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From: Nick Scipio <nick@nickscipio.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Nereids" by Nick Scipio - Ch 4 (mast)
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Date: Fri, 26 Jan 2007 19:10:02 -0500
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Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Nereids
Part: Chapter 04
Universe: Summer Camp
Summary: Jack MacLean is happy with married life, but it's the
Swinging Sixties and he wants more. His wife does too,
and they have their eye on her new friend, Beth Hughes.
But Jack and Beth's husband will soon be fighting a war
in the skies over Vietnam. When they return, everything
will change.
Keywords: mast
Revision: 1.2
Word Count: 9,554
Web Site: http://www.nickscipio.com/summercamp/nereids/
FTP Site: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/summercamp/nereids/
Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/

*****************************************************************
                        STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This story is intended as ADULT entertainment. It contains
material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you are
offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT
read any further.

This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events
portrayed in it are fictional, and any resemblance to real people
or incidents is purely coincidental. The author does not
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities described.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without
the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio
(nick_scipio@yahoo.com). It may be freely distributed with this
disclaimer attached.

Copyright (c) 2007 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

*****************************************************************

Nereids
A Summer Camp Story
by Nick Scipio

CHAPTER FOUR

"Congratulations, Mr. Hughes," Commander Scarlatti said, shaking
David's hand.

"Thank you, sir."

"His wife just had a baby girl," Scarlatti said to Frank Waulk.

"So I heard," Waulk said. He turned to David. "Well, Mr. Hughes,
tell us about your little bundle of joy."

"She's beautiful, sir," David practically gushed. "She was born
at oh five thirty-five... seven pounds, twelve ounces... nineteen and
a half inches. She's got fine blonde hair and blue eyes."

"Of course," Scarlatti said.

David looked puzzled.

"_All_ babies have blue eyes when they're born," Scarlatti said
patiently.

"Oh, yes, sir. Of course."

"And what's her name?"

"Erin Rianne, sir. Named after my wife's grandmother." With that,
David remembered his cigars and passed them out to the assembled
officers.

Jack smiled graciously and accepted his third... no, _fourth_ cigar
in two days.

Commander Scarlatti closed his eyes and inhaled as he passed the
cigar under his nose. Then he tucked it in his breast pocket and
turned serious. "Does your wife have someone to look in on her
while we're on cruise?"

"Yes, sir," David said. "Her mother's flying in tomorrow."

"Good to hear. In the meantime, tell her to call Mary if she
needs anything."

"Thank you, sir."

"My wife's with her now, Skipper," Jack said.

Jack smiled inwardly at the thought. He didn't like thinking of
David and Beth as a project, but a candid part of him admitted
that they were just that. They were friends--_good_ friends--but
he also hoped they'd be more.

Unfortunately, he and David still had to deploy with the
squadron, and they'd be away from their wives and families for
nine months. Carrier Air Wing 14 sailed with the _USS Ranger_ in
two days, and they _would_ be aboard, no matter what Jack wanted.
He wasn't very patient, but he was disciplined, and he'd already
resigned himself to the wait.

"Congratulations again, David," Scarlatti said. "And give my best
to your wife." Then he glanced at Commander Waulk. "Frank, is 809
still grounded with engine problems?"

The two officers shared a knowing look.

"Yes, sir, I believe it is," Waulk said.

David blinked, uncertain about the direction the conversation had
taken.

Jack understood _exactly_ where it was going, and he fought not
to smirk.

"We should probably replace the engine while we have shore
facilities," Scarlatti said, glancing slyly at Jack, including
him in the ruse.

Waulk nodded, his face impassive.

"I don't think we'll be able to bring 809 with the squadron when
we fly aboard," Scarlatti said.

"No, sir," Waulk agreed.

Scarlatti pretended to think for a moment, and Jack grinned when
he realized that David still didn't know what was going on. The
man was obviously intelligent, but sometimes he didn't put two
and two together.

"Have Alvin requisition a new engine ASAP," Scarlatti said,
referring to the squadron's maintenance officer. He tapped his
chin. "Chief Ingersoll and his crew can install it. The chief's
wife just had a baby, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Waulk said. He glanced at his clipboard. "The
maintenance crew won't be able to finish the work before we
depart, though."

"No, of course not," Scarlatti said. He shrugged. "There's no
help for it. The chief and his crew will have to come aboard on
the COD flight."

Waulk nodded, stone-faced and serious. "We'll have to detail a
pilot to fly 809 itself, sir."

"Yes, I suppose we will," the Old Man said.

Jack had to bite his tongue not to laugh as the light of
comprehension began to dawn on David.

"This sounds like a shitty little job, Frank," Scarlatti
continued.

"Indeed it does, sir."

With an absolutely straight face, Scarlatti turned to David. "Mr.
Hughes, I'm afraid this onerous task falls on you. That means you
won't be able to sail with the ship. You'll have to come aboard
the day after the squadron departs."

"Aye, sir," David said.

"See Lieutenant Commander Young about the maintenance schedule.
He'll detail Chief Ingersol and a crew to work on 809."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Pass the word to Alvin and the chief, Frank," Scarlatti said to
Waulk.

Waulk cracked a grin for the first time. "Aye, aye, sir."

Scarlatti nodded politely, dismissing them.

"Come along, Mr. Hughes," Waulk said. "Let's go break the, ahem,
bad news to Chief Ingersol."

As soon as the two men were out of earshot, Scarlatti grinned at
Jack. "Sometimes I love my job," he said, gesturing toward a
chair as he seated himself behind his desk.

"Yes, sir," Jack said, grinning in reply. He took the proffered
seat and gazed across the desk as his commander turned serious.

"I was impressed with your training plan at Yuma," Scarlatti
said, "and I'm going to make you Assistant Operations Officer.
I've already talked to Commander Featherston, and he's eager to
get you up to speed."

Jack couldn't imagine Terry Featherston eager about _anything_,
but he nodded attentively.

"Once we shake down and start regular flight operations,"
Scarlatti continued, "I want you to..."

**

Beth and her mother went with Susan and her sons to the base to
say farewell to the squadron. She nestled the swaddled Erin
against her breast while her mother held Paul, resting him easily
on her hip. Susan, Kirk, and Doug stood nearby, the boys
listening earnestly to last-minute words from their father.

Jack crouched in his flight suit, his pockets bristling with pens
and pencils. His handsome face was grave as he talked to his
sons, and he looked like a recruiting poster for Naval Aviation.

Beth felt a presence beside her and turned to smile up at David.
Unlike the other officers, he was wearing his khakis. His
expression was serious as he gazed at the men preparing to fly
their planes aboard the carrier.

The ship itself had departed the day before, amid a fanfare of
families saying farewell to departing husbands, fathers, sons,
and brothers. As the squadron's most junior officer, David should
have been on it with them, but Commander Scarlatti had
intervened. Beth silently thanked the man for the two extra days
he'd given her with her husband.

She had tried to thank the commander in person, but he brushed
off her kind words with an embarrassed wave. Her eyes misted at
the memory, and she smiled at David again.

"What's the matter?" he asked when he saw her face. "Is
everything okay? Is it too loud? Is the baby okay? Are _you_
okay?"

"I'm _fine_," Beth reassured him. "Erin's fine too. I... it's
nothing."

He frowned, but accepted her at her word.

Soon enough, the pilots said their final goodbyes, hugged their
wives and children, and climbed into their planes. Down the line,
the jet engines started with a whine and a roar, and David
ushered Beth into the maintenance hangar, out of the sun and
noise.

Susan remained on the tarmac with the other wives and families.
They watched and waved as the planes taxied out to the runway and
took off in pairs, fourteen in all.

Beth turned to look at the fifteenth, the reason she had two more
days with David. The new engine was on a test stand with the
maintenance crew busily working on it. According to David, they'd
have it replaced by mid-afternoon, so he'd be home for dinner at
the usual time.

With a detached part of her mind, Beth listened to the massed
roar as the squadron flew over in formation, a final farewell to
the families. Susan joined her a while later, smiling as she kept
a watchful eye on Kirk and Doug.

"C'mon, boys," David said, waving them forward and including Paul
with a gesture. "I'll let you sit in the cockpit."

Beth's mother went with them, to watch after Paul.

"They're gone," Susan said quietly. A moment later she composed
herself and reached out to Beth. "Here, let me hold Erin and give
you a break."

Beth suppressed a momentary qualm at being separated from her
newborn daughter, but she let Susan take her. All of a sudden she
felt several days of exhaustion catch up with her, and cast about
for someplace to sit.

"Over here," Susan said, gesturing to a row of chairs in the
corner of the hangar.

The two women sat silently for several minutes. Beth watched
David and the boys, while Susan gazed at the sleeping baby in her
arms.

"She's so beautiful," Susan said quietly. "Are you and David
thinking about more children?"

Beth shook her head. "We wanted a boy and a girl, so we're going
to stop at two. I had my tubes tied while I was in the hospital."

"Ah. I did the same thing, but I waited till a couple of months
after Doug was born."

Beth nodded.

"Is your mom going babysit while you and David go out tonight?"

"No," Beth said softly, "we're going to have a quiet night at
home. Besides, David wants to spend some time with Erin before he
leaves."

Susan smiled. "He's a good man."

"He is," Beth said, her voice thick with emotion.

**

The next morning, David packed the last of his things. His sea
locker had already gone aboard the ship, which was currently
sailing west from Alameda.

"Susan offered to come with us to the base, Mom," Beth said at
breakfast. "So why don't you stay home and relax."

"Are you sure?"

Beth nodded.

"Well," her mother said, "I don't know how much I'll relax, but
with you all gone, I should be able to do a lot of cleaning."

"You don't have to do that, Mom."

"Just say 'Thank you,' dear."

Beth smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Mom."

"Don't mention it. I'll be here when you get back."

At the base the group walked onto the tarmac. A solitary A-4 sat
where fourteen others had been the day before. Nearby, the COD
aircraft sat ready, loaded with the maintenance crew's gear and
last-minute stores for the squadron.

David held Paul as Beth cradled Erin. They stood very close,
neither of them feeling the need to speak. Out of the corner of
her eye, Beth watched Susan usher her sons away to give them some
privacy.

"I'll write as soon as I get settled in," David said softly.

Beth nodded and felt her jaw tighten as she willed herself not to
cry.

"We won't reach our station till January. I don't know how much
time I'll have once we begin combat operations..."

Her stomach knotted.

"...but I'll write as often as I can." He looked at his watch and
then glanced at the A-4. His erstwhile crew chief was ready for
him, and it was time to go. He didn't know what to say, and
fought not to look at his watch again.

"I know," Beth said at last. "Time to go."

He nodded, his smile tight.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too."

They hugged once, careful of the children they each held in their
arms.

"I'll write as soon as I can."

She smiled and blinked back tears. The maintenance crew's
families were going through the same ritual near the COD
aircraft.

"I need to go," David said simply.

She nodded, afraid to speak lest she start crying.

He said a few serious words to Paul and then hugged him. He set
the boy on his feet and Beth drew her son to her side. His hair
felt silken under her fingers and she concentrated on it, her
eyes stinging with unshed tears.

David leaned down and gazed at Erin's sleeping face. Beth's chest
grew tight when he gently pressed his lips to the baby's
forehead.

Beth and David shared one final, meaningful look and then he
kissed her. She savored the scent of his aftershave, the caress
of his lips, the warmth of his breath.

After a long moment, he turned to his ground crew, once again the
naval officer and no longer the departing husband and father.

Susan silently stepped to her side, her own boys in tow. Beth
watched David preflight his plane and talk with the crew chief.
Then he climbed the side of the jet and settled into the cockpit.
A moment later he went through his final checklist and gave her a
wave.

When he started the jet engine, the sound woke Erin, who began
crying. Beth absently comforted her, her eyes fixed on David's
plane. She watched as he taxied toward the runway.

She didn't want to think about losing him, so she concentrated on
soothing her daughter. Paul, more serious than usual, looked up
at her and patted her leg.

"It'll be okay, Mommy," he said, and Beth felt the first tears
scald her cheeks.

**

Beth's father flew out, and her parents spent Christmas and New
Year's with her. Her mother was a godsend--midnight feedings,
dirty diapers, and trying to keep up with Paul left her
exhausted.

She was also worried about David, but his letters said shipboard
life was routine and a bit boring. Boring was good, she
reflected. Boring was safe. Boring would bring him home in one
piece. Beth had been to military funerals--they were heart-
wrenching--and she didn't _ever_ want to receive a folded
American flag, "on behalf of a grateful nation."

Susan was also a tremendous help. She got along famously with
Beth's parents, and her sons even came over to help Beth's father
with some repairs around the house. Eventually, though, her
parents had to leave. They had lives of their own in Florida, and
her father had to return to his job.

The next few weeks were hectic and difficult. At first, Paul was
fascinated by Erin, as though she was a new and wondrous toy. But
when he realized that the pink little girl wasn't going back to
the hospital, and that _she_ was getting all the attention, his
temper grew worse and he began misbehaving.

Once again, Susan came to the rescue. Each morning after her sons
left for school, she drove over and helped around the house. Paul
was her shadow. He wasn't tremendously helpful, but Susan kept
him occupied so Beth could care for Erin.

The two women also spent time with Peggy Schmidt, whose due date
was fast approaching. When it arrived, several of the wives took
turns caring for Peggy's older children: two boys, three and six.

Jo Weigand's baby was due in early February. She was a first-time
mother and full of questions. Mary Scarlatti was only too happy
to help. Beth and Susan didn't agree with _all_ of Mary's advice,
but they couldn't fault her motives. Several other squadron wives
helped as well, and after Jo's son was born, their lives more or
less returned to normal.

Beth and Susan spent most of their time together. They didn't
avoid the other wives, but they weren't as zealously helpful as
Mary. For her part, Mary was happy to lavish attention on Jo.
Peggy had more than enough experience with babies, though, and
confided to Beth that she didn't care for Mary's overbearing
attention.

Phyllis Waulk even made an attempt at being friendly, but when
Susan, Peggy, and Beth didn't immediately side with her against
Mary, she lost interest. Beth even overheard her call them "Queen
Mary's Court."

Beth was just as happy to be rid of Phyllis's company. She might
not care for Mary's brand of full-time support, but she
definitely didn't like Phyllis and her social-climbing clique.

"I don't see how you can put up with her," Beth said to Susan
during one of the few times when both Paul and Erin were asleep.
"I want to scream every time she smiles her simpering smile and
patronizes me. She's a real--" Beth stopped herself in time, but
she did _think_ a few spiteful things about the XO's wife. "She's
not a nice person," she said at last.

Susan silently agreed.

"_Ugh!_ I want to slap her every time she gives me one of her
condescending looks."

"I know what you mean. Luckily, my father taught me how to keep a
straight face when all I really want to do is throttle someone."
Susan chuckled at a memory. "My father taught me a lot of things
like that."

Beth looked a question at her.

"He wanted a son, someone he could mold in his image." She smiled
wryly. "Instead, he got _me_."

_That must've been horrible,_ Beth thought, _growing up knowing
your father wanted a son instead of you._ She started to
commiserate, but Susan stopped her with a grin.

"Oh, he quickly realized that having a daughter was a rare
opportunity."

"Oh?"

"Mmm hmm. He and my mother never really subscribed to the whole
'women need to be cared for and sheltered' attitude. So he never
let my lack of a penis stop him from teaching me about business."

They shared a grin at Susan's matter-of-fact choice of words.

She continued, "He taught me about balance sheets, quarterly
reports, profit and loss statements... all of it. He even let me
help manage his investments, and by the time I was fifteen I knew
more about the stock market than most men did. He also taught me
less tangible things about business, like how to deal with
people."

"Your father's an impressive man," Beth said, picturing him from
when she'd met him at Thanksgiving. He reminded her of a kindly,
gentle uncle, but she didn't doubt that he was a man to be
reckoned with.

"He is," Susan agreed. Her eyes grew distant, and Beth knew she
was thinking of her mother.

"Would you and the boys like to have dinner over here tonight?"
Beth asked, trying to derail her friend's melancholy train of
thought.

"What? Huh? Oh, no, thank you." She turned introspective for a
moment longer, but then brightened. "How'd you like to go to
dinner at a nice restaurant instead?"

"Go out?" Beth said, taken by surprise.

"Absolutely. My treat. You could use the break. So could I,
really. And it'd be nice to have someone else do the dishes for a
change."

"Sure!"

They chose a nearby steakhouse, with fine linen tablecloths and
dark wood paneling. Their waiter was a bit snooty when he saw
three children and an infant, though, and Beth wanted to leave.
The restaurant was far too fancy, and she didn't want to disrupt
the other diners if Erin started crying or Paul threw a temper
tantrum.

Susan waved away her objections and pointedly ignored the
waiter's attitude. Instead, she acted like she owned the
restaurant, and Beth was surprised at how their service improved.
The waiter went from cold and superior to downright deferential
when Susan smoothly quizzed him about the wine selection and
specials.

Since they had the children with them, they were eating earlier
than the regular dinner hour, and the manager himself stopped by
the table as they finished their meal. He chatted with Susan,
while Beth mostly kept quiet.

She smiled to herself as she watched the manager come to the
conclusion that Susan was hardly the average military wife. Beth
wasn't surprised--growing up on a vacation resort had probably
introduced Susan to many of the finer things in life. Beth's
parents were hardly poor, but they weren't nearly as wealthy as
Susan's.

"What a lovely addition you are to our humble restaurant, ma'am,"
the manager said at last, sighing with genuine satisfaction. "And
you too, ma'am," he added, nodding to Beth. "Can I get you
anything else? Perhaps some dessert? Some ice cream for the
children?"

Beth tried not to laugh at the eager expressions on Kirk and
Doug. Even Paul looked hopeful, his pudgy cheeks aglow.

"Yes, thank you," Susan said. "Ice cream for the boys would be
nice."

"And for you ladies?"

"What would you recommend?"

He paused a moment to consider. Then his eyes flashed, and Beth
could see that he was working himself up to impress them.

"I don't think I'm boasting when I say that our chef is the
finest in the city," he said. "He makes a magnificent chocolate
souffle with raspberry sauce. It's lightly dusted with
confectioners' sugar and served with a sprig of mint."

Beth thought she'd eaten too much already, but her mouth
immediately began to water. _Well,_ she rationalized, _I_ am
_still eating for two..._

The manager smiled, long accustomed to hungry customers. "A
souffle for you, ma'am," he said to her, more statement than
question. He turned to Susan. "And for you, ma'am?"

"Oh, the souffle, of course," Susan said.

The waiter brought three dishes of ice cream for the boys, and
the manager himself delivered the souffles.

"Enjoy," he said, setting them on the table with a flourish. Then
he smiled down at the women. "I hope you don't think I'm being
presumptuous, but I'd like to offer you dinner on the house this
evening."

"That's very kind of you. Your restaurant's reputation is well-
deserved." Susan flashed a smile, her eyes sparkling warmly. Beth
felt an immediate rush of heat through her cheeks.

"You're too kind," the manager demurred, blushing himself.

_He looks like a little boy,_ Beth thought, stifling a giggle.
Then she rolled her eyes, imagining what _she_ looked like. Susan
had a genuine, effortless charm, and it captivated anyone she
met.

_No wonder Jack married her,_ Beth mused. _Southern beauty and
gentility, and a keen mind for business?_ She snorted softly to
herself. _If I were a man,_ I'd _want to marry her._ Startled by
her own thoughts, she dabbed at her lips with her napkin, hoping
to hide her deepening blush.

Fortunately, Susan was still engaged in small talk with the
manager.

Beth wondered what she'd been thinking. She couldn't be attracted
to Susan. They were friends, but nothing more. They couldn't _be_
anything more than friends. Women didn't _do_ things like that.
Despite her best attempts to deny it, Beth knew that women _did_
do things like that. Her own sister had occasionally "done things
like that."

Beth had had the opportunity, too. She and her best friend in
college had gotten drunk one night, and her friend had begun
taking off her clothes, asking Beth to touch her. She _hadn't_,
but only because her friend had passed out before Beth could work
up the nerve.

But she could vividly remember the delicate pink of her friend's
candlelit nipples, puffy with arousal. She remembered the
relaxed, disconnected feeling of being drunk and on the verge of
touching those nipples, her hand trembling at the thought. She
remembered the smell of her friend's perfume and the smooth feel
of her thigh where their legs touched.

With a distracted headshake, she forced her thoughts back to the
present. Her cheeks were afire, so she concentrated on the
souffle, her head down lest Susan see her flush and understand
its cause. The manager had taken his leave, but Beth didn't
remember him going.

_Nice women do_ not _have sex with other women,_ she told
herself.

The souffle was rich and delicious, but she hardly tasted it.
Instead, she desperately tried to rein in her imagination. But
every time she caught a glimpse of Susan, she felt a tingle race
up her spine, prickling the hair at the back of her neck and
making her shiver.

"Are you okay?" Susan finally asked.

"What? Oh, I'm fine."

Susan eyed her.

"Um... the chocolate's very rich, isn't it?"

Susan smiled, and Beth got the distinct impression that she'd
_chosen_ to accept the evasion.

"Mom," Doug asked, innocently coming to Beth's rescue, "can me
and Kirk go play outside?"

"May Kirk and _I_ go play," Susan corrected absently, before
nodding. "Stay close to the front of the restaurant, but don't
block the door." She turned to Kirk. "Watch after your brother,
and don't run in the parking lot."

"Okay, Mom," he said, collecting Doug with his eyes and then
practically jumping out of his seat.

They didn't _run_ out of the restaurant, but they did move as
quickly as two well-behaved boys could.

Beth and Susan finished their dessert in silence, but Beth's
thoughts were awhirl with conflicting emotions.

She didn't _want_ to think of Susan in "that way," but she
couldn't stop herself. She hadn't felt like sex for the first six
weeks of David's absence, and then with Peggy and Jo's babies,
she'd been too busy to notice. But when things settled into a
routine, her sex drive had reawakened with a vengeance. With
nothing to satisfy her except her fingers and her imagination,
her imagination was fending for itself.

She tried to distract herself by scraping her plate clean of the
remains of her souffle. The fork pulled against her lips as she
practically sucked it clean as well. She tasted the sweet of the
confectioner's sugar a moment before the bitter-sweet taste of
the chocolate. When it subsided she caught a hint of the
raspberry, tart and sweet at once.

She paused to savor the mingled flavors as the scent lingered in
her nose.

When her thoughts drifted to other flavors and scents--_feminine_
flavors and scents--her eyes snapped open and she forgot all
about the souffle.

**

Later that night Beth lay in bed, unable to sleep. She tried
thinking about David. She even had one of his T-shirts,
deliberately left unwashed, the smell of his aftershave mingling
with the scent of _him_. She slept with it sometimes, slipped
over a pillow to fill it out. She held it now, a poor replacement
for a husband.

She thought about their last night together, sleeping in his
arms, the feel of his body behind her, hard and muscular. Hers
had been soft and full, her stomach still flabby and loose from
pregnancy. She'd hated her pooch, and how she still felt broad
and plump.

The pooch had mostly disappeared, but she still didn't like the
way she looked. Her hips were too wide, her arms and thighs too
thick. She didn't even want to think about her breasts and how
they sagged with the weight of milk.

At the thought of milk, she listened for Erin, but the house was
quiet. She got up and checked on her nonetheless. Then she
quietly stuck her head into Paul's room. Both children were
sleeping soundly.

When she returned to her bed--her _empty_ bed--she pulled the
covers up and sighed. She didn't look at herself in the mirror
very often anymore, and she didn't like that about herself. She
wanted to feel pretty again, like Susan.

Susan was beautiful: slender and svelte, but curvy through bosom
and hips. Beth sighed--_she_ had looked like that, once. She let
her imagination wander for a moment, but her thoughts eventually
returned to Susan...

....at the restaurant, smiling as she talked to the manager.

....at the base, a quiet presence as David's plane took off.

....at the house, brushing away an errant strand of hair as she
laughed.

....standing in her doorway as she invited the newly arrived Hughes
family into her home and into her life.

Beth's eyes flicked open and she swallowed hard. After a moment
she closed them again and deliberately thought of David, handsome
in his sunglasses and flight suit, his dark hair shining in the
sun.

She thought of him as he'd held Paul, his expression a mixture of
love and sorrow as he said goodbye.

She thought of him at the hospital, the look of wonder on his
face as he held Erin for the first time.

She thought of him in a thousand different scenes, and her heart
swelled with love, warmth, comfort, and joy.

But her eyes snapped open again a moment later.

"Why can't I stop thinking about _her?_" she wondered aloud.

The empty room didn't answer.

"What's wrong with me?"

Once again, the empty room didn't have any answers.

She held the shirt-clad pillow over her face, inhaling its scent.
She thought of David. But her thoughts inevitably returned to
Susan.

_Why, why,_ why? _She's a woman. I'm not_ like _that. I'm not a..._

She couldn't even bring herself to _think_ the word.

_I like_ men_,_ she continued silently. _I like David. I like
David's dick... his big, thick, hard dick. I like sucking him,
tasting him. I like feeling him between my legs, spurting inside
me._ Then, even more defiant: _I... like... men!_

_So why can't I stop thinking about a woman?_ she asked herself.

She didn't have any more answers than the empty room did.

**

Jack finished his letter to Susan and stuffed it into an
envelope. He stacked it on top of envelopes addressed to Kirk and
Doug. His letters to them were simple and straightforward: he
asked about their school work, told them to mind their mother,
and told them he was safe with his friends.

He paused for a moment and thought about how much he enjoyed his
job. An abstract part of him knew that he was killing people, but
they were trying to kill him in turn. It was like a big contest--
who got the upper hand, who had the best training, who had the
best equipment. He was on the winning side, and he knew it.

But in this contest the losers died. That thought didn't bother
him at all--he was fighting for the right reasons. Everyone in
the squadron thought so. The _Ranger_ had been on Yankee Station
most of February, and the air wing's morale was high. Attack
pilots were in short supply, though, and Jack had flown twenty-
two sorties in the past month. He and his wingman, Jerry Schmidt,
had grown to know each other very well, and could anticipate each
other's moves.

David's confidence had grown by leaps and bounds as well. As the
most junior pilot in the squadron, he flew as the skipper's
wingman. When the Old Man didn't lead the strike, David flew with
the XO, or Ops. The senior officers were seasoned veterans, and
David had learned a lot from them. As a side benefit, he usually
attacked the targets before they were obscured by smoke. Not
surprisingly, he had some of the best bombing results in the
squadron.

Jack felt proud when he thought about David and his bombing
technique. The younger pilot had also lived up to his new
callsign, Zuniac, and was deadly accurate with the five-inch
rockets. The other pilots in the squadron no longer teased him
about the name. Instead, they said it with pride.

Still smiling, Jack scooped up his letters, along with a fat
envelope with rolls of film for Susan to have developed. Then he
headed for the ship's post office. The squadron didn't have a
strike scheduled until the following morning. In the meantime,
Jack was looking forward to shooting the breeze with Jerry,
David, and Keith Olin.

He found them in the ready room. David and Keith were playing
backgammon while Jerry offered color commentary. Jerry was the
squadron's comedian, and had a wisecrack for every occasion. His
real name was Tom, but he was one of the few pilots who went by
his callsign instead of his name.

_He_ claimed he got his nickname because he was funnier than _Tom
and Jerry_, but Jack privately suspected a more mundane origin:
his German last name (not to mention his blonde hair, blue eyes,
and strong-jawed Teutonic good looks). Whatever the reason,
Jerry's wife was the only one who called him Tom.

Along with Ed Cousins, Keith Olin was the squadron's hound, their
ladies' men. The two bachelors had cut a swath through the local
girls in Yuma, and were already talking about their upcoming
visit to Subic Bay.

"How's it going, y'all?" Jack said as he surveyed the backgammon
board. David had Keith neatly contained, and would win in the
next few rolls.

"'Y'all'?" Jerry asked with his nasal Midwestern accent. "A
yawl's a boat, sailor."

"I know," Jack said, grinning. "I learned to sail in a yawl."

"Then you should know the difference between a yawl and a man.
The proper way to ask is, 'How's it going, you guys?'"

"Not 'youse guys'?" Keith quipped.

"What? Do I sound like a New Englander?"

"You sound like a Yankee, that's for sure," Keith said.

Olin was from Kentucky, and his accent was even more pronounced
than Jack's. David had a fairly neutral Florida accent, but he
could speak like a good Southern gentleman when he wanted to.

"A Yankee?" Jerry shot back. "Good God, no. A Milwaukee Brave,
maybe. But a Yankee? _Never._"

"Well, you sound like a Yankee to me," Keith said.

"Me too," Jack added, grinning.

"Me three," David said, clearing the last of his pieces. He
looked up at Keith and grinned. "Wanna try best four out of
seven?"

"Why do I play this game anyway?" Keith muttered.

David looked around for a challenger. Jerry immediately shook his
head. David offered the cup of dice to Jack.

"The usual stakes?" Jack asked. "Dollar a game?"

"Of course," David said, already laying out the pieces.

"You can pay in cash," Jack said, grinning cockily. "Small,
unmarked bills."

"Then you need to play Keith or Ed if you want to actually
_receive_ any of those bills," David said. "'Cause if you run
with the big dogs"--he rolled a pair of sixes--"you're gonna get
_bit_."

"How's he _do_ that?" Keith cried in amazement.

"I dunno," Jerry said, "but I've got five bucks that says Jack
limps away with teeth marks when this is all over."

**

Jack did indeed limp away with teeth marks. He handed over a five
dollar bill and silently counted his blessings. David had uncanny
luck. Worse, he had enough skill to make up for the times when
his luck ran short.

"I'm gonna get some chow," Jerry said to the group. "You guys
wanna come with?"

"Yeah, sure," Keith said.

David shook his head. "Thanks, though."

Jerry's eyes swung to Jack.

"I think I'll pass," he said. "I'm not a fan of turkey surprise."

"Neither am I," Jerry said, "but it's better than possum
surprise." He glanced at Olin. "Isn't that what you guys eat down
there in Kentucky?"

Keith rolled his eyes and half-saluted in farewell. "We eat
Yankees," he said dryly. "Raw."

"Raw Yankees?!" Jerry said as they walked off. "You mean you
haven't discovered _fire_ yet?"

"I was gonna go watch flight ops for a while," Jack said to
David. "You wanna come with?" he asked, imitating Jerry.

"With _who?_" David asked facetiously, seizing upon the joke.
"With... me? With... us?"

Jack shook his head, chuckling as they started up the
companionway. They laughed and joked until they reached one of
the many gangways surrounding the flight deck. Jack turned his
back to the wind, shielding David in the process. The ship was
cruising at better than twenty knots, and the wind was brisk.

They stood well forward of the carrier's island and watched the
ordered procession of flight operations. F-4s were launching from
both bow cats, part of the omnipresent Combat Air Patrol.
Compared to Jack's A-4, the twin-engine, two-seat fighters were
massive.

The deck itself was awash with men in a rainbow of colors: plane
captains in brown shirts, aircraft handlers in yellow, catapult
crewmen in green, safety officers in white. Other men in purple,
red, and blue worked among the planes at the waist of the ship.
They all moved according to a complex rhythm, with high-pitched
jet engines and the bang-_whoosh_ of the catapult drowning out
all other sound.

Jack and David stood quietly for a while, lost in thought. They'd
both been in the middle of the chaos on deck, but it never seemed
so complex from the cockpit of an A-4. When they were waiting in
the launch queue, they usually had a checklist to run through,
their eyes flicking over the instruments, monitoring the plane
and its systems. When they were preparing to launch, they were
busy following the precise directions of the aircraft handlers.

Jack always had so much to do that he rarely noticed the world
outside his cockpit. Besides, he was usually thinking about the
strike, mentally going over the briefing: radio frequencies,
ingress and egress routes, initial point, primary and secondary
targets, and more.

"I don't know why I like coming up here," he said at last.

"Order from chaos," David said, so quietly that his words were
almost snatched away by the wind.

Jack nodded.

"And I guess it gives me a sense of purpose," David continued.

Jack glanced sidelong at him.

David shrugged. "All these people are here for one reason... so
guys like us can deliver ordnance to our targets." He shrugged
again. "Even the fighter jocks are just here to protect _us_. And
the ship, of course."

"Try getting one of _them_ to admit that sometime," Jack said.

David agreed with a grin, but then turned serious again.

They were silent for several minutes.

"Do you ever wonder what we're doing it for?" David said at last.

"No."

"Not ever?"

Jack shook his head. But then after a moment, he shrugged.
"Maybe. Sometimes. But I volunteered. You did too."

"I know I did, and I knew what I was getting into better than you
did. I mean, you joined the Navy in... what... '58?"

Jack nodded.

"I'd never even _heard_ of Vietnam in '58."

"Neither had I," Jack admitted. "But I knew I wanted to fly. So
here I am."

David nodded and fell silent again, still in a philosophical
mood. Left unchecked, he'd sink into brooding.

Jack chuckled silently to himself. He'd never been accused of
being a dimwit, but he'd never been accused of being a
philosopher, either. He'd had a good education and a good
upbringing, and he had natural ability, but he wasn't a deep
thinker. He'd always been too impatient, and he tended to leap
into the middle of things, trusting his quick wits to see him
through.

David, on the other hand, thought about everything. That had been
his problem on the bombing range--he thought too much. He was a
quiet man by nature, and analyzed things before he did them. When
he forgot to think about a problem, though, he handled it
instinctively.

_And brilliantly,_ Jack added to himself. _That's why he's a holy
terror with a Zuni rocket, and why he cleans_ my _clock every
time we play backgammon._

Jack was naturally competitive, and he seldom lost. He kept
playing backgammon with David, though, despite being completely
out of his depth. He couldn't stop himself--he hadn't yet gotten
used to someone being better at something than he was.

Now _who's turning philosophical?_ he thought with an acerbic
grin. "C'mon," he said aloud, "let's head below." He looked up at
the gathering clouds and smelled moisture in the air. "The
pressure's falling. Storm coming soon. Tonight, maybe. By morning
for sure."

"You think they'll cancel our strike?"

Jack shrugged. "Who knows? I'm just the delivery guy."

**

Jack lay awake for a long time that night. His conversation with
David had left him thoughtful and pensive. Being an attack pilot
meant that he killed from a distance. It was a job, a series of
switches, a V-pipper, a release toggle. He went through the
motions, his plane lurching as the bombs kicked free from the
racks. And if he did everything right, he destroyed the target.

The target. Not "the men on the ground." Not even "the enemy."
The _target_.

He never thought about the men on the ground, except when he
heard the warning tone of the threat receiver--_dedul... dedul...
dedul_--or saw a string of anti-aircraft tracers arcing toward
his plane with malevolent beauty.

When he _did_ think of the men on the ground, he was usually
angry that they were trying to kill _him_, or one of his friends.
He wasn't immune to fear, but he didn't dwell on it. It came with
the job. If he thought about it too much, they'd stuff him in a
straitjacket and put him on the first flight home.

He loved his job too much for that. So he let his mind wander,
from thoughts of the men on the ground to what he wanted to do
when their cruise was over. August would arrive soon enough, and
the _Ranger_ would sail back to the States.

He wondered how Susan was getting along with Beth. He wondered if
they'd even talked about swinging, or anything even _close_.
Susan hadn't mentioned anything in her letters, but she assured
him that she knew what she was doing. He trusted her judgment
(not to mention her experience). Still, he was impatient to see
her with another man, impatient to have sex with another woman.

These days, his entire sex life revolved around his right hand
and a vivid imagination, and he yearned to feel a woman's touch.
The girls in Po City weren't even his type. Besides, they weren't
a challenge. For two dollars and a couple of beers, he could have
any of them. So why bother?

No, what he wanted was more difficult, more time-consuming. He
laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the gray
bulkhead.

_Why can't I be like other guys?_ he wondered. _Why can't I be
happy with a wife who loves me and sons who make me proud? Why do
I want more? What's_ wrong _with me?_

He pondered that for a moment. _Was_ something wrong with him,
simply because he wanted to experience more from life?

The steel bulkhead didn't have any answers.

_Are David and Beth even the right couple?_

David certainly wasn't a stickler for The Book. During their
first trip to Po City, he cheerfully helped a half-dozen men
avoid the Shore Patrol when a group of destroyer officers tangled
with pilots from the air wing.

The men from the tin can had been scooped up, but the pilots had
escaped in a jeep David "requisitioned" for the occasion. David
simply drove to another bar, ditched the jeep, and rejoined the
party. He'd been the hero of the night, and even the fighter
jocks had bought drinks for him.

He wasn't uptight or puritanical, either. He made jokes and told
stories with the rest of the pilots. He eyeballed pretty women
and flirted just as outrageously as Keith or Ed. He never _acted_
on any of the opportunities, but he didn't shy away from the
chase, either.

Best of all, David was attracted to Susan. Talking about another
man's wife was strictly against the unwritten code they lived by,
but David had let enough comments slip.

One night, after too many beers at a Po City bar, David had
leaned close and said, "You oughtta see Beth when she's not
pregnant. _God_, is she sexy... just like Susan. Don't get me
wrong, she's sexy as hell when she's pregnant, but when she's
_thin_...? Oh, sweet Jesus, I'm the luckiest guy alive! But then,
you know what I'm talkin' about, Jack... you've got Susan."

After sharing that quiet, drunken confidence, David had passed
out with a smile on his lips. Jack, Keith, and Jerry had carried
him home and poured him into bed. Jack had been pretty drunk
himself, but he hadn't forgotten the comment. Nor had he
forgotten the look on David's face when he passed out.

He knew that David would have never said anything if he hadn't
been drunk. _Very_ drunk, at that. The man wasn't a hound, and he
wasn't about to make a move on another man's wife. But he _might_
be adventurous enough to trade...

_I hope so,_ Jack silently admitted. _And if Susan thinks Beth's
the right woman..._

Jack smiled to himself.

The bulkhead didn't smile in reply, but Jack didn't care.

**

Winter slowly turned into spring. As the weather grew warmer,
Beth and Susan started walking in the mornings. Beth had lost
most of her baby weight, but she wanted to look good when David
returned. More importantly, she wanted to look good for herself.
She hadn't been happy with her body for many months, and she
wanted to feel good again, to feel pretty.

So, with Erin in the stroller and Paul either walking or being
carried, Beth and Susan made a long circuit around the
neighborhood. They talked while they walked. Some of their
conversations were simple--the weather, the houses and lawns they
passed, people in the neighborhood. Other conversations didn't
fit into one category, but continued from day to day, ranging far
and wide.

Beth was surprised that two women from such different backgrounds
could be so alike. Susan hadn't traveled much as a child, while
Beth had never lived anyplace for more than two or three years.
Susan was an only child, while Beth was the youngest of three.
Susan's father had groomed her to take over the family business,
while Beth was convinced that her parent's highest ambition was
to see her marry a Naval officer.

She _had_ married an officer, but she told herself that she
couldn't help whom she loved. If that happened to coincide with
her parents' wishes, then so be it. But she hadn't done it to
please _them_ (and she certainly wasn't like Ginny, who often did
things just to spite them).

As the days passed and the miles fell behind them, Beth grew a
little happier each time she looked in the mirror. Her breasts
were still heavy with milk, but her stomach was trim again, if
not as trim as it had been when she was nineteen. Her arms were
slender and had even started to show a little definition (she
wanted to be slim, _not_ muscular). Her thighs no longer reminded
her of turkey drumsticks, and her calves were taut from all the
walking.

Unfortunately, she had to live with her hips. She'd tried
everything, from magazine "secrets" to a weird fad diet--she gave
up the diet quickly, since she was still nursing. Her hips used
to be slender and almost boyishly slim. Unfortunately, those days
were long gone--giving birth to two children had seen to that.

_An hourglass isn't so bad,_ she told herself one morning,
looking at her reflection. _It's a classic figure._

She wasn't entirely convinced, though, and kept walking in the
hopes that her hips would magically return to their college
shape.

With the exception of her hips--although they _were_ starting to
look better--she was happy with the way her body looked. Even
Susan commented on it, which made her blush furiously.

Susan hadn't changed much at all, even after two months of
walking. She was still as slim and attractive as ever. Beth
smiled to herself whenever she saw the two of them together in
the mirror, though. They looked like sisters now more than ever,
one blonde, one brunette.

Aside from looking like Susan, Beth realized that she'd begun
_thinking_ like her as well. They didn't have to finish sentences
sometimes, because the other just knew. An arched eyebrow or even
a slight frown did the work of a half-dozen words. A wry smile
and a half-voiced "Hmm?" could mean anything from "Ice cream
tonight?" to "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

They had an easy, deep, abiding friendship, and Beth took a lot
of strength and comfort from Susan's company. So she was
surprised when they returned from walking one day and Susan grew
nervous. She was obviously working up the courage to say
something important, but Beth couldn't imagine what it was.

"You know my father owned a vacation resort, right?" Susan said
at last.

Beth felt her brow furrow. "Of course."

"It wasn't your everyday resort, though."

"Oh?"

Susan shook her head.

Beth waited.

"It... it was actually a nudist resort," Susan blurted at last.

Beth tried not to gawk. The revelation didn't surprise her--
Susan's _nervousness_ did. _There must be more,_ she thought, and
composed her expression.

"We didn't wear clothes," Susan continued into the silence.

Beth waited for the other shoe to drop. "And...?" she prompted at
last.

"And what?"

"And... is that it?"

"What do you mean 'is that it?'" Susan asked, confused.

"Is that it?" Beth repeated. "It was a nudist resort?"

"Yes."

"And _that's_ what you were worried about telling me?"

Susan looked more puzzled than ever.

"It wasn't some secret Communist hotbed?"

"No."

"It wasn't built by slave labor?"

"No, of course not," Susan said. "My family never owned slaves."

"It wasn't a front for the mob?"

"No."

All of a sudden, Beth laughed.

"I don't get it," Susan said.

"I thought you were going to tell me something serious."

"I _am_ serious."

"Oh, I know," Beth soothed. "But..."

"But...?"

Beth shrugged. "I thought you were going to tell me something
really dark, really secret."

"I grew up at a nudist camp," Susan said with a touch of
hysteria. "I didn't wear clothes most of the time. There were
other people there. Boys. _Men_. _They_ didn't wear clothes
either."

"So?"

"_So?_ So I grew up at a nudist camp."

"What was it like?" Beth asked suddenly, surprising even herself.

"You don't think that's... strange?"

"Heavens, no," Beth said, her laugh trailing off with a sigh.
Then she grinned wickedly. "I knew six or seven girls in college
who grew up at nudist camps."

"You _did?_"

"No, not really," Beth said, fighting not to snicker. "But I
don't think it's odd."

"You don't?"

Beth shook her head. Then she shrugged. "You've said things," she
said. "And... and you're comfortable with your body... and the way
you talk about... things." She shrugged again, her cheeks heating.
"I'm not surprised. That's all."

Susan leaned back and released her held breath. "I thought you
might be shocked, or appalled, or... or worse."

Beth laughed. "You know me better than that," she said at last.
"We've talked about everything from breastfeeding to... to
masturbation... from topless sunbathing to our husbands'
equipment."

Susan grinned.

"So what makes you think I'd be shocked that you grew up at a
nudist resort?"

"I don't know," Susan said at last. "I've just never... I've just
never told anyone before. Jack knows, of course, but..." She
shrugged. "It's not something I share with many people.
Obviously."

Beth smiled. "You could've told me months ago," she said.

"I tried to," Susan admitted. "But I lost my nerve."

Beth rolled her eyes. Then she felt them grow keen as she leaned
forward. "So... what was it like?"

"What was _what_ like?"

"What was it like growing up at a nudist resort?" Beth asked, her
voice full of mock exasperation.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Are you kidding? _Yes!_ It sounds like fun."

Susan looked at her for a moment longer, trying to decide if her
sincerity was real or feigned. Finally, she shook her head,
nonplussed.

"Are you going to tell me, or not?" Beth asked. "If you don't
want to..."

"You really want to know...?" Susan said. "I guess you do." She
took a deep breath and then smiled diffidently. She looked up
again, uncertain, but quickly mastered her emotions. "Where to
begin? In the beginning, I guess. Let's see... We went to our first
camp when I was seven..."

Susan talked for what seemed like twenty or thirty minutes. Then
she looked at her watch and jumped up.

"The boys'll be home any minute," she said. "I completely lost
track of time."

Beth looked at her own watch and felt her eyes widen. The "thirty
minutes" had actually been more than two _hours_, and it was
nearly three o'clock.

During that time, they had fed Paul and Erin, eaten their own
lunch, put the children down for a nap, and cleaned the kitchen.
Beth vaguely remembered doing all those things, but her mind was
still abuzz with tales of Susan's teenage years--tales of her
changing body, the boys at camp, the lakes and streams, the boys,
hiking, boys, and more.

Susan had had an exciting life growing up, and Beth felt hers
pale in comparison. She thought _she'd_ led an adventurous life?
Fooling around with boys and experimenting? Ha! Compared to
Susan--

"I'm sorry," Susan said. "I need to go."

Beth jerked her thoughts away from Susan's past.

"I hate to chat and run, but..."

"Go," Beth said, smiling.

Susan turned to find her jacket, but then stopped herself.
Instead, she turned back and smiled. "I just _knew_ you'd
understand."

They hugged and laughed.

"Of _course_ I understand," Beth said when they stepped back. She
felt a flush creeping up her cheeks, but she tried to ignore it.

"I knew you would," Susan said. She smiled, still in a bit of a
daze. Then she snapped out of it and glanced at her watch again.

"Go," Beth repeated.

Susan smiled.

"I'm sure we'll talk more tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Susan said, smiling as she dithered with the collar
of her jacket. Her blue eyes sparkled with warmth, and her
breathing came a little quicker.

_Is she blushing?_ Beth wondered in astonishment.

"Tomorrow," Susan said again, her grin turning silly.

When she'd gone, Beth leaned against the front door. Her cheeks
were afire, and she fanned herself with her hand.

"Oh, my," she said aloud.

_Oh, my, indeed._ She furtively looked at her watch, wondering if
she had time for_--_

She broke off at the sound of Erin crying. Her arousal died as
Erin's cries went from hesitant to insistent. With a resigned
sigh, she smoothed her dress.

_Later,_ she promised herself. _Later._

**

For the next two weeks, Beth and Susan went about their lives.
But Beth felt a connection she'd only felt once before--with
David. Susan felt it too, and commented on it.

"It's funny," she said. "When I think about something, I want to
tell _you_ before I think about Jack."

Beth laughed. "I know what you mean. I was writing a letter to
David last night and I kept telling him things that I'd tell you.
I had to tell myself that _he_ doesn't care about all the things
we do together." She paused for a moment. "It's not that he
doesn't _care_, but..." She shrugged expressively.

"He has bigger things to worry about than whether we go out to
dinner or fix something at home."

"_Exactly!_"

"So what did you do with the letter?" Susan asked a moment later.

"I threw it out and started a new one." Beth felt her cheeks
heating, and she grinned sheepishly.

"Oh?"

"I think he's going to need some time alone in his cabin when he
gets _this_ letter."

They both chuckled.

"I sent Jack a real scorcher last week," Susan said. "I was
planning what I want to do to him when he gets home."

"Mmm," Beth said, her thoughts wandering. A moment later she
sighed. "I miss David."

"I know what you mean."

"And it's not just his dick, although I certainly miss _that_
too." She felt her mouth water at the thought. "Okay, I miss it a
lot."

Susan sighed wistfully and moistened her own lips.

"Oh, my," Beth said at last, her cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry," she
said, several moments later. "What were we talking about?"

"We were talking about David's dick," Susan said facetiously,
recovering herself. She held her hands several inches apart and
arched an eyebrow. "How big did you say he is?"

Beth rolled her eyes, but then smirked. "Bigger than that."

Susan spread her hands.

"Bigger."

Susan arched an eyebrow, but spread her hands another half-inch.

"Bigger."

"Really?" Susan burst out. "Are you kidding?"

"I told you," Beth said, "he's pretty big."

"_I'll_ say."

"Let's change the subject," Beth said.

Susan looked a question at her.

"If we don't, I'll get all hot and bothered, and then I'll have
to go take care of things."

"I just might join you," Susan said.

To Beth's utter shock, a quiet voice in the back of her mind
said, _I'd like that._

**

Copyright (c) 2007 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

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