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The Sailor's Wife V: Extirpation
By Adam Gunn

The black water of the estuary seemed particularly calm as Stephanie prowled the Oakland marina. She'd needed to get out on this sunny Saturday, she realized, but when Joann had been unavailable (apparently shacked up for the day with her boyfriend,) there'd been no one to accompany her. She'd dressed up a little, a faintly psychedelic blouse, mini skirt and high heels, and headed for Jack London Square, but she had little money for lunch and the street artists had failed to amuse. A guitarist had, unfortunately, reminded her of Rusty, and that dragged her mood even further into the trench she was digging for herself.

Things couldn't be going worse. Chuck called her every chance he could, begging her for additional liaisons, and even the threat of turning him into the police as a stalker seemed to be of little concern to him. Last night, he'd even showed up on her doorstep at eleven o'clock, and she'd had to drive him back to Alameda without letting him into the apartment; if she had, she knew, she wouldn't have the strength to resist his sexual advances. And she'd promised herself that, after Rusty, there would be no more men in her life until Glenn came back to her. In her inner heart, she knew that if Rusty was able to make it to California, she'd break that vow, but no other man would touch her! She was sure of that.

Then there was her job. Mr. Donegal simply wasn't happy with her, even though she was trying her best. He couldn't understand that some days she just didn't have the strength to get out of bed, and that was the reason for her chronic tardiness. And it wasn't her fault that they kept giving her batches of alpha-numeric codes, was it? Everyone knew that keypunchers made more mistakes with those than other stuff. It just wasn't fair.

She missed Rusty. In the seven weeks he'd been gone, she'd only had five letters from him. He'd gotten the gig with the band, but Clapton hadn't signed on. They were in the studio now, putting an album together, and their agent was trying to paste together a tour starting sometime in the winter, but it would be through the south, he had written, no where near the West Coast. In the last few missives, he seemed to be getting more and more distant; Stephanie wondered if he'd found another girlfriend, someone to replace her.

And, thinking about letters, there was Glenn. Apparently, he hadn't been very clear, on one of the ship's stops in the Philippines he'd visited a prostitute. So there he was getting laid while she was being as good as she could be. She hadn't had any sex since Rusty left, and it was frustrating her. She masturbated often, almost every day and sometimes twice or three times a day on the weekend, but it was sort of like Chinese food, Joann had joked, an hour later you want more.

Thanksgiving had been a bore. Some of the wives got together to cook a huge feast, but it had turned morose quickly, the women missing their men, sometimes sniffling at their absence. Dawn and Jill were talking about how they were going to meet the boat when it docked in Hong-Kong in February, and Stephanie was tempted to join them, but she simply couldn't scrape the necessary four-hundred dollars together - that was so much! Why couldn't the Navy send them over for free?

Christmas was coming up in just fifteen days, and Steph's mother was begging for her to come back home, but Mr. Donegal insisted he couldn't spare her for the whole week, three of the other girls were already taking vacation, and that was that. What did he want of her!

Steph gazed at the expensive yachts around her and wondered how it was to be so rich you could afford something like that just as a toy. If she had some money, it would solve all her problems, wouldn't it? She and Glenn could buy one of these boats and just sail anywhere they wanted. What would it be like to make love on board one, with the boat rocking gently below her? God, she was horny. She wanted Glenn or Rusty to come to her, stroke her naked body, push his thing between her legs and make her come, hard.

Then she caught herself. Did she want to make a fool out of herself, out here in public, thinking about sex? Silly girl.

It was then, as she was blushing with her ruttiness, that she heard the man on the boat call out, "Well, isn't that a pretty thing. Would you like to join me for a drink, sweetie?"

For a few seconds, she took in the guy. Old, at least forty, with a bit of grey at the temples. Slightly overweight, small paunch exposed above the swim trunks. He seemed to be covered in fur, his chest was filthy with hair, and yet, somehow, he exuded a sense of sultriness. Perhaps it was in the way his eyes stared directly into hers, maybe it was the gold necklace he wore.

"No, thanks," Stephanie forced herself to say. She'd really like a drink, but somehow she feared that if she let this man get close, who knew what might happen.

"Oh, come on," he insisted, "it's almost five o'clock . . . somewhere." When he saw Steph hesitate, he rose from his seat and held out his hand to help her climb aboard.

After arguing with her internal imp, Steph let her curiosity - she'd never been aboard one of these large boats before - and her thirst overcome her reluctance. Taking the wolf's hand (she had no pretensions about his ultimate intentions,) she promised herself that only one drink would pass her lips and then, hopefully after a tour of the yacht, she'd be on her way, unmarred by the incident.

"That's my girl," the man responded, holding her hand a moment longer than was strictly required, and handling her waist more than needed to assist her. "Now, what would you like?"

"What do you have?"

"For you, dear, anything you'd like. Anything." The final word was accompanied by a leer, one that Stephanie ignored.

"A screwdriver?" Steph's tenor was timid, as if she were suddenly overwhelmed by the situation.

"One screw coming up." A glimpse from him into her eyes, to ensure she got the entendre. "Do you prefer Russian or Polish vodka?"

"Either one's fine."

"Well, you just sit right down here." He led her to a chair bolted to the deck, once again holding her more than was necessary for the maneuver. Quickly he moved to the hatch leading to the interior of the boat, and soon he returned, bearing a silver tray on which rested a tall glass full of ice and a tiny crystal pitcher of orange juice. The glass was more than two-thirds full of pale liquid. Making a show of pouring the juice into the vodka and handing her the result, he toasted, "To pretty girls like you."

Steph sipped the concoction, choking on the strength of the alcohol and yet noticing how smooth it tasted. She craned her head, taking in the area of the boat she could see from her perch on the deck and marveling at the luxury. Suddenly, she realized she didn't know her host's name. "I'm Stephanie."

"Stephanie. What a wonderful name! Stephanie, I couldn't be more pleased that you stepped into my world, releasing me from my own morbid thoughts on this sunny day. Stephanie, I'm Bob Romer, and I'm so very happy to meet you." With this windy introduction, he once again took her hand in his and this time deliberately fondled it, even to the point of caressing the wedding band she wore.

After too much of the contact, Steph pulled her fingers from his grip, and began a safer conversation. "How big is this boat?"

"She's 48 feet, flybridge and pilothouse, two staterooms and salon, two heads, twin diesels. We could sail this puppy to Fiji, and one of these days we're going to. We'll going to be needing a crew when I do, and honey, I'd love to have you aboard. You'd look great sunning yourself up on the deck, naked to the world, don't you think?"

"Well, I'd have to think about the naked part," she responded. But she did like the thought of sailing away to warm climates. She tightened the sweater she wore a bit more snugly, possibly to keep herself warm in the December breeze, more probably to protect herself from his almost indecent stare, but all she accomplished was to further define the globes for his observation.

Out of a nearby drawer, Bob withdrew a joint, lit it, and passed it to Steph. As if it was the most common thing in the world, to be smoking drugs in public, she took a hit. "So, what's a beautiful girl like you doing out here all by your lonesome?"

"I just didn't have anything else to do, that's all."

"Husband working today?"

"Well, actually, he's a sailor in the navy, his ship is out at sea."

"Oh, that's terrible! You're all by yourself. Or are you? Any boyfriends to keep you company?"

"No, nothing like that." The question brought to mind the men she'd entertained since the aircraft carrier deployed, and a blush flushed her cheeks.

"Well, there's nothing to be worried about, is there? How long have you been married?"

For the next twenty minutes, he coaxed her life story from her, seemed actually interested in it. As she came to tell him about how they loved going into the City on a weekend afternoon, he excused himself to freshen their drinks, and in the gyrations of getting out of the captain's chair, he placed his hand on her knee and stroked the inside of her thigh. Before she could order him to stop or otherwise protest, he'd removed the infringement, and disappeared down the steps. Upon his return, he handed her the drink, just as potent as the first, and in the process caressed her wrist. This failed to upset Steph as much as his earlier forays. Now, it became her turn to be the interrogator. "What do you do?"

"I'm an insurance agent."

"Business must be good," she remarked, glancing at the yacht.

"Not bad, not bad at all."

"Are you married?"

"Oh, I keep a wife around someplace. We're at that point in our life where it doesn't seem that important."

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't been married long enough to realize what's going to happen, I guess. One day you wake up next to each other, and the old spark is just gone. You still love her and all, but you've got your things to do, and she's got hers. So, you just don't get hung up on it, that's all." From the puzzled look on her face, it was obvious Stephanie wasn't reading between the lines, so Bob filled in the blanks. "For example, yesterday she took off for a party up in Napa, and didn't bother coming home."

"And you don't care?"

"Why should I? It's not like I own her or anything. What she does doesn't hurt me, so what's the big deal? Actually, it makes it easier. She doesn't depend on me so much."

"But what if you wanted to be with her last night?"

"Oh, we talked about it before she left. She told me if I wanted to do anything, she'd stick around, but I just told her to go have fun."

"And she doesn't mind . . ."

". . . if I have friends of my own? No, she doesn't care. She wouldn't mind at all that I'm having this drink with you."

"Just having a drink shouldn't be any problem."

"And it isn't. So, Stephanie, what do you like to do? Any hobbies?"

For another half-hour or forty minutes they yammered, and Steph took stock of this man. He wasn't particularly attractive, and he seemed a good four or five inches shorter than she. And yet, there was something alluring about him. He chattered in a rapid clip, and when he became excited about a subject, his hands flew throughout the air. As he was making a point, he'd gaze directly into her eyes, and his hand might lightly contact her arm, knee or shoulder. Steph figured it was simply a product of his personality - he may have been Italian - and forgave the impingement.

There came a point at which the conversation slumped, and the glasses were drained. "Another?" Bob asked.

"I shouldn't." But she didn't say 'wouldn't'.

"Well, at least let me show you around the boat. You'd like that?"

Steph admitted she would, and allowed herself to be escorted into the interior. The first stop was the salon, a room perhaps eight feet by twelve in shades of greens and subdued yellows, with a wrap-around couch, an easy chair and even a television. At the far end of the room was a bar, which led into the small galley, where Bob filled the glasses again. "Make mine light," she insisted, but his idea of potency and hers, apparently, was quite different. Then it was the grand tour. Up a flight of stairs to what Bob called the pilothouse, the place where you steered the boat from, with seating for the Captain and four or five other people, depending on how close they got. Then down another flight of steps to the stateroom level. The one aft had a double bed and it's own head, the one forward built into the front of the boat, the bed was a good seven feet wide. "You've got to see this," Bob remarked, and he clambered on his knees to one of the forward portholes. Steph followed him, and kneeling beside him, saw a magnificent view of the estuary. As she marveled, she felt Bob's hand upon her waist, and she recognized the dryness in the mouth and pounding heart that is the first manifestation of sexual arousal. For a split second she considered resisting the advance, and then, just as quickly, caved to her craving. She felt no surprise when they kissed, and even less when she was on her back, he above her, his hands upon her covered breasts, between her legs. Quickly, her cotton panties were drawn over her knees and she was able to unbuckle his belt, unbutton the waist, pull the slider of his zipper. He briskly forced the pants over his hips, and rapidly placed his tool at the entrance, and without further undressing, she spread her legs and his penis was buried within her dank slit. Steph raised her waist, positioned herself for maximum penetration, and Bob battered into her. More quickly than ever before, Steph felt the surge of orgasm bolt through her. Through the roar of blood through her ears, she heard him, dimly and far-away, demand, "You want me to fuck you hard, don't you? You really want me to fuck you, don't you."

And even more surprisingly, she heard herself echo, "Yeah, fuck me. Harder! Harder! Fuck me!" Incredibly, she found that even though he was in and out, in and out of her, he wasn't spilling his seed into her. In fact, he seemed to be controlling his hips, varying the speed of his thrusts, so that as she felt the lightning advance through her body, he seemed to be playing with her. Somehow they fumbled with buttons and clasps, and without ceasing the merrymaking, first a shirt came off, then a sock, next a bra, until they were both quite unclothed.

Bob gruffly turned her over, forced her unto her knees, and from behind, repenetrated the still ready aperture. Again, as Bob reached around, grabbed a breast and roughly tormented a nipple, Steph came again, even harder. Another shift, she was on top of him, his hands at her waist, pulling her then pushing her, and she desired, more than anything, to feel him disgorge. But, in some strange fashion, he was able to deny himself the surge of completion. Still the two used the word, over and over again, repeating themselves, "I'm going to fuck you," and "Yes, fuck me." Once more they shifted, again he was on top of her, one of her long legs over him and behind his ass, pulling him further into her, and he abruptly rose above her, implanted himself once more as far as he could, and moaned, "Oh, god, yes, yes, I'm coming," to which she crooned, "yes, baby, all the way, yes," and she felt her recess flooded with his solution. For long moments the world was still, no movement was felt except for the gentle rocking of the boat on the tide, and then he slid from her, landing hard on the bed beside her. Elated sweat dripped from their pores, in the heat of the cabin their entire bodies seemed as drenched as the much used repository between her legs.

When the panting diminished, and he was able to take a deep breath, Bob exclaimed, "Babe, you are one great fuck!"

Steph smiled, for she knew, with this man, she had indeed been that. And even though her yearning for a cock within her was completely quenched, and she didn't think that she could possibly come even one more time, some impulse within her didn't want the romp to end. With kisses on her new lover's ear, neck, chest, nipples, navel, she descended until her face was next to his soft, flabby dick, and she took it into her mouth. She'd given blow jobs before, and she knew the general flavor of sperm, and certainly the pungency of his recent eruption was present, but there was some other seasoning, sharp but not unpleasant. She realized, soon enough, that for the first time she was tasting her own juices on his skin. This was something new, something exciting, and she slurped, sucked and licked until she was rewarded with the return of a perceptible rigidness in the organ. With his hands, Bob stroked the skin of her back and belly, the tenderness of a boob and nipple, and the silky passage of love. The longer she sucked the harder it got, until the wand once again was of a consistency that would allow incursion. During the interlude, Bob scooted to the bedside compartment and got a bag of white power. "Want some?"

"No, thanks."

"Okay." He poured a line onto a table, got a straw, and sucked the cocaine into his nose. Steph watched as his body jerked - she'd never seen anyone do that before - and then he turned to her and said, "Okay, bitch, now you're really gonna see something."

Suddenly, his face was between her legs, and she was pleasured by his tongue on her most sensitive area. She knew the gap was dripping - she could feel his sap on her upper thighs, between the cheeks of her ass - and she felt uncomfortable with his oral attention. But then he commenced gentle nibbling and licking of the button, and she quickly forgot her embarrassment, absorbed in her jubilation. This, of course, was followed by more fucking, this time in a more relaxed position, and in time both were treated to another, simultaneous, sweeping orgasm.

This time it was clear that the festivities were winding up, and they dressed, a little shyly considering their previous state of joint passion. Steph was hoping he'd invite her to dinner, but when they got to the dock, he simply asked, "Where's your car? Need a lift anywhere?"

"No, I'm fine, it's just a couple of blocks. I'll be fine."

"Okay, well, it was a great afternoon, wasn't it? I'd like to get together again with you, soon."

"I don't know," Steph hedged. The guilt she always felt after a fling was surfacing, and, truth be told, although this guy was great in bed, she didn't know that she wanted this to be an ongoing thing. It wasn't like he was loving and sensitive, like Rusty. In fact, he was rather crude.

"Oh, come on. Tell you what, give me your number, I'll call you, and then we'll figure it out. You're really something, you know." He wheedled, Steph resisted, but in the end she gave him the digits. 'After all,' she thought, 'I can always say no, can't I?'

Steph really didn't want to get out of bed the next morning, she was sore from screwing the day before, and the vision of Glenn through the cracked glass of the frame seemed to be disapproving. When she got into the office ten minutes late, Mr. Donegal gave her his usual disapproving look. 'He's really starting to be a jerk,' Steph thought.

The day went slowly by, and in the mailbox that evening were four letters from Glenn. When he'd written them a week to ten days before, the ship was out on the line in the Gulf of Tonkin, and the notes were almost boring, they could have been written in any sequence. But his words of love touched her, and she wrote him a five page letter, telling him everything that was going on. She told of the problems at work, and of course left out the story of the yacht. He didn't need to know that.

Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday went by, and Steph almost forgot her misdeed until the phone rang. "Hi, it's Bob. What are you up to tonight?"

She meant to play it cool. "Nothing, just making some food."

"Well, forget it. Put it back in the fridge. There's a great Chinese restaurant in Fruitvale, and I'm in the mood. Why don't you eat with me?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm pretty busy."

"Oh, you can put off whatever it is till tomorrow, can't you? This place makes the very best sweet and sour shrimp you've ever had. Come on."

She wavered, gave him a couple more excuses, but he insisted and finally she gave in. "Great, I'll pick you up in half an hour. Put something sexy on."

Since she was only going out for dinner with him and had no intention of anything more, she took a quick shower, didn't shave under her arms, then put slacks and a blouse on. She was just blow drying her hair when the knock came.

"Hi, babe," and he kissed her before she closed the door behind him. "Wow, great apartment. Nice view."

"The Mormon Temple up there lights up the place at night."

"Let me see!" he suggested, and she turned off the side light, kneeled next to him on the sofa, looking backwards at the Tabernacle. Again, she wasn't really surprised when his arm went around her waist, dragged her to him, pulled her face towards him and then, when they were kissing, the breast was clasped. Soon she was sitting, Bob standing over her. He unzipped and demanded, "Give me a blow job, babe."

She didn't want to, but nevertheless she bent and took the rod inside her mouth. He grabbed the back of her head with both hands, forced it forward, and then he was screwing her throat. She was shocked when within forty seconds she felt the pulp coursing from the hole and tried to get free, but he was too strong. The stream hit the back of her mouth, it filled her, she nearly choked, but he simply wouldn't let go of her head. Only when he decided he was done did he release her, and she quickly spat the moisture into a tissue.

"Too much for you, huh?" he bragged. "Yeah, a lot of girls tell me I come like a mother. Thanks, sweetheart, I had a blow on my way over, and I just couldn't wait. You want I should take care of you now? With the coke, I'll be ready in just a few minutes, don't worry, I'll be a Superman."

"No, I'm hungry, you promised me dinner."

"Okay."

She followed him out of the apartment, and into his Triumph TR6. As he drove the few blocks through the streets, she enjoyed the hum of the low sports car. 'This could be fun,' she thought.

The Chinese restaurant wasn't much, she'd had better spring rolls and the General Tsao's chicken didn't have quite the right kick to the spices. During the meal Bob talked incessantly about the celebrities he'd been backstage with, the times he'd won on the craps table in Las Vegas, and the only question he asked her was, "How many times you been in Vegas, babe?"

"Never."

"Oh, well, we've got to fix that. You'd look damn fantastic in a short little dress hanging on my arm now, wouldn't you? Maybe we'll fly down there for New Year's, what do you say?"

After dinner, she asked, "You think we could put the top down and take a ride?"

"Why not," he replied, and soon he was driving up into the hills on Lincoln, the wind whipping through her hair, not a care in the world. "Get into the glovebox, there, you'll find a joint." She got it out, he lit it at a stoplight, not worrying that almost anyone could see him, and when they shared it she found the euphoria that drugs usually brought. He merged onto Skyline Boulevard and took the curves, perhaps a little too fast, but she didn't care, then headed into Chabot Park. Here, protected from the fog by the ridge, the stars were out and Steph saw a half moon high in the sky. They whipped eight miles through the forested park at high speed until they almost reached Castro Valley, then he made a sharp U-turn and drove even faster the way they'd came. Steph was afraid, a couple of times he skidded and seemed almost to crash into a tree, her heart was pounding with the fright. Suddenly he veered into a small, graveled fire road she hadn't even seen and brought the beast to a stop out of sight of the road. "Now that was a drive!" He turned the car off, all was suddenly dark, the driver's door opened, he took a few steps, then she heard the sound of water hitting the dirt - he was pissing. She didn't know what to do, but wanted to stretch her legs, so she got out of the car as well.

Bob came back, she could tell he was reclining against the hood. "Come over here, babe." When she was beside him, she felt the heat of the engine through the steel of the hood, and when he grabbed at her she made no effort to elude him. They were kissing, his hands were all over her, her breasts, between her legs and she reciprocated. When he tried to lower her slacks she murmured, "Not here," but he ignored the objection, her belly was soon exposed and a finger inserted itself into a hole that had become extremely moist during the solitary race. She was coming, she was astounded and just before she burst he stopped, forced her pants all the way down, turned her around. He bent her over the hot car, spread her legs and she felt the dick enter her from behind. The position was odd, too low for him to be effective, but he held her legs around his waist and somehow got leverage. The friction was what she needed, and in only a few strokes she was again muttering, "Yeah, that's it, that's it, oh, right there . . ." and then she screamed. He didn't stop, he kept pounding, and pounding, and then she turned over until her back was against the warm metal, and he was leaning over her, and she was still coming, and then, with a whoop of glee, he was too, spilling into her, shuddering with the explosion. When he'd regained his breath, he shouted, "God damn, you've got the hottest box in the East Bay." She didn't want to stop, she wanted him to keep on screwing her, but he withdrew, tossed her pants to her, pulled up his trousers.

They were silent on the drive back, not as fast as before, and when he pulled up to the apartment she asked, "You want to come up for some more?"

"Love to, babe, but I've got a poker game. Don't worry about it, though, I'll call you. We've got lots of stuff yet to do, you just wait!" And the sports car made a low rumble as it headed off.

The weekend went slowly past, Stephanie caught up with Joann and they went to a movie and then to a bar. A couple of long haired young men in tie dyed shirts bought them drinks, but when the one asked Steph if she'd like to get some air, Joann steered her away from the scene, protecting her.

Sunday morning Steph was sipping coffee on the patio, reading the newspaper, when she sensed a small cramp, felt the stickiness that indicated the blood was escaping from her vagina. She ran to the bathroom, saw just a trace of red on her panties, inserted a Tampax. When she looked into the medicine cabinet, she saw the wheel of birth control pills still contained six small tablets. "Oh, well," she said out loud to no one, "another month gone, no harm done."

To Steph's anxiety, Bob didn't call her all that week. Was he tired of her? Wasn't she good enough for him? Was it just a one-time thing? And then the call came Saturday morning. "Hey, babe, I know tomorrow's Christmas Eve and all of that, but I was wondering if you'd like to come over to the Yacht Club this afternoon, maybe around one, we could take a little sail around the bay."

"Sounds great," she agreed.

When she got to the boat, she was astounded to see another couple on board, a short man, a little bald on top, that Bob introduced as Teddy and his date, a very large chested blond with too much makeup and jewelry by the name of Cherry. Bob greeted Steph with a kiss on the mouth and a puff of a joint. It wasn't long until they were motoring into the channel, out past the commercial docks on the right and the Naval Station on the left. Two carriers were in, Steph didn't know which ones they were, but she said a silent prayer for her own sailor and promised to write a long letter to him after she got home that night. But he fled from her memory when they breasted into the bay and the boat sped up. It took them an hour and a half to slide under the Bay Bridge, between Angel Island and Marin County, across the Golden Gate and then around the curve of San Francisco before returning to the East Bay. Steph loved the experience, the wind in her hair, the sun bright in her eyes. A drink was continually in her hand and more joints were shared.

Cherry turned out to be a little scatterbrained, but she was happy, and when the boys asked the two girls to stand at the back of the boat, hugging each other so they could get a picture of them against The City, Steph thought nothing of it. Bob often grabbed Steph, even going so far as to cup a boob, and Steph playfully swatted his hand off. When Teddy cupped a handful of her ass, she gave him a dirty look, but didn't say anything.

When the cruise was finished and they were moored at the dock, Bob offered, "You guys want some blow?"

Teddy said, "Sure," and Cherry nodded her head. They headed into the galley, and on the counter Bob laid a mirror, measured the white powder and knifed it into eight straight lines. He was the first to take one of them, then Cherry wolfed her two and Teddy sniffed his. Steph hung back, and Bob encouraged, "Go ahead, it's great." Although she was a little reluctant, Steph wanted to be part of the crowd, and so she stuck the straw into her nose and inexpertly sniffed the dust, taking three sniffs before the line was gone. And her life changed!

The first reaction she thought of was a numbness in her nose and lips, but then she felt an energy build within her, a rush of pleasure. When it subsided just a bit she inhaled the second line, and the jolt was even more pleasurable. Bob took his other line, and Steph stood aside, looking out the window. The world wasn't different, and yet it was. She felt that she could do anything, whatever she wanted. All concern was gone, and she wasn't surprised when Bob stood beside her and kissed her neck. "You just wait, baby, this is going to be great." A couch curved along one side of the cabin, Teddy and Cherry were already on one side of it, pawing at each other. Steph didn't mind at all when Bob pulled her top off and gnawed at her taut nipples; when Teddy glanced at her she just leered back as if to say, "Yes, Bob's going to get a great piece of This!"

The four stripped in the lounge, and Steph found that the cocaine gave her power to feel stimuli more powerfully than ever before; if Bob bit a nipple, she sensed it in her toes. And when she took Bob's rod into her mouth, it was if she sensed every drop of blood that made it hard, every drip of moisture that escaped. And while Bob was kneeling before her, not only did every brush of his tongue on the clit or inside the hole drive her into euphoria, she also seemed to look through Teddy's eyes as he watched her naked body contort; in fact, at one point she brazenly pointed her most sacred section towards him, daring him to visualize that moist flesh.

It came to pass that Bob had her face down on a table while he took her from behind, and she was watching Teddy on top of Cherry. He heard him come, a low howl that permeated the room, but the girl below him seemed to stare at the ceiling, glassy eyed, no apparent desire to do anything more than let the man do what he wished. It made Stephanie want to wriggle even more, driving out Bob's pleasure, and when he made her come, she made sure she was crooning to her man how much she wanted him, that she was moving her bottom in frenzied agitation. In fact the orgasm was so acute that she lost track of her senses. When she came to, she found Cherry lying beside her in a stateroom bed, kissing her forehead, the other woman's hands roaming every inch of the naked body. For a minute or two Steph contemplated the situation, Cherry's caresses were certainly soft and pleasing. But Bob and Teddy were watching the two of them, sitting naked in opposite corners of the tiny room. Steph realized whatever was happening was odd, perhaps even immoral. "Stop," she requested.

Cherry leaned towards her ear, whispered, "The guys want us to do this, don't worry about it, just pretend."

"I don't care what they want," Steph bellowed aggressively, "get off me." Cherry moved away, and after a moment she and Teddy left the stateroom, pulling the door shut behind them.

Bob laid beside her. "Not your thing, huh?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Don't sweat it, like everything else it takes getting used to."

Steph realized he was still hard, perhaps he hadn't come earlier? When he tweaked a nipple, she realized she was still ultra-sensitive, a continuing effect of the drug, and she was more than willing to continue the racy games. Sometime later she heard a rap on the door and Teddy's voice, "Hey, dude, we're out of here, next time, all right?"

Between thrusts Bob replied, "Yeah! Merry Christmas!" and the screwing continued. An hour and a half later, after a sponge bath and another drink, Bob kissed Steph goodbye, and told her he had to head for SoCal and his wife's relatives for a few days, but they'd get together when he got back, okay?

Somehow, Steph made it through the Holiday. Joann went to Mass with her on Christmas Eve, and they shared a bottle of wine afterwards. The big day she had dinner at the home of one of the wives, a gathering of six of them, little gifts exchanged, prayers for their boys in the Gulf, the turkey dinner, some smiles, more wistfulness. The twenty-sixth, Steph showed up for work early, seemed even excited about the job, Mr. Donegal complimented her.

Thursday, when she got home from work, she got a call from Bob. "Hey, babe, listen, you want to do something?"

"I sure do. I want to screw you so bad it's unbelievable. Get your ass over here!"

"Forty-five minutes. Don't start without me."

She took the time to take a shower, make her face up, and put on fancy panties, a sheer robe and high heels. She'd decided that Bob was now her lover, and she wanted him to desire her. And when he got there, twenty minutes late, he didn't disappoint her. "Babe, you're gorgeous. God, do I want some of That!" To her joy, he got out his mirror and laid out four lines, again Steph felt the explosion of the drug, the sensation of invincibility. And then she stripped her new man of his clothing, and the old patterns of foreplay and intercourse were enjoyed as if they were newly discovered.

A long time later, during an interlude and another small snort, he said, "Hey, Teddy thought you were fantastic. He loves your body." She was suddenly embarrassed, thinking of how Teddy had looked at every inch of her. "Don't be like that, didn't you like it when he saw what a great piece of ass you are?"

"I guess so," she admitted, and then the stimulant kicked in. "Hell, yes, I was a lot better than Cherry, wasn't I?"

Bob roared in laughter. "Yeah, I don't know what he sees in her. He even gave her a hundred bucks for the afternoon."

"She's a prostitute?"

"Hell, yes, couldn't you tell?"

"I guess not. I don't think I ever met one before. How much does she make?"

"For an hour's trick at night, fifty bucks. All night, $250."

"Wow, that's a lot of money!"

They went back to doing what they were there for, Steph climaxed hard a couple more times, then, even with the coke, they needed to take a break.

"You think I'd make a good one?" Steph asked.

"A good what?"

"A good prostitute."

Bob laughed again. "You're not thinking of charging me, are you?"

"No, of course not. I was just thinking."

"Well, don't. It's a tough life. Cherry probably makes a grand a week, but she's got to split it with her pimp, and a girl like you, hell, you'd get beat up the first week you were on the street."

"Yeah, but . . ."

"Come here," Bob insisted, "Show me what you'd do with a john." And they went back to pleasure.

When Bob was dressing, getting ready to leave, Steph broached the subject she'd been wondering about. "Hey, you said that we were going to Las Vegas for New Years, and I was wondering . . ."

"I did?" he replied. "Well, I was just joking around, I guess. No, my wife and I are heading into San Francisco. Sorry about that."

She tried to be upbeat about it, but Bob sensed her disappointment. "Listen," he said, "here's fifty bucks. Why don't you go someplace nice. Maybe, if I can get away, we'll go down there in the spring."

That night, before she went to sleep, she tried to write Glenn a letter, but it kept coming out wrong.

With the extra money, Steph took Joann for a nice meal at a downtown hotel to welcome in the New Year. At midnight they kissed each other on the cheek, and Steph slept at Joann's that night, talking about their loves and their men until well in the morning. Joann told Steph to be careful about Bob, he just didn't seem right, but she didn't push it. After all, with her boyfriend, she wasn't one to talk, was she?

In the days after the New Year, Bob visited Steph's apartment a few times, she went to the boat a couple of times for a ride around the bay, drugs, and great sex. One Sunday in mid-January he had a suggestion, "Hey, Teddy and I are planning on going up north for some duck hunting the weekend after next. Thought maybe you'd want to go up, we've got a nice hotel. You could lounge around during the day, then at night we'd have some dinner. It'd be a nice time." Stephanie agreed almost immediately.

When he left, Bob gave her twenty bucks. "What's this for?"

"Oh, I just thought you'd like a little extra cash, I know how tough it is, being a military wife.

"Well, gee, thanks."

The next day Steph started her period, and, as usual, there were a couple of pills left in the casing. She mentally kicked herself, told herself she had to be more careful. But, other than the fact that Glenn's return was still six months away, there were no real problems, were there?

That Friday night came around, Bob was behind the wheel of a station wagon. Teddy was in the front seat, Steph threw her bag into the back, on top of the shotgun cases. She was a little surprised that Cherry or some other woman wasn't with them, but forgot about it when Bob urged her to sit on the bench seat up in front, between him and Teddy. As they left the Bay Area, a doobie being passed around, it felt nice to bump up first against Bob, then against Teddy. It was sort of a feeling of belonging. They stopped for dinner on the outskirts of Sacramento, cocktails and steaks and a couple of bottles of good red wine. Then another couple hours drive, and another joint, and Steph must have dozed, and if Bob's hand rested on one thigh and Teddy's on another, did it really matter?

They pulled into a parking lot of a rustic Best Western, and Bob and Teddy went into register. A few minutes later Bob came back alone, a worried look on his face. "Hey, a little bit of a problem," Bob confessed. "There's some sort of a screw up with the reservation, they had us down for only one room. And the clerk says there's not another room closer than Redding."

"What are we going to do?" Steph asked.

"Well, we got a room with two double beds. We can sleep in one, Teddy in the other. That wouldn't be a problem, would it?"

"Well, I guess not. But that means there won't be much sex, doesn't it?"

"Don't worry," Bob soothed, "we'll send Teddy out for pizza or something."

The room was almost luxurious in a primitive sort of way, and they moved in. "God, that was a long drive," Teddy remarked, "I need something to relax me. How about some coke?" Steph wholeheartedly agreed, she hadn't had any in over a week. The snorts were taken and they relaxed, she and Bob on one bed, Teddy on the other. Bob leaned over, started kissing Steph, feeling her up. She was a little out of it, the drugs and booze had relaxed her, she didn't see any real problem. Fifteen minutes later she slowly discovered that she had only panties on and Bob's dick was in her mouth. She looked to her left, and saw that Teddy was watching them. And then her panties were off, and Bob was on top of her, and they were screwing, and Teddy was observing every move.

Steph wasn't sure how she felt about it, but she figured she wasn't upset. It wasn't really wrong for Teddy to be watching, was it, he'd seen it before? It wasn't like he was going to be next or anything. So she put the turn of events out of her mind, and concentrated on doing what she thought she did best. A few moments later, she felt the orgasm overtake her, and just a little later she knew Bob was filling her up with his seed. They kept going for a little while as they always did; when Bob was popped up on coke, he didn't have any problem maintaining his erection. A while later, she was lying on her side, Bob behind her, his erection filling the gap in her behind, and Teddy was still looking at her from the other bed. He was unclothed, his erection filling his hand, and she could sense the lust in his eyes.

"Why don't you go over and help Teddy out?" Bob quietly suggested into her ear.

"What do you mean?" Steph drowsily responded.

"You know. Like, you can see he wants you. Go on over there and give him what he needs."

She got the idea, and while she didn't feel anger or revulsion at the idea, she still felt there was something about it that wasn't quite kosher. "That wouldn't be right," she said.

"Why not? It's not like you're a virgin or anything. It's only sex."

It was, she realized. Here she was naked with two men, and one had just screwed her silly, and she was married to a man on the other side of the world, and he didn't mind, did he, and . . . While she was attempting to make sense of the situation, Bob gave him a signal, and Teddy came over, knelt beside the bed and kissed her. When she made no protest, he felt her breast, and she suddenly felt a rush of desire. So when Teddy crawled up onto the bed, and Bob moved over to give them room, she still said nothing in complaint, and when Teddy was on top of her, and she spread her legs and he penetrated her, she did nothing, other than move her hips in the ancient rite.

And when they shifted, and she got on top of the second man, and her face was close to contorting from the pleasure Teddy was giving her, she looked at Bob, who was watching her, she smiled at him as if to say, "Look what a big girl I am!" And she welcomed the second stream of sperm that spurted into her.

It was early, hours before dawn, and she realized the men were moving, putting on waterproof trousers and boots and heavy jackets. "Gotta get us some ducks," Bob called, "go back to sleep, we should be back sometime in the afternoon." And she turned over and slept.

Sometime, it must have been noon, she woke again, and in the mirror looked at her naked body. She might have been ashamed of what she'd done in the darkness, but instead she smiled, grasping that she had the power to make not just one man, but two, very happy. She lazed, not really thinking, smoked half a joint, then roused, put herself together as well as she could. Teeth brushed, hair combed, a little lipstick. Damn! She'd forgotten to pack the birth control pills. Oh, well, not a big problem, she'd catch up when she got back home. Then it was on to the restaurant. Bob had told her that she could order anything she wanted, just put the room number on the chit, and she decided a big salad and a glass of wine was in order. She had a Redbook magazine to read, she dawdled.

She went back to the room, finished up the joint, put a bikini on, and headed for the pool. There were a gaggle of kids splashing and fooling around, and the water was too cold anyway, but the hot tub was just right, and for almost forty minutes she plunged herself in the warm bubbling water, just being.

Of course her thoughts wandered to what she'd let be done to her. Was it wrong? Was she being immoral? Maybe not, she thought. Before he left, Glenn had encouraged her to go out and have affairs, hadn't he? So she was just doing what he wanted her to, right? And did it matter if she did it with one man, or two? Of course not, there was no real difference. Was there? Then a jet of water brushed her breast, stimulating the nipple, and she remembered how Teddy had first kissed her there, different from Bob somehow, a little softer. And then she thought about how Teddy had felt inside of her, how a different part of her tunnel had been massaged, how novel he had felt in her arms. It wasn't that Bob wasn't good in bed, no, he was fantastic, but Teddy was pretty good as well. She had enjoyed herself.

What should she do that night? Would Bob want her to make love to Teddy again? She hoped so, she'd like to make love with him. And, of course, Bob too. Yes, she wanted both of them again. And then, well, she came up with a fantasy.

She got out of the tub, noticing as a married man tending his children watched her. Maybe he'd like to join her in the room, screw her before the other guys got back? No, that probably wouldn't work, but it was fun to think about, wasn't it?

She didn't know how much time she had left before the guys got back, but she was determined to make the most of it. She slowly showered, and douched while she was at it, then carefully shaved her legs and underarms. She poked around in her suitcase, came up with a sweater she was sure was much too tight, a tiny red skirt and red panties that, she hoped, would blend in if she happened to spread her legs a bit too much in public. Then she spent a good forty minutes on her nails, painting them in a vibrant red, and her face, her brows and lashes sharply lined, her cheeks pink and her lips red. Who wouldn't want this body, she thought. As she was just finalizing her looks, putting on the high heels that made her even taller, squishing her sweater around, wondering if the nipples, unencumbered by a bra, were too evident, the door opened and in walked the muddy men.

"You stink!" she exclaimed.

"You'd stink, too, if you hiked around a marsh and didn't get a good shot at anything. Hey, you look good!"

She vamped for them. "Do I look as good as you look bad?" They both laughed. "Well, I'm not sticking around here, at least not until you two clean up. I left plenty of hot water for you. Meet me at the bar."

She ordered a Pina Colada, and found that it was paid for by a man at the far end. She tipped her glass to him, he came over to join her. Of course he wanted to pick her up and he didn't seem all that concerned when she mentioned her boyfriend, although he did look a little funnily at her wedding ring. He kept trying until Bob finally joined her, giving her a firm kiss on the lips, then the flirter wished them both a good evening.

"You clean up nice," Steph remarked.

"Thanks. You clean up even nicer!" and he gave her the twice-over while he ordered scotch on the rocks. They sat at a table. "If I know Teddy, he'll be a while yet, he was just getting in the shower when I left." He took a long swig, almost the whole glass, waved to the waitress for a refill. "You okay?"

"What do you mean?" She decided to make him squirm a little.

"About last night."

"Last night? Last night . . . last night. . . Oh, that! Sure, I'm okay. Shouldn't I be?"

"Sure you should be. It's just that, well, I didn't think you'd ever done anything like that before."

"Like what?" More squirming was in order.

"You know. Both of us."

"Oh, that. Yeah, I know. But there's no problem, is there?"

"No, none at all."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. You're right, that's the first time I ever did anything like that."

"I thought so."

She looked him straight in the eye. "I've decided I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I want to do it again. Tonight. Is that okay with you?"

A broad smile covered Bob's face. "Yeah, just fine."

When Teddy joined them, he offered Steph a kiss on the cheek, but she turned it into a firm kiss on the lips, and made sure she pressed her bosom firmly into his arm. They had one more drink - Steph on her third was starting to get a little tipsy, but she didn't care - then headed for an Italian restaurant that was supposed to be pretty good. After coffee and a desert no one really wanted, she climbed into the middle of the station wagon seat, making sure Teddy got a good look at her ass and long, long legs.

In the room, Steph found a fairly good radio station on the motel room clock, then started dancing. First Bob joined her, and she squirmed and bumped against him, then she got Teddy to join them. First she pulled Bob's shirt off, then turned around and got Teddy's off, then she pulled off her own sweater. The dancing continued, she had a nipple sucked by first Teddy, then Bob, then both of them. Pants came off, the skirt was removed (not that it was doing much to cover her by that point,) and soon she found herself naked on a bed with two enthusiastic men at the same time. She couldn't have told you which one of them entered her first.

The boys didn't go hunting the next day, and when she woke Steph happened to find herself in the bed that was also occupied by Teddy. She found that he had a morning hard on, so she climbed on top and helped him with the problem, then she went to the other bed and assisted Bob in much the same way.

On the ride home, she thought what she'd done that weekend and smiled to herself, not the least bit shy or chagrined about her newest breakthrough. Two men! Yes!

In the next few weeks, Steph let Teddy and Bob share her as they wished. Either might come over to the house on an evening, or she might head for the boat on a Saturday or Sunday. Sometimes she'd be with one, sometimes they'd share her. Each time they brought the wonderful white powder over, or perhaps a bag of mary jane, and Teddy in particular was nice to her, giving her a twenty- or fifty-dollar bill to help her through the small financial crises she told him about.

Steph returned to her daytime habit of getting into work a little late, Mr. Donegal warned her time and again that she was on the cusp of something bad happening, but she just smiled at him, figuring that he didn't have the guts to discipline her.

In early February, Bob gave her a call. "Hey, listen, a friend of mine from college came into town for a convention, he doesn't know anyone, and I've got to make some sales calls. I was wondering if you'd like to go over there and let him take you to dinner." Steph didn't see any problem with it, met him at the Top Of The Mark for a cocktail, and found that he was an athletic, very good looking negro. She didn't have anything against africans, of course, but still, she thought Bob could have let her know. Ah, well, might as well make a night of it.

The man took her to dinner at Ghirardelli Square, and she found out that he was very nice. He flattered her, got to know her well, and then, back in the hotel, when he suggested she come up to his room for a drink she accepted. It was she that lit the funny cigarette, and to no one's surprise fifteen minutes later she was on her back, and the fat black cock was splitting her thighs. She spent the rest of the night with him, he must have come three or four times, and when she left he insisted on giving her eighty dollars for cab fare, even though her car was parked in a nearby lot.

Traveling across the Bay Bridge toward Oakland she had to make a decision. Did she turn up at work in her party clothes, only fifteen minutes late, or did she head home, change, and wind up an hour late? She chose to be more or less on time, and Mr. Donegal just shook his head and suggested that a little more modesty should be called for.

As she got back home that night, dog tired, she found in the mailbox next to the advertisements and a package from her mother three letters from Glenn. She made herself a salad, poured a glass of wine, lit a ganja and opened the letters. The first two were traditional, tales of what he'd shot on the Subic Bay golf course when the ship had hit port, the numbing boredom of shipboard life, but the third had a paragraph that was strange.

Are you okay? I haven't got a letter from you in over a week. Maybe it's just the mail, but the other guys are getting letters okay. Are you busy? Please, try to write a little more often, I really miss you and I need to know you love me.

She made sure that she wrote him a long, long letter that night.

That weekend she visited Bob's boat for a ride, and found that Teddy had brought Cherry with him again. This time Steph didn't mind when Cherry kissed her, went down on her, and even brought her off before the two guys got involved, everyone screwing everyone. Steph enjoyed the sex, but she didn't come quite as hard as she usually did when she was up on coke.

After Teddy and Cherry left, Steph and Bob sat on the deck, sipped champagne - Stephanie thought it went well with cocaine - and Bob said, "There's going to be a great party in Tiburon Thursday night. You should come."

"Sure. What kind of party?"

"You know, a party kind of party. Lots of great people are going to be there. You've got to look good at that kind of a party." He reached into his pocket, gave her two hundred dollar bills. "Go out and buy a new outfit. Something real sexy."

"Okay. Sexy, huh?"

"Yeah. Something that would make me want to tear your clothes off."

"Got it."

Steph went shopping Sunday afternoon, prowling the stores in the Hayward shopping centers, found nothing she really wanted. Oh, there were the usual assortment of miniskirts and tops, color blocks or paisleys, and she could doll it up with jewelry, but it just wasn't right. After work on Monday she decided to head over to San Francisco and hit the small boutiques on Union Street. There she found exactly what she wanted, a gold minidress, high neck that circled her throat, the hem came just inches down her legs, the bodice fit quite tight over her breasts, she'd never be able to wear a bra with this outfit, but that was okay, wasn't it? There was a matching pair of panties, the smallest she'd ever worn. Accessories included gold boots that headed to her knees, a gold beret that fit on her curls perfectly, a thin gold clutch and gold earrings that dangled down her cheeks. The material was sheeny in a subdued psychedelic pattern, and when the fabric caught the light it glittered blue. And it was thin, she realized that if the light was behind her, people could look right through the skirt and see the gap between her legs - if that wasn't sexy, what was? The price was excessive, eating up most of the money Bob had given her, easily the most expensive outfit she'd ever worn, but, hell, she deserved it, didn't she? Of course she did, and it made her look so damn good! She took it.

Wednesday night she went to the beauty parlor and had her hair cut and permed, curlier than usual, and even spent a few more bucks to get a manicure and pedicure, gold nail polish, of course - now the money she'd spent getting ready for this party was more than Bob had given her. Back at home she put the whole outfit on and thought she looked great, and when she sat, if she didn't cross her legs the panties were completely exposed, and she saw that clumps of pubic hair crept out of hiding. So she did something she'd never done in her life, got a pair of scissors, cut some of the hair down, and with a razor trimmed the edges. 'I'll bet Playboy Bunnies do this,' she thought, and was proud to think she was in their company.

When Bob came to pick her up, he called her 'Fab,' and she knew then she'd gotten it perfect. On the drive up I80, then over the San Rafael Bridge and south into the seaside town, Bob couldn't keep his eyes off her legs, nor his hand out of the gap between her legs - by the time they got to the party house, high on a hill in Marin County, Steph was already wet from the attention.

When they walked into the house, there were maybe forty people in the gigantic living room, more guys than girls, and by the gazes she received, Steph knew she was outshining all the other women. The house was fantastic, the most enormous she'd ever been in, and the owner, an old pudgy guy by the name of Georgie, took her on a tour. At least six bedrooms and four bathrooms, the master bedroom having the largest bed she'd ever seen and couches in the corners. The house featured a wrap around porch on the east and south sides, with a hot tub that a dozen people could fit into; already there were two couples in the bubbling water, one of the girls had breasts that were at least twice as large as Steph's. She was sure because all of the occupants wore nothing.

She admired the view from the Golden Gate Bridge all the way around to the East Bay. Georgie copped a feel first her ass, then around her back to the side of the breast. Steph didn't really mind, she'd worn this outfit so guys would want her, but Georgie wasn't her type, she quickly moved away from him, back into the house.

She got a drink - Bob was chatting with some people over in a corner - and then she found a table loaded with various drugs. She sniffed one line of coke, but it just didn't do it for her, just a little rush, and a good looking guy near her said, "You ought to try this," and handed her a sugar cube.

"What is it?"

"Some new shit they're working on over at Berkeley. Sort of like LSD, except the trip isn't as high."

"I've never done LSD," Steph admitted.

"No problem. Just put the cube on your tongue, and let it melt. It'll take awhile, just wait for it." Stephanie did as she was told, then got Bob out to dance. She was swirling in the middle of the room, bouncing up and down, the skirt of her dress flying up, everyone was getting a great view of the microscopic panties and her mostly uncovered ass, she didn't care.

Bob got tired, other guys danced with her, they were lining up to be near this tall, golden goddess. After a time, she noticed that whenever her current partner touched her on an arm or perhaps her ass, a beautiful sensation would result. Then the good looking guy who gave her the drug grabbed her as a slow dance started. He pulled her close, and Steph felt her nipples, being rubbed through the fabric, go absolutely ecstatic, she was sure they were three inches long. "How you doing with the stuff," he asked, "you mellow enough?"

"Oh, yes," she moaned, "I love you!"

"I love you, too," he responded, and then, in the middle of the dance floor, he held her breast. "That feel good?"

"Oh, it's amazing." Then, "Oh, I want you."

"Great. Let's go upstairs, to one of the bedrooms."

"Oh, I couldn't. My boyfriend . . ."

"You're with Bob, aren't you? He won't mind."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, if you're worried about it, let's go ask him."

"Okay." It made perfect sense to her.

The man led her over to where Bob had been watching, smiling every time she changed dance partners. "Hey, Bob, how's it going?"

"Fine, Greg, see you latched onto Steph."

"Yeah, she wants to do me. You don't mind, do you?"

"Hell, no, fine by me. She's great in the sack, you're going to find out." And then, to Steph, he ordered, "Show him a good time, babe."

Greg led her up to the master bedroom. There was already a couple on the humongous bed, the woman on top of the man, slowly rotating her hips, and another couple was on one of the couches, the girl was kneeling and giving the man a blow job. Greg led her to the bed, and got her to lie down, the other couple just four feet away.

Steph always enjoyed the first kiss, but this time it was even better. She found her lips to be over sensitive, and the brushes of Greg's tongue on hers filled her with a sense of awe, of nothing but wonderment. She turned her back to be unzipped, and then pulled the fabric over her head. She was all but naked now, except for the panties and boots, and while Greg took his clothes off, she realized the other couple was inspecting her. She smiled at them, and found their faces were softly outlined in a neon pink, it was beautiful. And then Greg was beside her, sucking on her nipples, and she felt the rush go through her body, she moaned as loudly as she could, and the air escaping her mouth was like a hurricane. And then Greg had her panties off, and he was on top of her, and when the penis just brushed her lips she went into the most pleasant of convulsions, and then when he was inside her, moving in and out, she saw colors that never appeared on any wheel. She kept going and going, and when Greg spent into her she wanted more, and suddenly there was a man she hadn't seen before, and she was lying next to him, and she climbed on top and grinded her pelvis on his, and when he came she found another man . . .

It was morning, the light was bright, Steph found herself in a room she didn't recognize, and an oriental man was snoring beside her, they were both naked. She knew, somehow, that this man had been the last to screw her. How many had there been? Five? More? She remembered, as one man was beside her that Bob had come into the room, taken his pants down, and she'd given him a blow job while the other man was still fucking her.

She sat up, saw her clothes were no where to be found, plodded off to the bathroom where she washed her face and tried to repair the damage to her hair. She examined herself in the mirror, found that her body was just as good looking as she remembered it - how had she done it with so many guys, and why didn't Bob stop it? She wasn't ashamed of what she'd done, nor was she proud, it was just something guys had done to her, and she hadn't stopped them. In fact, she'd enjoyed all those different men.

Wrapping herself in a sheet, she went in search of her dress, found it as expected in the master bedroom where four men and two women were drowsing, all naked, of course. She poured herself into the gold dress, put her panties on, had no clue where the boots were. She went down to the central room, found Georgie sitting in an easy chair. "Good morning," he greeted her, "There's coffee and orange juice and muffins in the kitchen. Help yourself." She did, and came back to sit near Georgie - she found herself in need of company.

"Is Bob here?"

"No, he left about three in the morning."

"Oh!"

"What?"

"Well, I don't know how I'm going to get home."

"That's not a problem, you can stay here. A lot of the guests are going to stay the whole weekend. It'll be a great orgy."

"I couldn't . . . no, I couldn't. What time is it?"

"Nine thirty."

Suddenly, an image of a very angry Mr. Donegal came to her mind. "I've just got to get home."

"Really? Well, if you can't stay, don't worry, I'll give you cab fare."

"Oh, that would be wonderful. Thank you." While she was waiting for the taxi to come, she searched for her boots, found them out by the hot tub, had a dim memory of sharing the water and herself with two men.

Sitting in the back of the cab as it sped toward Oakland, she began to shake, suddenly nervous over the debauchery she'd been forced into. Finally in her apartment, she took a hot shower, dressed carefully then drove into work. It was nearly noon by the time she got there. Mr. Donegal just waved her into his office, closed the door. "I'm sorry, sir, I'll work during lunch, I'll stay late, if you want me to I'll come in tomorr . . ." He cut her off.

"Stephanie, I'm sorry, but I can't carry you any longer. I'm going to have to let you go."

"But you can't do that, Mr. Donegal, I need this job, my husband . . ."

"Funny you should mention that, Stephanie. I try to honor our men in uniform, but you don't show him any respect when you . . ." Suddenly, he stopped, afraid to say anymore. "Just get the things out of your desk and go, Stephanie, we'll mail your final paycheck to you."

Steph hung her head as she threw her things into a box, some lipstick, hand cream, a picture of Glenn. She was sure the other girls were laughing at her, but she didn't look at them, nor did she even say good bye to them. She was too ashamed.

Back in the apartment, she laid in bed, clutching a pillow to her, interspersing crying jags with periods of mindless brooding. The phone rang, she ignored it. Saturday afternoon found her in the same position, she neglected the phone and the knock on the door. Near dark, she got up, made scrambled eggs, didn't eat half of it. She fixated on the picture of her husband on the bedside table, cried because she'd never gotten around to fixing the broken glass.

Late Sunday morning, she heard a knock, wasn't going to answer it, but she heard her best friend's voice call, "Stephanie, please unlock the door. I know you're in there. Just let me know you're okay, that's all." She opened the door, fell into Joann's arms, let her hold her and make a sandwich and coffee, cried as she told her about the deprivations she'd been forced into. "It's okay," Joann told her, "Everything's going to be okay."

Monday morning, she took the last pill out of the circular container, figured she'd go over to the Oakland Naval Hospital to get her prescription refilled. It wasn't like she had anything else to do.

A young officer listened to her heartbeat, and did other incursions to her body. They always liked to have one of these young punks examine you for the slightest things, Glenn had explained that's how these guys got experience, and it was the cost you paid for getting free medical care.

"Well, Mrs. Reed, it doesn't look like you're going to need anymore birth control pills."

"Why not?" Were they just going to cut her off? That wasn't fair, she wouldn't stand for it, she'd tell Glenn, she'd . . .

"Because, Mrs. Reed," the officer continued, "I'm pretty sure you're pregnant."

Glenn was in the electronics shack, immersed in a game of Risk, and the phone rang. LeFoy answered it, said, "Reed, it's for you. I'm pretty sure it's the Lieutenant."

"Reed here, Sir."

"Bounce down to the Chaplain's office on the double, Reed. Some sort of a message for you. Second deck, aft."

"Aye-aye, Sir."

Glenn stopped by his bunk, got a clean dungaree shirt on, the Chaplain was a Commander, you don't fool around with those guys. The clerk made him sit for a few minutes, then the Chaplain beckoned him into the office. For a few moments they sat, the Chaplain seemed to be feeling him out, asking him questions about how long he'd been in the service, what he did in his spare time, stuff like that. Finally, he got to the point. "Petty Officer Reed, we got a message from the Naval Hospital, Oakland. It seems your wife has had a bit of a breakdown. It's not serious, she'll be fine by and by, but they think it'd be best if you went home for a little bit. So we're going to give you two weeks of emergency leave, there's a COD plane taking off for Subic Bay, you need to be aboard in forty minutes, so get going, right?"

"Aye-aye, sir. You say she's in no danger?"

"I don't think so, that's all the information I got in the cable. But there is one other thing, son."

"What's that, sir?"

"She's seven weeks pregnant."

Glenn's divisional officer caught him just after he'd packed his sea bag, told him, "Don't worry about anything, Reed, we'll take care of it. Just go home, take care of your wife. If you need anything, let me know, all right?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Glenn got up to the flight deck, poured himself into the small plane, crowded with eleven bodies and more boxes and crap than you could shake a stick at and felt the movement as the craft was placed on the catapult. Then the huge shock of forward motion, Glenn's stomach twisted as the plane left the deck and dropped a dozen feet, then the propellers bit and the plane drifted east. Catching a bus from Subic to Clark was easy, and after only a seven-hour delay, Glenn was ordered aboard a C-5A transport bound for Travis Air Force Base, between San Francisco and Sacramento. For the next sixteen hours, Glenn sat in the uncomfortable seats, tried to read, tried to sleep, did little except worry about his wife. The pregnancy, of course, weighed heavy on his mind, but was secondary to his concerns over her health.

At last the plane touched down on California soil, when Glenn disembarked he found the ladder and tarmac drenched with the heavy March rains, the last of the season. And there, with other wives and children waiting for their servicemen to return from the war, was Stephanie. They held each other for four minutes, not saying a word, just feeling the warmth of their love.

"How'd you get here?" Glenn softly asked.

"I drove. They let me know when your plane was going to be here."

"Let's go then." And they walked toward the car, the seabag on Glenn's left shoulder, his right arm tucked firmly around his wife's waist, the one that he would never let go of again.

"Honey, I'm . . ."

"I know," he admitted, not letting her finish. "I know, we're not going to worry about that right now. Don't worry about anything, we're going to get through this."

It was over.

There is an epilognue. To read it, click here .

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