I'd loved her since we were kids and I believe I fell in love with her the day she was born. Mom gave birth to Lindsey at home. It was back in the 50's when home births were still pretty common. I was almost four when she was born and all it took was one look into the greenest eyes I'd ever seen to get me hooked. She was my doll baby and every chance I got I played with her and carried her around.

It was me that put her on her feet and got her to take her first steps. I learned to change her diapers. Her slick little vulva fascinated me. It took me a few years, but at the time, I finally connected her little pussy to the most pleasurable sensation in the world, but I loved touching it and rubbing baby lotion on it and on her soft, snowy little tush. I showed her off to anybody and everybody with the pride of a young parent, showing off my baby. I demonstrated how well she walked, coaxing her into talking and saying mama and papa - the very first word she put together was Bubba, trying to say Bobby. Mom picked up on it, began calling me Bubba. I called my Lindsey doll-baby, but that was soon shortened to Dolly.

We were poor - although I didn't realize it until I was a little older - consequently Dolly and I shared a bed for many years. At first, it was just a convenience - she followed me around like a little duck - and that I was everything but a wet-nurse to her and it became especially convenient for Mom after I learned to change her diapers. Having gotten started with them, I got the dirty side of it, too - pre-rinsing them. No disposable diapers. Those were mostly sold at drugstores and found in hospitals, back then. Besides, they were fairly expensive - compared to our meager income, so there were times that Dolly wore tee-shirts swaddled and pinned on her little bottom until Mom - or usually, me - could do the wash.

Until Dad left us, he was a laborer with no specific skills other than a strong back and a pair of strong hands. He never made much money, so Mom did other things to bring in some cash. Usually Mrs. Hunsinger's wash. Mrs. Hunsinger's money got us the staples, rice and beans, flour and coffee. Mom didn't have many other skills either. She was still very good looking and got propositioned regularly - and that was also a part of the times. There was no such thing as politically correct and the women's movement hadn't yet become the power it is now. Women were subjected to the wolf-whistles and sexually laced comments from even young men who wouldn't have dreamed of saying those things to their own mothers. Still, it was a common, if unpleasant, practice back then.

Dolly and I had the only other bedroom in the little shotgun shack Dad rented and shared the single bed, an old cast iron thing that collectors now fight over. I was about ten when I first began feeling faint urges in my young balls. Those were the first stirrings of what would later become lust and the need to procreate. What got my baby girl and me started was sympathy and trying to ease an upset tummy Dolly got from eating too much beans. For some reason, her little system couldn't take all the gas and it would build until it came out of her in one long, very, very smelly fart. Who knew such a sweet little butt could come out with such a stinky, smelly fart. Anyway, I lay on my side, leaning on my elbow, my head resting on my hand as I rubbed her tummy gently. I really wasn't looking forward to the blow-out when it came, but at the same time, felt so soft and felt wonderful. Every so often she moan a little and I'd bend and kiss the side of her porcelain cheek. Each time, I could smell the baby soap on her freshly washed little body. I always used it on her and, after I began earning my own money, I bought it for her because I loved the smell on her - I still do. To me it's the smell of my darling Anyway, I lowered my head onto my elbow and brought my nose close to her hair, still rubbing her tummy over her night shirt. A few minutes later, I rucked up her top and slipped my hand under it, rubbing her bare tummy. Dolly sighed and smiled tremulously up at me.

"Dat's good," she murmured, gripping my thumb with both her small hands, "um-m-m."

I pressed my face closer and kissed her cheek. I was always kissing and caressing her, after all, she was my doll baby and I loved my doll baby. She turned her face to me like she did every time, and pursed her sweet baby lips for what we called, a good kiss. I slipped my arm under her head and snuggled her to me as I kissed her with the innocence of my own inexperience, wrapping my arm around her little shoulders. She really felt good and I felt that odd stirring in me once again. I wasn't sure what I felt back then, but I knew that holding her and kissing her felt wonderful. In spit of her discomfort, Dolly soon fell asleep in my arms and I rolled her onto her side, snuggling up behind her, feeling her soft baby buttocks warming my crotch, sending me signals that I didn't yet understand. My hormones were awakening. At that, I learned after I'd grown up, I matured somewhat younger than the average boy. As for the urges, I fought them for a long year.

However, there were "those" magazines in all the corner markets. Markets that were later replaced by convenience stores. Larry Flynt hadn't yet been shot and, as a matter of fact, Hustler was just one of many of the magazines in the racks with Playboy as the premiere men's magazine. At any rate, they were at my eye-level and easily available to anybody, regardless of age, to thumb through. A lot of us kids did, more or less making fun of the pictures that we were too young to quite understand. I thumbed through them, filling my eyes with hairy female crotches and big-titted chests. The shaven pussies were only for specialty magazines, the province of fetishists, and weren't that common, but I guess you could say that I was one of those fetishists. I liked those shaved pussies because, as I later admitted to myself, they reminded me of my doll baby's clean little cunt. I discovered the pleasures of "Rosy Palm and Her Five Sisters" not long after that, but my little balls took a couple more years before they began producing sperm although the pleasure was there.

It was after I turned twelve that I discovered the really hard-core sex magazines behind the counters. The magazines you had to ask for. At the time I'd hired on at our local corner store, mostly just sweeping up, cleaning up spills, helping stock the shelves, a job usually reserved for underage kids or old, blown-out winos. I'd occasionally mind the register, whenever Johnny, the clerk manager, was on the phone or taking a smoke break. This particular time, Johnny was in the office on the phone with his girlfriend when one of the regular customers came in and asked for a particular magazine. He got rather upset when I didn't know what he was talking about. He got so loud that Johnny came out to see what the problem was. When he saw who it was, he apologized and told him that I was new and wasn't yet familiar with the store's layout. He quickly opened a closed cupboard under the counter, flipped through the magazines there and finally got to the one the man wanted. The man handed me several bills, told me to keep the change and hurried out.

Johnny rang it up and smiled as he handed me the seventy-five cents change. The man said to keep the change, he smiled at me. Before I could thank him, he opened the cupboard door again and showed me the specialty magazines. They were all really hard-core sex action magazines. He showed me the particular one this man liked and - keep in mind that this was 1958, no laws against that type of porn yet - the magazine was of men and very young pre-teen girls. Some of those girls that looked younger than Dolly! This was a new one on me. There were also many other types of magazines as well. You know, men and dogs, women and horses . . . all types. It seemed to me that whatever you liked, there was a magazine showing it. I won't go into any further details, but the ones that got me hooked were those containing very young girls, whether posed solo or screwing men and they got me to imagine that it was Dolly and me in those pictures.

It took a while longer before I did much about my rising lust for her, but using any little excuse I could come up with, I'd touch her and caress her soft little body. She enjoyed the attention, backing up to me when we sat and watched the old broken-down black and white TV that someone had given us, so I could rub her buttocks and her baby crotch. At night, I'd hug her to me, cross a leg over her and rub my prick - through my shorts - up and down her soft, sweet little diapered ass. She never objected. Like any toddler, she enjoyed the attention and was always pleased by it.

I finally got bold enough to run my hands into her panties knowing full well that it wasn't a very nice thing to do. With time, I forgot about the forbidden aspect. I mean, I really hadn't touched her there since I'd stopped changing her diapers and dressing her. She sighed with soft pleasure and lifted a leg to let me reach down farther. I didn't know what I was doing, but I knew that she enjoyed it and I was getting a thrill as I dry-fucked her. We got a lot of pleasure from our touches, but it did take some time to keep her from coming to me for a rub in front of everybody. I had to talk to her - in private - and correct her about it. With her rag doll in her hands, she grudgingly agreed that she'd wait until we were alone. It was around then that I realized that Mom was pregnant. A few months later, she gave birth to Leila and Debra, the prettiest set of twins I'd ever laid eyes on, brunettes with her fair complexion. Naturally, I got the job of baby-sitting, but this time it was so Mom could go find a job.

The best paying jobs were at our four local taverns. They were also about the only jobs in town - that and the corner markets although, as I mentioned, the best pay was at the taverns. Against Dad's wishes, she got a job as a bar-back at Chiquita's Café. Her looks and friendly attitude got her almost as much in tips as the waitresses, even though she wasn't as young nor as well-built as those young waitresses. Then Ronald, her boss, put her on waiting tables. That got her two and three times - in one night - what Dad was earning in a whole week. At first it was just tips, but she soon began bringing in three and four times her waitress tips each night. Dad soon learned why. It seems that most of the waitresses "worked on commission" out of several back rooms and Mom fell for the quick five for a discreet blow-job and ten for a quick fuck.

One night Dad confronted her about what she was doing. He'd overheard one of his colleagues taking about the place and the great blow-jobs of a certain waitress. The colleague described her to a "T" and he put two and two together. During that noisy confrontation, he gave her a bloody nose, but when the police came, they dragged Dad off to jail for family violence. When he was hauled off by the police and the magistrate sentenced him to ninety days, Mom went to work with a vengeance. She said it was because we no longer had Dad's income, but she was already making damn good money! From then on, Dolly and I became Leila and Debra's surrogate parents. Dad got out of jail a couple of months later and came home long enough to pack his clothes. Years later, a friend of his told me that Dad had climbed on a railroad car and left. All I know is that we never saw him again.

Before that blowout, Dolly and I grew much, much closer. I'd learned where and how she liked to be touched and she had learned the same about me. We masturbated each other frequently, getting deeper and deeper into the sex play. She got my first handful of cum when my balls finally began producing and she liked the feel, but was indifferent about the taste. With Dad at work and Mom usually in bed until well past noon, we were pretty much free to touch each other wherever, whenever and however we wanted. Even the twins once got in on the act.

The summer I turned fourteen - by then Dad had been gone for several years - I brought home a magazine from work at the corner market, and showed it to Dolly - I'd brought nude cheesecake magazines home before and she'd leafed through them with me. This time I brought a couple of the hard-core magazines to show her pictures I liked and told her that I wanted to do those things with her. She didn't object, just looked through the whole magazine, completely fascinated by all the little girls smiling as big men's pricks spread their hairless little cunts wide or stuffed their big cocks in their tender little bottoms or fucked their wide open little mouths. I was leafing through another one, when she pulled on my arm and pointed to one of a man fucking a smiling little girl as she lay on her back, her legs and arms wrapped around the man as he crammed his thick cock into her. The twins were on the floor sound asleep in their afternoon nap, Mom was in her room snoring loudly and I had a good, stiff hard-on.

"Can we try this one?" she asked almost shyly.

"Sure," I grinned wide, "want me to lick you a little before we do that?"

"No," she shook her head, "I just, um, I just want ya to do that with me."

"Okay," I pulled my shorts off, "undress, then."

She quickly peeled off her tee shirt and slipped out of her shorts and panties. Neither of us had any idea what we were doing, all I knew was just put it in the hole. I'd read something about cherries, so I had a kernel of an idea that there might be some blood and, not wanting to take time to go the bathroom for a towel, pushed my tee shirt under her butt. Dolly smiled, but never questioned me. I'd always been in charge and had rarely led her astray so she just figured I knew what I was doing.

"Is this how?" she spread her legs and arms out.

I almost gasped, running my eyes up and down her sweet little body. I'd never really thought about it. I'd always seen her naked when I'd bathed her as a toddler until she'd begun bathing herself a couple of years back, but my little world twisted completely around as I realized that she was so very beautiful . . . and so very, very desirable. I suddenly felt very tender and loving toward her and was very gentle when I rolled on top of her. She didn't seem to notice my slight hesitation and smiled up at me, automatically hooking her heels on my hips and put her hands on my shoulders, copying the little girl in the picture.

"Uhm-m . . . y-y-yeah . . . I guess," I nodded and gave her a soft kiss.

'Um-m-m," she smiled, kissing me back.

I fumbled around until I had my prick up to her sweet portal, without understanding how wet and ready she already was. She was ten at the time, but she was slick and ready for me and that's what I didn't realize until we'd had a little more experience together. I don't know if anybody realizes it, but a boys prick at puberty, is almost as big as it's going to be when he's full-grown - roughly three-quarters or more the size it will be and, as I pushed my stiff prick into her, her eyes went suddenly big and round.

"Ow, ow-ow!" she gasped.

"What's the matter," I stopped pushing, but didn't pull out.

"It hurts, Bubba," she whimpered.

"Oh, that's only your cherry, honey," I tried to soothe her, "it's nothing. It'll go away," she felt so good that I didn't want to stop.

"B-but it . . . it hurts!"

"Sh-h-h," I pressed deeper into her, "it's okay, it's okay."

I tried to hold my hips back, but it was as if I was on remote control and humped into her, pushing in a little deeper.

"Ah-h-ha-a-a-oo-oo-oo," she whined, slapping my shoulder gently and insistently.

God, it felt good. Neither my hand nor Dolly's soft touch had ever felt like this. Even the slap on the shoulder felt different. Out of pure animal instinct I pulled back a little then punched into her - hard! Dolly's cries of pain only fueled my rising lust. I didn't even think of the noise we were making. Fortunately, Mom was dead to the world and didn't hear us. Dolly squirmed and twisted, but I think it was more from pleasure than discomfort or pain and didn't fight very hard, not a quarter as hard as I knew she could and her cries of pain soon stopped. Panting softly, she stopped squirming and hesitantly began rolling her slender little hips up to meet mine. Her tiny heels slipping and dropping onto my lower butt-cheeks as she began pulling me into her. My newly awakened lizard brain took over my whole being as I began rocking and plunging into her.

"Um! Um-m-m-uh-h," Dolly moaned, gasping and interspersing her cries with fast, pleasured sighs.

"This is good, huh, Dolly?" I murmured.

"Um-m hm-m," she sighed, "ooh-h-h, y-y-yeah."

"Oh, Dolly!" I gasped.

"Um-m-m," she crooned, "ya gonna . . . ya gonna . . . ya gonna p-p-put all . . . all ya stuff, uhm, uhm . . . oo-ooh-h-h! Ya gonna . . . put all . . . ya stuff . . . in B-Bubba?"

"Yes-s-s," I moaned, "yes-s-s-s . . . all of it!"

"Um-m-m . . ." she smiled, pulling my head down to her slender little neck, "kay . . ."

I thrust into her faster and faster, feeling an insistent urgency in my tightening balls. I'd never felt this way before. Dolly had brought me off with her hands many times, but they didn't compare to this. She felt so soft, so slick, so warm and her tiny cunt gripped me so very, very tight! Her little cunt felt like a buttery slick hand, tightening and relaxing as she gasped and crooned. I'd never felt anything like this. Then she gave a real funny, kinda strangled cry and went stiff on me, sending chills up my back as her little pussy clamped down tight, gripping my stiffly plunging prick like her hand did when she jacked me off. At the time, I didn't realize that she was cumming and cumming hard. It felt odd and I didn't know what was wrong with her, but it didn't stop me and her stiff body soon eased and she seemed to almost relax.

"Wow!" she gasped, "that . . . that was so fab! Wh-what happened?"

I couldn't answer her, I didn't know. I'd read in Playboy of women cumming, but I'd never had a woman before, so I didn't know how I could tell and didn't know what to say. Then she stiffened again, cumming and whimpering, sobbing with sheer pleasure. All too soon, I felt my own sap rising and plunged my spurting prick deep into Dolly's slick, bloody cunt. She held my head pressed to her soft throat and, as I cried out loudly, one of the twins started in her sleep and let out a little cry. She quickly fell back to sleep, but then Dolly cried out too, not as loud, and trembled under me as she came again. I shook and quivered as I spurted my last few drops into her.

Dolly's legs and arms tightened around me, pressing me even tighter to her neck. As she relaxed, she pulled my head up and I felt her puckered lips kissing me wherever she could reach. I sighed and relaxed atop her. It felt so good, so darn natural.

"Dat was so fab, Bubba," she whispered childishly, "we gotta do it again. Can we?"

I turned my face to hers and kissed her like I'd seen in one of the magazines, spreading her lips with my tongue and reaching in with it. Again, it felt like the thing to do, I mean, they did it in the magazines I'd read, so it must be good. Dolly accepted my tongue without question. Her mouth felt so good, so warm, so soft and wet.

"Yeah," I sighed, smiling down at her, "you bet we will, but I gotta rest a little. It's hard on a man, you know."

"Oh," she looked up at me, her eyes wide, "I didn't know . . . you want me to get you a glass of water or something?"

"Nope, not yet," I rolled off her and pulled her to me, "not yet, we'll rest a little and if ya bleeding, we gotta clean ya up."

"Oh. Yeah," she reached down between her legs, "I forgot."

A few minutes later I sat up and made Dolly lie back as I examined her pussy closely. There was some blood mixed with my semen on the tee shirt so I wiped her off and, since the twins were still sleeping, pulled her by the hand into the bathroom and sat her on Mom's shower bench. I grabbed the hanging shower hose as she watched and waited for me, and I washed her crotch of thoroughly, using the spray head to aim some inside her as she spread her legs for me and giggled.

"There. All squeaky clean," I smiled.

Dolly dimpled and puckered up for a kiss. I sat on the tub rim and pulled her to me, sending my tongue once again into her mouth. It had felt good before and it seemed to get better with each kiss. She threw her arms around my neck, quickly getting the hang of it.

"Um-m-m," she smiled, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, "really nice. I like that."

"Yeah," I grinned, "me, too."

I lifted her out of the tub and we dried off, going back into the bedroom for our clothes as Leila sat up, yawning hugely.

"Hi!" my little girl offered brightly, "potty?"

Debra heard her say potty and sat up too.

"Potty, Bubba?" Debra sniffled.

"Well, you should'a woke up sooner," I laughed, ruffling her soft, silky hair, "it kinda looks like ya done already did!"

I pulled her and Debra to their feet, stripped off their diapers and rubber pants, pointed them to the bathroom and, with a pat on their bare little rumps, sent them toddling on the way.

"Start the water, Leila," I grinned, neither could reach the taps, but trying would keep them busy for a few minutes, "you two are getting a bath first."

I finished pulling my clothes on and smiled at Dolly, wiggling my eyebrows. She giggled as she quickly stepped into her clothes.

"Wanna bring 'em some clothes? I'll put 'em in the tub and watch 'em," I quickly followed my two little charges.

"Kay."

---

Mom woke up around three. I'd heard her stirring so I'd put the coffee on. I could tell by her blood-shot eyes, as she stumbled in, that she was pretty well hung over so I kept quiet and slid a cup of coffee in front of her without comment. The twins were in their high chairs eating their afternoon snacks and playing a squealing game. One would squeal as ear-piercingly as she could and the other would follow suit with one just as ear-piercing. It was fun for them, but murder on the rest of us. Mom found it particularly hard to take.

"Shut UP!" she suddenly screamed at them.

They did, staring at her wide-eyed and scared.

"Sh-h-h," Dolly patted their little hands.

I bent over Debra and kissed her on the head while Dolly did the same with Leila. In a few minutes they seemed to have forgotten all about their scare and were now onto another game, the game of "sh-h-h." They giggled and shushed each other until finally, even that was too much for Mom. She grabbed her coffee cup and went into the living room, flicking on the old beat-up TV. I fixed her a couple of BLT's, her favorite, and carried them in to her, asking what she wanted for supper, but she said that she'd grab something at work.

"Well, I still need some grocery money."

She didn't answer, just kept staring at the TV, so I shrugged and went back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she came back in, dropped a roll of cash on the table, refilled her cup and went in to get dressed. It was a nice thick wad of cash - thick enough to choke a horse, as we used to say. I had thought that she'd tell me to pull some from one of the coffee cans in the cupboard. She had three of them already full and was working on a fourth.

"Must'a been last night's tips," Dolly commented, picking it up and handing it to me.

"Don't know," I pocketed the money without looking at it, "don't rightly really care."

We cleaned the twins up and got them ready to go to the park. They loved these long summer afternoons as much as I enjoyed spending time with them on my days off. Usually I walked them to our Aunt Celia's, Mom's older sister who lived a mile and a half away, and dropped them and Dolly off before going in to work. I'd pick them up after work, around eleven-thirty or so at night, and carry them home. Aunt Celia usually went to work around midnight, so it worked out well. Today, as Mom got ready to leave, I went in and turned the TV on to the afternoon cartoon shows and sat them in front of it. That would hold them until Mom left for work or a party somewhere, and went back to do the few dishes we'd dirtied. Dolly came in a few minutes later to help.

"How ya feeling?" I whispered as she pressed against me, dabbling her finger in the dish water coquettishly.

"I stings a little, but oo-ooh, Bubba!" she leaned her head gently on my upper arm, "it was so absolutely fab!"

She was a newly converted Beatles fan and "Fab" was their favorite word, it seemed.

"Can we do it again tonight, huh?" she pleaded so cutely that even if I'd wanted to resist, I couldn't.

"You just try and stop me," I grinned back, "put these dry ones up, while I wash the rest."

"Kay," she pulled the step-stool out.

Mom came in staring at us suspiciously. She was dressed fit to kill and watched as Dolly climbed the step-stool to put the dishes away.

"Going to work?" I pulled my hands out of the dish water and dried off.

"Got an appointment," she frowned, shaking her head.

An appointment, I'd finally figured out, meant that she had a "date," dressed like she was, it was obviously an all-night "appointment."

In the morning, she'd come in with her disheveled hair wrapped in a scarf, sunglasses hiding her blood-shot eyes, hose hanging half off her garters and reeking of alcohol and sex. Like I said, she was almost twice as old as her colleagues, but I'd found out that she made more than twice as much as any of them. The girl that told me about it had been high on something that I assumed was alcohol and had stopped by to bum a ride to "work."

---

One slow afternoon, I read, in one of the girl's health magazines - one of the many we sold at the corner market - that the stuff from a man could get a girl pregnant - shows my ignorance about sex back then - and it was something I hadn't thought of with Dolly. We'd been screwing for a little over a year by then. However, Dolly was a late bloomer, which I learned some years later, and still hadn't started menstruating so she was still safe, but I didn't know. I did know that I didn't want Dolly pregnant, but the only thing the article mentioned about birth control was "safes" and just what in the hell were "safes?" I finally struck on a way to find out . . . ask the boss - in a roundabout way, of course.

"Johnny, what in the heck is a safe?" I asked as casually as I could.

"Whaddya mean?" the suspicious glare he gave me was just a part of his way.

"Well, uhm . . . see, this guy came in and wanted a "safe," said he needed one to keep his girl-friend from getting pregnant."

Johnny's laughing bark was short and loud.

"Ya mean a condom!" he laughed, "yeah," he chorled, "sounds just like most a' the morons that hang around this place - yeah, it's just condoms - ya know, rubbers."

"Oh."

"Th' next time the moron comes around sell him a box of twenty-four, tell him that'll last him a couple'a weeks. Unless he jacks off more'n twice a day," he barked in laughter as he went into his office to call his girl-friend.

Rubbers. That's all they meant, rubbers. When Johnny took the daily deposit to the bank, I paid for a box of rubbers and put it in a bag with my jacket. When my reliefer showed up, I showed him the receipt, he nodded casually, waved to me and I left. I'd use these with Dolly from now on. I didn't want her getting pregnant. Not that I thought I'd mind, but Mom would find out about us and she wouldn't like it too much if I got Dolly pregnant.

---

"What's in the box?" we were walking back from Aunt Celia's that night with a little girl on each of my shoulders,

"Rubbers," I grunted, shifting one of the girls more comfortably on my shoulder.

Old Mr. Devin, our next door neighbor, was just getting back from his midnight walk as we turned in on our block, and he smiled and waved.

"Ain't you old enough to get a license yet?" he grinned patting Dolly on the head.

"I wish I was, Mr. Devin," I grinned, "it'd sure make carrying these two potato sacks a whole lot easier."

He laughed and opened his gate. Roscoe bounded out and stuck his snout in Dolly's face, giving her a good, slobbery tongue-kiss.

"Stop it, Roscoe!" she giggled, pushing him away.

Roscoe lifted a paw and boxed with her for a second before bounding back into his yard and following Mr. Devin in the house. I chuckled as Dolly wiped dog-drool off her face.

"Blegh! Pesky dog," she giggled again, "can we get a puppy, Bubba?"

"Gotta ask Mom," I sighed, thinking that I wouldn't mind a dog myself.

Dolly's eyes came back to the box in my pocket.

"What kinda rubbers? Ya never even wear galoshes in the winter, no matter how wet your feet get."

She fished the box out of my pocket and shook it before trying to read the information in the dim light.

"I'll show ya later, hon," I shifted Debra up a little higher as we walked up our sidewalk, "and they're not for the feet."

"Oh?"

"Nah, they're . . ." Dolly unlocked and opened the door, "they're to keep ya from getting pregnant."

"P-pregnant?!" she gasped, "how - how could I, uhm, how, uhm, how could I get pregnant?" her eyes went wide.

"I'll tell ya later, let's get the twins to bed first, okay?" I pushed past her.

"Kay."

We made quick work of changing out the twin's diapers and putting their rubber pants on them. I'd moved Dolly's old crib into our bedroom and we soon had them in it, watching as they curled up and continued snoring gently. Then, after Dolly and I were in bed, I explained about the birds and the bees, stuff I'd just learned in the last few days myself. I really felt that the girls, Dolly included, were my responsibility and I loved them and wanted to protect them, wanted to keep them safe.

"So, so, so that's how, uhm, how Momma got pregnant?" Dolly's voice ended in a high squeak, "wow!"

"Yeah," I nodded, "I figure she likes to do this as much as we do."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess," she nodded, then looked up at me, "how do ya put a rubber on?"

"I think you just unroll it and pull it on like a sock," I'd opened one on the way to pick them up earlier.

"Oh," she watched me open one.

"Wait," she stopped me as I began unrolling it, "it kinda looks like when Mom puts her hose up, kinda rolled up the same way, but she doesn't unroll them when she puts 'em on."

She took the rubber from me and delicately took my soft prick in her warm little hand. At her touch, my prick immediately stiffened, ready for action. She set the rubber on the head of my prick like a little rubber cap and giggled as she held it up for me to look at.

"A little head with a little cap," she giggled again.

"Are you having fun?" I chuckled.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, giggling as she unrolled it down my stiff prick and smoothed it out gently.

"You know, you're pretty smart." I pulled her to me.

"Um-m-m," she crooned as I pressed my tongue into her sweet mouth, "it's ready and me, too, I'm ready for ya, Bubba."

I rolled atop her and she automatically spread for me, pulling me into her soft center.

"You're so good to me, Bubba," she sighed, her deliciously wonderful pussy sucking my stiff length in.

At first, fucking my baby girl with the rubber felt a bit strange, but I did want to protect her and keep her from getting pregnant so I kept it on, much as I wanted to yank it off. Back then they were real rubber, hence the name. They weren't the modern, very stretchy, latex things we have these days and they didn't transmit the wonderful feel like you got with a bare cock, but I got used to it and Dolly was soon panting and crying out my name with pleasure. As my pre-cum oozed into the dry rubber, though, it began feeling better and better. I couldn't feel her vaginal muscles until she came, gripping my slippery cock tightly. That felt so damn good that I blew my load into the darn thing. I guess it actually felt okay. It wasn't the greatest feeling in the world, but it would keep my Dolly from getting pregnant.

A long while later, we lay quietly, my soft prick still buried in her, still unable to feel her insides, but I did feel her soft cunt-lips around my soft shaft. She was wonderful. Her little pussy gripped my soft prick so tightly. I could feel her insides squeezing and loosening.

"I like lying like this," she murmured caressing my arms and back, "holding ya there feels, um-m-m, feels . .. real nice."

"Yep," I rolled off her and sat up.

"What's it look like?" she sat up with me.

"Like a mess," I grunted trying to figure out how to get it off semi-cleanly.

Once again Dolly figured it out. She told me to wait and ran to the bathroom, coming back with a damp wash-cloth. She deftly peeled the full rubber off and wiped me clean.

"There, all clean," she giggled.

"You are my doll-baby," I chuckled, "my really smart, doll-baby," I pulled her to me.

She giggled and curled up against me snuggling into my chest comfortably.

"Bubba?" she whispered, pulling my arms around her like a wrap.

"Yes, doll-baby," I grinned.

I was fifteen years old yet I felt like . . . like . . . I don't know - a man?

"I love you, Bubba," she whispered as she dozed off.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," I pulled her tightly to me, realizing that love was what I also felt as I kissed her forehead and lay back, pulling her to me as I pulled the covers over us.

"Um-m-m," her little snore finished her soft sigh.

---

When I turned sixteen, I dropped out of school. I didn't really care about it, I'd been held back two different years, once in grade school and once in middle school and if I even graduated, I'd be nineteen or twenty, a certified dummy. By then I was working full-time and relying very little on Mom's money. I didn't want her money. Part of that was that I didn't like the way she earned it even if she found nothing wrong with it, and part was the resentment I harbored against her, blaming her for Dad leaving, although I didn't really understand that part until many years later. Leila and Debra had never known much care from Mom and usually came to me or Dolly when they needed some attention and treated Mom as a friend, much like they treated Mr. Devin, our neighbor. Mom, for her part was pretty aloof with them - and us, for that matter, providing only money and little outward love. Had she shown some, I don't think I'd have felt the way I did, but I guess she'd always been that way and I'd been too young to realize it.

One night the inevitable happened and Mom got picked up in a prostitution sweep. How she'd managed to keep from it before was beyond me. She was just plain lucky, I guess. However, I'd never thought about it before, hadn't even wondered about her "job." I guess I was just too used to it and took it for granted.

That particular morning, she wasn't in the house when we awakened. The twins were about two then, Dolly was thirteen and I was seventeen. I just figured she'd had a late "appointment" and would drag in sooner or later. I got the girls ready and took them to Aunt Celia's. I figured on walking Dolly to school then go on to work, but Aunt Celia was fussing and fuming when we got there. Her neighbor was also there, talking to her through the door as she got dressed and ready to go out.

"What's going on?" I was surprised at the activity.

"Your mother, that's what's going on," Doris, Aunt Celia's neighbor fussed, "she called and wants to be bailed outta jail."

"What!?" Dolly and I gasped at the same time, "why?" I gaped at the woman.

"Because she's a whore and got caught with a bunch of other whores," Aunt Celia finished as she came out adjusting her dress, "I gotta go get some money to get her out."

"Money?" I asked dumbly.

"Bail money, I ain't got that much here so I'm gonna go see if Jack's got a little more."

Jack was her only son, a strapping twenty year old longshoreman who worked the docks.

"H-how much d'ya need?"

I reached in my back pocket for my wallet. I'd pulled a hundred from one of Mom's many coffee cans and had planned to take off work early and do some grocery shopping.

"Hundred and fifty," she suddenly looked at me sharply, "why, you got that much?"

"Yeah, Mom left me a hundred and I just got paid . . . I can get it back from her later."

"Well, then let's go, boy, fork it over," she held her hand out, waggling her fingers.

I was manager of the same 7-11 where I'd started working at the age of twelve and got paid a hundred and fifty every two weeks. I also had some emergency cash in the hidden flap of my wallet. I dug out the money and handed it to Aunt Celia. She counted out the hundred and fifty and handed the rest back.

"I'll go get her, want me to drop Dolly off at school for you?"

I only nodded numbly.

"I guess I gotta get a car," I mumbled thinking of Dolly and the usual long walk to school.

"I guess you do, son," Aunt Celia patted my shoulder, "Doris here will sit with the girls, you going to work?"

"Yeah," I nodded again, running my fingers worriedly through my hair.

"Don't worry, baby," she soothed, "your Momma's gonna be alright. She's a pretty tough bitch, but maybe this little peck of trouble will set her right. Want a ride to work?"

"Uhm . . . no," I shook my head, "I'll walk. It ain't far."

I pulled Dolly to me, and gave her a hug and a quick peck, no tongue in front of Aunt Celia. My sweet girl looked up at me, scared and uncertain.

"We'll be fine, honey," I mumbled in her ear as I hugged her again.

"That's right, Daddy," Aunt Celia patted my shoulder smiling broadly, "your kids will be perfectly alright."

I pulled a wry face at her, then smiled.

"Come on, baby," she called to Dolly, "let's boogie," and wiggled her butt, dancing out.

Dolly giggled and turned to wave good-bye to me. I chuckled and followed them out.

"Thank you, Doris," I smiled at her, "if they get fussy, just lay them on their side on the couch and tell them to go to sleep. It soothes them if you pat their little butts and they'll drop right off, okay?"

"Yes, Daddy," Doris chuckled, "I can see why Celia thinks so highly of you. Now scat. Go to work," I grinned and walked out, waving goodbye to Dolly as they pulled away.

I needed a car. I'd gotten Mom to take me to the DMV for my license when I'd turned sixteen and dropped out of school, but I really needed some form of transportation. I thought about how Mom's old car had recently thrown a rod and died. One of her "clients," a used car dealer, had presented her with a late model in great condition in exchange for her favors for several months, so I was hopeful that he'd help me get one at a good price. It couldn't hurt to ask, right? With that in mind, I trudged to work. Since I hadn't walked Dolly to school, I was way early and instead of going in the store, I went into the coffee shop next door to read the paper and have a hot coffee. I was quietly reading when a waitress twisted the volume knob to very loud. I glanced up surprise, but the news on the restaurant's radio stopped me from complaining. President Kennedy had been shot. The governor of Texas, sitting beside him had also been hit, but he was alive although in critical condition. The news went on to give some details of the shooting and we all listened avidly.

"What a day," I thought, "Mom's in jail and the President's been shot. What's next?"

I looked at the front page of my newspaper and read that Americans had taken over the majority of the fighting in Viet Nam and that American Special Forces observers were calling for a scaling up. It repeated the story of "The Domino Theory" about supporting the current government or the Communists would take over the whole of South East Asia. Among other things, it said that the draft would probably be increasing it's intake of young men due to the increased need in the foreseeable future. I'd seen some of the stories on TV when watching the news, and it didn't make much sense to me. The draft was actually getting full enforcement, jail was a real threat and more boys were being called in to fight. I didn't want to go, but I wouldn't shirk my duty if called. However, I wasn't due to register yet, I had another year to go so for the time being, I was safe.

When I got off work and went by Aunt Celia's, she told me that Mom had already taken everybody home. I got an odd feeling in my stomach. I wasn't so sure that I wanted Mom fooling around with my kids . . . my kids. I had to force myself to understand that they were actually Mom's kids, just like me. I shook my head. It meant that Dolly and I wouldn't be able to fool around, too much noise. Oh. Well, I shrugged and walked on home.

Leila and Debra were raising hell, when I got there. Dolly was doing her best to calm them down as Mom stood in the middle of the kitchen-living room screaming at them all to shut up. All eyes turned to me when they heard the door close behind me. Leila and Debra immediately ran to me, sobbing and crying as they called my name. I picked them up, one in each arm and shushed them as Dolly grabbed me around the chest, crying and sobbing as well.

"It's about goddam time," Mom gritted, "these little bastards been driving me crazy!"

"It's okay, Mom, I'll get them to bed," I shushed them again whispering little comforting words in their soft ears.

"I need to talk to you before you go to bed," she glared at me,leaning back on the sink.

"Okay, Mom," I nodded, "let me put 'em to sleep and I'll be back."

Dolly and I changed them out. Their potty habits were still a little spotty, but they were learning fast. Little bladders could only hold so much.

"I hate her!" Dolly hissed through gritted teeth, "she just comes in whenever she wants and screams at us then goes to bed! I hate her!"

She picked Debra up and put her in the crib as I kissed Leila and lay her next to her tiny sister.

"Bubba," Debra reached up to me demanding another kiss.

I kissed her and licked her baby lips, getting a giggle from her as she wiped her face playfully. She caressed my face as I pulled back and turned to my girl.

"It'll be alright, honey," I kissed the top of Dolly's head, "we'll be together later, okay?"

She nodded miserably.

"Get into your PJ's and go to bed, I'll go talk to Mom and see what's going on, okay?"

She nodded again, sighed and went into the bathroom to change. We didn't undress in front of each other when Mom was home. Heck, we rarely wore clothes to bed anymore when we were alone. The twins were all tuckered out and fell asleep almost immediately and I went back out to talk to Mom. She sat at the kitchen table, clutching a hot cup of coffee, her head bowed over it and the pot sitting in front of her.

"Wanna cup?" she shoved an empty cup in my direction.

I took it silently and poured myself a cup, waiting to hear what Mom had to say. We sat silently for a while as she stared into her cup, sipping every so often.

"You're a better father to them than your bastard of a father ever was, you know?"

"I never wanted to be," I shrugged, "but that's how it worked out, I guess," I sipped my black coffee.

"You drink your coffee the same way he did, no cream and no sugar."

I only shrugged.

"I've gotta go in front of the Magistrate, day after tomorrow," she paused, looked up at the wall clock and shrugged, "tomorrow now, I guess."

"Okay," I nodded noncommittally.

"I don't know if he'll send me to jail or not, so I need for you to go with me and bring the car home if he does, okay?"

"Sure Mom," I nodded, "I can put my assistant manager in for me, she's always up for some overtime."

"Your assistant . . ." she looked up at me sharply, "you're the store manager?" she looked incredulous.

"Yeah," I nodded staring at my coffee.

"The store manager."

"Yeah."

She leaned back and stared at me with new respect.

"Are you old enough?"

I sighed before answering, "another few months and I'll have to register for the draft," I almost snarled.

"Okay, okay," she waved placatingly at me then looked at me appraisingly once more, "sonuvabitch! Kid grew up before I even realized it," she shook her head in wonder.

"What time you gotta be there?" I tried to get us back on track.

"Where?" Mom shook her head as if clearing it, "oh, Magistrate's. Right. Eight-thirty. Court goes in session at nine, but they want all defendants there a half-hour before."

I finished my cup and sat there for a few minutes trying to think of something to say, then Mom surprised me with her next words.

"You need a car," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah," I nodded, "I was thinking I'd go see what I could get at the used car lots, they never say no to cash money."

"No, they don't, do they," Mom gave a half-chuckle, "but I'll do better . . . here."

She pulled her purse onto the table and fished around, finally pulling out her car keys.

"I don't use it much, usually stays parked at the bar. I sometimes have to get a ride back to pick it up anyway," she tossed the keys at me, "it's yours. I can always get a ride from you or one of my friends."

I held the keys in my hands for a few moments then looked up at her gratefully, "yeah, well . . . thanks, Mom."

"Happy birthday, Merry damn Christmas or happy fucking graduation," she shrugged, "I'm going out for a beer, so don't wait up."

She looked out of the kitchen window as a car pulled up and honked noisily.

"There's my ride."

I stood up with her and she gave me a peck on the cheek.

"If I'm not here in the morning, don't worry, I'll probably be at Ellen's, it's an all night place, okay?"

"Okay, Mom," I sighed.

She walked out and I followed her to the door, watching her climb in the car. When the dome light came on, I saw a man leaning over and pushing the door open. Their laughter came wafting back to me as they drove off.

I had grown. I was already a few inches taller than Mom. Dolly didn't seem to have grown any, but her little breasts were growing into a pair of nice palm-fulls and she enjoyed having me caress and rub them. When I went into our bedroom, Dolly was curled up in a little ball on her bed, snoring gently. I bent and kissed her cheek before undressing and climbing in with her.

"Bubba?" she opened her eyes sleepily.

"Sh-h, go back to sleep, honey," I wrapped my arms around her,"just go back to sleep."

She nodded sleepily and turned, snuggling against me, wrapping her slender little arms tight around my chest.

---

I woke up the next morning with Dolly's mouth suckling and nibbling on my stiff prick. She'd only done this for me a couple of times and I'd showed her how to please me that way, but she hadn't seemed to like it much. I often had to persuade her to do it, but this time she was doing it without me having to ask.

"Oh, baby," I whispered, running my fingers throught her silky hair.

She looked up at me and smiled, then went back to tonguing my balls and licking upward on my stiff shaft. It didn't take long. I soon felt my balls tightening as my prick stiffened even more. Dolly felt it, too, and stroked my prick, licking the head, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked on the cum-slit. She glanced up to see if I was going to pull back and catch my cum in my hands, like I usually did, but I didn't this time. I wanted to see what she'd do and simply dug my fingers into her hair and held on. I didn't want to force her, but I didn't want her to pull off either. She didn't fight, just went back to slurping and, as I came, slid her wet mouth over the head, engulfing it completely and gulping and sucking down all of my heavy cream as I lay back and stretched, panting happily. Dolly kept licking and kissing my deflating prick and balls as I caressed her hair. She looked up at me and smiled, then, still fondling my balls, stretched out beside me. I was still speechless.

"Dat tasted nice," she whispered. She still had her PJ's on.

"And how!" I agreed.

"Matter of fact, it tasted real good - Daddy."

I only smiled. I liked that - Daddy. In a way, I guess I was. I'd pretty much raised her and we were raising the twins.

"Wanna stay home from school today?" I smiled down at her, "it's my day off anyway. It'll be nice. We can take the girls and go have a hamburger at the Dairy Queen for lunch, maybe take the girls for a walk in the park."

She let go of my prick, nodded eagerly and raised her face up to mine for a kiss. It was a sweet kiss. She opened her mouth to my probing tongue and lay her head on my shoulder, caressing my chest and belly.

"Um-hm-m," she sighed agreeably.

It was still early. I looked at the clock - four forty-five. Way early! I rolled to Dolly and snuggled her half under me. She hooked an arm under mine and pressed in tighter.

"I do love you, Bu - Daddy," she gigglingly whispered.

"I love you, too, honey," I murmured.

"I like how I feel when I call you Daddy, too," she sighed, running her soft little hand up and down my side, "is it okay? Can I call you Daddy?"

"Sure," I mumbled, dozing lightly, "I'll just call you Baby."

"Yeh," her words slowly eased into a light buzz as she fell back to sleep, "I'm ya baby girl," she sighed.

The two little hellions awakened us a few hours later when, diapers all wet, they climbed in bed with us. We stripped them and tickled and teased them for a little while before getting up and getting them in the tub, Dolly climbing in with them. They were all playing and splashing when I was ready to take a shower. I sat on the side, still in my shorts, waiting patiently for them to finish as I shampooed Leila's hair and Dolly washed Debra's.

"Is Mom home yet?" Dolly made a shampoo beard and mustache on Debra.

I laughed at her funny face as she turned to look at me before I answered.

"Nah, I don't guess she'll be home 'til noon," I shrugged, still laughing, "she took off with some guy last night, said she was gonna go get a beer."

"Oh."

We had both learned that "going out for a beer" meant going out partying. So I didn't think too much about it.

"Well, if you wanna shower, you might as well come on in," Dolly smiled up at me.

"It's a little crowded, don't you think?" I hesitated, uncomfortable with the twins there, swirling the soapy water with a finger.

"We'll make room, won't we girls," she tickled the twins and they squealed loudly, "see? They don't care."

"Okay," I stripped off my shorts and turned on the shower.

The girls squealed again and stood up, gasping at the sudden stream of cold water. I quickly pushed the shower head over, I hadn't thought about the first blast of cold water. Dolly laughed and the girls soon began laughing with her at the cold surprise. I quickly climbed in, reaching for the soap.

"Bubba!" Debra squealed, hugging my leg.

Leila squealed and reached up, grabbing my prick and hanging on tight.

"Hey!" I worked her tight little grip off, "careful with that!"

Dolly giggled and pulled Leila back as I laughingly soaped up. I rinsed and squirted some shampoo in my hair as all three girls stared up at me. Leila kept reaching up and trying to grab my prick, but it was Dolly's hands that I felt as I lathered up and rinsed off. Suddenly, I felt three hands on my balls and prick.

"Don't, Dolly," I demanded trying to pull away.

Dolly giggled as I tried to fend them off and rinse the shampoo out of my hair, my eyes squeezed tight to keep it out.

"Do it like this," Dolly instructed them, caressing my stiffening prick, pulling on it slowly a she slid my foreskin back and forth.

"Pooty," one of the twins commented as she copied Dolly's motion with her tiny hand.

I gave in with a pleasurable sigh. What the hell, it felt really good. Dolly's hands were nice and the twins' tiny, soft hands felt just as good. I turned the shower off and reached outside the tub to pull the bench seat in.

"Okay, Baby," I grinned at Dolly, "you started it."

I pulled her to her feet and sat her astraddle of my lap. The twins watched in fascination as I plunged my hard prick into Dolly's mostly hairless pussy.

"Oh-whoa-whoa," she gasped, her eyes going wide and smiling into my eyes, "Bub-Daddy! Ooh-h-h-wah-h-h-h."

Then I felt a small hand on my balls and the bottom of my prick. I looked down as Leila smiled up at me holding my bouncing balls gently in her tiny hand. Debra was engrossed in watching the process below, watching my prick sliding in and out of Dolly.

"Bub-Bub-Bub-Bub-Bub-ba," Debra burbled reaching in and touching my prick and, I guessed, Dolly's gaping pussy.

"Ooh, Daddy," Dolly whimpered, "it's so good."

This was the first time in a long time that we'd made love without a rubber, but at this point, I just wanted my Dolly-Baby bouncing on my prick.

"Can I . . . uh-h-h . . . have it in . . . my mouth . . . D-D-Daddy," Dolly whispered softly.

"Oh, yeah, honey," I gasped, feeling my balls tightening, "I'm about r-ready."

Dolly shivered as she slid off and knelt between the twins. She took my prick in both her small hands and stroked me up and down as she covered my head with her mouth. Leila and Debra watched closely as she stroked. I suddenly gasped and leaned back against the cold tile wall, my hot semen spurting into Dolly's mouth. She pursed her lips and cupped a hand to catch some of my cum. I sighed as I finished and glanced down at all of my girls, assaying the beginnings of a smile. Looking at them, though, I saw that Dolly was sharing my warm semen with the twins. That got me upright quickly, but I didn't pull back. Leila and Debra licked and slurped my cum off her hands and fingers, licking and slurping eagerly with lots of croons and giggles. Then, one after the other, the twins tried to imitate Dolly and suckled and licked my cock.

"Good," Debra smacked her lips, wiping them with the back of her hand.

Dolly licked the last of it off her fingers, looking up at me adoringly as Debra tried to open her mouth wide enough to get me in. It didn't work and I chuckled at her attempts. I wanted to get hard enough to fuck Dolly again, but it was too soon after cumming so I let the play with my half-alert cock.

"Got three babies to take care of you, Daddy," Dolly grinned.

I shook my head and pulled her to me for a kiss. The twins dropped everything and crowded around me, wanting kisses, too. I smelled my cum on their hot little breaths as I kissed them, one after the other, going back and forth several times. We splashed around for a little longer, but my stomach was beginning to growl.

"Anybody hungry?"

After breakfast - Dolly was getting to be a darn good cook - I surprised Dolly by leading them out to the car. It was still in good condition because, like Mom said, it usually stayed parked at the bar's parking lot.

"When did Mom get home?" she looked around as she saw the car.

"She's not. She gave me the car, said I needed one."

"Wow!" Dolly gasped.

I strapped the twins in, mostly so they wouldn't move around, and helped Dolly climb in through the driver's side. As she began crawling in, I bent and planted a kiss on her round little bottom. She giggled and looked back at me, wiggling her sweet butt at me. The tank was almost full, which meant that Mom didn't drive much. I guess with all the men she knew, she didn't have to. At the park, I watched the twins blast around like little dynamos and held Dolly's hand. The weather soon began to change, so we went on to the Dairy Queen. The twins went nuts with the ketchup and ended up with ketchup all over their faces, hair, hands and dresses. The young attendant in the dining room at first frowned in displeasure, but by the time we left, she was laughing as hard as Dolly and I were. Yeah, the twins were a regular three-ring circus all by themselves.

Mom came home a little after we did looking none the worse for the wear. In fact, she was whistling and humming happily and even kissed Dolly and the twins on the head. I got up and fixed her a sandwich as Dolly poured her a bowl of soup. The twins squealed noisily, but Mom only smiled at them as they guzzled some tepid tomato soup from their sippy cups. That was an oddity, I thought at the time. I noticed, but didn't pay any attention to the fact that her eyes looked kind of glazed, her pupils pretty well dilated. It wasn't until a few years later, after I was in the service and noticed the same glazed look in some of my fellow soldiers, that I realized that Mom had been totally stoned.

I was kind of surprised when Mom stayed home that night. I guess she was so stoned that she couldn't do much else. That night, I knocked on Mom's door to see what time she wanted to get up. When I finally gave up knocking and opened the door, I saw her lying in bed, face down and snoring and still fully dressed, one shoe off and the other still dangling from her other foot. I just closed the door and went back to our bedroom.

---

The tiny house we rented was getting to me. It was a small cottage with two small bedrooms, a small bathroom and a kitchen separated from the living room by a breakfast island. Not much of a place. I was earning enough now to afford my own apartment, but I wasn't sure I wanted to give up Dolly and the twins. I knew that Mom would probably nix the idea of them moving in with me, so I stayed. They were my whole family and, if the truth be known, my relationship with my sisters was tantamount to that of a husband and wife with a couple of daughters. I didn't think about it that way at the time, but that's the way we interacted and I didn't want to give that up. Dolly was the love of my life and I was hers with the twins as our kids and that's the way we felt it should be. So I didn't move. I paid the rent and monthly bills out of Mom's coffee cans - she now had five of them full of tens and twenties and quite a few hundreds. She didn't spend much, her "appointments" - her men - paid her way for everything, apparently.

We went to bed like normal, the twins' tiny, buzzing little snores an accompaniment to our love-making. Dolly wasn't feeling too good, that night. She said that she ached all over and kept feeling hot all over. I just figured she was coming down with a cold and held her close, comforting her with my own warmth. The next morning, at around seven, I banged on Mom's door to wake her up. She finally answered and I reminded her that she had to be at Magistrate's Court by eight-thirty.

"What the hell time is it?" her voice was hoarse and fuzzy.

"It's almost seven, you need to get ready so we can leave in time to be there at eight-thirty," I reminded her.

She coughed and cleared her throat loudly.

"Okay, okay," she muttered, pushing me out and closing the door, "I'm up, I'm up."

I heard her moving around so I went on into the kitchen. Dolly had put the coffee on to brew and had fixed the twins some scrambled eggs, filling their sippy cups with juice. They were their usual ebullient selves, but Dolly wasn't too active.

"You okay, Doll-Baby?" I pulled her to me.

"Yeah," she sighed, " but I don't feel too good today, either."

"I guess you better stay home, then," I kissed her forehead, "Aunt Celia can keep an eye on you, too."

"Okay," she sighed listlessly.

"Let's get them ready to go, I still gotta get Mom to Magistrate's Court. I don't guess there's any way that can be avoided."

She only nodded as I packed the twins' tote bag.

"Better get you some undies," I suggested, "you can take a bath at Aunt Celia's, okay?"

She nodded and went in, grabbed some underwear and returned as Mom came out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go. Dolly picked up the tote bag and I picked up Leila. Mom picked up Debra before Dolly could and we went out to the car. Debra didn't want Mom handling her and kept slapping her face.

"Quit it, brat," Mom rasped harshly.

Debra screwed her face up, ready to start screaming as I opened the car door. I sat Dolly in the middle and put the twins in their new booster seats, buckling everybody in. I was about to climb in the passenger's seat, but Mom was already there, waiting on me, so I climbed in the driver's seat and cranked the engine. I checked my watch, noting that we still had plenty of time to get to court.

Aunt Celia smiled broadly as she saw me wheeling the car into her driveway. She greeted Mom happily enough, coming out to the car and hugging her before taking Debra. My little girl grabbed her neck and planted a big sloppy kiss on her cheek. I pulled Leila out and helped Dolly climb out, before handing Leila to her. The twins wriggled to the ground and ran into the house, heading, no doubt, for the toy bin. I gave Dolly a quick, guarded hug and a kiss on her forehead before she turned to follow the twins in. Aunt Celia and Mom were yakking so they probably wouldn't have noticed had I given Dolly the real honest-to-God kiss I'd wanted to. A few moments later, Mom checked her watch and said we had to go. Aunt Celia patted my shoulder, smiling at me and we left.

The Magistrate's Court didn't take long. All the women who'd been charged with soliciting were brought in and faced the judge together. He asked if anyone had anything that they needed to bring up before the court prior to judgement and sentencing. As usual, Mom's luck was holding. Outside the courtroom, a police detective, a man that she called a good friend, had come up and talked to her for a few minutes before he left. When the Magistrate lined all the women up, he had the bailiff pull Mom aside and tell her to wait, so while the six other women were found guilty of solicitation and fined a hundred dollars and court costs, Mom waited. The women filed out, laughing and joking with each other, to the Cashier's cage and the door closed behind them.

"You are Martha Stevens are you not?" the judge asked sternly.

"Yes sir," Mom answered meekly.

"Okay, Mrs. Stevens, I understand that there are extenuating circumstances in your case," he paused, picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and peered at it through the bottom of his bifocals.

"Your docket jacket has been cleared, but may I suggest, that in the future, you use a little more discretion when gathering your information. I need not remind you that you are dealing with dangerous criminal elements."

He signed the paper and dropped it back on his desk, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Detective Thomas explained your situation," he picked up another piece of paper and wrote on it then handed it to Mom, "give this to the Cashier and pick up the money you used for collateral."

"Yes sir," Mom finally squeaked out and took the slip, "thank you."

I found out later, that the detective was a vice detective and had told the Magistrate that Mom had been a planted informant and had been rounded up accidentally in the sweep. The judge had taken him at his word and let Mom go. It was a tight squeak. If he hadn't been there, or if he'd simply ignored her and acted as if he didn't know her - well, Mom was lucky. She was quiet on the ride home, but soon gave away the reason she was so quiet.

"Drop me off at Henry's, I need a beer after that!" she declared, slapping me on the shoulder and grinning broadly.

"Sure," I shrugged.

I turned onto Third Street. Henry's Bar and Grill was just a mile down.

"Don't wait up," she smiled and turned away.

"I won't," I sighed.

She was my mother, whatever else she might be called. As I waited for a break in traffic, I suddenly heard her call me back. I put it in park and lean to the passenger window.

"Yeah!" I hollered back.

"Here, I forgot to give you your money back!" she ran up to the open window, "and put the rest in the coffee can," she handed me a thick handful of cash.

"Okay - thanks," I took the cash.

"Baby," she paused looking me searchingly in the eyes, "I may not act like it at times, but - well, I love all you kids and . . . I think you're doing a wonderful job with them. I'm damn proud of you . . . thank you for being such a wonderful son," she quickly turned and hurried away.

"Whoa," I shook my head, "I love you, too, Mom," I whispered to her rapidly retreating back, a huge lump sticking in my throat.

I couldn't see for a few seconds, until I realized that I had tears in my eyes. I wiped them off, let a tow truck go by and hit the gas, squealing tires as I pulled out. I was in a hurry. I wanted to see my little lady, I was still very worried about her odd illness.

At Aunt Celia's, I found everybody sleeping. The front door was locked, but the key to the kitchen door was still under the flower pot, so I unlocked it and eased in. I was hungry, but I wanted to check on my family first, so I tip-toed to the back bedroom and opened the door quietly. Dolly lay facing the door, her eyes closed and looking pale and wan. The twins were asleep on a quilt on the floor. Dolly must have felt my presence and opened her eyes, smiling quietly up at me.

"Hi, Baby," I quickly dropped to my knees on the floor by her bed, pulling her soft, little shoulders to me, "how you feeling, honey?"

"I hurt, Bubba," she whimpered, "I got cramps and I ache and, and, and I'm bleeding and, and, and . . ."

"Bleeding!" I stood and yanked her sheet back.

She looked so beautiful, so vulnerable and . . . so nude! Well, except for the garter holding a pad against her crotch. I gathered her up in my arms again, inspecting her from nose to toes. Then it suddenly dawned on me - the cramps, the aching, the bleeding, the pad. My doll baby had begun menstruating.

"Oh, Baby," I whispered, quickly pulling her sheet back over her, "you've started already!"

"Aunt Celia said that it was about time," she gave me another wan smile, "she said that she and Mom started when they were eleven and here I am, almost fourteen."

She snuggled her head on my shoulder facing my neck. I stroked her hair gently and she kissed my neck. It tickled and I chuckled and flinched. She giggled and pulled my face to hers, pressing her lips to mine. She smiled as she let my tongue slip out of her mouth.

"I love you, Bubba," she murmured.

"I love you, too, Doll-Baby."

Now wasn't the time, but I felt my prick coming up anyway. Oh, well, a couple of days doing without wouldn't hurt. I sat on the floor by the bed, my back against the mattress and Dolly's cheek resting on my shoulder, her soft breath warm on my neck. As I sat there, my tumescence slowly ebbed and I half-dozed, thinking of Mom and how she actually felt about us. I believed that she'd meant it when she'd said that she loved us and, I guess, it should have made me feel good, but it didn't. I just felt sad and cheated and I couldn't understand why I felt that way. I mean, I knew why I felt sad, I felt sad because I really didn't have a Mom . . . my Mom. I felt sad because she would rather be out partying than spending time with us - with me. I felt sad because I missed my Mom. I guess I felt cheated because she didn't do family things with us as well.

I remembered how she used to played with me when I was small, chasing me around the house and tickling me. I could remember how she'd taught me to change Dolly's diapers, a skill I later put to good use on the twins. I missed how she'd played hide and seek with me and Dolly, chasing us playfully when she found us. I guessed that Dad hadn't been able to give her what she wanted, but I really did want to give her what he couldn't . .. but I had no idea what it was.

I hurt inside and began sobbing, going blind with the tears again. Weeping because I missed my Mom. Weeping because, although she was still with us, she might as well be as gone as Dad. I sobbed a little too loudly and Dolly opened her eyes and stared at me, her eyes widening. I felt her soft arms slip around my neck and I leaned my head on hers. She was soon sniffling in sympathy, although she had no idea why I wept.

"I'm sorry, Baby," I sobbed, "b-but I can't stop."

I half-turned, reached up and wrapped my arms around her sweet little body and she cried with me. I felt as if we were two lost little babies with neither mother nor father and I cried in self-pity for me, as well as pity for Dolly and my little girls . . . weeping for all of us. We hugged for a long time. Dolly comforted me, rocking my head against her young breasts. I got off the floor and sat on the bed for a few minutes. Dolly slid back, giving me some room, then patted the bed beside her, smiling invitingly. I pulled my shoes off and slid in beside her, hugging her small naked body to me and we napped for a little while. The twins woke up an hour or so later and woke me up, patting my face and smiling.

"Bubba!" Debra chirruped.

Leila pressed a sloppy kiss to my lips, followed by Debra. I smiled and grabbed them both up, growling like a hungry bear and making them squeal in laughter. As I picked them up, I pretended to bite them as I kissed their round little faces over and over. Dolly leaned on one elbow, watching us play and smiling.

"Gotta potty, Bubba," Debra said seriously as Leila nodded.

I could feel Debra's wet diaper through the rubber pants she wore, but Leila was still dry.

"Well, let's go to the bathroom, then," I jiggled them both, pulling out another pair of giggles as they grabbed my neck and hair.

I turned to Dolly, examining her face. She looked a little better, but still looked little pale.

"Got anything to wear?"

"Got a dress I left here before," she nodded then shrugged, "and my spare panties in the bag."

"Okay, wanna go home after I flush these two little turds down the commode?"

"Yeah," she giggled, "Aunt Celia said . . ."

"Potty, Bubba," Leila interrupted, "gotta go!"

"Okay, okay," I laughed, "back inna minute, Doll-Baby," Dolly nodded understandingly and smiled gently.

I kept shushing them as they made a noisy game of going potty, but I soon had them clean and re-diapered. They could hold their pee pretty good when they were awake, although they still had a little problem when they slept. They ran back into the room and Dolly dressed them and herself. She should have put on her training bra, but she left it off. I liked how she looked without it, though - her pointy little breasts pressing against the material of her blouse. I lifted her chin and pressed my lips to hers as she stood up and brought her small hand up to my cheek, suckling on my tongue gently. I sighed and held her to me as we headed out. In the kitchen, I stopped and wrote a quick note to Aunt Celia, using an empty coffee cup to hold it in place.

"Aunt Celia says she only wears tampons and keeps the pads for emergencies, so she said I could have these," she showed me a box of Kotex, then she paused as if thinking of something.

"You sure you're okay?" I quickly took her arm.

She smiled up at me as I patted the cup atop the note.

"Aunt Celia knows about us," she whispered looking up into my eyes.

"Hm-m?" I was still a little distracted and could only stare down at her.

"She knows we sleep together and that we . . . that is, that . . . we, uhm, sleep together and that we . . ." her voice trailed off as she looked up at me, her eyes huge and pleading.

"Wha-at?" my mind began spinning.

"I told her everything. That we use rubbers, that we do it every day. I told her how we got started . . . the whole thing," she sighed.

"Why?" I was suddenly out of breath, then, "wh-what d-did she say," I stammered.

"W-well . . . she just shook her head and said that she had to think about it. That it was too much for her right now, then she went to bed."

"Okay," I murmured, my head still rocking, "ready to go?"

"Yep!" she took Debra's hand, I picked up Leila and we headed to the car.

I was quiet the whole five-minute drive home. The twins, as usual, had an uproarious time in the back seat. I didn't know what to do now. I didn't want to give Dolly up, but I didn't know what I could do to keep her - if I had to give her up . . . she was my whole world - my whole being, it seemed.

Aunt Celia never said anything more to me nor Dolly on the subject. She just kept doing what she'd been doing, taking care of the twins until Dolly got out of school, then going to bed when Dolly got there from school to take care of them. One day she stared as I hugged Dolly and kissed her head. Then she shook her head and said that whatever Mom's kids did was Mom's responsibility and that she wouldn't meddle. She also said something about the legal age of consent in this state being fourteen, so she really didn't have a leg to stand on. I was happy about that.

A month or so later, I turned eighteen and registered for the draft. I filled out several forms, then the woman running the R through Z section at the Selective Service Board Office, handed me a slip with a date and time on it. When I asked what it was, the woman told me that I was required to report back at that day and time for a classification evaluation. As I stood there for a few seconds looking confused, she sighed.

"This means that you will be classified according to your physical and health condition. The healthier and more fit you are, the higher the classification and the greater your chances for the draft," she smiled briefly, "NEXT!"

"Oh," I stepped out of the way.

I'd seen the offices of the various branches of the service as I came in and, as I walked back to the front door, I was button-holed by the Marine Corps rep.

"Son, with your physique and build, I know you're the best at what you do, and I know the Corps is what will suit you best," he dug out a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to me, "if you have a minute, I'd like to talk to you," he had a firm grip on my upper arm and practically dragged me aside.

"Not right now," I used my deepest voice and stared down at his hand.

"Okay," he quickly let go, raising the palm of his hand up defensively, "you have my card . . . and keep in mind, the Marines are the cream of the elite."

I grunted and kept walking. Outside, the Army representative stood with a spit-shined, boot on the fire hydrant, watching the intermittent stream of boys going in and out and smoking a cigarette. As I walked by on the way to my car, he nodded and smiled at me. I hesitated as he turned back to the door, watching the comings and goings.

"Sir, can I, uhm, can I speak to you?"

His head snapped back around to me.

"Yes sir! And don't call me "sir," I'm an NCO in the US Army," he grinned to show that his rebuke wasn't serious, "and I'll have you know that I work for a living so please call me by my first name," his grin broadened.

". . . and that is?" I knew I was about to step in it, but I couldn't resist and grinned back.

"It's right here on my arm," he held out his sleeved arm showing his stripes, "it is Sergeant First Class, but you may call me by my nickname which is Sergeant, or you may address me by my nickname and last name, Sergeant. . " he pointed to his sleeve then to his name tag, "Williams," he grinned and stuck out a hand, "and a pleasure it is to meet one of my bosses, you are . . ?"

"Robert Stevens - Bubba . . . Sergeant," I took his strong-handed grip.

"Well, Mr. Stevens, you are definitely a fine representative of the civilian community, how may I help you."

I burst out laughing and lifted up a foot, staring down at my scuffed shoes dramatically before making wiping motions, as if wiping something off the soles. I'd had my share of truck drivers at the 7-11. He laughed, immediately getting the joke and slapped me on the shoulder.

"You will notice that I am wearing boots," I could see a pair of spit-shined jump boots below bloused trousers.

"Shiny," I commented, still grinning.

"Yes they are," he noted proudly, "and by my own hand, may I add," he grinned, "now, you had a question I believe?"

I was about to continue the light banter, but decided to drop it.

"Sergeant . . . I know that sooner or later I'll get drafted and I won't have a choice in the matter, but will I be allowed to pick what I do or where I go once I'm in?"

"Oh, yes, you'll have a lot of choices, if you're drafted," he grinned, "you'll have your choice of Infantry, Infantry, Infantry and maybe, just maybe artillery," he shook his head, his smile dropping, "you're coming in as cannon-fodder and if you're lucky, you may get picked to be a cannoneer."

"Oh," I dropped my eyes.

"But, think about this - I'm an Infantryman as well," I looked up at him, "an Airborne Infantryman. This is an elite, proud and professional corps within the Infantry. See, not everybody that's an Infantryman is cannon fodder, some of us are the lightning punch, the light, fast-attack elements. We hit first, fast and hard. Some of us are the advance force, the small recon elements that dig out the locations, the most dangerous jobs are ours, we have to go where no friendly force has yet gone and find the enemy's strength or hit him hard and hit him fast. We have to seek out the information, the intelligence we call it, and make sure that it gets back to higher, while some of us are the messengers of death, the executioners that hit with the speed of the aircraft that bring us in. No, son, being a straight gunman doesn't necessarily mean being a target for the guns anymore - don't get me wrong, many men will be the foot-sloggers and provide the human muscle that's still needed to secure the ground, but that's only for those who don't have the smarts nor the capability of learning another way to do the job," he looked at me closely, "do you follow me?"

"Yes sir," I nodded, suddenly looking up at him, "I mean, Sergeant."

"You catch on fast, kid," he chuckled, then swept his hands across his body, "look at me," he smiled, "my whole life is on my uniform - to anyone who knows how to read it."

I looked at him uncomprehendingly. He had a lot of ribbons over both breasts, some sort of wings and a badge with laddered tabs on it, some hash marks on both sleeves, a pale blue dickie or scarf tucked in at the collar and some sort of blue braid hanging from his right shoulder and under his arm, another braid with a lot of red, sea-blue threads looking almost plaid, hung off his left shoulder.

"Don't have a clue, huh?" he grinned as I shook my head, "these are my life. Everything from my combat awards to my plain old non-combat achievements," he swirled his hand over his collar, "the US is self explanatory, the blue under them means infantry, the crossed rifles mean the same thing, Infantry," he pointed to the ribbons on his left breast, "I won't give you the breakdown, it would take too long, but they're the medals and awards I've won. The top one is the one I'm proudest of, it's a bronze star with V-device - not something you pick up at the local hardware store to go on the Christmas tree. It basically means I did something stupid, or, put another way, something against common sense and self-preservation. If I ever see you in a bar, you can ask me and I'll tell you the story behind it," he pointed to the odd wings he wore above the ribbons, "and this is an achievement in itself," he pulled off his cap and pointed to a circular patch sewn on it, "and it comes with this - it is the proudest achievement of my military career. These on my chest are my jump wings - Master Jump Wings. They mean I am among the best of the best paratroopers in the US Army.

He turned his hand to his right breast, "these are unit citations that have been awarded to the unit to which I'm assigned, not much to tell there, they just signify that my particular outfit, the five-oh-fourth did some things in combat as a unit, the Battle of Bastogne among other things. On my left sleeve are a bunch of things that tell another part of my life, for instance, this," he patted the upper sleeve, "is the unit I am currently assigned to - the 82nd Airborne Division, the All Americans. The tab above it says "Airborne" it means we come from the sky, we jump in by parachute. It has a proud history of combat and honor."

I could only look on in awe as if I was being handed the secrets of life - his life. His whole military life really was on display on his uniform. It was like a big, neon sign that I couldn't even comprehend. I felt like I was back on the hilltop with Dad looking up at the sky and wondering what it all meant.

"These," he pointed down at the stripes on his right sleeve, "are the combat bars, one bar for each six months of combat service."

He had half a dozen bars - no, seven bars! My God, how many years in combat was that . . . and he was still alive to talk about it?!

"And this," he pointed to the patch on his right shoulder, "is the patch of the last unit I went into combat with - the one-seventy-third Airborne Brigade and these down here," he pointed to the lower part of his left sleeve, "tell you how many years - within a couple of years - of service that I have. Each one represents three years of service."

He had five.

"Fifteen years," I shook my head in rueful admiration.

"Actually, within five months I'll sew another one on. I've been in this man's Army for almost eighteen years," he smiled proudly, then touched the blue braid, "this is an infantryman's braid. It goes with this," he pointed to a blue square containing a rifle image and wreath with two stars, "the Combat Infantryman's badge. One star for each tour of combat over and above the first, which the wreath signifies. This," he pointed to the red braid, "was awarded to all members, past, present and future, of the eighty-deuce by the French during World War Two and it just means that I'm in a part of the proud tradition."

He'd told me so much that the question I wanted to ask now seemed nothing more than a triviality.

"But you had a question for me and here I am bragging about myself and my awards - so go ahead, ask away."

"I, uh, I, well, I mean, I'm almost embarrassed to ask now, I mean you've probably done a lot and seen a helluva lot more, you know? What I was about to ask now seems pretty stupid."

"Son," he spoke gently as he patted my shoulder, "in anything you do, and I've found this especially true in combat, the only stupid question is the one you don't ask,"

"W-well, okay, I, uh, well I was gonna ask which branch you might think would be a good one. I know the Marines are tough and always spoiling for a fight, but I'm just not that kind of guy, you know?" I stared down at my feet.

"Well, I'll tell you," he nodded thoughtfully, "I have no regrets about having come into the Army, but if I had it to do all over again, knowing what I know now, I'd probably pick the Air Force - don't get me wrong. I wouldn't take a million bucks for what I've done and the memories I have, but knowing what I know now, I'd have probably gone into the Air Force. You learn a lot that can translate into a damn good job if you decide not to stay in, you know? That high school diploma you got is enough to get you trained in any one of several hundred technical fields - good paying jobs on the outside," he looked at me.

I shook my head and sighed.

"I didn't finish high school. I dropped out," my voice was low, regretful.

"Well, that killed the goose," he shook his head, "but - to tell you the truth, I didn't finish school either. I dropped out as soon as I was sixteen and got a job. All I had was myself, so it was no hardship. However I didn't make enough to support more than me - but I finished high school while I was in the service and they've started this program called the GED, stands for something like General Equivalency Diploma, or something like that, which lets you study and test out. It'll get you that high school diploma you don't have, that way you can . . ." his voice trailed off as he looked at me calculatingly.

"Maybe," I nodded thoughtfully.

"If you do get drafted, you may not have a choice as to your branch of service. The Marines are always falling short on their quotas so if they like your looks, they may snap you up and pull you in without asking what you want."

"Yeah . . . thanks," I started to turn away, then thought better of it, "you said you're "Airborne," what's that about?"

He tapped the ember off his cigarette thoughtfully, carefully pulling it apart and scattering the remaining shreds of tobacco and sticking the filter in his pocket before looking back at me. A few seconds later, he began telling me about the Airborne Corps. How they were created between the two world wars. He talked about the Glider Service which became a part of the Airborne Corps, explaining the circular Glider Patch on his Garrison Cap. He told me how he'd earned his wings, as scared as he was of heights. He told me a lot of the proud traditions of the 82nd Airborne Division - the All Americans, of the 101st Airborne Division - the Screaming Eagles, and he told me of his former combat outfit, the 173rd Airborne Brigade, fondly referred to as "The Third Herd." He even told me of an outfit that he referred to as "Snake Eaters," although he did say that it was a nick-name, given to them because they could survive anywhere and lived with the indigenous peoples they trained in guerilla and counter-guerilla warfare. They were called Special Forces and they were the best of the best the absolute cream of the crop. By the time he finished telling me his stories, he'd smoked four more cigarettes and I was late for work. He finally said he had to go in and do the day's paperwork, so I thanked him, shook his hand and he slapped me on the shoulder.

"We'll be glad to have you in the Army, diploma or no, okay?"

"Yes sir - uh, Sergeant, thanks for your time."

"That's what I'm paid to do, son, to tell you war stories of glorious combat, but . . . it's too bad that we have to have men fighting and dying instead of bull-shitting about it," he shook his head regretfully, "take care."

I waved and climbed in the car, thinking hard.

---

After my Classification appointment which consisted of filling out a questionnaire about my health and medical problems and a cursory medical exam, I pushed the military to the back of my mind, letting it simmer on the back burner, and got on with the job of working, raising the twins and, of course, making love to Dolly and almost forgot about the Draft. By then, Dolly and I were pretty much openly living together, even with Mom around. She either didn't seem to notice or didn't care one way or the other. A few times, Dolly came into the bathroom while I showered for work and scrubbed my back and shower with me while Mom ate and watched TV in the other room. Afterward, I gave her a full-tongued good-bye kiss in full view before heading off to work. Mom simply waved good-bye from her seat. I did notice that Mom was getting a little heavier, although she still looked good, still looked very sexy. However, she was no longer the raving beauty she'd once been and showed her heavy drinking and drug use on her face and hips. I guess I realized then that we were all getting older and I did worry about Mom. She seemed to be the kid I'd lost through inattention and I felt kind of guilty about that.

Just after my nineteenth birthday, I got my Draft notice in the mail. It was a simple form letter, with my name hand-written under "The President of the United States" line.

"Greetings: You are hereby ordered for induction into the Armed Forces of the United States, and to report .. ." with several paragraphs of instructions below that.

My hands shook as I read it. Now what, I wondered, will I do? What about Dolly, what about the twins? There was no question about ignoring it, though. I showed it to Dolly first and her face dropped before she wrapped her arms tightly around me and began sniffling. That night, we made love as if it were my last night. I still had a couple of weeks before I had to report in, so we sat and made some hard plans.

At work, everybody was pretty sympathetic. Johnny, the General Manager, said that the law protected my job while I was gone and I'd be able to come back to it if I got out when my term of active service ended. However, if I reenlisted or extended my service, all bets were off. I tried to give him my week's notice, but he said that he wouldn't hold me to it and gave me two weeks pay, saying that it was my week of work and a week's vacation pay, and told me to go home, take the day off and be back the next day for the three o'clock shift. I thanked him and left. The next day, I noticed that the employee parking lot was full and, when I walked in, I was hit with a surprise going away party. Afterward, Johnny told me to take the remaining time off and to stop by to say good-bye before I left to report for duty.

The plans Dolly and I made included Aunt Celia, she was the next order of business. I knew Mom wouldn't take very good a care of the twins while Dolly was at school so, after some hard convincing, Aunt Celia finally agreed to take the kids, agreeing with me that Mom wouldn't give Dolly the help she'd need to care for my girls. I promised to send as much of my pay home as I could to help out, but Aunt Celia laughed and said that she knew how much a Private in the Army made and to save it for cigarettes, because sooner or later I'd pick up the habit. Mom readily went along with the plans and told Aunt Celia about the coffee can - which, by now was actually seven full coffee cans and had a good start on an eighth, telling Aunt Celia for her or Dolly to just help themselves. Aunt Celia was surprised at all the cash in the house and said that she'd open a checking and savings account with it. Mom just shrugged and said to put it in Dolly's or my name. When Dolly timidly suggested that she could quit school to help out, Aunt Celia put her foot down and immediately quashed that idea. She made staying in school the main requirement for letting them move in with her adding that Dolly was still way too damn young to drop out anyway.

Dolly and I had a tearful last night together. Aunt Celia took the night off and took the twins to a Disney movie to let us have the house to ourselves for a little while. It was rough. How do you say good-bye to the love of your life? Mom couldn't be bothered to come say good-bye and just told Aunt Celia to give me a couple of hundred from the cans. By that time Aunt Celia had opened the account and told me that there had been almost thirty thousand dollars in those cans. In 1965, thirty thousand was a little over two-hundred thousand in 2009 dollars. Mom never used it. She wasn't doing what she was doing for the money. Not anymore, anyway.

Aunt Celia, Dolly and the twins came to see me off. I handed Dolly the car keys and told her not to forget to register it. I'd gotten Mom to sign the title over and Dolly had it in her purse. At fifteen, she was still a very small girl with tiny mounds on her chest that I loved to caress. However, she was growing hair in all the right places, her hips were filling out nicely and those sweet lumps grew bigger by the day. Aunt Celia noticed the way I looked at them and said that my best girl was still growing and that there was hope yet. The twins were gangly little five year olds, shooting up like weeds. I kissed them, hugged Aunt Celia and held Dolly tightly as she burst into tears.

"NO!" she sobbed, "don't go! Don't . . . go-o-o-o!" she wailed loudly.

As the twins realized what was going on, they, too, began to cry and hung onto my legs, sobbing and crying out my name. Even Aunt Celia was unable to keep her eyes dry as I climbed on the bus.

---

There's not much anyone can say about the Army. Basic Training was pretty much a rote affair. You learn how to march, you learn how to field strip and clean your primary weapons, you're introduced to hand-held explosives, shown how to wear your uniforms, how to salute an officer and you run, run, run everywhere. The objective of all the running was to get you in a better physical condition than you were when you came in. And, of course, there was basic hand-to-hand fighting. The pugil sticks were my favorite blunt instrument, although I got banged up pretty good a couple of times. I became so proficient with my weapons and did so well in my Physical Training Tests that I was given a couple of certificates of achievement.

While there, I got several letters a week from Dolly and answered every one of them almost immediately. Sometimes I sent back simple one-line postcards, at the very least writing simply "can't write now, I love you," sprinkling them in between the actual letters I wrote. But in every one, I promised that I'd be home soon.

I survived the ten weeks and was immediately sent to Advanced Infantry Training. That was pretty much a lot more of the same, only more intense. In AIT we learned patrolling techniques, teamwork, weapons usage . . . and did more PT. By the end, I weighed about forty pounds more, but I was a lot leaner. The weight I gained was all muscle. It was something I never noticed because we were pushed so hard. Also, throughout AIT, we attended informational classes. Some of those classes told us of many additional choices that were available to us as Infantry soldiers. Things such as airborne training - jumping out of airplanes - Ranger training, Special Forces training, Pathfinder training along with several other options. I remembered the pride that Sgt Williams had shown, and the way he'd spoken of the Airborne Corps, so I volunteered for Jump School even though one of the requirements to get it was a full three year commitment from the date of the beginning of service, so I volunteered for the extra year of service. I wanted the training and I thought that it would be worth it.

I'd previously requested leave time after AIT, but I didn't get it. Instead I was sent to Fort Benning for Jump School. I was told that if I had no more training requirements, I'd be heading for my permanent duty station immediately after, with some leave time allowed on the way - I'd be able to go home for a while.

At Ft Benning, there was more running. We went everywhere at the double-time. I was supposed to be there for four weeks - including a preliminary preparation week. I'd already been away from home for almost five and a half months. During the second week, I somehow managed to twist my ankle, so I was put into a week's medical hold to recuperate, then back into training. I had injured my ankle during the next to last of our practice drop week, so I lucked out and didn't have to repeat the that week and began my third and final week of training once I was out of medical hold. That last week was the actual jumping from the airplanes. I wrote a long letter to Dolly while I was on medical hold telling her a lot of what I'd done and telling her why I'd extended my initial service agreement. I told her the date I'd make my last drop, determined to graduate.

That last week was a novel experience. It was almost like a vacation in uniform. If we weren't standing by to jump we were free to wander within our restricted area. It was almost as if we were already at our permanent duty station. Afternoons, we stood evening muster formation and got turned loose again. It was almost like working a regular job. We were actually allowed to drink three 8 ounce cans of beer in the evenings. I didn't drink and usually sold my privilege off, besides, it was only three point two beer anyway. All we had to do that last week was jump out of airplanes. A running joke was that it wasn't the first jump that scared you because you didn't know what you were doing. It was the second jump that got to you, you knew what to expect then, after that, it was downhill all the way. I found that to be partly true. I was scared from that first jump all the way to the very last jump I made in my Military career.

I'd written Aunt Celia and told her that families would be allowed in the viewing area on Friar Drop Zone and she said that she'd be there to watch me make my last, and qualifying jump. Since we were to make our last drop that Wednesday, Aunt Celia and Dolly arrived in Columbus, Georgia that Tuesday. Dolly was crying with joy at hearing my voice. It was really wonderful hearing her again. All I wanted to do was take her in my arms and hold her until the world came to an end. But we had problems. We were grounded that Wednesday due to high winds on the drop zone. We were all pretty unhappy about it. On the one hand we were relieved that we wouldn't have to jump and on the other, we knew that we couldn't leave until we made our last drop . . . and I wanted to hold my doll baby so badly that I thought very seriously of going AWOL. On reflection, I realized that I'd end up spending even longer away from her if I did. I sighed and stayed put, wishing I dared, but knowing I wouldn't, so I sat and played the Army game. We'd made the two drops on Monday, two more on Tuesday as the wind began picking up and got marginal and we should have made our last that Wednesday, but with the stand-down, we had to wait until Thursday - if the winds dropped to at least the maximum allowable.

Aunt Celia had driven my car up, but she wanted to fly back, leaving it for me to drive home. As I spoke to her by phone, I asked her why she didn't ride with us, didn't she like my driving? She chuckled and denied fearing my driving.

"Hon, I'm gonna tell you a secret. I have the same hang-up Dolly has, I guess that's why neither my younger brother nor I ever married," she paused for a long time before speaking, her voice dropping low, "don't say nothing to nobody, but . . . after seeing how well you and Dolly get along, well . . . I told Sammy how I feel about him and he told me what I already knew, that he . . . um, that he feels the same way. I mean, we're now both full-grown adults and, uh, he's been visiting . . . overnighting regularly," she stopped for a few seconds.

"Well, Aunt Celia, I -" but she interrupted, speaking as if I hadn't said anything.

"I'm moving in with him and selling the house," she blurted out, "Dolly and the girls helped me pack all my stuff so I want to get back quick, that's mostly why I'm flying back. I want to try and make up for all the time Sammy and I have missed! But I did want to see you get your wings, Honey, and I knew Dolly wanted to see you, so we came."

I was a little shocked about Uncle Sammy and Aunt Celia, but on reflection, I didn't feel that it was all that bad. Dolly and I were, after all, brother and sister and I couldn't very well deny my Aunt the same love and happiness I had. So we talked for a few more minutes then she gave the phone to Dolly. However, Aunt Celia and I had talked so long, and there was such a long line behind me waiting to use the phone that I couldn't stay on it as long as I wanted to. I talked as long as I could with her until the next guy pounded on the door of the phone booth. All five booths had long lines in front of them. It didn't matter. I was already flying higher than the airplanes we were to jump out of, because If the weather held, I'd soon be flying my baby girl.

I'd turned their names in as visiting family back when I'd filled out all the entrance forms, checking the box on the form for one or both to pin my wings on me. They'd get VIP seating in the viewing area and, instead of the Sergeant Major pinning my wings on me, he'd hand them to the person doing the pinning. As a matter of fact, I was told that they'd be given a short briefing on how to do just that the day after they arrived and signed in.

That Thursday was a long, torturous day. Back in those days there was no such thing as cell phones and the few public phones available usually had long waiting lines regardless of the time. That Wednesday, after the drop was scrubbed, we were allowed quite a bit of freedom - except the freedom to go out of our restricted area. The MP's had already dragged in a few of the boys that had broken that rule. Their punishment was fifteen days of non-judicial punishment in the Correctional Custody Facility, or CCF, but afterward, they were given the choice of quitting or continuing the training.

I saw those boys working hard, shoveling out the sandy ditches of Fort Benning, filling and replacing the sandbags along them, saw them picking up the trash along the roads and just generally living a miserable life for those fifteen days. About the only good thing about it was that it didn't go on their service records and they'd get another shot at restarting the week they'd missed - if they wanted to . . . and behaved , , , and worked their asses off. Personally, I wasn't about to risk any of that. I'd already spent a week longer than I wanted to because of my ankle injury. Just one more day and one more drop, then freedom for at least two weeks. That's what had been promised us. Two weeks minimum to go home before going to our permanent duty assignments.

I spent my last few hours nursing a PX beer with a couple of buddies at the PX Annex, a sort of snack bar at the end of our row of barracks - the old World War II "temporary" wooden buildings that seemed to still have a "temporary" life. The PX Annex had a little patio alongside with wooden bench tables under awnings alongside the building. I held the beer can as a defense against my buddies buying me one if I didn't have one in my hands. They kept the lonely, homesick feeling at bay, though, so it was all good.

---

The roaring drone of the old engines filled my ears as I sat nervously in my jump-seat of the old C-119 Flying Boxcar. For all the whooping and hollering we'd done on the ground, all the false bravado of young men - boys, actually - we were all nervous. The only man that seemed calm and nonchalant was "Grandpa," a grizzled veteran of Viet Nam at twenty-nine and the oldest man here - besides the TAC's. He'd been in the Army for eleven years already and had been to Viet Nam. He'd never said it, but Grandpa wasn't scared of much. Every once in a while, a loud sound would startle him and he'd duck and cover, dropping flat on the ground if there was no cover. We didn't laugh. Every one of us figured that sooner or later, we'd be doing the same thing. His automatic duck and cover only served to make us more alert, more vigilant, and we tried to sharpen our senses like his.

The doors were off the old bird, and the Air National Guardsmen flying it had flown so many drops that they were almost nonchalant about the whole thing. The Load Master stood at the door, leaning against it as nonchalantly as if he were leaning on the door-jamb of his own house, watching the world go by. The only thing missing was a cigarette dangling from his lip. Had the slipstream not been there, I'm sure he would have had one. I looked down at my shaking hands. Whoever said that the second drop was the worst had to have been wrong - every drop after the first had been a nerve-wracking experience. Grandpa had said that it was normal to be scared, that if you weren't scared, then you were a fool and fools were the first to die in combat. In a way that was encouraging, it helped settle my nerves, even if it didn't calm them.

"GET READY!!" the Jumpmaster's foghorn voice suddenly startled us to full alert, breaking through my nervous reverie.

I jerked my head up and stomped my right foot. It gave me a sense of familiarity. We'd gone through this routine hundreds of times on the ground in the past few weeks and it was ingrained in us. It was a habit as unremovable as heroin.

"STAND UP!!"

In a larger aircraft, there would have been an additional order to stand up, one for inboard personnel and one for outboard personnel, but in this small cargo plane, there was only one line for each door, a line of nineteen people per door.

"PREPARE TO HOOK UP!"

I hurriedly unsnapped my static line's snap hook from my reserve parachute's upper handle and held it in my hand.

"HOOK UP!!"

As I reached up with my free hand, the plane rocked a little and I missed the static cable with my first grab, stumbled, reached for it and finally got it, barely managing to keep my feet. I quickly snapped the hook on the cable and fumbled the safety wire into the hole, bending it in place as I stumbled again.

"Fuck, this is a helluva rocky ride," I groused to myself, worrying that maybe the winds had picked up and we'd be delayed again. It had happened before. The jumpers had been sat back down and the aircraft had returned to the hanger, scrubbing all drops for the day.

"CHECK STATIC LINE!"

I checked the end of my static line, the static line on the back of the man in front of me, making sure both were properly routed and safetied off and the line wasn't mis-routed or tangled in any of equipment.

"CHECK EQUIPMENT!"

I made sure all my gear was properly secured.

"STAND BY!!"

The first man shuffled forward and slapped a hand on the side of the aircraft's door staring fixedly at the Jumpmaster. The Jumpmaster stared out the door, searching out his IP's. When he saw his mark, he stepped back gesturing to first man to stand in the door.

"STAND IN THE DOOR!!"

Pope was the lead man. Pope the Shit-Ass, so called because he'd had diarrhea for a couple of days and had refused to take them on sick-call. He'd run to the shitter every few minutes and I'll freely admit, the TAC's gave him all the leeway he needed. Pope stepped into the door, his boot-toes and fingers on the outside skin of the bird, hangning in the slipstream.

"GO!!!" the Jumpmaster screamed as the bright red light blinked and changed to green.

I blinked and Pope the Shit-Ass was gone. The line shuffled forward, I was fourth man in the stick, my eyes glued to the door, the green light throbbing steadily. This was it! No more delays! No more weather holds! The Jumpmaster shoved Michaels out as he hesitated a second too long. I caught a brief, flashing glimpse of pine trees seemingly just in front of me. The slipstream hit me. For a second, I felt the hard, ripping air. I fell through the slipstream! I was out! I was in thin air for the last time!

The droning pounding of the C-119's engines suddenly disappeared and all I heard was the singing whisper of the air whistling by me. I didn't remember the air whistling my first four jumps. I blinked again and saw the horizon still under my heels. That couldn't be right. I was still full of adrenalin as I finished my four-second count and looked up at my parachute. For a split second, nothing registered, then I saw why I was still falling so fast.

"Oh, FUCK!!" I screamed as I saw the twisted, tangled mess over my head - a streamer - "SHIT! SHIT! SHI-I-I-IT!!"

Without further hesitation, I automatically covered the front of my reserve parachute and yanked the rip-cord. The pilot chute slipped through my fingers and grabbed air. I tried to hand-feed it as I'd been trained, but it was nothing like the slow feed we'd learned about, the pilot chute ripped the reserve parachute through my hands. I tried to grab the parachute skirt to shake it out, but the suspension lines burned my hands and fingers as they slid through at high speed. Seconds later, I was hanging safely under the snowy whiteness of the reserve's canopy.

"Fuck me," I gasped, then I thought, "that'll give 'em a show," and panted, shivering as the rush of adrenalin eased.

I spread the lines in the center and forced them behind my shoulders. It put me in a half-reclining position because of the waist attachment of the reserve parachute. I didn't want to land that way. Friar Drop Zone had quite a bit of rocky rubble and that position wouldn't help a bit. By the time I got positioned, I hit the ground, automatically rolling and doing a passable parachute landing fall. Rising to one knee, I pulled on a couple of the parachute's lines to collapse it. Painfully and slowly, I rose to my feet and began recovering my parachutes. My previously injured ankle felt on fire, but at least I could still walk. As I shoved the reserve canopy into the kit bag and dragged my tangled main parachute to me, the jeep pulled up with a Field Medic and the Red Hat. The Red Hat grabbed the kit bag, yanking it out of my hands without so much as an "excuse me" and finished stuffing the main parachute into it. He quickly fished out the Parachute Pack Log from the riser's pocket, cut it's cord and shoved it in his shirt. After tying a shoe tag with a scribbled number on it, he threw the full kit bag into the jeep, he grabbed his radio's mike and reported in as he waited for the Medic to finish checking me over.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Mostly my ass," I winced as he pushed on my left butt-cheek.

Leaning on his helpful shoulder, I limped to the jeep.

"Feel anything grinding or rubbing like it's broken?" he straightened up as I settled into the canvas bucket seat.

I wasn't sure, so I stood back up and moved around a little.

"Nah, just my ass," I winced, "my ankle feels like it's on fire, but it'll be fine," I was anxious to get to Dolly, "I hurt it a couple of weeks ago, but it'll be fine," I repeated.

"Good man," he smiled and gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder, "that's pretty much the usual for everybody - if they don't do a good PLF - and I've seen quite a few bad ones today. It'll be better the next time. Report in to the dispensary later and let them check you over anyway, okay?"

I nodded but I had no intention of seeing anybody but my Doll-Baby.

"Ready?" the Red Hat climbed behind the steering wheel.

"You earned the ride, Cherry," the medic told me as he hopped in back beside my gear, "climb aboard."

I gingerly settled in the passenger seat of the jeep, the Red Hat popped the clutch and I was jolted onto my injured cheek. I winced, but hell, this was better than double-timing it to the Assembly Area.

"Airborne Trooper number one-seventy-four," I heard the liaison officer's voice hollering loudly to the assembled crowd in the review stands, "an absolutely perfect malfunction recovery."

I was a little surprised as the crowd stood and clapped when we pulled up. I even heard a few of them cheering.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Airborne PFC Robert Stevens. An absolutely perfect recovery under a malfunctioning parachute."

I heard a scream and saw Dolly fighting her way down and running to me. She was half-way to me when she suddenly realized where she was and stopped, suddenly unsure and uncertain of what to do next.

"Go ahead, young lady," one of the Tac's encouraged, "go get him. Your hero needs a little comforting."

There was more applause and cheers, even a few sharp wolf-whistles as, without further hesitation, she launched herself into my arms. I was oblivious to the raucous cheers and applause coming from the stands. I had my baby girl in my arms and felt no more pain. The Medic took me by the arm and led us aside by the field ambulance, and sat me in a folding chair. He reached for another chair and set it up, but Dolly had already dropped into my lap and wouldn't let go of my neck. She literally gave me a pain in the ass, but I barely felt it. I had my baby girl in my arms!

She looked and smelled phenomenal and, with makeup on, looked years older than her actual age. The Medic shrugged and set the chair in front of us, sitting in it and watching the rest of my class double-time in, red-faced and huffing, loaded down with their gear. The Senior Tac stood in front of the stands in his sharpest fatigues blowing his whistle and yelling at them.

"Hustle, hustle, hustle!" he bellowed, "the sooner you ladies get in here the sooner you get to go home! Hustle, hustle, hustle!"

One by one they lined up at the parachute recovery vehicle, a deuce-and-a-half designated for parachute turn-in, and had their names checked off.

"One missing, Sarge," the NCOIC of the recovery detail sang out, tossing his clipboard onto the bed of the truck, "number one-seven-four's still out."

"Mark it as a recovered malfunction in the Investigator's possession, Sergeant," the Red Hat strolled over and picked up the clip board putting his mark on it.

"Yes, Sergeant," he dusted his hands off, "all of Stick 14 accounted for, then."

"Carry on, Sergeant."

"Ro-ger, roger, Sarge. Waiting on stick 25, then."

The Red Hat nodded and turned back to watch the airplanes circle and head back to the air field.

"Stick 14, FALL IN!" the Senior Tac stood facing the Drop Zone.

"Gotta go, Baby," I spoke, lipstick smeared all over my lips and face.

Dolly pouted as she stood up hanging onto my hand until we got around the front of the reviewing stand, only then did she reluctantly let go. I took my place and the photographer set up his camera just behind the Senior Tac.

"Dress right . . . DRESS!" he bellowed.

We raised our right arms, turning our heads to the right and pushing for proper spacing.

"Ready . . . FRONT!"

The Senior TAC spun on his heel and stepped three paces forward, getting out of the camera's way. The photographer made some adjustments, picked up the shutter release extension and smiled at us.

"Say puss - uhm, cheese," he teased.

It was a deliberate mistake, but it did make most of us smile. He took three, then backed up to the reviewing stand and set up again, taking pictures of the gathering. The Senior TAC stepped forward again.

"At ease! All personnel with special pinning, take one step back, fall out and assemble to my right."

I quickly did as ordered and we formed another three rows to the left of our main group - the Senior TAC's right.

"Steady!" he roared looking around.

"Group, a-tench-HUN!!"

We all snapped to.

"You know the drill," he looked from right to left, "Okay - dress right . . . DRESS!"

We pushed and shuffled leftward again.

"Ready . . . FRONT!"

"Puh-rade . . . REST!" spun on his heel and presented a salute to the Sergeant Major, "Class ten dash zero-nine, all present and accounted for!"

"Thank you, Sergeant," the Sergeant Major returned the salute and grinned, "this is the part I like best. Please accompany me, Sergeant."

The Senior TAC fell in on the Sergeant Major's left as he stepped forward. The Sergeant Major's clerk got on the Senior TAC's left with a box of jump wings in his hand. As the Sergeant Major stepped to the first man on the left, the acting squad leader, snapped to attention.

"Congratulations, son."

The Sergeant Major took the set of wings from the Senior TAC as the clerk had handed them to him, stepped forward and lifted the left shirt pocket flap, pushing the wing's prongs firmly through the material then stepped back and smiling.

"Airborne, Private," he offered.

"All the way, SIR!" was the quick response.

The Sergeant Major made his way down the line, pinning every one of them and receiving the same answer in return. I stood watching as I waited my turn before turning my eyes to my Baby Girl. Her eyes were fixed on me, but when she saw me looking at her, she smiled and waved. Thompson, on my right, the man that was always bragging about the number of women waiting for him to get home, nudged me and leaned to me the slightest bit.

"That's one fine little lady you got there, Stevens," he whispered.

I looked at him sharply.

"Whoops! I, uh, uh, I, uh, I didn't mean anything by it, man," he stuttered, his face turning a bright red, "I, uh, I just meant that she's the purtiest girl I've ever seen and you're one lucky sonuvabitch," he stared straight ahead, not daring to look at me.

"You're right on both counts," I whispered without turning, "I am damn lucky to have her, and I am a son of a bitch."

"I believe ya, man," he snorted trying not to laugh, "I really believe ya."

The PR Officer was reviewing the crowd on how to line up to pin the wings on their particular son, husband or fiancé - or other, as he put it. I waited patiently, listening to his spiel. Waiting impatiently for the Sergeant Major to get there.

"The Sergeant Major began with the first person on the left - or right depending on which way you're face," the PR Officer grinned and a few people chuckled, "so whoever he belongs to, please step forward as soon as the Sergeant Major steps up to him. He will hand you the wings and you will lift your soldier's left pocket flap, the pocket flap over his heart, for those of you who aren't sure which is the left side," he got some more polite laughter, "and you will push the prongs through it. Please remember that the fabric of the fatigues is pretty heavy so you may have to use a little force to push the wings on. Don't be afraid to ask the Sergeant Major for a little help ir you need it. He doesn't bite . . . well, not very hard anyway," another laugh, "I have a few sets of wings here and some of the same material that the uniforms are made of, in case anybody wants to practice before the actual pinning."

I watched Dolly timidly raise her hand and the PR Officer stepped up beside her and held the cloth up for her to practice the pinning. I could almost hear her complain that it was hard, her tiny pink tongue slipping sideways from her mouth as she pushed. I grinned with a little pride as she pulled her hands back, leaving the wings firmly pinned on the cloth. By then the Sergeant Major was at the third man from the last in the first group. Turning my eyes back, I watched others take the bits of cloth and wings and pin them with varying success.

It was hellaciously hot. The Georgia late summer sun burned down on us and I hadn't had a drink of water since just before we boarded for our drop. The Medic had offered me some, but I'd refused. Now, with this lengthy exercise, I was parched. The Sergeant Major finished with the last man in that group and turned, heading for the lead man in my group. I watched an older, heavier version of Jacobs step up in front of him. He was a former paratrooper himself and wore a baseball cap with the emblem of the 101st Airborne Division on his head. The cap had curved lettering above the emblem that read "WWII Veteran." Under the patch, there was more lettering that read Screaming Eagles and I wondered in admiration what it must have been like for him.

Because of the guests, we went through this part of the pinning exercise slower than the first group. There were a couple of little old ladies, a few more veterans, some wives and a few girlfriends. Grandpa - Sergeant Williams or Slim to his friends - had his wife pin his on him. She looked so very young, tall and red-headed with long, gorgeous legs and, as she finished pinning his wings, she leaned in and kissed him squarely on the lips.

"Airborne!" he grunted, smiling down at her.

"All the way, sir!" she proudly responded.

"That's the way I like it!" the Sergeant Major guffawed, his loud braying laugh echoing through the ranks. I had to smile as well.

She smiled and gripped his collar for one last smooch before letting go and striding back. Finally, the second row was complete and Stackhouse was next. I stood beside him as he snapped to attention and this motherly lady stepped up. The Sergeant Major handed her the wings and she paused looking up at Stackhouse in a little awe before continuing.

"Congratulations, Honey," she smiled tenderly up at him and placed his wings exactly where they should go, reached up and pulled his cheek to her lips, "your father would have been so very, very proud," she patted the wings on his chest and stepped back, her eyes brimming with tears.

She didn't bother wiping them off, only turned and walked behind the Sergeant Major, back to the reviewing stands. I'd never heard about his father from him and he'd never talked about him, but I assumed he'd been a veteran as well and wondered. She'd said that he "would have been very proud." Did that mean he was dead? If so did he die in combat or in an accident or natural causes? That and other random thoughts passed through my mind as I waited, but every thought ended with my eyes finding my Doll-Baby. I'd been lost in thought and was surprised when, it was finally my turn and Dolly stepped up.

She was such a tiny little thing, still not quite five feet tall. Today, she stood almost five-foot-two in her three inch pumps. I smiled down at her and she beamed her brightest smile up at me as she pinned my wings on my chest. For a few seconds, she stood staring wide-eyed at them, running her fingers over them as if trying to memorizing their feel, then, her eyes so very, very wide and so very, very blue, looked up into mine. All at once she seemed to leap forward, her arms flying around my neck and I caught her, hugging her protectively.

"I am so very, very proud of you, Honey," she sobbed, "so very, very proud."

The Sergeant Major looked bemused as he sidled past us and went on to Thompson. I set Dolly back on her feet and kissed her gently, then turned her to my right and gave her a gentle push.

"Bye, Baby," she whispered, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Sweetheart,"

The Senior Tac's face suddenly came into focus in front of me and I jerked in surprise, immediately snapping back to attention, the Senior TAC only smiled, an amused twinkle in his eyes. Glancing left from the corner of my eye, I saw Thompson standing at stiff attention as a Marine Corps full bird Colonel pinned his wings on him.

"Congratulations, son," he smiled and shook his hand, "I'm damn proud of you."

Thompson had never said anything about his father being a Marine, nor and officer much less that the man was a full bird colonel.

"Airborne, sir," he grinned at his shorter father.

"Oo-rah," the Colonel responded, stepping back and offering a salute.

The Sergeant Major, the Senior TAC and the clerk all came to stiff attention as Thompson returned the salute. The Colonel did a crisp left face, returned the Sergeant Major's salute and strode purposefully back to the reviewing stand. As they went on to the next man, as the clerk stepped in front of me to hand me the back clips to my wings, I noticed that he didn't wear wings. Oh, well, he was a clerk-typist for the Sergeant Major. The last four men finally got pinned and the major part of the ceremonies was over. All that was left was an inspirational speech, a ride back to the unit, pick up our orders and leave. A few hours more and I'd have my Baby Girl all to myself. The Sergeant Major finally reached the last man, returned to the front, returned control to the Senior TAC and the TAC filed us by the reviewing stand in a double column. We formed up one more time behind the stands and the Senior TAC paused for a few seconds, mulling over the next few words as we stood in a loose platoon formation. Without preamble, he began speaking, his voice no longer the harsh demanding voice he'd used during our training.

"Two-hundred and sixty-three boys started this course," he paused and looked at all of us, "and one-hundred and thirty-one men finished," he paused and we heard the droning of approaching airplane engines, "congratulations to each of you. Wear your wings with pride," he paused again and took a step back.

"Group, a-tench-HUN!"

"FALL OUT!"

"YEE-EE-EE-HA-AA-AH!" Thompson screamed suddenly.

The rest of us followed suit and turned to each other, grinning like idiots and shaking hands. It was more a feeling of relief that it was over than a feeling of triumph at winning our wings. It had been a long, grueling three weeks for some and it was over.

"The deuce-and-a-halfs behind you will get you back to the barracks, you have the option of getting aboard now or waiting for the last trucks," the Senior TAC smiled, "they will not leave without a full load."

The droning of engines got louder, we all turned to look past the reviewing stands. Personally, I wanted to watch a drop without being in it and, evidently, a lot of my colleagues felt the same way. The trucks wouldn't leave without a full load? Not a truck left. Dolly had been watching us and as I walked up to the stands, she jumped down and ran into my waiting arms. I picked her up and spun with her as she giggled and laughed. My aching ankle felt so much better. My Baby Girl had taken my pain away.

"A couple of hours more, Baby," I whispered in her ear, "just a couple of hours more."

I had completely forgotten about my sore butt and my ankle twinged, but all I could feel was Dolly's welcome warmth against me.

---

Back at the Company Area, I showered, cleaned up, pulled on a crisp set of khakis and packed my one piece of luggage, my duffel bag. I fussed with my trouser cuffs, until I got them bloused on my boots just right and I'd spit-shined them until they flashed like black mirrors. We jabbered noisily as we cleaned up and got ready to leave. Maybe I didn't say so, but most of us had become good buddies and even those who weren't too friendly with each other shook hands and slapped each other's backs. We were now members of a special class of men. We'd tossed our bodies into the empty sky, trusting to a little bit of nylon on our backs. We'd overcome millennia of instincts that fought against throwing ourselves into empty air and we felt that we were more than men, we were tough, nerveless bastards - hey, we were kids and that's how we felt. However, as the saying goes, "no matter how big and bad you are, there's always someone bigger and badder" and we'd meet them at our new duty stations. And so it went.

I carried my duffel bag outside, found my stick number and laid my bag on it. Now I played the old Army game of hurry up and wait. We had to be out of the barracks by a certain time so the clean-up crew could clean our final mess. The clean-up crew, by the way, consisted of the people on CCF punishment. We appreciated not having to do that last cleanup, but it didn't help make the time go by any faster. Some of the guys lounged in the once-forbidden patio by the Orderly Room, the rest of us were scattered all over the grounds. Grandpa came out, adjusted his belt, slapped the so-called cunt-cap on his head and hopped down the stairs like Fred Astaire with Ginger Rogers. During our off-time this past week, we'd all gone to the on-site seamstress and had the glider patches stitched on them. They looked sharp - Grandpa looked sharp. He walked up to me waled me on the back and laughed as I staggered forward.

"Hey, buddy," he grinned as I tried to catch my breath, "yeah you. The guy with the most beautiful girlfriend hereabouts, let's go to the PX and have a coke."

"Yeah, sure Sarge, first you kill me then you want to buddy up to me . . . but that does sound good, it's hot as hell out here."

"Yeah, we can sit under an umbrella and play it cool for a bit. Hey, you know what I'm gonna do as soon as I get turned loose?" I barely had time to shake my head as he rambled on, "I'm gonna get in the driver's seat of my car, pull the old lady on my lap and ram my stiff cock in her pussy as we drive off. Yeah, I'll be heading home and getting some nooky at the same time, whattaya think?"

I burst into loud laughter, snorting and gasping.

"D-d-don't be g-g-giving me any, any, any ideas," I chortled, "th-that's just about the best one I've heard yet."

We laughed and joked as we headed down the street. Very shortly, we stepped into the refrigerated air of the PX Annex. However, it was a long wait for our orders, shortened by the arrival of Grandpa's wife - with company. Dolly and Aunt Celia were staying in the same motel and they'd struck up a conversation after the ceremonies that morning. They'd seen each other at the motel the previous night and had joined up at the pinning, rapidly becoming friends. They'd gone back to the motel to freshen up and Danielle, Grandpa's wife, had mentioned that she was coming to meet him at the PX Annex while he waited for his travel orders. They'd be heading back to Fort Bragg as soon as she got him rested up and they'd teamed up, riding in my car back on post to join us. She was not only beautiful, but also the nicest person I'd ever met. Dolly and I sat with our backs against the building, her little shoulders snuggled under my arm and her wonderful smelling hair just under my nose. She'd gotten, as close as she could without climbing in my drawers.

Danielle reached out and laid a hand on Dolly's arm, saying that she'd fallen in love with Dolly when she first laid eyes on her, that she looked just like a beautiful little china doll.

"Where do you think we got her name?" I blurted out grinning like an idiot.

She tossed her head back and laughed. Aunt Celia caught my flub and, so Danielle wouldn't question us further and discover our relationship, asked her about Fort Bragg and how long they'd been there. Danielle gave her some answer that went over my head, because I'd pulled Dolly to me and was sucking on my tongue, her soft little hand caressing my chin, her tiny fingernails scratching my rough chin gently.

"Aw-w, they're so adorable," I heard Danielle say.

Slim got up, looking slightly embarrassed, saying that he'd seen a fellow he needed to talk to and excused himself. Danielle looked up at him and nodded in rapt adoration as Aunt Celia answered.

"Yes, they're my two love-birds," she chuckled in agreement.

"You know, they look so much alike," Danielle grinned, her eyes growing a little wider, Aunt Celia, at a loss for words only grunted.

I looked up at Danielle, my eyes narrowing. She gasped and looked at Aunt Celia, then back to me and Dolly examining us both, looking us up and down carefully.

"Celia?" she gasped, almost sobbing, "I-I need to tell you something. Something I've held in for so very long and I need to talk to somebody about it, you know? I think you may understand."

"Now?" Aunt Celia stared at her narrowly, nodding carefully.

"W-well . . . n-n-no I guess . . . I guess it, it can wait until we're alone, okay? Slim and I'll be staying at the motel overnight, so maybe we can talk then, okay?" she twisted her hands and fingers together nervously, "I really, really need to talk to someone. Someone who can understand, someone who . . . okay?"

"Okay . . . okay, Sweetie," Aunt Celia patted Danielle's hand, "it'll be fine, just relax and drink your coke."

Danielle settled back and smiled at us distractedly, seeming to be thinking deeply. It embarrassed Dolly and me so we sipped our shared coke and held hands under the table. Slim returned to the table accompanied by one of the TAC's.

"Honey, this is Joe Walters, he and I served in bravo company together," they slapped each other's backs, "survived a couple of hellacious fire-fights."

"I'm glad he got sense enough in him to go Airborne," Sgt Walters chuckled and looked around, there were a number of clean, unscuffed uniforms milling around, "gotta go, gotta herd this bunch back to the barracks," he grinned at Slim once more, "it was good to see you old man, keep your head low and your ass lower," they both laughed and Sgt Walters turned back to his charges.

"Aw-w-w-right, you meatballs," his foghorn voice cut through the hubbub, "fall in outside and I mean NOW!"

He turned and smiled and gave us a cheery wave as he walked out. I grinned, remembering my first few days and how we'd been given forty-five minutes at the PX to get essential supplies like toothpaste, razors and shaving cream, but no edibles. Thank goodness it was over with now. Slim smiled and pulled Danielle in for a quick kiss.

"He had to get a medical waiver to come to Jump School," Danielle explained to Aunt Celia, "and he won't be going back to Viet Nam, thank God, because of the disabi - uhm, the severity of his injury."

"More time with you, Sweetheart," Slim smiled gently at her.

Danielle giggled and leaned against him, snuggling into his arms with a happy sigh. Aunt Celia smiled at them and shook her head gently. For a while, Slim and I sat and joked, teasing each other while the women bent their heads together and talked, sometimes in whispers. A couple of hours later, Slim checked his watch and suggested that we head back to the company area. I kissed Dolly and we left. Danielle said that she had her ID with her, so they wouldn't get run off. They all laughed at that. Dolly's tinkling laugh followed me, putting a spring in my step. They'd wait for us until we came back ready to go.

We were the last two to arrive at our bags and we all waited anxiously for our marching orders, gathering together and smoking, talking, joking - and waiting. Finally the Admin Clerk came out of the orderly room with an armful of brown envelopes. The Senior Tac right behind him.

"Gather round, orders are ready," he announced casually.

We flocked around him like seagulls at a picnic as he picked up each envelope and called out our names. One by one we all got our orders and one by one we picked up our bags, whooped like Indians and left. Slim got his and went back to his bag reading his orders as he waited for me. Somehow we'd suddenly become friends and no longer fellow soldiers. No Sergeant and Private routine, either. The Senior TAC called my name and I caught the flying envelope. With that, we grabbed our bags and headed back to the little PX. I ripped the envelope open as we walked, trying to figure out what the abbreviations and language meant. Slim helped me translate some of the language and abbreviations, but what it added up to was that I had a thirty day leave and was to report to the Transportation Officer San Diego by noon of the day noted for Transport to the 189th Replacement Depot RVN . . . RVN - Republic of Viet Nam. I was going into a combat unit, I realized, my heart suddenly pounding in my throat. Slim took the orders from my hands and looked at them also.

"Well, bo," he shrugged, "least you'll get it over with quick," he handed them back, "most guys only do one tour and I don't see you to be no exception," he slapped my shoulder as we walked, "thirteen months is all you gotta do, then it's back to the happy horse-shit of garrison life," he chuckled.

I nodded mutely.

"Not as many people are killed there as the newspapers and TV would like people to believe. Most of it is wandering around and getting in people's way. Don't sweat it."

"Like the old parson says, when you're called by the Lord, it don't matter what you're doing," I forced a chuckle out and smiled.

"That's the idea, just keep your head low and your ass lower, ya don't wanna get it shot off accidentally."

We laughed and by the time we got to the PX Annex, I was back in good spirits. Do the job, pull your load and the Devil take the hindmost. A big kiss and a hug waited for me and I collected it when we got there. Danielle snuggled up to Slim and, as I looked at her, realized that she couldn't be much older than Dolly.

"I gave Dolly and Aunt Celia our address and phone number, Honey," she smiled up at Slim, "and we're all going out to Cicero's tonight," she clung to his arm.

"That sounds like a plan," he grinned down at her, "I ain't been to Cicero's since . . ." he stopped and looked down at Danielle.

"That's right, Baby," she broke in on his pause, "ever since then, is it okay?"

"Honey, anything you want is okay with me," he grabbed her and spun her around, "absolutely anything!"

She squealed giddily and lifted her feet, throwing her head back, "swing me hard and make me dizzy, unc - H-Honey," she gasped.

We all laughed at their antics, ignoring the almost spoken "uncle." We threw our bags in my car since Aunt Celia had driven them here, and headed back to the Motel. At the motel, Aunt Celia handed me an envelope. Digging into it, I found a credit card, unlimited American Express Card . . . with my name on it! Then I dug out a checkbook with five-thousand dollars in the current balance section and a savings pass-book with twenty-thousand. She also handed me five-hundred dollars, which was tantamount to handing me thirty-five hundred dollars in 2009 money. She would only say that Mom had provided the money. The rest of the night went by pretty much in a blur.

Cicero's was a very nice Italian restaurant which catered to low paid GI's. At Aunt Celia's urging, I announced that the night was on me. Slim tried to argue, but I pulled out the credit card and he backed down, with a low whistle. At the time, the American Express Card was the gold standard. Only the well-off could wield it with authority.

"Aunt Celia brought it to me from home," I shrugged at Slim.

"Must be a nice home," he chuckled.

"Not so's you'd notice," I shrugged again.

"Still. It can't be too bad," he persisted.

"I suppose," I grinned, "come on, buddy, what's mine is yours and what's yours is . . ."

"As long as it ain't my woman!" he interruped, laughingly slapping me on the back once again, "you drinking?"

"Maybe a beer with my spaghetti," I laughed and slapped his back for the first time.

"Whoo-oof!" he staggered in mock shock, "easy on these old bones, boy, don't beat up on the old man."

The girls and I laughed as we walked into the restaurant. It was a wonderful night, but like I said, it all went by in a blur. I didn't tell anybody about my orders yet, I wanted us to have a little fun first. I knew what would happen when I told them that I was headed for Viet Nam, but they had already guessed, and it kind of hung over us like the smog in Los Angeles, a gloomy blanket over everything. When the women all headed for the powder room, Slim gave me the names of some of the best outfits he knew of, the best ones to be in. He told me that the ones that didn't seem to lose people were the reverse of what one might expect - the search and destroy teams of the 75th Rangers and the 1st Cav. He said that they picked the ground they fought on, or rather, killed on. Their job was to lay ambushes and kill the enemy and, as soon as the job was done, they were pulled out.

When the ladies came back - and they'd been gone quite a while - he told an off-color joke that had Danielle slapping his arm to try to quiet him. We all laughed, but after the laughter died, we all grew kind of quiet. I assumed it was because of the expected news of me going to Viet Nam, but the way, Dolly and Aunt Celia patted Danielle's arm, I wasn't too sure. Slim looked at all of them suspiciously, but didn't say anything.

We finished and Slim suggested a little place where we could sit and listen to some music and maybe dance a little. I noticed that he was picking places that didn't serve much or any alcohol, for which I was glad because I'd realized that I wasn't of age to drink off-base and Dolly would also have never been allowed in. Once again, I wondered about Danielle's age. The old adage was never ask a woman her age, so I stuck by it and didn't push my nose in.

When the check arrived, Cicero's, as it turned out, didn't handle American Express, so I had to pull out some cash. Slim gave another low whistle when I slapped a hundred dollar bill on the waiter's tray - I didn't have change. The whole meal, including drinks, came to just over twenty dollars. I left him a five as a tip. Now, recall, this was 1965 dollars. Back then twenty equaled about a hundred-thirty-five in 2009 dollars, so five as a tip equaled about thirty-five dollars. Most people worked for a weekly salary of forty to fifty dollars. Hell my monthly pay as a private in the US Army was only seventy-six dollars a month!

Anyway we partied until midnight or so, then professing exhaustion, I suggested we call it a night. Slim agreed. He said it had been a long time since he'd been out this late and his four weeks at Benning had been a trial. Besides, four-thirty would come pretty early, then he stopped and grabbed his head in mock shock.

"What am I saying," he cried, "I can sleep late tomorrow."

"Of course you can, Honey," Danielle winked at Dolly, "you can sleep all the way til five if you want to, hm?"

Slim dropped his arms and gave Danielle a mock angry look.

"You just know me too well, you know that?" he grabbed her around the neck and pulled her in for a wet, sloppy kiss.

I grinned and wrapped an arm around Dolly's waist.

"Well, I know I've gotta be up by nine," Aunt Celia laughed, "my plane's due out at noon and I don't want to miss it, got somebody waiting at home."

We got to the car and leaned on it for a while smoking companionably and chatting over not much of anything. Yeah, I'd picked up the habit, too. You either smoked on your smoke breaks or you picked up the TAC's cigarette butts, the inconsiderate bastards. It seemed the lesser of the two evils at the time. We tossed our butts in the gutter and agreed to meet at a nearby pancake restaurant for breakfast no later than nine-thirty. Then we climbed in our cars and headed back to the motel. On the way, with Aunt Celia in the back seat, Dolly turned to her and patted her arm gently.

"I'll bet Uncle Sammy will be glad to see you," she smiled.

"Yeah," she smiled in bemusement, "after Danielle told us all that, I'm beginning to wonder if it's not more common than we think."

I pricked up my ears and cleared my throat, wondering if I should ask or not. Wondering how private and privileged the conversation with Danielle had been. Aunt Celia looked at me through the rear-view mirror.

"Hasn't Slim said anything to you about him and Danielle?" she looked a little surprised.

"Well, they're married is all I know," I shrugged.

"Umph, well, I might have expected it from men," she chuckled and patted my arm.

"Like what?" I was curious now.

"Well, like Danielle is Slim's niece. They married, legally, in the only state in the union that allows those marriages. He was stationed at Pine Bluff Arsenal in Arkansas when she came to live with him, an eleven year old juvenile delinquent. She said that she fell in love with him almost immediately and to please him, she changed almost completely. He was twenty-two at the time and five years ago, they consummated their love. Didn't get married then because he got orders for Viet Nam, but he promised her that he'd be back if he had to crawl all the way. He got shot up, should have died, but he said that he'd promised to come back and he did," she shook her head, "the way she tells it, half his intestines are missing as well as a good chunk of his left leg."

"Yeah, I saw the thing in the showers more'n once," I nodded, "didn't know about his missing insides, though."

"He's a helluva man," Aunt Celia nodded in agreement, "seems to always keep his promises," she chuckled.

"Uh-huh," Dolly nodded, caressing the back of my neck and, wrinkling her cute little nose, rubbed the stubble on my head.

"Anyway, she's barely seventeen. They got married as soon as he could move his feet again," she looked at me pensively, "Arkansas's legal age is thirteen and she was just barely that when they married. He still had an Arkansas driver's license and an Arkansas address, so they went back, since North Carolina's legal age is sixteen, got a motel room and had to wait a whole week, as she said, in order to get it done. But, she said that he wanted the marriage and, although she didn't care one way or the other as long as she had him, they got married," she tilted her head to look at her fingernails, "said she didn't regret a thing and loved being his wife."

"It's a helluva story," I nodded.

"Yes it is," she nodded, "Danielle said that an uncle and niece relationship is the same as a second cousin relationship to the state of Arkansas, so that made it legal and the Army doesn't care how closely you're related as long as you can show a marriage license. Doesn't matter where you marry."

That got my mind working. Much later, when I was in Viet Nam, I finally found out that the only place that Dolly and I could legally marry was Mexico. But that came much later. At the time, I was in a turmoil and wondering if we should get married, I mean, we aleady shared the same last name and had the twins as if they were our kids. I had known that Mexico granted quickie divorces. Liz Taylor went there all the time, but I'd never connected it to marriages. At any rate, that night was the most precious time for me. Aunt Celia had gotten us adjoining rooms, but she firmly closed both doors so we could all have some privacy.

---

I didn't make the full Viet Nam tour. I've written another story that describes why I didn't, but suffice to say that when I arrived in-country, I was almost six feet tall and weighed a hundred and eighty-five pounds. I came back the same height, but less a foot and seven pounds lighter because of it and got put out of the service on a medical disability.

It had been almost eight months since Dolly and I had been together and we were a little awkward at first. She'd grown even more beautiful, if that was possible and we felt a little like strangers around each other at first. It was all little things, like Dolly closing the door to the bathroom when, normally, she'd have just sat and done her business, not worrying about the splashing piss or turds. It was the same with me. I'd never closed the door to piss before, but I turned shy and did now. My twins, already starting the second grade, treated me differently at first, but by the second day, they were climbing all over me as if I'd never left at all.

That second night, as we got ready for bed, I finally shattered the ice between us with an unplanned fashion spectacle. She was in the bathroom in her nightgown, brushing her teeth when I came in wearing regulation GI boxer underwear. I hadn't yet gone shopping for regular clothes and, as she spotted them, began giggling, her mouth full of toothpaste. I looked down, but it took me a few moments to realize what she was giggling about. These things looked huge on my slimmer frame. I began to chuckle along with her and we were soon both laughing like idiots.

"You oughtta," she gasped, bursting into laughter again, "oughtta . . . oughtta t-take a look at yourself . .. in the mirror," she tried to catch her breath, "you look . . ." and burst into laughter once again.

I pulled the door back to look in the full-length mirror. I had to admit, these things looked like they belonged on a clown. I thought that maybe I should be wearing those wide suspenders with them and also burst into laughter. Both of us were gasping and laughing as we stared at me in those outlandish lookig shorts. Finally, I just shoved them down and kicked them aside, standing nude in front of her. She stopped laughing immediately.

"Is this better," I chuckled.

My baby girl just stood there, looking at me seriously.

"Much," she whispered her mouth still full of toothpaste.

She quickly spat it out and rinsed as I approached and grabbed her from the side.

"Oh, Honey," she whimpered, "I've missed you so much."

I didn't say another word, I just turned her to me and pressed my lips to hers. She was so tiny that I pulled her off her feet, bringing her up to my ravenous lips. Then, still not speaking, I set her back on her feet and yanked her nightgown off. She was breathlessly gorgeous. A tiny china doll, as Danielle had once said. A lot more of her hair had grown in during these past months, and her small breasts were absolutely beautiful. I cupped each of them tenderly in my rough, calloused hands as I bent to them, caressing them and suckling on her small, stiffening nipples. Then I slowly dropped to my knees, worshiping her gently rounded belly with my tongue and lips as I brought my face to the source of her heavenly aroma.

"Oh, God," she whimpered again, "yes, Daddy, yes!"

I stretched my tongue out, spreading her lower lips with my thumbs, and searched out the source of her femininity, suckling on her stiff little nubbin. Her soft hands gripped my shoulders and she almost collapsed on me. I gazed up into her beautiful blue eyes and slowly stood. Pulling her face to mine, I kissed her again, letting her suckle on my tongue for a few seconds.

"Let's go to bed, Doll Baby," I husked into the side of her face.

"Y-y-yes, Daddy, okay," she moaned.

Without even thinking of my missing lower leg, I picked her up bodily. She was so light. Illogically, I thought that she didn't feel at all like those logs we'd had to carry in training. She felt so smooth and smelled so wonderful. She kept her wits about her, though, swatting the bathroom light switch as I stumped one and a half legged out. Taking no pity on me - and making me feel like I was no less a man than I'd been when I'd left - she made me go turn off the overhead light before letting me climb in bed with her. Some women are so darn bossy! Only then, was I finally allowed to lie with my princess. And I kissed her hungrily, possessing her lips with all the pent-up desire in me. She yielded gracefully as I climbed atop her and pressed my stiffness into her, grunting in piggish delight as she cried out in a high, keening, lusty wail.

"Oh, God, Baby, you are so wonderful," she cried.

I was completely speechless. I'd hungered for her for so many months that, now that I had her under me, I couldn't say a word. I fucked my heavy pole into her a few times and suddenly knew I couldn't last any longer. I fired my first hot blast into her and she cried out, shuddering and moaning with me. I was a little surprised later when I realized that she'd cum with me, but she explained that she hadn't even touched herself the whole time I'd been gone. As for me, most days I'd been too exhausted to do more than press my hand to my cock, falling asleep before I could do the job. We laughed about that as we snuggled.

"I'm on those birth control pills, Honey, so no more rubbers."

I hadn't even thought about that. I'd been so eager to get into her that I hadn't even thought about protecting her from me. It did ease my mind, though, so I drifted off to sleep with my love, my darling, my life in my arms.

---

Early the next morning I was awakened in the most wonderful way. Dolly's hot, wet mouth suckled on my rigid prick as I came to my senses. I gasped as I came awake, and reached down to caress her soft hair. She pulled back and smiled up at me happily.

"Do you mind? I've dreamed about waking you up like this since you left," she dropped her head back onto my heavy prick, drawing a long, shuddering gasp from me.

"Oh-h-h, God, Baby!" I moaned, "I, uh, I l-l-love it!"

She gurgled happily as pre-cum mixed with drool oozed from between her lips - I buried my hands in her soft, blond curls, crushing them in my grip. She'd had her hair up the night before, looking as ravishing as any model in any men's magazine, but now, with her hair down and cascading around her face, she looked even more enthralling, even more beautiful than I remembered.

"You're my Doll Baby," I whispered as I felt the old familiar tightening in my balls, "my own, true, Doll Baby. . . oh, God, Dolly," I jerked and gripped her hair hard in my hands, "yes! Yes, Baby," I jerked again and fired my warm cream down her gulping throat.

"Um-m-m," she moaned, "um-m-hm-m-m-m."

I finally ran out of cum and shuddered pleasantly, stretching my toes to the footboard. She licked my softening shaft and balls, cleaning all the dribbled cum and saliva off. Then she gently pulled my hands out of her hair and ran to the bathroom. I just figured she had to go pee or gargle or something. I heard the water running, then a couple of minutes later, it cut off and she ran back with a warm, wet washcloth to wipe me down. God, I loved my little girl so darn much.

All at once the door burst open and my twins ran in, cheerily calling out, "good morning, Bubba! Darn we're glad you're home again."

I was caught with my pants down, so to speak, as my twins ran in and tumbled all over me and Dolly. Hugging and kissing and caressing me and my soft prick.

"Do I get a turn?" Debra demanded.

"We've been waiting for so long, and . . ." Leila continued.

"Dolly always gets the good stuff, please . . ." Debra begged.

"Let us taste some, too," Leila finished.

"NO!" I answered sharply.

"Dolly said . . ." Leila started.

"That we could!" Debra finished.

I was in a quandary once again. I'd love to have the twins suck me off or, better yet, have them spread under me, but I didn't dare. Hell, I hadn't started screwing Dolly until she'd been ten years old. The twins were only seven.

"No!" I repeated.

"Later, girls," Dolly interrupted, "we'll all do it later. Right now Bubba's pretty well used up. It takes a lot out of a man," she winked at me, "and he won't be able to cum again for a few hours. How about we set it up for after we get back from his VA Hospital appointment, okay? Sometime after supper tonight, that way we can all sleep together."

"Oh-ooh," Debra wailed.

"Heck," Leila pouted.

"No," I continued, weakening.

Fine thing. Here I was, a Bronze Star winner, nominee for the CMH being bullied by three girls - three of the sweetest most wonderful little darlings. Neither Debra nor Leila had Dolly's porcelain smooth skin, but they were still good looking and, by the look of it, were already developing little breasts! Shit, they might beat Aunt Celia and Mom and mature even earlier.

---

What now? Anybody out there got any ideas? Post them if you do.

I barely grazed over a lot of things during the course of this story covering fifteen years of Bubba's life in less than thirty-thousand words. I could easily have written another thirty-thousand. Any suggestions? I'd love to hear them, good, bad, indifferent or downright nasty. Sometimes the indifferent or the nasty suggest a good line. So . . .

As the Tigger says: "Hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo-oo! TTFN, that's Ta-Ta For Now.