more detail.
I went back to my hootch and undressed, got myself wrapped up in a towel and headed over to the field showers. After scrubbing myself down I dressed in a sport shirt and trousers and went to the main gate of the compound where I waved down a Lambretta driver and rode to the main gate with two other GI's in the long seats that faced me. Next to me sat an old Vietnamese woman, probably one of the mess hall workers. She had a couple of chickens in a wicker cage that cluck-clucked all the way to the main gate.
I got a taxi into town. The driver was a nice guy and let me ride for nothing because I spoke a little Vietnamese to him. I had him drop me off at a side street of Tu Do in the bar district and I immediately found a restaurant called Capriccio's which specialized in Italian food. The place was a combination bar and restaurant. It was decorated with soft overhead lights and needed them because it was dark inside. A couple bar girls sat at the tables eating their lunch of rice and fish, spurning the Italian food. It was around one o'clock in the afternoon, and the management decided that a skeleton crew of bar girls was enough for this early in the day. Two crew-cut middle aged men sat at the bar on stools, drinking whiskey and talking about fire fights they had been in with the enemy.
"Those guys aren't happy unless they make contact with Charley," said one.
"Yeah," said the other, "They are a good group of boys."
In Viet Nam the troopers were always called 'boys'.
The men were dividing their time between talking with the mama-san who was working the bar and talking about their feats in battle. I supposed they were both sergeants from their looks and the way they talked. It depressed me just thinking that I would soon be 'one of the boys' and putting my life and my prick on the line to save the Republic of Viet Nam from communism.
The mama-san came over with a menu in English. She was in her early forties but I could see from the way she was shaped that she was probably a high-priced bar girl who had worked her way up through the ranks to become a bar manager. She had full breasts and a small waist. Her tight skirt was painted over the slightly bulging tummy that went in again as it tapered down to between her legs. The dress was a western style mini-skirt with a low cut front that gave me a good view of her tits. There was no bra on those full, brown tits and I watched the breasts wobble as she bent over to give me the menu. Her flesh had lost the vibrant bounce of youth but there was still a lot there to hold onto.
I decided on a cheeseburger since I didn't feel well enough for Italian food. My stomach was acting up after all the drinking last night at the Chinese hotel dining room. The fans on the ceiling turned lazily overhead and I could watch the pedestrian traffic stroll by as I looked out through the large open screened window and thought about what I would do that evening.
As I was lost in these thoughts, two European women came into the restaurant and sat down at the table next to mine. I could tell from their speech that they were Americans.
"I hear the Ambassador is going to be there tonight," said the younger one who was dressed in a white sleeveless summer dress with a floral pattern. 'And some of the most famous correspondents are going to be there, too. I even heard from Stan over at the embassy that Chet Huntley is coming."
The one in the white dress had a cute ass but wasn't too big in the chest. What caught my eye was the sensuous mouth she had. The lips were moist and full. Both lower and upper lip had a cute curve to them that reminded me of Brigitte Bardot. I dreamed about having those lips around my prick.
"Yes," said the other one. And there's going to be a large buffet dinner. There'll be a few of the people we know from the embassy like Janice, you met once at the Rex BOQ party. And some of our own people from the consulate. Gerri Pierce from the secretarial pool will be there,' too."
"I just want to meet some men," said the younger one. "You'd think we'd get more dates with all the military wives sent out of the country. But instead, these guys go for the Vietnamese girls. I just can't figure it, can you, Phyllis?"
I waited for her answer.
"I suppose its because they can get away with more on the local Vietnamese women," said Phyllis. "They don't have to worry if a Vietnamese girl gets pregnant. They're really free here."
Phyllis was obviously upset about men being free. The other, younger one didn't take Phyllis' side.
"I think if I were a man, I would prefer them, too. We do ask a lot of a man," she said.
"You're wrong, Alicia," said Phyllis. "You not only make demands on them but you get all you can from them. That's what life has taught me." Alicia thought this over for a moment and said, "wait a minute! Maybe we should ask a man's opinion before we come to any wrong conclusions."
Alicia was looking sideways and straight at me as she said this.
"What do you think, Sir?" she said to me as I was eating my cheeseburger.
"Who, me?" I said, pretending not to be listening to their conversation.
"Yes," said Alicia, looking straight at me. "What do you think?"
"About what," I said.
"About the local women here."
"I don't know what you mean," I said.
"Oh, sure you do," said Alicia. "Do you like them?"
"Well," I said "I'm not sure what you mean by liking them. Do you mean are they fun to talk to, or are they helpful, are they intelligent? I'm not sure I understood your question."
Then she let it all out. Alicia paused for a moment then, resting her chin on her hand said, "I mean, do you enjoy fucking them. Is that plain enough for you?" I was taken by surprise by the brazenness of her remark.
"I don't think about them too much," I said. "You see, I'll be joining my unit up country and joining the war. I won't be seeing many women up where I'm going."
"Oh, you're a combat-type soldier," Alicia said, interested now.
Phyllis saw we were having a conversation that excluded her, so she just excused herself suddenly and went to the bathroom at the back of the restaurant.
"Yes, ma'am. 173rd Airborne Brigade up at Bien Hoa."
"It's a real pleasure to meet a genuine combat soldier. All Phyllis and I seem to meet are the Saigon Warriors who shuffle paper over at MACV and some of the embassy civilians. To hear them talk, you'd think they were fighting on the frontlines of freedom.
I laughed. This girl also had a great sense of humor. But I noticed her jokes were at the expense of men. But I didn't point this out to her. I was too interested in watching the gentle motion of her small, tight tits. I could just about see the cleavage of her breasts in an opening in the front of the dress that ventilated her bosom.
I said I was just arrived in Viet Nam and was spending my last night in the city before going up to my unit. She was full of sadness in her eyes when she heard this. Young women hate to see young men go off to war. It means that there might be one less prick in the world to fill up their tight cunts. One less man to manipulate by using their cunt as the bait. One less mind to control. I knew the type well and Alicia personified it.
"I have an idea," said Alicia. "I don't know if you have any plans for tonight, but there's going to be a party at Porter's house tonight. He's the acting US Ambassador while Lodge is back in the States conferring with LBJ. I was thinking, if you're not busy we can get you in. There will be a lot of people there, a couple of generals and a lot of embassy staffers. Plenty of good things to eat, too. One more person won't make any difference. Would you like to come?"
You bet I'd like to come, I thought. But I hid my true feelings.
"I don't know," I said. "I'm just a GI and I don't know if I would fit in to that company."
"Nonsense," she said. "You're just as good as any of those phony heroes. I insist."
"Maybe," I said.
"Good, then. It's settled." She took a notebook out of her purse and took a pencil in hand. She swiftly wrote out the address of the party on the piece of paper and gave it to me.
"But don't go directly to the party. Meet me at my apartment first. Then I can get you through the Marine guard at the gate to Porter's villa on Phan Thanh Gian Street."
She ripped out another piece of paper and wrote her own address on it. It said 432 Tran Quy Cap Street, apt. A.
"Meet me there at six o'clock. The party will start at 7:30 but I have an errand to run before we go there."
She pressed the slips of paper into my hand and looked at me with that sad-eyed look of compassion she had fixed on me a few moments before.
Just at that moment Phyllis came back from the ladies room. I pocketed the slips of paper and left 400 hundred piastres on the table to cover my lunch and a healthy tip besides.
As I headed for the door, Alicia turned her head over her shoulder and said, "Now don't forget. You hear?"
I waved, and went to a place where terrorists had thrown the two plastique bombs. They were thrown into the open bar among the customers and three people had died from the terrorist attacks. But you would never suspect that from the casual way the construction men chatted and drank their beer.
I sat down at one of tables and ordered a beer from one of the Vietnamese waiters, just boys who wore white waiter's uniforms.
"Brandy and Segi," I said, referring to the local brand of soda water bottled by Indochina Brewer's Ltd."
It was a pleasure to sit there and watch the girls walk by. My mind ran on to the coming evening and I imagined what Alicia looked like in the nude. I could almost taste the pinkness of her cunt and could taste the nipples on her tits. Just think, I said to myself, a real, live American Woman. The thought so intoxicated, I promised to be on my good behavior tonight. But then I thought of that white-skinned body that Alicia had trouble getting American men to look at and I felt good inside. This was going to be one hell of an evening for the young warrior!
CHAPTER SIX
I returned to Tan Son Nhut and took another shower to get the sweat off before the party. I dressed in clean clothes and took a taxi into town. When I got to the part of town where Alicia lived I had to show the Taxi driver the slip of paper with the address on it. He read the numbers and signaled to me that he knew the intersection and we were off again careening through the intersections that the taxi driver had no respect for. We bolted through stop signs without heeding stop signs or other vehicles and to my amazement we arrived safely outside a fenced-in villa that had a huge sign on the top of the metal gate that said: "The British School".
I thought we had the wrong address, but at the bottom of the blue sign were the numbers that Alicia had written on the slip of paper. I knew we were on the right street.
I rang the buzzer on the metal gate and soon an old Vietnamese man came and opened the gate and I communicated to him that I wished to see the American lady named Alicia. He understood the name. He led me down the driveway and I saw Vietnamese students sitting at desks as an American was attempting to teach them how to speak English.
The old man pointed to a terrace that was on the third floor of the building and said Alicia .
I followed the man straight toward the building entrance and he showed me the stairway which led up to the top of the building. I climbed the stairs and came to a shuttered door that had the letter 'A' at its top.
From inside I could hear A Beatle tune playing over a radio. I knocked at the door. In a minute the door opened and Alicia stood in front of me wrapped only in a towel, that pressed her breasts together tightly. She was still half wet and her hair was stringy and still damp.
"Come in, won't you," she said. She didn't seem to be even slightly angry that I had interrupted her shower.
I walked in. The apartment consisted of only a sitting room furnished with rattan couch and an easy chair. Off to the left was her bedroom. The doorway to the small terrace was off to my right.
"Sit down and I'll get you something cool to drink while I finish getting ready," she said.
I sat on the couch and soon she reappeared from the bedroom where she kept the refrigerator. She set down a glass of ice and a bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label.
"This is the best place the consulate could find me, "she said, rubbing her head with a hand towel.
"This place costs me ten thousand piastres a month, but I get a housing allowance from Uncle Sam."
"It's a very nice place," I said. "The housing shortage must be awaful now with all the Americans coming into Saigon," I said.
"Actually, I've come to like the place. And it's in a very secure area. I like seeing the school kids come here, too. I can almost pretend there isn't a war on."
She went back into the bedroom and closed the door while I poured myself a stiff one and began to feel stiff in the prick at the sight of this half-naked American gal running around in nothing but a towel.
I imagined going into the bedroom after her young cunt but knew I would have to play it cool with this cunt. She wasn't just an ordinary girl, but worked for the US Consulate. If I tried to get funny with her and grab a tit or her ass, it wouldn't be two minutes before she was on the horn to the consulate screaming rape and everything else. Word would get to the embassy and then my Commanding Officer at Bien Hoa would be notified and my ass would get singed.
No, I thought, the only way to play it was meek and quiet and I had a feeling everything would turn out all right. I tried to get my mind off her body and thought of things that would quiet the passion rising in my prick. I thought of my mother. If there was one thought that could bring my prick down, it was the thought of my mother and it worked. My prick went soft and I continued thinking of my mother as I had another belt of the scotch on the rocks.
Then Alicia called from the bedroom. She was having trouble with her hair dryer. She wanted me to find out if it was still working. I went into her bedroom and she was kneeling on the floor, still wrapped in the towel. I could look down and see down between her breasts and the sight hardened my prick immediately as I saw that they were bigger than I had at first guessed.
"This damn hair dryer won't work," she said.
I didn't see why it wouldn't work. The lights were on in the building and in Alicia's apartment. I bent down and took a look at the connection.
As I bent to look the situation over, I really had a chance to see her cunt which was peeking up at me, since the towel had hiked up from her hips when she had bent down. I wanted to stick my hand in there and grab at her snatch but I resisted the impulse and applied myself to the job of getting the hair dryer to work.
I saw the plug was in the socket lop-sided. So I jiggled the plug and played with it until I had the plug seated firmly in the socket. That's exactly the way I wanted my prick to go into Alicia right at that very moment." She watched me fooling around with the plug and looked at me. She was probably thinking the same thoughts I was.
Then I flipped the switch on her hair dryer which lay on the floor and the machine began blowing away. That's exactly the way I wanted her to blow on my prick-noisy and hard.
She thanked me and wasn't all embarrassed that she hadn't thought of planting the plug more firmly in the socket. She even gave me a kiss on the cheek as we knelt side by side.
I was surprised by this, but I didn't let it make me think she wanted to climb into bed with me.
"You have to know the tricks the Vietnamese know when you have trouble with electric outlets, "I said.
Then she kissed me on the cheek again. Now I knew that there was a good chance my prick would be sleeping in her cunt tonight and I had a feeling it would be soon.
Then I felt her soft hand running playfully over my thigh as I tightened the plug into the socket. I felt great as her hand traveled along the inner side of my thigh and sought out the crotch of my light cotton trousers. She began rubbing her hand in a circular motion over the quickly forming bulge in my pants that rose larger and larger. My mind was paralyzed. I felt the intense pleasure of having my penis rubbed into an erection and yet, all I could do was to remain in that kneeling position and she remained in her kneeling position as she looked at me and continued rubbing my prick.
She looked at me, I could tell that even though I was not looking at her face. I was simply staring at the wall socket as if some part of my job remained unfinished. But her hair dryer was repaired and there was nothing more for me to do.
She kept on looking at me and began tugging at the zipper of my trousers. She threaded her fingers through the zipper and tapped the bulge in my Jockey shorts where my prick was stiffened and trying desperately to free itself from the prison of the underwear I wore over it.
"I do believe you're shy, Shane," she said in a teasing tone. "Are you a shy one? I like my men shy, but not too shy." Now she was whispering these words into my ear. I could feel her soft, tender lips caressing the lobes of my ear and she began to swirl her tongue in tiny loops around the entrance to my ear canal. The sensation sent a shock down my spine that registered nine on the Richter scale.
She was taunting me and I knew that. She goading me to make my move. But I was enjoying this tender foreplay so much that didn't want to begin. I had never met a girl who could play so subtly with my nerve endings as this one could.
I could feel she was becoming bored with giving me pleasure as her tongue became tired and I felt I would have to move on her soon. I thrust my left hand down the front of her chest and began feeling her warm, hard tits, and under the towel she wore which was still wet from the shower she had just taken. With my right hand I held her around the waist. As I moved my face toward her we kissed tenderly and began tongue-kissing as my hand reached under the towel and I stuck two fingers into the opening of her cunt and began to massage her clitoris. Her eyes went misty and I continued kissing her deeply, fondling her tits and masturbating her.
"Don't stop," she murmured as I hesitated masturbating her for only a second. Then she began lowering and raising herself off her haunches and my fingers began to slide in and out of her cunt. I could hear her soft moans now, as the excitement began to overtake her in waves and my fingers could feel the throbbing of her veins even from inside her cunt.
"Oooh," that's sooo good," she cooed. I continued masturbating her very gently as she climaxed and her face became a rosy red color. But I noticed she had forgotten all about my prick which she still held loosely in her right hand. It was now outside of the underwear and my trousers looking like some forlorn lover needing a place to rest it. I took my fingers out of her cunt and put my now free arm around her waist and urged her to her feet while still kissing her on the mouth. In this way we stood up together and I attempted to guide her over to the small bed.
But her forearms stiffened against my chest and she broke off the kissing.
"Whoa, boy," she said. I didn't like the way she said that. And I also didn't like the way my prick was hanging out there in the air with no cunt to put it into.
"You don't think we can just make love on the first date," she said. I felt slightly embarrassed. She was assuming the same superior tone I had heard used by other girls who were nothing but prick-teasers. Suddenly, I decided I didn't like her very much. I wanted to throw her onto the bed and stick my stiff prick into her mouth and make her choke on it. But I did not.
I could tell she sensed that I was close to taking her by force and so she changed her tone to one of common sense.
"Look, it's getting close to the party at the ambassador's house. I've still got to dry my hair. We'll be late if we start carrying on now."
Her words held out the promise that I eventually would get my prick into her and so I decided to play along with her even though I knew she was just another prick-teasing stupid cunt.
Finally, she was ready and we walked down to the street. She passed some young Vietnamese girls walking down the driveway on their way to an evening class of English conversation and said hello to them in Vietnamese.
We managed to get a taxi which whisked us over to Phanh Thanh Gian Boulevard and deposited us in front of a stately white, two story villa. In front of the building was a police kiosk where a young marine guard asked her for identification.
"Who's the fellow," the marine guard asked.
"It's okay," she said. "He's with me."
We entered the well lit villa and could hear the taped music coming at us from all directions. It was playing 'California Dreamin' by the Mamas and the Papas. , There were about forty guests in the living room which was furnished in Danish modern with about four couches so there were plenty of places to sit. I saw a lot of the embassy and state department types who usually wore light tropical suits, white shirt and bow tie. This was the uniform that the northeast preppie elite was fond of wearing. They were all instantly recognizable as State Department types.
There was a group of attractive women who looked like they were from the secretarial pool. They had the secretary look, not the over-efficient short-haired style of the women who worked at the embassy. All wore low cut summery dresses that revealed a fair amount of skin. There were even some of the Vietnamese women who worked at the US Consulate.
The Vietnamese women preferred to wear their traditional long dress, the 'ao dai' and they looked stunning under the soft lighting that came down on them from the chandelier.
A group of Vietnamese bartenders manned the bar and were pouring a lot of whiskey. I noticed the men were drinking heavily, although the party had only just begun.
Over in the far corner of the living room I saw a man with a gray crew-cut. He was dressed in the uniform of an army general and I could read his name on his name-plate which he wore on the chest of the jacket over the left breast pocket of his khaki uniform. The uniform itself was specially tailored from the look of it and the pants had knife creases that seemed to perfect to be true.
Then I recognized him. He was the man I had seen in the dim light that first night I had gone into Saigon with Slattery and Goettrich. He was one of the men waiting on line to fuck a pretty Vietnamese whore. It was the profile view of him that made me certain it was him.
I suppose every soldier has to have his pleasure. He was probably relieved when the civilian dependents were ordered to leave Viet Nam for their own safety. That meant he could whip out the old prick and serve it to a lot of the Vietnamese whores.
I was curious why a general would want to risk his reputation and honor while fucking a Vietnamese whore at a short-time bar-a bar he must have known to be frequented by a lot of GI's.
I decided it could wait. My curiosity would best be left unsatisfied.
I went over to the bar and ordered a brandy soda from one of the Vietnamese bartender who expertly whipped out the correct amount of Napoleon brandy and gave my a bottle of mixer so I could mix it to my own taste.
"How are you, tonight," a voice from behind said.
It was Phyllis. She was standing next to Alicia. They both looked like they were ready for man-hunting. Both wore the cool, low-cut summery mini-skirts that were popular with both the westernized Vietnamese girls and almost all the younger American women civilians.
I could look down into the tops of their breasts which were full and there was a coating of perspiration on the tops of their tits. The weather was muggy and the only air moving was the breeze caused by the three large overhead fans that turned so slowly there effectiveness was practically zero. In the midst of the rock music and the heat the noise of the conversation became louder and louder mainly due to the heavy drinking of the men.
One drunken correspondent was bragging about how he had personally killed two Viet Cong while out in the field with Vietnamese troops.
"I saw those two Victor Charlies running like a pair of rabbits to get away from us. But it was no use. I aimed my M-16 at one and cut him in half with the first blast," he crowed.
Then he recounted how he had run after the second one after missing him, hoping to kill the VC with his bare hands and maybe cutting off an ear or two or a pair of balls.
The American women who stood around the small group were listening to the horror story with wide smiles that told me they were drunk, too. One woman said, What's wrong with your own balls. Do you need somebody else's?"
Everyone in the group laughed at this remark and the correspondent became angry at the woman for attacking his manhood.
The correspondent, whose name was Craddock, worked for the New York Times and was a highly respected reporter. A known 'war chaser' with experience in the Algerian war against the French, he had followed the guerilla army of the Algerian F.L.N, and been wounded twice in the line of duty to get the story of the fighting there.
But now he was a large, round drunk with a score to settle.
"So you don't think I actually killed those guys, do you?" he said, his face red with rage and the perspiration rolled off his forehead as he gulped down another straight whiskey. "I'll show you!" he screamed. Then he ran outside and went to the car parked at the curbside. It was small Japanese car from the looks of it.
He opened the trunk of the car and pulled out a rifle and came running inside. The women saw the rifle which Craddock carried at port arms and screamed when they saw him raise the butt of the rifle to his shoulder and take aim at the woman who had had questioned his masculinity.
"Now, do you believe that I killed them. Do you?"
The group of women who had ran were cowering and hiding, as Craddock waved his M-16 rifle around the room pretending to be aiming the rifle at everyone.
Then a tall man dressed in a white tropical suit and black tie walked slowly up to Craddock and stared directly at the muzzle of the rifle which Craddock still was aiming at him.
"Give me that gun," said the man. I recognized him from news photographs as being Walter Porter, the Ambassador to Viet Nam. He was only US Ambassador for now, since Henry Cabot Lodge had returned to Washington, leaving Porter in charge of dealing with the easily bruised feelings of the Vietnamese military government of General Ky.
The Ambassador repeated the command and stared directly at Craddock. Finally, the correspondent caved in and lowered his rifle and let it hang limply from his hands.
Porter reached for the rifle as the silent, stunned audience of guests looked on in awful concentration. Porter reached quickly but deliberately for the rifle and in an instant, he had it in his hands and told Craddock to leave because he was annoying the guests.
Craddock wobbled outside to the car. I saw him fumble around with his car keys. Finally, he got the door open, crawled into the driver's seat and drove off into the night. The guests all watched him leave in stony silence, until one woman started complaining about 'that stupid drunk newsman'. The others chimed in and said Craddock was 'some kind of a nut'. But these things happened in a country at war and the spectators pretended that it was only a mild disturbance.
This was the studied coolness of the Americans who lived and worked in Saigon and endured the constant threat of terrorist bombing and attacks in the street by Vietnamese hoodlums.
They tried to appear relaxed and cool, but eventually the tension took its toll on them over a period of time. That's why they drank so much. They drank to forget and to put themselves into oblivion, and when one of their number drank so much that he lost control, he became an em harassment to them and also a reminder of what was happening to themselves.
Then the silence became lighter and the guests began to laugh and joke again. I had to admire the ambassador's guts for taking away the rifle from Craddock. But now the party returned to normal except I noticed that from somewhere the odor of marijuana was wafting its way across the room and the still air held it so that it was difficult to breathe.
All over the room I could see people lighting up cigarettes and inhaling deeply. The reefers were passed around. I was surprised to see that the women, including the Vietnamese women, needed no urging to smoke the cigarettes. They inhaled and held the smoke in their lungs like troopers.
I took a toke from Alicia who was pressing her breast into my side and pointing out the guests to me. We were sitting on the couch as she rested her hand on my prick which had stiffened
"We have these parties three times a month," said Alicia. "This is pretty good stuff we're smoking," she said. "It comes from Thailand. I know an Air Force pilot who flies daily runs to Bangkok. He picks up a couple of kilos of the stuff and only charges me Two thousand piastres for it."
"What else does he charge you," I said.
"Okay," she said. "I fuck him a couple of times a month for the marijuana, but its all good clean fun!"
I could tell she was well under the alcohol and the pot as were the other guests by now.
Some of them were lying on couches. Others sat in groups or passed the joints to each other in turn.
A woman stood up and began doing a seductive, sensuous dance as she raised her arms over her head and bumped her hips into the ambassador's face. He was sitting on a couch in the center of the room. Then the woman sat on the Ambassador's lap and began taking his tie off.. .then she played with his crotch and I could see his prick become hard under the thin trouser fabric even though he was in his late fifties.
I saw a man reach into the top of a woman's dress and he began playing with her breasts as they sat cross-legged on the carpet. Then he hiked her skirt up above her waist and began tearing off her panties. That's the feeling I had when Alicia had held my prick in her hands back at her apartment. Now, as she held my prick. I had smoked too much pot and drank too much to notice that she had extracted my prick from inside my pants and was holding it in her hands. Then she lowered her mouth to take the soft prick into her lips and she began sucking on it. The pot had made me super sensitive to her lips on the head of my cock and I contented myself to play with her breasts as she set about the task of bringing me to a slow hardness that was the most exquisitely pleasurable experience I had ever had.
Around us other couples were undressing and masturbating each other. I saw one naked girl, one of the secretaries at the consulate sit her cunt down on the face of the general who began licking her clit with relish. The girl then began giving him a blow job as she bent her upper body low to let her lips meet his prick. Then the girl began to masturbate herself. The sight was so exciting to the general that he stopped licking the girl's cunt and spent his time looking between her legs as she gave him a blow job and masturbated herself at the same time.
The general came into her face and everyone in the room cheered they were so happy for the general.
I got so excited by watching the general come into the young girl's face that I blew my prick off into Alicia's delicious mouth and I reached for her warm soft body which by now was naked since she had removed all her clothing except her panties. Her firm, round breasts felt good against my body and I stopped her to take off my clothes so I could experience all of her tender, firm flesh.
I saw couples fucking on the rug. One man had mounted a Vietnamese woman from behind and was driving his pale white prick into her golden, hairless cunt. Then one of the more effeminate men from the embassy came up behind the first man and mounted him, sticking his shlong into the gaping asshole that the man presented to him.
I saw one woman eating the cunt of a younger American woman. I recognized the face of the eater as Phyllis, the woman I had seen with Alicia at the restaurant.
Phyllis used her tongue like a professional and had the young girl swooning and screaming with delight as the tongue circled inside the girl's vagina and brought her quickly to a climax that convulsed the younger girl's body. Phyllis, in turn, was having her own cunt licked out by a man who pressed his face into her asshole just as Phyllis, on all fours, was finishing off the young girl.
Then Phyllis herself began to moan in ecstasy as the man brought his tongue even deeper into her vagina and began to grab Phyllis' bouncy tits and play with them, even though he could hardly see her tits with his face buried in her cunt. Phyllis' breath came in short gulps as she climaxed and all three fell and rolled onto the carpet in utter exhaustion.
It was disgusting for me to watch American officials and government workers in a sex orgy such as this. It was all right for me but I was a soldier. Here, these people were fucking each other and masturbating one another on a routine basis while the folks back home were thinking of the noble sacrifices of their government in coming to the aid of Viet Nam.
So this was how American funds were being spent, I thought. Planes were used to ferry pot from Thailand. Correspondents turned into drunken killers. Consular officials became homosexuals and sex orgiasts. Secretaries became whores like Alicia and lesbians like Phyllis.
I was tired of the cesspool of Saigon and longed to head for battle where I belonged. I thought I could find purity there. But something kept me from leaving the party. I knew what it was. It was Alicia's mouth on my prick. I despised her ruthless and cold smuggling of drugs using government property. I loathed her cold-blooded prostitution of herself. I hated her prick-teasing ways.
As I thought these angry thoughts of hate I noticed the swelling in the tip of my prick began to rise and I knew when my cock hardened to the right degree of steel, Alicia would want off my prick and she would give me a fond farewell.
She did not disappoint me as she took her mouth off my prick. "It's getting late," she said. "I think it's time to go home." I could rape her right there I thought since all the other people were fucking and masturbating each other on the floor. And they wouldn't notice that I was fucking her by force. Even if they did notice, I had enough evidence against all of them to cause a holy mess in Washington. All I had to do was write a letter to my congressman.
I stared intently at Alicia, whose soft dark hair had brushed over her face and concealed her nose from my sight. I grabbed her suddenly by the shoulders and forced her back against the pillows of the couch and grabbed her firm breasts so hard that she let out a scream that the other's interpreted as a groan of pleasure.
I crawled over her white body enjoying the view from above of her brown nipples as I rammed my hardened cock into her asshole so suddenly she did not even scream, but only let out a sudden gasp of air as one does when one is stabbed by a knife. The pain was only visible by looking at her eyes which were wide open and popped out.
I began moving deeper into her with sudden jerks of my hips faster and faster and faster until she was nearly rocked off the side of the couch by the force of my movement. My great penis was now slicing through her anus like it was made of butter and I felt her muscular contractions from somewhere way down deep in her asshole. The grip of her rectum encircled my hard cock as I continued driving the prick into her time after time, letting my prick take out its' vengeance on the prick teasing temptress who disgusted me so.
Then in a spasm of contractions her anal muscles clamped around my penis and I burst a well of sperm into her asshole, the force of the flood coming into her and showing in her stricken face. After draining my prick into her young, firm asshole, I jumped off as if I had taken an amusement ride. I dressed hurriedly and went for my wallet. Alicia still lay there half stunned from the terrible reaming I had given her asshole. The couch was covered with my dripping sperm and I wanted to leave. But first I plucked a thousand piastre note from my wallet and thrust the dirty bill up deep into her dry cunt as she screamed at the pain the chafing paper caused her.
"Thanks for the ride, slut," I said and walked out into the night looking for a taxi.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning I boarded the C-130 in the misty early dawn. We flew over the beautiful mountains of Viet Nam's central highlands. I looked out the window and all I could see were the broccoli-covered forested mountains of the highlands.
I was anxious to get to my new assignment and begin to taste the purity of the life of the soldier. All the rest was past. I was leaving behind the garbage heap that was Saigon and the slime that infested that city.
Aboard the plane were some Vietnamese soldiers we had to drop at Dong Ha near the border between North and South Viet Nam. I was slightly pissed off about this because it meant a delay of about one hour before I would get to the air strip at Bien Hoa and join my unit.
I didn't want to miss a chance to go out on an operation if I could help it.
Soon we approached the red clay colored dirt landing strip at Dong Ha. The pilot informed us we were going to buzz the landing strip to check out the field before landing. We had to drop off some PRC-10 field radios that the plane carried. A USOM (United States Overseas Mission) official on board the plane told me the radios were to be distributed to the strategic hamlets in the area so they could call for help in case they were attacked by the Viet Cong.
We made the touch down at Dong Ha, dropped the cargo and proceeded back to the south over the same territory we had covered an hour earlier. Soon I could see the landing strip of Bien Hoa a few thousand feet below us.
After touching down, a two-and-a-half ton army truck waited to receive me at the terminal building. This airport also served the Vietnamese civilian air traffic.
Inside the cab of the truck was a fat man dressed in the white shirt and hat of a mess cook. Along side him in the passenger seat was a Vietnamese teenager who was probably his helper. I collected my gear and threw it in the back of the truck.
I got into the cab and the Vietnamese kid made room.
"Welcome to Bien Hoa," said the cook with a laugh. The Vietnamese kid just smiled like I was heading into some sort of hell.
They dropped me off outside the brigade headquarters which was an old French villa with two stories that had once belonged to a French plantation owner, I was told by the cook. I left my gear outside and walked into the orderly room where a group of four tough-looking clerks were sitting around shooting the shit and pretending to be busy.
I spoke to the tallest one who pretended not to notice me. "I'm Pfc. Shane Harris," I said by way of introduction.
He didn't reply. I repeated the words. Still no answer. I grabbed the smug kid by the neck of his T shirt and made him look me in the eye.
"Hey, don't get excited, kid," he said. But I could see he was stunned by my aggressiveness.
After that, he was all cooperative. I gave him my records and he detailed a jeep driver to take me over to where my company was bivouacked.
The driver, a kid about my age, but really much younger looking, dropped me off at Hootch 'C of Second Platoon, Company 'B' for Baker. I was exhausted from the previous nights activities and hauling the duffel bag with all my equipment around Viet Nam.
I walked past a group of five troopers sitting on the edge of their bunks. They silently watched me pass by and I walked to the nearest bunk that appeared to be empty and sacked out.
Ten minutes later a Lieutenant walked in with a name-plate on his chest that said 'Lake'. I heard the word 'attention!' barked loud in my ear and raised myself off the bunk so suddenly I hit my head on the overhead bunk. The Lieutenant didn't even crack a smile.
"You're Pfc. Harris. Welcome to Bien Hoa. I hope you enjoyed Saigon. But there's a war going on up here. You won't have much of a rest. We're going out on a sixty-day operation tomorrow and you're invited. See your sergeant. Name's Fulk. He'll get you an M-16 and a steel pot and anything else you'll need tomorrow."
And that was it. Tomorrow I'd be out beating the bush looking for Charlie. Well, this was what I wanted and I was going to get it.
In the early morning the Company assembled in full battle gear at the edge of the air strip and watched the helicopters tuning up their blades, which roared with a high-pitched whine that shattered our ear drums.
On the order of the sergeant who looked about my age and wore a shark's tooth on his dog tag chain, we boarded our assigned choppers by squad. When the armada was ready, the lead chopper lifted off swirling dirt and debris along the steel-framed chopper pad. Then my chopper followed and we were flying in a 'V formation over the mountainous terrain somewhere in a southerly direction.
This was my first chopper ride ever and some of the other troopers in the cabin noticed my greenness.
"This is nothing," said a teenaged looking kid sitting on the floor of the cabin next to me. "You ain't seen nothing yet. Wait till we hit the LZ (Landing Zone) It'll be hot this time."
He was right. As the choppers approached the LZ only a few hundred feet below us, we were hit by a hail of machine gun fire from a wooded tree-line about a quarter mile in front of us.
I saw one chopper disintegrate in the air. I just hoped Slattery and Goettrich weren't in that one. We plunged on with the fire going by the chopper making loud 'thunka-thunk' noises.
"Those are the misses. It only gets really loud when they hit. I was surprised at how calm this kid was next to me. The chopper tilted at a crazy angle, although I could see we weren't close enough to the ground to jump out. Yet the platoon leader was ordering us to get ready to jump.
The chopper pilot tried to steady his machine and get closer to the LZ but it was tough job as he tried dodging the fire that was raining all around us. But three men in front of me jumped out the door, a height a little less than half the distance of a high-diving board to the water of the public pool I used to swim in back home.
I hesitated but felt a shove from behind and soon I was airborne and fell with my weapon into a soft spot in a rice paddy alongside two others. One said he had broken something, but I didn't care about that. I was too busy looking for someplace to hide from the bullets.
The fire was coming from somewhere in the direction of a group of huts near the tree-line. I found a mud dike and crawled up. to it on my belly. The tree-line formed a screen for the village that lay behind it.' I began opening fire with the M-16 I had just been issued the previous day and fired in short bursts like I had been told to by my sergeant. Other troopers were alongside me now and they were pouring lead into the tree-line but the enemy firing continued at an even fiercer rate. I saw one trooper get up to the top of the dike to fire and he had his head blown off by a round. They were firing .50 caliber shells at us and there was little we could do but fire blindly into the tree-line and not expose ourselves too much.
I saw the Lieutenant pick up the receiver on the field radio which was strapped to the back of a trooper and I knew we could still get out of this if help came.
The trouble was the bullets were beginning to come at us from the sides instead of just from the tree-line. The enemy shells whined through the air and caused tiny concussions that I felt even through the metal of my helmet.
Then we looked up and saw two Phantom jets cruising in toward the tree-line. They didn't mess around and dropped a couple of canisters each out from under their bellies.
In an instant the whole tree-line was aflame with billowing clouds of bluish red smoke. The firing stopped coming from the tree-line. Then the jets circled and each jet went for the enemy fire coming at us from the sides. They blew out whole sections of the rice paddies with rockets and soon the firing stopped from these areas.
There were few scattered shots fired by some of us. And then the command came from the teenaged sergeant to cease firing. From here on it was going to be a walk into the village.
We picked up whatever gear there was lying around... a few ammo boxes and some first aid kits. Then we marched into the village which was nothing but a collection of straw and mud huts covered over with bamboo roofs.
The village was laid out in a circular pattern, the main open area was nothing but a muddy piece of ground and had a VC flag flying at the top of a bamboo flag pole. Two troopers took it down.
Then came the hut-to-hut search. We went into the huts firing through the flimsy straw matting that served as walls and a few huts caught on fire and burned well.
If Charlie was in there he sure couldn't be alive if he was sitting in the living room. And yet some of the troopers were rounding up Vietnamese civilians. I didn't find any but they were hiding in fox holes underneath the dirt floors of the houses.
They were formed into a group in the central area of the village. Mostly they were young women and young girls.
I felt an arm on my back. It was Slattery.
"I see you made it, Shane, old boy," he said. "Goettrich got zapped a week ago, but its only a leg wound. He'll be back in two weeks."
"That's too bad for him," I said. "From the looks of these cunts in the black pajamas, ol' Goettrich could've had some cunts to play with."
There were ten young women who appeared to be in their early twenties, but it was hard to tell exactly how old they were exactly. Then there were five very young girls around tee years old from the look of them.
I supposed Charlie had taken the men and boys and dragooned them into the VC army. But that was okay by me.
The older girls all had nice tight asses that I could almost see through their thin, almost transparent pantaloons. Three of them, closest to me had nice round boobs and I liked the way their hips curved up to thin waists. The thin waists made their breasts seem bigger.
Most of the company was now resting after the fight. The dead we lost were being put into body bags by the First Platoon. I started talking to one of the smiling girls with the big tits.
Her blouse was open down to the navel from the rough handling she had gotten from one of the troopers. The other two might have been wearing nothing to cover their breasts. I guessed the napalm fire had burnt some of the clothes and shredded it. The blouses were burnt and in shreds and their soft brown breasts hung out otherwise unmarked.
I looked at Slattery and he looked at me. We were both thinking the same thing. We decided to conduct a little interrogation. The girls smiled nervously, afraid we might kill them. I motioned the three with the bare tits hanging out over toward one of the unharmed huts and waved my M-16 in that direction. They began chattering in Vietnamese among themselves, still with that permanent smile on their soft, tan faces.
Slattery had decided he wanted to take along one of the little girls who had no blouse on at all. The four of them walked into the flimsy hut and Slattery and I followed and closed the crude bamboo door. The hut was strangely dark inside, but I could see even in the dim light, that the figures of the three young women were dynamite.
I walked toward the one with the largest breasts and tugged on her trousers. She understood and immediately took them off. She had no underwear underneath and I had to admire the softness of her cunt which glistened with perspiration. She pointed to herself and said her name was Lien.
"Me Lien, Lien," she repeated. She still smiled as I walked over to the others and tugged on their pants. The three of them obeyed and all three stood naked before us. I left the little girl to Slattery who helped the child off with her pants.
I was getting hard just looking at them. So was Slattery who was already feeling the little girl's ass and fingering her hairless cunt with a light touch.
The woman in the middle of the group was named Thuy. Thuy, I noticed, had a large brown freckle on her left tit. I pointed at it and laughed. She understood my amusement and laughed a little nervously along with me. The third woman was the most beautiful of the three women. Her name was Lan and she spoke some English.
"I Lan," she said. "My father work for Americans in Saigon."
I didn't know whether to believe her or not. It probably was a lie, but it made me pause for a moment. If her father was working for the Americans it would be a mistake to touch her. But I figured she was probably one of those VC women I read about who spend their spare time making booby traps to kill American soldiers.
Even if Lan was telling the truth, it wouldn't matter out here. We were miles away from any governmental authority. Here was where the M-16 ruled and if civilians got caught in the middle of the war it was just too bad.
Lan's breasts were small but well-formed and had a graceful upsweep to them that gave them nipples which pointed straight upward. Her hair was the blackest of black hair I had ever seen. Her eyes were sparkling sapphires that held my eyes fixed on hers. The golden coloring of her skin and her perfect complexion brought a quiver to my heart as my penis bulged in my jungle fatigue pants.
I offered Lan some C rations out of my pack which I had set down on the floor. It was a steak C-ration. I gave a can of bacon to Thuy and felt her freckled left breast as I did so. She giggled. Lien got a can corned beef hash and two of my fingers in her cunt which made her jump two inches off the ground. But still she smiled and laughed about it.
Then I took out my P-38 metal C-Ration can opener with the folding blade and began to show them how to operate it, as I opened all three cans for them.
They ate the food with their hands and chattered among themselves as they ate in the nude.
Slattery gave a Hershey Bar to the child and played with the kid's ass as she ate the candy.
But the little girl was beginning to cry and this made Slattery angry. He was worried about our young sergeant coming in through the door and breaking up the party.
After the girls had finished, I went over to Lan and fondled her breasts. Her face lost its smile and she sank into an impassive Buddhist stare as I ran my fingers along her brown thighs and between her legs, getting harder all the time with the excitement of the touch of her smooth skin. As I was doing this, Slattery had given up on the little girl and hoped she would stop crying since he wanted our party to last a while longer. The kid quieted down. Slattery came over to Lien and began feeling her large, rounded breasts.
By now, we were all seated cross-legged on the dirt floor of the hut in a tight cluster. I busied myself with fondling Lan's breasts while Slattery divided his time with Lien and Thuy.
Then Slattery and I stood up and took off our jungle fatigues and boots. We made sure our rifles were nearby because we still weren't sure whether these women were VC or not and we weren't about to take any chances.
My prick was standing up straight as the girls began to laugh. We faced each other, Slattery and I on one side, near to our rifles and the naked women on the other side far away from the rifles. Slattery was also hard by this time too just by looking at the soft rounded bodies of the women in front of him.
Both Slattery and I were taking a terrible risk. If the Lieutenant or the Sergeant found us naked our asses would be grass and they would be the mowers. But the cravings of my prick were the driving force that blew away all inhibitions and the risk itself heightened my excitement as I contemplated entering those yellow cunts and creaming into them with volcanic force.
Lien was the first of the three girls to crack. She reached out her hand to enfold my straight penis and began to give me dry jerk-off which was not exactly the type of excitement I had in mind.
Then Thuy followed her lead and began to dry-masturbate Slattery. But Slattery was having none of this foolishness. The rough jerks of Lien's hand chafed my prick and I didn't want to squirt just yet. Slattery pushed Thuy's hand away with a rough shove sending Thuy back on her elbow.
"They think they're gonna get us off with a hand-job and save their precious cunts," he said.
I had to agree with him, it looked that way, but as yet I still wanted to have them without force. I pulled some piastre notes out of my pocket in my pants, which were lying next to me. I offered two hundred to Lien and played with her breasts as I did so.
She shook her head. Then I offered the money to Thuy and she did the same. They were trying to keep united on the theory that any bad thing they did would be communicated to other members of the village by one of them. If they sinned it would be together or not at all.
I tired of the game. Neither money nor fear nor C-Rations would get them to cooperate. Finally Slattery impulsively got up to get his M-16 and held the muzzle of the rifle to the head of Lien who started to cry. Only Lan remained impassive as she sulked by herself, her eyes expressionless.
Lien's tears dropped on to her round breasts and traced a route slowly down her stomach and on to her cunt. Then I reached for her and grabbed her, seating her in my lap as I planted her on my extended penis.
Lien began to cooperate, with the gun still at her head, and helped to guide my prick into her cunt which was wet already from the tears that still welled out of her eyes. We sat there motionless for maybe a minute. Her in my lap, her golden cunt sheathing the sword of my sweaty prick and then she began to move up and down on the prick as I felt the veins throbbing in my penis.
I told her to turn around on the prick and helped her to execute a 180 degree turn so that now she was seated on my prick but facing away from me. She started again to move in a jerky up-and-down motion still crying.
Then Thuy began sucking on Slattery's balls, working her way to his prick, kissing it loudly along the length of the shaft. I wondered if this was a VC trick to get Slattery to drop the muzzle of the rifle away from Lien's head.
Slowly Slattery dropped the rifle on the floor and lay on his back as Thuy swarmed over him, burying her cunt in his face which Slattery began licking vigorously.
He was really enjoying it.
Thuy was now swallowing Slattery s prick and I glanced sideways to see him enthusiastically eating out Thuy's cunt as she was using her mouth on his prick and holding his balls up high with her hands to get him to shoot his sperm more quickly.
As Thuy was doing this, I watched the play of Lien's back muscles and the tautness of her leg muscles as she continued sliding her now slippery cunt over the length of my penis, seeming to make it disappear in one instant, as she went down in her squat and then making the long hard shaft reappear as she rose upward.
Even though Slattery was enjoying himself and I was having one of the greatest and most satisfying fucks of my life, I was worried about the rifles. There was Slattery's which was on the floor. Then there was my rifle in the corner of the hut.
I had some worries about Lan who still stared with that trance-like look as Slattery was being blown and I was getting fucked by Lien.
As I felt Lien's cunt tighten around me, I felt my own prick become more intensely hard and I knew I would come into her very soon. I sat up and began playing with Lien's breasts from behind her back as I began thrusting my own hips and slamming my huge prick into her with savage fury. I could feel Lien's cunt go rigid on the inside and my fingers could feel her nipples harden to stone.
The hut was filled with the soft moan of pleasure that came from not only Slattery and myself, but from Lien and Thuy also as they swooned with pleasure.
I knew Slattery would squirt his load into Thuy's mouth very soon since he was looking between Thuy's legs to get a better look at her wobbling breasts. This was something he told me he liked to do just before shooting.
Suddenly, in a crescendo of moans and the sound of pounding heart beats that echoed in my brain.. .amid the heavy sound of exhausted breathing, Slattery gave out a cry. I shouted at the same time as we had reached our climax simultaneously and still kept coming as I could feel my face become hot and flushed as the pleasure overwhelmed me.
I glanced to see Slattery still withing in ecstasy as his body shook with a violent jerk as sperm invisibly entered Thuy's mouth and then cascaded out her lips and down the shaft of Slattery's throbbing prick.
But I was thrown out of my bliss roughly, when I saw Lan run, her breasts wobbling, as she reached for Slattery's M-16. But Slattery was too quick and he grabbed the rifle in time before she could pick it up.
Then Lan ran over to the corner of the hut and picked up my M-16. With astonishing speed and skill she flicked off the safety catch and took aim straight at me. I rolled a few feet to my right, taking Lien with me who was still planted on my penis. Two bursts split the quiet of the hut and I felt explosions ripping apart the ground where I had been a split second before. But by the time Lan was ready to fire another burst, Slattery had already aimed and fired his rifle and blown Lan in two pieces that spattered the walls with her blood and tissue.
It's a strange thing about an M-16 automatic rifle. You never wound a person. Either you miss them or blow them to pieces We only had seconds to act for I could hear the voices of other troopers as they converged on the hut.
Slattery screamed at me. "We can't let them live," he said, shouting at Lien and Thuy. "They'll talk! They're VC! They tried to kill us !"
Slattery let loose a quick burst that tore off the right arm of Lien and knocked Thuy to the other side of the hut as her legs and arms seperated from her body and the hut began to burn furiously.
In the smoke and confusion that followed, we managed to get on our pants and boots.
The Lieutenant wanted to know what happened. I explained the girls were VC and had tried to kill us with our own weapons as we sat down to interrogate them. I explained that I spoke a little Vietnamese and that I thought they might have some information that could be valuable to us.
The Lieutenant walked off, apparently satisfied by this explanation. Slattery and I winked at each other and we began to whistle a tune as we slung our packs on our backs and joined the company as we continued our operation.
There were many other times that I have used violence on women but never was the violence so intense as in the Viet Nam war. This experience was my first in Viet Nam but others followed, until I became so used to the killing that I found it difficult to think of women and sex together without the added ingredient of violence. And that is why I sit on my cold, metal bunk in prison at this moment.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Today is the day the warden allows visitors to see the prisoners. It's a new program...conjugal visits. The warden will let wives come into the cells to visit the prisoners. And that is what my Jane is to me. She is my legal wife.
I married her in a proxy marriage and we hope both of us can start a new life together. She has had her problems with alcoholism, although it hasn't effected her looks any.
She is a beautiful girl and I couldn't ask for a sweeter, more understanding person than Jane.
She understands what the Viet Nam war has done to me, how it scarred my mind and destroyed my capacity for loving. Even the warden has told me in conferences that he sympathizes with me and my condition.
The things I did in Viet Nam and the experiences I had were something no one can understand, he said, if he hasn't been through them.
The warden himself was in World War Two and he admitted to me that he had done and seen some things that he wished he could erase from his memory. But he has managed to conquer any effects of the war and he did it without psychiatry.
But, the warden said he didn't know if he could have managed his life after the war if his war had been the same kind as the one I went through.
I told the warden about the corruption I encountered in Saigon and even though I admitted I had harbored some violent tendencies toward women even before going to Viet Nam, I thought these feelings would have been repressed if I had never gone off to fight in Viet Nam.
The seeds were planted a long time ago, or so says the psychiatrist, but it took an unpopular war in Viet Nam to bring out the full hideous nature of the storm that grew ' within me.
A very violent storm.
The war in Viet Nam took the germ of a disease that resided within me, as it does in many men, and took that germ and incubated it. The germ flourished and grew strong in the hot house atmosphere of the war in Viet Nam.
In a strange land, cut off from family and community standards of morality, I was like a reed blowing in the wind, at the mercy of the apocalypse that claimed the lives of many young American men.
There were the dead American boys who gave everything for their country. They did not have to suffer the scars of living in the world after the war. Perhaps they were the lucky ones.
Then there were the maimed and the mutilated who can extract the sympathy of the American public much more easily than I can. And then there are veterans like myself who don't have the peace and tranquility of the dead. Nor do we have the visible scars of the maimed. But those scars exist. They are in the mind and they can cripple a person just as surely as if his leg had been blown off.
I've had a great deal of time to think about the past events of my life and how I had contribute to their happening. The prison psychiatrist says I've been like a radio receiver all my life. People, and that includes women, have been sending out signals to me like some radio transmitting station that is broadcasting different types of music on different stations. At least, that's the way the psychiatrist explained it to me.
He says that my receiver set is switched to only the pop music station of women. I pick up only the signals on one wave length. He said I'm missing out on some fine music because my set is picking up only this pop music. Somewhere out there in the ether, some woman may be transmitting classical music on one of her other wave lengths... and I'm missing out on the beautiful music.
At first, I laughed at what I called his 'radio theory of human interaction' but later I opened up in our counseling sessions and became more receptive to the other prisoners.
It was the psychiatrist's idea that I communicate by letter with some women on the outside, and so I put that ad in the newspaper personal section asking to correspond with a woman.
I didn't care what she looked like, just so long as she could write an intelligent letter.
That's how I met Jane. She was the first to write a letter in response to the ad. She told me about herself, how she had been divorced at the age of twenty-two from a man who beat her twice a week.
It took her a long time to get up the courage to leave him and file for divorce. She had been a prisoner of middle-class notions that divorce was a shame to the woman and meant she was unable to hold a man. She had feared her parents' reaction to her divorce, but most of all, she feared her husband's rage when she would have to break the news to him that she was going to leave him.
After two years of psychotherapy she had made a new beginning. She had the disadvantage of having a small son to raise by herself, and this added to her difficulties in adjusting to her new single life. She spent many nights alone and seldom went out with men.
Like myself, she was a prisoner of her past and hid from her true feelings. Like myself, she had found relations with the opposite sex to be almost impossible.
I suppose the psychiatrist would say that her transmitter was sending out nothing but static and her receiver, like my receiver was set on one wave length. She was always looking for signs of brutality in men, for she had come to believe that men were all like her husband, wanting to debase, humiliate her and use her body to get their rocks off. When she did come into contact with men, either at work or on the few times she accepted an invitation to go out on a date, she was always looking for signs of a brutal nature in the man.
To her confused mind, any man who showed a trace of aggressiveness was to be avoided in the future. Consequently, she only went out with meek men.
Her sexual experiences during the time of her separation from her husband were few and unsatisfactory. The men she went with were meek and mild and this became a problem in her sexual relations with them.
With these bookish, scholarly types she invariably wound up taking the active role in the sex act, nearly having to rape the quiet men she chose to take into her bed.
One of her men was a high school librarian who wore a beard and glasses. He would simply lie in her bed and wait for her to begin massaging his prick and then she would mount his prick after she had coaxed the cock to acceptable hardness. It would be her doing the movement, thrusting her pelvis violently, as the man would almost go to sleep, retaining only the hardness of his prick as she rode on it and massaged his chest with her hands.
But she had avoided the biggest fear of her mind by taking these gentle men into her bed. That was the fear of finding another brutal man like her husband who would subject her to the most hideous kinds of brutality.
She described her husband to me in one letter she wrote to me a year ago. He was tall and handsome and had a good job as a lawyer. Yet, he was an aggressive type who was aggressive in the court room and also in bed. He believed that true sexuality necessarily implied aggression. She found this out and suffered brutally at his hands.
He enjoyed fucking her from behind for it excited him to watch her like a female dog on all fours. He enjoyed the blow jobs that she gave him because he would enjoy the superior position he assumed in his easy chair. He would sit there with all his clothes on, shirt, tie, vest and suit and have her come into the living room naked and order her to suck his cock off as he sat in the easy chair smoking his pipe and reading the evening newspaper.
She had to unzip him and poke through the fly of his underwear to find his prick and take it into her mouth, then as he pretended to be completely unaware of what was happening she would suck on his prick until he came into her mouth. He would scarcely change his position in his chair during these sessions.
If she dared to complain to him that she was doing all the giving during these sexual sessions and he was doing all the taking, he would look at her with that superior stare of his and slap her lightly on both cheeks of her face, once with the flat of his palm and then back across her other cheek with the back of his hand.
This was only the light punishment that he meted out to her. If she complained of a headache and refused to give him a blow job or climb on to his hardened penis as he lay in bed, he would begin choking her until her face would turn blue and her gasps for breath were a cry for help.
Often she would throw up after he choked her like this, and this would bring on even worse punishment. If she threw up on the bed sheets, he would take his belt off his pants and begin to whip her pink ass until it turned red and her screams would fill the whole house.
Strangely enough, this would excite him even more. Her screams always brought his prick to a quick hardness and he would spurt his sperm over her ass as the final insult to her body.
At the beginning of her marriage to him, he would only give her a light slap on the face if she displeased him or said the wrong thing at the parties they would often give for other lawyers and their wives.
Then the slaps would become harder. After a year of marriage to him he began to withhold his slaps until they were in bed together and naked. He would slap her tits until the pain seared her consciousness and her brain was filled with the sharp, intense white light of pain that she felt throughout her entire body.
It was strange, the gradual intensity of the punishment he gave to her. Even stranger was her adapting to the routine, gradually intensifying of the slaps, the whipping and the humiliating sex acts she would be forced to perform on him.
During the second year of the marriage, he began to urinate into her mouth when she would begin to give him a blow job as he sat in his chair. At first, she thought it was really just a little joke on her and she laughed along with him. The he began to piss into her mouth more frequently and she began to suspect that this was not just a joke, but that he was getting real pleasure by pissing into her face.
Then, one night he expressly ordered her to take his prick, in her mouth and let him piss into it. She thought it was strange, but the whole area of sexuality was becoming more liberal and if it made him happy, she thought it was her duty to make him happy.
Then he forced her to swallow the piss. If she lost any of it or didn't swallow all of it, he would beat her with his belt. He would lay on heavy strokes around her shoulders. Sometimes he would beat her tits with the belt until she screamed for mercy.
When she did this, he seemed happy and would stop. It was only late in the second year of the marriage that she realized she had become an accomplice to her own beatings.
Jane had a girl friend who was a psychologist. One day Jane and the woman were talking at lunch, and Jane blurted out the story of what her husband had been doing to her. The woman listened compassionately and explained to Jane that she had somehow become a partner in her own beatings. That she felt somehow guilty and in need of humiliation and debasement because of her childhood experiences with boys.
Jane's parents had instructed Jane that sex was dirty and not done by 'nice girls'. Her mother would sneak into Jane's bedroom some nights and secretly examine her cunt to see if her hymen had been broken. Once Jane caught her mother during one of these inspections.
She woke up startled, to find her mother's fingers in her cunt, probing through the outer folds, looking for traces of sperm or feeling for the maiden head to make sure her daughter was intact sexually.
Jane was only thirteen years old when she caught her mother looking into her pussy. She had not even been told about boys or sex, yet. The experience was so strange to her that she was scared of her mother and was made to feel that her cunt was dirty and she despised her own body, especially her cunt.
When Jane's father died when she was fourteen, her mother remarried a younger man, who was about forty-five years old. The stepfather continually gave her playful pats on her ass, and pulled down her bra, playing with her young tits. He only did this when he was sure Jane's mother was away for the day or visiting relatives in a nearby city.
One day the stepfather followed Jane into her bedroom, after she had taken a shower. He raped her repeatedly. Then he beat her for not being cooperative. Strangely, Jane found a source of indefinable pleasure in the beatings the stepfather gave her with his belt.
From these experiences, Jane got the strange idea that her body was a dirty thing, that it was somehow something to be punished for the filth that had contaminated it. She courted situations that led her into humiliation and beatings.
She found herself attracted to aggressive men who reminded her of her stepfather. Her husband was the same type as her stepfather. Jane willingly, almost happily had accepted the beatings from her husband, who in her subconscious mind came to represent her stepfather, whom she feared and, at the same time, respected. At her young age she had failed to trust her perceptions of reality, relying on authority figures to supply her perceptions for her.
From these revelations to the psychologist friend, Jane came to see how she had unwittingly fallen into situations which punished her physically for what she imagined to be her past sins.
I sympathized with Jane, for I too, had fallen into the same trap. I had been as sick as her husband. I sought out women who subconsciously wanted to be beaten and slapped and degraded. Jane and I, had we met years earlier would have complemented each other perfectly.
But now we both came to understand our sicknesses. Mine was a product of my childhood sexual experiences, made worse by the war I had to fight. Her's was the result of her guilty feelings about her sexuality and the abuse of her body by her stepfather.
But it was not too late for either of us. We both had a chance to start over.
As I contemplated Jane and my married life to her, I was startled out of my thoughts by the voice of the guard who called through the bars.
"Somebody here to see you, Shane."
It was Jane, standing next to the guard. The guard opened the cell and let Jane into the small, cramped, damp cell that I had called home for the last five and a half years.
Jane looked perfect in her tight, peddle pushers and white, sleeveless blouse. Her high heels clicked confidently on the surface of the concrete floor. She walked over to my bunk bed where I was sitting and threw her arms around me like we were a long lost brother and sister.
I began to kiss her delightedly, at first on the neck and then on the lips, tenderly.
"Wait," she said. "I'll pull the curtain."
She came back to me and we began hugging and kissing, completely enraptured just at the physical touch of the other. Then I moved my hand to her pants and tugged on the waist band. She stood up and took off her slacks. She was wearing no underwear. Then she took off her blouse. She was wearing no bra, either.
I admired her round, firm breasts which swelled with desire. Her tight, cute little nipples seemed in a perpetual state of erection even though I had not even touched them, yet. Her round, well-shaped ass was set-off by a pair of firm, meaty thighs that hardened my prick just by the sight of them.
I took off my blue prison uniform and she sat on my lap with her knees in the air and began playing with my rock-hard prick like she was a child again and all the torment and brutality of her adult life was erased as if it were nothing but a bad dream.
I opened her cunt with my fingers and placed her on top of the sword of my passion and we rocked gently together, arms embracing each other like lost children who had found each other.
As the pleasure intensified, I came into her cunt as she went up and down the length of my penis. I felt her body shake as convulsions of my jerking prick transmitted themselves to her body and she moaned softly.
We stayed in that position for a long time, holding each other tightly, comforting each other, for in that instant we knew we had found our lives again in each others' arms.
Then the guard came to the cell and called in that our time was up. We had made love to each other for a full hour. Jane dressed and walked to the door. I kissed her one last time, tenderly as she walked out the barred door and she began to cry.
I could see the joy in her glowing face as she looked at my reddened face, and then she left. I watched her walk down the long corridor and I felt a warm glow of tender feelings that I had thought were beyond my capacity to feel.
Our new lives had started all ready and in six more months we would be able to face the world together and support each other through the hard times and the great times, armed with the self-knowledge that made us that much stronger for having suffered.
Now I could feel her on my prick, squirming and turning to give me every inch of pleasure on my cock and I could see she was loving it.
Then, suddenly, she hopped off as she felt my prick finally go soft. She stood in front of me as I remained seated on the bunk and came over to me. She wagged her cunt in my face since my face was at her cunt's level and began rolling her little, hairy pussy around my nose and mouth.
I was worried the guard would get pushy and kick her out. But I was on good terms with him and I knew he understood the situation behind the curtain.
I put aside all worries and began to move my tongue around her cunt, at first in a probing fashion, then in a more searching way as my tongue played around her mound and brought her clitoris to stiffen to attention. What a good little soldier it was, too. I could see her clit was pumped up with blood as I continued to explore the outer folds of her cunt lips before continuing my explorations deeper.
She began to squirm in strange way and then her erratic movements became systematic as she began to jerk her body up and down in spasmodic rhythm. Her eyes rolled back in her head, I saw. I have to admit that I can't resist sneaking a peak at a girl I am eating out. I love to watch the expressions of pleasure and yearning on her face as she begins to approach climax.
I've noticed that women never are looking at me as I sneak a look at them when they are being eaten. This has always meant that I am driving them to peaks of ecstasy.
If Jane had ever looked down at me, like a lover kissing with the eyes open, I would have lost my concentration and my tongue-licking of her cunt would have lost its magic. I think that's why women never look at the man who is eating them out. They're afraid of losing the magic moment that may mean the difference between orgasm or no orgasm.
Jane wasn't looking at me and I could tell by the faster pace of her movement that she was beginning to come and I was worried that the guard would come back. Not that he would stop us, but he might say something. Even if he just called over the curtain to remind us the visiting period was over, this would be enough to break the spell of the intense passion Jane was experiencing.
She was doing what amounted to squats as she would slam down, engulfing my tongue in her wet cunt and then pulling upward as her knees straightened out. I could feel the sex force take her over as she flowed with the intense excitation my tired tongue was giving her vagina.
Frankly, my tongue was tired and I grabbed her ass cheeks and split them apart. I inserted my two fingers of the right hand into her asshole as her own rapid movement down on my fingers brought ooze from her anus and lubricated my finger as it penetrated farther and farther into her rectum.
Then I could feel her body shaking as it convulsed wildly and shook as her asshole ring and vagina squeezed the fingers and tongue till I was gagging and my fingers became numb.
Then she shook violently as the white heat of passion cascaded over her face and firm, round tits. I could see her breasts redden and the area around her cunt seemed aflame with the glowing color of her passion
After a while, her shaking subsided and I felt it was time to take my tongue out of her wet cunt. I felt it had been creamed on, it was so wet.
