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NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 26 Jan 2007 14:33:19 -0600
From: Nick Scipio <nick@nickscipio.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Nereids" by Nick Scipio - Ch2 (MF, preg, oral, mast)
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Date: Fri, 26 Jan 2007 21:10:02 -0500
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Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Nereids
Part: Chapter 02
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: MF, preg, oral, mast
Revision: 1.1
Word Count: 9,518
Web Site: http://www.nickscipio.com/summercamp/shortstories/
FTP Site: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/summercamp/shortstories /
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. 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 TWO

Beth used the back of her hand to brush an errant strand of hair
from her face. The hair fell again and she tried to blow it back
into place, without success. She'd just returned her attention to
the kitchen floor, hair be damned, when the phone rang. She
stifled a grunt as she slowly climbed to her feet, and answered
the phone on the sixth ring.

"Beth, hi. It's Susan."

Beth smiled. "Oh, hi, Susan."

"Are you busy?"

"No, not at all," she lied. In reality, she'd been cleaning. With
David at work and Paul taking a nap, she finally had time to do
some housework. "Why?"

"I thought I'd come over and give you a hand around the house."

Beth paused for a moment. Susan had been a godsend with the
unpacking, but Beth didn't want to impose on her generosity.
Besides, she'd known women whose offers to "help around the
house" had been nothing more than thinly disguised snooping. She
didn't think _Susan_ was like that, but she automatically guarded
her family's privacy.

"The boys just got home from school," Susan continued, "but they
have a birthday party to go to, so I thought I'd come over and
give you a hand."

"Thank you very much," Beth demurred, "but you don't have to..."
Secretly, however, she longed for the help. Paul was a handful
when he was awake, and Beth rarely had the energy to keep up with
_him_, much less do all the other things that kept her house
running smoothly.

"Nonsense. I'll be there in ten minutes."

Susan arrived with a friendly smile and an air of energy.

"Paul's still asleep," Beth said, gesturing the other woman into
her home. When Susan looked at the living room and nodded
appreciatively, Beth felt a rush of pride. "I was cleaning the
kitchen floor when you called," she added, by way of explanation
for her frazzled appearance.

"Have you cleaned the bathrooms yet?" Susan asked.

"Not yet. I was going to do them next."

Susan smiled, a mixture of sympathy and reproach. "You shouldn't
be on your hands and knees, and you know it. Where's your mop?"
she asked, rolling up her sleeves. "And a bucket and some
ammonia? You can clean the mirrors while I do the dirty work."

An hour later, Beth decided that Susan wasn't nosey at all. Even
better, she didn't gossip. Beth had known too many officers'
wives who seemed to thrive on rumors and scandal. She wasn't like
that herself, and she didn't want to spend time with a woman who
was (her good manners would eventually wear thin, and her face
would hurt from an insincere smile).

Although the two women didn't gossip, they _did_ share their
impressions of what little they knew about the other pilots'
wives. Beth was a little surprised that their opinions were so
similar.

At first, she thought Susan might be agreeing with her just to be
polite. But as they worked and chatted, she decided that Susan
simply had a keen insight. At the thought, she smiled guiltily,
since she didn't like what that said about her lofty opinion of
her _own_ insight.

"What were you just thinking?" Susan asked suddenly.

Beth looked up and tried to cover her embarrassment with a smile.
"Hmm?"

Susan's blue eyes twinkled. "You looked like you'd just been
caught patting yourself on the back."

"Was I that obvious?"

"Not really. I just know how _I_ look when I start feeling too
proud of myself." She smiled guiltily. "So I guess I assumed... you
know." Another smile, this one wry: "Aren't we just two peas in a
pod?"

Beth felt her eyes crinkle with an answering smile.

"We're horrible, self-centered women, aren't we?" Susan said.

"Horrible," Beth echoed, still grinning.

Both of them looked up at a sound from Paul's bedroom, and Beth's
smile turned weary.

"I know the feeling," Susan said. Then she brightened. "You get
Paul while I put away the cleaning supplies."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Beth said. "You've already done
more than enough."

"Go."

"Are you sure?"

Susan made an insistent shooing gesture, punctuating it with a
smile. "Do you drink coffee?"

Beth shook her head as she walked down the hallway. "But you know
where the percolator is," she said over her shoulder, "so feel
free to make a pot." When she returned to the living room with
Paul, she found Susan sitting quietly with two cups.

"I'm not much of a coffee drinker myself," Susan said, "so I made
us some hot chocolate instead. I hope you don't mind."

Beth set Paul down and he immediately headed toward his wooden
blocks. "That sounds wonderful," she said, sinking into the chair
as Susan pushed a cup toward her. "Absolutely _wonderful_."

"I love your backyard," Susan said after a companionable lull in
the conversation.

Beth lifted her eyebrows in question.

"We have a fence around our yard," Susan explained, "but we don't
really have any privacy."

Beth glanced out the sliding glass door and shook her head,
puzzled. Her backyard was like any other: a chain-link fence
surrounding a rectangle of grass with a few trees.

"I should've said I love your _patio_," Susan explained, reading
Beth's confusion.

The patio itself was nothing special. It had a waist-high block
wall around it, with boxwoods surrounding that. Neither the wall
nor the bushes would even provide shade, though.

"You can sunbathe in privacy," Susan said at last.

"Ah... oh! _Now_ I understand."

"I like to lie out topless...," Susan added, her voice trailing
off.

Beth thought she detected a deliberately nonchalant note in the
other woman's tone, so she glanced up.

Susan merely gazed back with calm equanimity. Then she smiled and
took a sip of her cocoa. "Your patio wall should give you some
privacy," she said, "if you like to sunbathe topless, that is..."

Beth was certain of the nonchalant tone, so she carefully
schooled her expression. She _did_ like to lie out topless--and
sometimes more than topless--but it wasn't something she talked
about very often. Still, she didn't detect anything more than
leading curiosity in the other woman's tone--not even a hint of
disapproval--so she nodded and smiled politely, content to see
where the conversation went.

"It's a moot point now," Susan said, "but when the weather warms
up next spring..."

"You're welcome to come over and sunbathe here, if you'd like,"
Beth said, taking the cue and making the offer without the
slightest reservation. She decided that Susan was being polite
enough to avoid imposing herself on another woman, but not
deliberately deceptive.

"I'd like that, thank you," she said, smiling graciously. "I
think you'll like it out here--the weather is wonderful... not too
hot, not too cold."

Beth smiled and nodded.

"I used to sunbathe all the time when I was a girl," Susan said.

"Did you have someplace private at your father's resort?" Beth
asked. She hid a puzzled frown as Susan's eyes sparkled at some
unknown joke. For a moment, Beth got the impression that the
other woman was sizing her up, considering whether or not to let
her in on a secret.

"I used to sunbathe nude," Susan said at last. When Beth merely
smiled--instead of reacting with shock--she continued. "I love
feeling the sun on my skin. That's one of the only things I don't
like about living out here... no privacy. I grew up with thousands
of acres to explore, and if I wanted to do it in the buff, no one
bothered me."

Beth heard a hint of amusement in the other woman's voice, but
she wrote it off as a reaction to the conflicting attitudes in
California.

"So when I saw your backyard," Susan continued, "my heart leapt
at the chance to get a good tan. I'm ashamed to say that I
might've railroaded you into inviting me."

"Absolutely not," Beth said quickly. Then she smiled her own
guilty smile, albeit for a different reason. At the mention of
nude sunbathing, her eyes unconsciously roamed over the other
woman's body, so much like her own. _So much like I_ used _to
be,_ she thought with a trace of bitterness. Pregnancy had
changed her, and she didn't like the way her body looked. She
shook off the thought and smiled to cover her unhappiness.

"You didn't railroad me at all," she said at last. "As a matter
of fact, I like to sunbathe nude too... sometimes." When Susan
smiled a knowing smile, Beth found herself wondering how much the
other woman had already suspected.

"The only problem," Susan added with a smile, "is that it gets
sunny here a little before it actually gets _warm_, so I have to
be careful not to freeze sensitive body parts!"

They shared an honest, uncomplicated laugh.

"I'm sure the guys wouldn't mind," Susan added with a wry grin,
"but cold nipples are _not_ my idea of foreplay."

"Mine either," Beth said, shaking with mirth. All of a sudden,
she felt the baby kick, and she put her hand to her belly.

"Is she moving?" Susan asked.

Beth nodded.

Without asking, Susan leaned forward and put her hand on Beth's
protruding belly.

Beth was surprised, but her touch was reassuring and gentle.

"I used to sit up at night when I was pregnant with Doug," Susan
said softly, almost wistfully, "drinking tea and reading. He was
a night-owl, and sometimes kept me up half the night." Her eyes
were far away, remembering. "The only thing that calmed him down
was music."

Beth looked a question at the dark-haired woman.

She smiled. "Glen Miller. My mother loved him, and she lent me
her record collection. Jack bought me this big, awkward set of
headphones, and I'd put them against my belly, with the volume
turned down low. Doug would go right to sleep, every time." She
smiled again at the memory. Then she chuckled, throaty and warm.
"I must've been a ridiculous sight... sitting on the couch in my
robe, my slippered feet tucked beneath me, a book in one hand,
and a great, huge pair of headphones against my tummy."

Beth laughed softly at the image, but she felt an instant
affection for the other woman.

Susan smiled again, her eyes glistening. "I still have her
records," she said softly. "She never got them back after Doug
was born. And after she died, my dad..." She swallowed hard and
forced a smile.

"How did she die?" Beth asked quietly.

"Hmm? Oh... a stroke. It was just her time, I guess."

"That must've been hard," Beth said, and immediately regretted
it. _Of_ course _it had been hard, losing her mother._

"It was." Susan paused, her eyes unfocussed. "It still _is_. I
miss her every day."

As the silence drew out, Beth fought not to fidget. She didn't
know what to say, so she decided that silence was better than
meaningless platitudes.

"Look at me," Susan said at last, composing herself. "I turned
all maudlin on you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

"Oh, hush," Beth said. Her own eyes were full of unshed tears,
and she blinked to clear them. Susan reached for her cup of cocoa
to cover her emotion. As she sipped, Beth met her eyes and they
gazed at one another for a long moment. Understanding and
compassion flowed unspoken between them.

They finished their cocoa in silence, and Beth decided that she
wouldn't worry about guarding herself against Susan. She'd sooner
guard herself against her own sister.

**

"Attention on deck!"

Jack automatically shot to his feet, his back straight, hands at
his sides, eyes front.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Commander Scarlatti said as he
strode up the aisle to the lectern at the front of the squadron
briefing room. "Please be seated."

Jack spared a glance at David and waggled his eyebrows, as if to
say "Here we go." Aside from quick introductions with the
squadron executive officer and the command master chief, Jack and
David had yet to meet the majority of the men they'd be flying
with.

"Before we begin," Commander Scarlatti said, "I'd like to
introduce our new pilots."

At the commander's glance, Jack rose. A half-second later, David
followed suit, still a little unsure of himself.

Commander Scarlatti began, "Lieutenant Jack MacLean, 'Boxman'..."

Jack inclined his head to the room full of officers gazing at
him.

"...joins us from VA-125. He'll tell you more about himself later,
but his most recent job was as gunnery and bombing instructor. So
I've asked him to work with Commander Waulk on the Yuma training
evolution."

Jack shot a confident glance at the squadron XO, Frank Waulk. In
their brief encounter, the man had come across as a stiff, by-
the-book officer, but Jack reserved further judgment until he
actually had a chance to work with him. Waulk had a pun for a
callsign, "Side," and Jack hoped he was wrong about the man's
personality.

"And Ensign David Hughes, 'Gator,'" Scarlatti continued, "comes
to us from the RAG. Ensign Weigand will be glad to meet him, I'm
sure."

The gathered officers chuckled. A lieutenant JG tousled the hair
of the man next to him, a young, ginger-haired ensign. The ensign
bore it with rueful good grace, his face turning ruddy.

"Mr. Weigand is our Shitty Little Job Officer," Scarlatti said to
David, grinning as he did. "This is his nugget cruise too, but
you're junior to him. So when you get up to speed, _you_ will be
our new SLJO."

"Aye, aye, sir," David said without a trace of resentment.

_Or comprehension,_ Jack mused with a smile. In any case, David
seemed too nervous to take offense.

"Until Mr. Hughes does get up to speed, however," Scarlatti said,
turning back to Weigand, "you're still our SLJO, Mr. Weigand."
With a professional smile, he gestured for Jack and David to be
seated. "Now, let's get down to business. The first item on the
agenda is logistics, and I'll turn the briefing over to Commander
Featherston..."

Later, after the briefing broke up, Jack and David introduced
themselves to the other pilots. Jack had a good memory for names-
-a trick his father had taught him--and he smiled as he met each
man.

The names and the faces jumbled together after a while, but Jack
catalogued them all. The information would be there later, when
he needed it. Beside him, David seemed a little overwhelmed, and
he felt for the man. He'd been overwhelmed himself when he joined
his first squadron.

The Naval Aviation community was relatively small, and full of
go-getter personalities. The very process of _becoming_ a Navy
pilot eliminated the shirkers, sea-lawyers, and no-load officers.
So the ones who pinned on wings of gold were the best of the
best--they wouldn't have survived the training if they weren't.
Taken as a group, they could be an overwhelming and raucous
bunch.

Jack smiled again and glanced at David, who seemed to be bearing
up under the pressure. After all, he _was_ one of those men who'd
survived the brutal selection process and joined their elite
company.

"Mr. MacLean," Commander Waulk called through the crowd.

Around Jack, faces turned serious. Waulk's tone had a chilling
effect on the men's good nature, and they parted as if the XO
were Moses himself.

"Yes, sir?" Jack said.

"I'd like to talk to you about our training evolution."

"Of course, sir." Jack said goodbye to David with his eyes, took
his leave of the other pilots, and joined the XO.

Normally, the squadron's operations officer, Commander
Featherston, would have handled the training exercise. But with
the logistics of a three-week detachment--moving fifteen planes,
eighteen pilots, and all the associated maintenance personnel--
the commander was swamped. So Commander Waulk had taken over the
training schedule.

Jack spent the next hour working with the XO, and discovered a
curious dichotomy in the man's personality. When they were around
other squadron officers, Waulk was stern and imposing, the very
image of a tough disciplinarian. The job of XO practically
required it, though, so Jack wasn't surprised.

The CO got to be "the Old Man," or "Skipper." Most were
respected, and some were even well-liked. But the XO had to be
the hatchet man, and couldn't afford the luxury of being chummy
with the men under him. Consequently, most XOs had reputations as
hardasses.

Much to his surprise, Jack discovered that Frank Waulk's tough-
guy act was just that, an _act_. The man had a wicked sense of
humor, and actually smiled more than any XO Jack had ever known.
When they were alone together, he was even friendly.

Emboldened by his attitude, Jack suggested a few changes to the
bombing exercises. In reality, he wanted to completely revise the
plans, but he'd been in the military long enough to know better
than to underestimate his superiors' sometimes-prickly egos.
Surprisingly, the XO seemed more than happy to have his work
critiqued.

"Be my guest, Mr. MacLean," he said. After a pause, he sat back
and considered the papers on the table between them. Then he
looked up, his expression serious. "Do you feel comfortable
rewriting the plans entirely?"

"Absolutely, sir," Jack said.

"Then have a draft on my desk by fourteen hundred tomorrow."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Excellent, Mr. MacLean."

Jack took the cue, gathered the papers, and stood.

"Good to have you with us, Mr. MacLean," Waulk said.

"Thank you, sir. It's good to be here."

"Carry on."

**

"Commander Waulk isn't as hard as he seems," Jack said as he and
David drove home. He'd given the younger man a ride to the base,
so he could leave his wife with their only car.

Jack deliberately tried to think of Beth as "David's wife." He
knew himself well enough to admit how attractive she was,
pregnant or not. With a silent chuckle he remembered how horny
he'd been when Susan was pregnant. Beth could double as his
wife's sister (although Susan was an only child), so he had to
work hard not to let his attraction show.

He liked David, and as much as he might want to sleep with the
man's wife, he didn't want to compromise their friendship, not to
mention jeopardizing his military career in the process.
Fortunately, Jack was disciplined. He wouldn't have made it
through the Citadel if he weren't, much less Naval flight
training. So he reminded himself that Beth was _not_ available,
and returned his attention to the conversation.

"He's not?" David asked, forgetting that he might sound like he
was criticizing a superior officer.

Jack shook his head. "He might come across as a book-thumper, but
he's actually pretty smooth."

David looked a question at him.

"He got me to volunteer to rewrite the bombing evolution for the
Yuma training. Can you believe that?" Jack asked rhetorically.
"As long as _I've_ been in the Navy? I know better than to
volunteer! And he got me to do it before I even realized what was
going on." He smiled in disbelief. "Watch out for Commander
Waulk. He's a slick one."

David tried to hide a smirk. Unsuccessfully. Then he turned
serious. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Shoot," Jack said laconically.

"What exactly _is_ a Shitty Little Job Officer?"

Jack automatically chuckled. _Remember,_ he told himself, _you
were that wet behind the ears once._

"Is it pretty much what it sounds like?" David continued, nervous
in the lengthening silence.

"It's _exactly_ what it sounds like," Jack said. "The Old Man
won't make you clean the heads or anything, but you're going to
do some pretty stupid stuff." He laughed at a memory. "When I was
SLJO in my first squadron, I was on 'dog duty.'"

David's brow beetled with curiosity.

"The squadron commander had this mean-tempered little pug, which
was half-blind and liked to bite people. Well, _somebody_ had to
take it for a walk, and I got the duty. The thing pissed on my
shoes the first time I took him out."

David laughed.

"I'm not kidding," Jack said, his voice high-pitched with
laughter and remembered indignation. "The little monster would
bite my hand if I tried to shove him away, so I ended up kicking
him instead. He was really old, though, so I felt bad about doing
it, and I ended up just shoving him away with my foot." He
laughed again. "I used to have to polish _teeth marks_ from my
shoes!

"The worst part, though, is that I actually started to _like_
that little menace. I guess he knew which side his bread was
buttered on, and he didn't snap at me after the first few times.
Still, it was a shitty job, and it pretty much sums up what being
SLJO entails."

David nodded.

"Most of it will be things like making coffee or fetching
doughnuts." He grinned sidelong at the younger officer. "Chiefs
and petty officers have actual _work_ to do... so nugget ensigns
get to play step-and-fetch-it and do the catering." He laughed at
a memory. "But then again, being the SLJO isn't _all_ bad."

"Oh?"

He chuckled. "I once had to pick up the Old Man's kid sister from
the airport. She was coming in on a commercial flight, and the XO
didn't like children. So he detailed me for the job." He laughed
again. "Turns out, the 'kid sister' was a blonde coed from Long
Beach!"

David's jaw dropped.

"I shit you not," Jack said earnestly. "She was built like a
Playmate, too." He chuckled again. "The XO and half the wardroom
fell all over themselves trying to hold doors for her. But she
just flashed me a pearly white smile, put her arm through mine,
and said, 'Lay on, Macduff.'"

"You didn't actually _sleep_ with her, did you?" David asked,
shocked.

"No," Jack said, with profound--and honest--regret. "She _was_
the Old Man's kid sister, after all. But still..." He sighed at the
memory, before turning a little more serious. "Being SLJO might
be a pain, but it's not all bad!"

"I hope you're right," David said.

"Trust me." Jack grinned roguishly. "Would I lie to you?"

**

"Do you want me to give you a ride to the Scarlattis'?" Susan
asked Beth.

They were sitting together at Beth's dining room table, drinking
cocoa. Beth was surprised at how quickly they'd fallen into a
routine, but she probably shouldn't have been. Susan was easy to
talk to, and their friendship had blossomed. Susan didn't have
any shortage of friends--from Jack's old squadron, as well as
from the neighborhood--but they shared a bond as newcomers to the
VA-55 wives' club.

And since they _were_ newcomers, Mary Scarlatti was hosting a
luncheon to introduce them to the other squadron wives. Beth
wasn't particularly enthusiastic about it, though. Unfortunately,
it was her duty, since it would reflect poorly on David if she
didn't attend. The Navy had its share of politics, and an
invitation from the squadron commander's wife was tantamount to
an order.

She shook off her rebellious thoughts and turned her attention to
happier things, absent-mindedly stroking her belly. She smiled as
she felt her daughter's presence. Her smile widened when she
realized that Susan automatically called the baby a "she." David
was convinced that it was another boy, but Beth knew better.

"I could pick you up around twelve fifteen," Susan continued into
the silence.

Beth shook off her distraction. "What? Oh, yes, thank you."

"Woolgathering?" Susan asked softly.

Beth smiled. "I was thinking about her," she said, glancing down
at her belly. "Erin," she added, her expression tender. When she
looked up, Susan's eyes sparkled with quiet pleasure. "What?"
Beth asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"I was just enjoying myself."

"Looking at me?"

Susan nodded. "You looked so... happy."

"I was. I _am_, even though I'm still getting used to living out
here. It's so... _different_ from all I've known. But the people
are nice," she added, smiling at the other woman.

"We try," Susan said with an offhanded, whimsical air. Then she
grinned at herself. "Just listen to me..." After a moment the women
sobered. "Mary said not to bring anything to the luncheon, but I
want to get her a hostess gift."

Beth nodded. It was only polite.

"Maybe we could get something together?"

"Sure. But... what?"

Susan shrugged. "I don't know anything about her, except what
Jack's told me, which isn't much. Has David said anything?"

Beth shook her head.

"I was afraid of that. So, when all else fails, a houseplant
should do the trick. I know a nice greenhouse on Avalon," Susan
said. "We could go tomorrow, around ten o'clock. Okay?"

"Sounds great."

**

The luncheon itself was a lot more enjoyable than Beth expected.
Mary Scarlatti, a small, bird-like woman, was a congenial
hostess. Beth envied her energy, and found herself sharing
impressed glances with Susan over the sumptuous food: handmade
petit fours, a selection of canapes, and a half-dozen other hors
d'oeuvres, all pretty enough to grace the pages of _Good
Housekeeping_ magazine.

Beth also met an array of women: tall, short, thin, plump,
blonde, brunette, and auburn. Mary introduced them in waves, so
she wouldn't overtax Beth's stamina. Some of the women seemed to
resent being stage-managed, but Beth welcomed it. After all,
_they_ already knew each other, and only had to meet two new
women. Beth and Susan had to meet more than a dozen, and it was
difficult to keep them separate.

Many of the women had young children, so Paul was occupied with
two other boys his age. Three girls and a boy, four-year-olds,
were coloring at the kitchen table. The school-age children were
all at school, but Beth saw Susan talking to two other women
whose children were the same age as Kirk and Doug.

At the moment Beth was sitting on the living room couch, talking
with two other pregnant women: Peggy Schmidt, who was due in late
January, and Jo Weigand, due in February. Mary settled onto the
divan across from them and took a sip of coffee. The clink of her
cup in the saucer was as effective at getting their attention as
a school bell.

Mary talked about doctors at the base hospital, babysitters, and
a half-dozen other things "every young mother needs to know."
Beth got the distinct impression that Mary would gladly organize
their lives for them, and her face slipped into the familiar
noncommittal smile. Mary obviously had good intentions, but Beth
wasn't looking for a mother-figure.

After fifteen minutes she excused herself to go to the bathroom.
_Being pregnant has its benefits,_ she mused wryly.
Unfortunately, one of the other women intercepted her in the
hallway. Beth searched her memory, but couldn't recall the
woman's name.

"Don't let Queen Mary get to you," the woman said.

Beth smiled politely.

"She's an admiral's daughter, and she resents that old Don isn't
cut out for higher command, so she tries to control _us_."

"I'll try to remember that," Beth said, reserved. Over the
woman's shoulder, she saw Susan coming down the hall, and she
breathed an almost audible sigh of relief.

"Phyllis, isn't it?" Susan said, interrupting.

The woman turned.

"You're Frank's wife, right?" Susan said.

"Yes. Have you met him?"

"Not yet. But my husband's been working with him quite a bit."
With her eyes, she gestured for Beth to continue to the bathroom.
Then she neatly turned the other woman away, heading back to the
party.

"Oh? Doing what?" Phyllis asked, her voice animated as she talked
about her favorite subject: her husband's career.

Beth quickly shut the bathroom door behind her, cutting off the
dwindling conversation.

**

"God, I hate women like that," Susan said later, as they drove
home together. Paul was napping in the back seat, worn out from
playing with the other children.

"Who?"

"Phyllis Waulk. She's bucking for admiral's wife, and from what I
gathered from some of the other women, she's a first-class
gossip."

Beth nodded. She hadn't heard that, but she didn't doubt it.

"Mary Scarlatti might be a bit overbearing, but she has good
intentions. Phyllis, on the other hand, is practically salivating
at the thought of being a CO's wife." Susan grimaced. "She will
be, too... one day. And she'll run the wives' group like her own
henhouse. Ugh! The CO's wife in Jack's first squadron was like
that."

Beth looked a question at her.

"Needless to say, we didn't get along. I didn't gossip, and I
wasn't going to be part of her little circle. So I was more than
happy when we transferred out here." She shook her head, as if
angry at herself. "And listen to me now," she said. "I'm doing
the same thing I hate."

"No, you're not," Beth said. "You're just letting off steam with
someone you trust."

Susan took a deep breath, her hands gripping the steering wheel
as the tension left her shoulders.

Beth hesitantly filled the silence, "We were barely in the RAG
squadron long enough for me to get to know most of the other
wives. Training was different, though, and I got to know some of
the women fairly well."

Susan nodded.

"So I knew what to expect today." She laughed philosophically.
"It takes all kinds, I guess."

"It does," Susan said sourly.

"So let's talk about who we _liked_ instead."

"Peggy Schmidt," Susan said without hesitation, her mood
brightening. "The pretty blonde who's due a month after you are."

Beth nodded emphatically. Peggy _was_ pretty, in a clean-scrubbed
Midwestern way. She and her husband were from Wisconsin.

They talked about several other women, and once again, Beth was
surprised that their opinions were almost identical. So much so
that she had an odd sense of _deja vu_ every time Susan made a
comment.

"Listen to me," the other woman finally said, "nattering away as
if I had good sense."

Beth smiled.

"Do you want to stop and get some ice cream on the way home?"

At the thought of food--_unsophisticated_ food--Beth's stomach
leapt with a welcoming twinge.

"I thought I'd get some for dessert tonight, but you and I can
have a cone on the way home," Susan added slyly.

"That sounds _perfect_."

**

Jack climbed down the side of his jet and glanced at his freshly
painted name on the fuselage under the canopy rail. He wasn't
senior enough to have a plane all to himself, though, and
Lieutenant JG Ed Cousins's name adorned the other side of the A-
4. Cousins had a reputation as a ladies' man, and his callsign,
obviously enough, was "Smooth."

When Jack reached the tarmac, he greeted his new crew chief, a
big, quiet Montanan named Gene Hollister. Jack missed his
previous crew chief's affable personality, but Hollister was just
as competent, and every bit as friendly in his own taciturn way.

"Are you ready for tomorrow, Gene?" Jack asked.

The big man merely nodded.

Jack wasn't a stickler for the book, and greeted Gene's non-
verbal answer with a silent reply of his own: a smile.

The junior pilots and ground crews would fly to Yuma in a
transport aircraft, while the squadron's more senior pilots would
fly the A-4s themselves. Jack was one of those pilots, but David
would be stuck riding the transport.

David was just climbing from the cockpit of the next jet in line,
and Jack walked toward him. "How do you think you did?" he asked.

The two men had been making simulated bomb runs over a remote
corner of the base.

"So-so," David said frankly. "I still lose the target when I roll
in, and it takes me a second to reacquire."

"You're trying too hard," Jack said as they fell into step
together. "Don't worry about flying the plane and setting your
arming switches. Your main job is to focus on the target. The
best bombsight in the world won't do a thing for you if you don't
use the Mark One eyeball. After that, it's a snap to let the
plane fly itself onto the right bearing and dive angle. _Then_
you bring your eyes back inside the cockpit. After that, you
check your tracking and simply maneuver the pipper onto your
target."

"It's not that easy when I try it."

"It just takes practice," Jack said. "Trust me, I couldn't hit
the broad side of a barn when I joined a line squadron. But my
first CO was an old brown-shoe Navy man who flew Corsairs in
Korea."

David nodded, his interest suddenly piqued.

Jack smiled. "He taught me a trick: go through all the motions of
arming your bombs and setting your pickle switches in your head.
Do it over and over and over again, till you're sick of it. Do it
at home while you're sitting in your chair... do it while you're on
the john..."

They shared a grin.

"Do it whenever you have a chance. Close your eyes, move your
hands, and go through the sequence. Over and over and over again,
till you know the routine without thinking about it. Tomorrow, on
the plane ride to Yuma, sit in your seat and go over the
sequence."

David nodded earnestly.

"And when the time comes to do it for real, get your head out of
the cockpit. Your body knows what to do, so your mind can
concentrate on target acquisition. Don't worry about anybody
grading your drop. Don't worry about anything but your target.
Once you get your eyes on the target, _keep 'em there_. Your
hands can fly the plane on their own. Got it?"

"I think so."

"And above all, relax. This shit is easy. Just practice your in-
cockpit routine until you don't have to think about it." Jack
looked at the other man, to see if his words had sunk in. "When
you don't have to think about what you're doing, you'll realize
that you have all the time in the world, and you can put your
bombs on the bull's-eye. Okay?"

"I think so, sir."

"'Sir'?" Jack repeated, grinning. "Now you're getting uptight
again, David. Relax. Go with the flow. Eyes outside the cockpit.
And remember... this shit's a piece of cake."

**

The next morning, Beth rose and fixed David a hearty breakfast.
He'd be gone for three weeks, until the day before Thanksgiving,
and a fist gripped her heart at the thought. What if Erin came
early, like Paul had? What if she had complications? What if...?

She heard David drop his bag in the foyer and she took a deep,
calming breath. Then she slid his eggs onto the plate, steam
rising from the cup of strong black coffee next to it. The sun
wouldn't rise for hours, yet their house was already pouring warm
yellow light into the darkness.

"Did you kiss Paul goodbye?" she asked as she set the plate and
cup on the table.

David nodded and took a sip of coffee, heedless of the
temperature.

Beth smiled to herself. In college, he'd been so rushed that he'd
gone beyond the point of getting burned by a hot cup of coffee.
With his engineering classes, the Navy, and all his other
obligations, he'd almost been too busy for _her_.

_But not_ too _busy,_ she reminded herself, smiling at the
memory. She'd grown to love the shy, dedicated young man her
brother had brought home. And she'd quickly decided that he was
The One, surrendering her virginity to him in her bedroom one
weekend when her family was away.

Unlike so many men, David didn't want a wife who merely cooked
and cleaned. In his own quiet way, he encouraged her to share her
opinion, and to make decisions for herself. _He's like that in
the bedroom, too,_ she reflected. He wanted her to enjoy herself,
and he went out of his way to make sure she did.

She'd known women whose husbands were uncaring, inept, or both.
They were the men who rolled over and went to sleep when they
were done. Even worse, some of them didn't think women should
enjoy themselves at all. But not David. He could be kind and
gentle, but he could also drive her to distraction, with fingers,
tongue, and--most of all--his dick.

As she thought about him, she felt her insides stir. The _only_
time she regretted being pregnant was when she was horny. With
her great belly, she couldn't have sex as often as she wanted to,
or in as many positions. Some worked, but others didn't.

Fortunately, she loved oral sex. At the thought, she felt the
corners of her mouth quirk upward.

David looked at her quizzically when she scooted her chair next
to his. His expression changed to surprise when he felt her hand
caress his thigh. He looked at his watch.

"Beth, honey..."

She ignored him and slid her hand to his crotch. Normally, she
liked taking her time when they made love. But sometimes she just
wanted to suck him off quickly. For some reason, she relished the
thought of him getting off when he couldn't return the favor.
Those were the few times when she was totally in control, and she
knew it.

"Seriously," he said, "Jack's going to be here in ten minutes. We
don't have time..."

She shushed him, her fingers playing along the fabric covering
his dick.

"Beth..."

With gentle pressure on his knee, she turned him to face her. She
smiled at the note of lust in his voice. Even with her huge
belly, he still found her attractive. She moistened her lips and
smiled.

"We really don't have time," he said, looking at his watch again.
"It's already oh four fifty."

"You just let me worry about the time," she said, her voice husky
with desire.

His objections died unspoken as she slid to the floor between his
thighs, settling comfortably, her legs tucked beneath her. For a
distracted moment, she debated whether to sit cross-legged or
not. She finally decided that she wouldn't be on her knees long
enough for her legs to go to sleep.

With a smile, she unzipped his khaki uniform trousers and reached
into the fly of his underwear. With a little effort, she
extracted his semi-hard dick, her fingers wrapping around the
shaft as it swelled.

She knew from talking with other women that David's dick was
bigger than most. When she lost her virginity, it had felt _huge_
within her, the pressure almost unbearable. But then something
within her had snapped, and the pressure eased.

She had mixed memories of that first time, the pain and pleasure
mingling together. The second time had been better, but the
memory of the first time had still been fresh. They'd spent the
weekend together, though, and by the end of it she'd been as
eager for sex as David was. She'd also been shocked. The first
time she actually saw his erection, she couldn't imagine _how_
he'd gotten it inside her.

Then as now, the bulbous head was purple with arousal, the shaft
thick and full and oh-so-long. With a smile, she remembered how
guilty she'd felt at her enjoyment. The guilt had been short-
lived, though, and she'd soon found herself yearning to feel him
inside her.

The first time she sucked him, he'd held her head and thrust his
hips, his shaft sliding into her throat, threatening to gag her.
At the time, she'd put her hands on his thighs to slow his bull
rush, only to have him madly thrusting again a minute later. So
she'd taken charge, wrapping her hands around his dick and
squeezing until she got his attention. Before he could protest,
she'd taken him back in her mouth, moving at her own pace.

He hadn't lasted long after that, and the salty-sour taste of his
semen filled the back of her throat. She'd known what to expect,
and she'd swallowed... and swallowed... and swallowed. David's
seemingly endless gushes poured down her throat. When she'd
finally come up for air, his dick was _still_ oozing the white
fluid, pumping in time with his heart.

She thought about that first time as she sucked him now, her lips
working against his shaft, her tongue teasing the underside
ridge. She'd had a lot of experience since then, and she put it
to good use.

Unfortunately, she couldn't take her time and really get him
worked up. Instead, she concentrated on the tip of his dick, her
tongue moving in circles around the sensitive glans. She wrapped
one hand around his thick shaft and used the other to caress his
balls, still trapped by his underwear and trousers.

He began thrusting his hips, but nothing like the first time.
He'd learned control since then, so he was content to run his
fingers through her hair. She sighed at the feeling of his strong
hands subtly guiding her motions. She also sighed at the sensuous
warmth of his dick as it glided over her tongue.

She bobbed her head, her lips tight as she worked him toward his
release. She knew he was getting close--she could feel his
reactions transmitted through his grip on her head. She increased
her pace, his swollen glans pressing against the back of her
throat on each downstroke. On each upstroke, she pursed her lips,
the tip of his dick barely within her mouth.

Soon enough, she felt him tense. At the same time she heard the
muted rumble of a car pulling into the driveway. She moaned with
the need to taste him, and she smelled his semen before she felt
it flood her mouth.

She swallowed once and then again, the heat spreading through her
throat and chest, the scent making her head swim. The gushes ran
together, the heat and saltiness suffusing her senses.

"Oh, God," he groaned at last, his thighs trembling as she sucked
the last of his semen from his shaft.

She felt answering trembles from her own thighs, a combination of
lust and too much weight on them for too long.

David slumped in the chair, running his hands through her hair,
his touch gentle. "I'm sorry...," he began.

She cut him off by kissing the sensitive crown of his slowly
shrinking dick. She sat back and smiled.

"I'm sorry," he said again, struggling not to look at his watch.

"Help me up," she said, brushing off his needless apology.

He did, and she suppressed a smirk at the picture they must have
made: her in her robe, belly bulging, lips still shiny with
semen; him in his uniform, his long, thick dick hanging semi-hard
from his open fly. She discreetly wiped the corners of her mouth,
tasting him anew, and tilted her head up for a kiss.

David had never been shy about tasting his own semen, and he
kissed her full on the lips, pulling her close, his hands strong
on her back.

"Oh, my," she said when they broke the kiss.

Outside, the Corvette's engine revved in a subtle signal, quieter
than the horn would've been.

David's expression turned guilty as he glanced at his watch. He
started to speak, but she shushed him with a finger to his lips.

"I love you," she said softly. Then she smiled, her eyes
crinkling with affection. "Now go."

"I'll call you when we get there," he said, casting about for his
leather flight jacket.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, hiding a smirk.

He looked at her blankly.

She glanced at his crotch, his dick still hanging from his
trousers.

He rolled his eyes and hurriedly tucked himself into his pants,
wincing as he fumbled with his zipper.

She took pity on him and stepped close, her sure hands tugging
the zipper closed. Then she took the opportunity to rise on
tiptoes and kiss him again.

"I'll see you in three weeks," he said, donning his jacket
against the early-morning cold. "And I'll call you when I get
there."

She nodded, and waved farewell from the front door as he half-ran
to Jack's idling car. Jack looked at her through the windshield
and she saw his white teeth flash with a smile. He waved, and
then said something to David as he climbed into the car. David
looked abashed, and Jack laughed. With another wave, he put the
car into reverse and backed out of the driveway.

**

"I hate farewells," Susan said.

_She's in an odd mood,_ Beth thought. _It's almost as if she's--_

"I'm sure this is going to sound strange," Susan continued, "but
they make me horny."

Beth fought not to gape as her suspicion was so candidly
confirmed.

"Jack and I had a big night last night, and then again this
morning in the shower," Susan said, "but I'm still not satisfied.
There must be something wrong with me."

Beth herself had been simmering since David left, but she thought
she was alone in her desire.

"You know?" Susan asked. Her inquisitive look turned into a
knowing one, and she smiled. "I guess you do."

Beth felt a momentary stab of embarrassment, and she looked down,
her hands firmly planted in her lap. She trusted Susan, though,
and knew she wouldn't spread rumors about her being some kind of
wanton slut.

_I'm_ not _a wanton slut,_ she thought peevishly. _I just like
sex._ She smiled to herself, the memory of David's dick still
fresh in her mind. _Okay, so I like it a lot._

When she glanced up, she noticed that Susan's nipples were hard,
two points pressing against her blouse. She felt a moment of
shock when she realized that her glance was more than casual, and
she looked away quickly. Fortunately, Susan was deep in thought.

"I don't know why I get all hot and bothered when I can't _do_
anything about it," Susan said all of a sudden. "And it's not as
if Jack left me high and dry."

Beth's thoughts wandered, and she imagined David's dick--and what
she would've done if they'd had more time. She _had_ been left
high and dry, but it had been her choice.

She and David hadn't had sex very often lately. Not as often as
she wanted, at least. Partly, he was afraid of hurting her--or
worse, the baby--if he thrust too deeply. He had a right to be
concerned, too, since his dick was bigger than most. She tried to
tell him that she wasn't made of eggshells, but he was still
cautious.

For her own part, she was often too tired. Being pregnant and
keeping up with an active toddler was exhausting, and she usually
collapsed at the end of the day. Besides, with her huge belly and
extra bulk, she didn't _feel_ very sexy.

When she did feel horny, she seemed almost insatiable. She knew
it was just her body's reaction to the ups and downs of
pregnancy, but it still shocked her when she felt the desire for
sex, sex, and more sex.

After David left, she had planned to take a long bath. She
couldn't take hot baths like she truly enjoyed--her mother and
her doctor both told her to avoid them--but she _could_ fill the
tub with tepid water and soak in it.

But Paul had woken early that morning. Since then, she hadn't had
a moment to herself, and her insides were simmering.

"Did you and David...?" Susan asked, her meaning clear.

"We fooled around," Beth said at last. "Well, I took care of him,
but..." She shrugged.

Susan's eyes widened. "You mean he didn't take care of you too?"

Beth quickly shook her head. As she thought about David, her
sullenness dissipated. He loved her, even if she did look like
the Goodyear blimp, and he would've taken care of her if they'd
had time. "It was too quick," she said aloud. "And Jack was
waiting in the driveway."

Susan sat forward, her eyes sparkling intensely. "You mean you
and David...? While Jack was waiting in the car...?"

Beth grinned. Society might not approve of women who liked sex,
but what did she care? Besides, Susan wasn't about to condemn
her. If anything, she was even _more_ liberated.

"Right here on the dining room table?" Susan said, grinning
wryly.

"No," Beth said, more demure. She started to say "I gave him a
'you know,'" but she stopped herself. "I sucked him off," she
said at last. Then she shrugged. "It was all we had time for."

Susan nodded her understanding.

"I thought I'd"--she made a finger-wiggling gesture--"take care
of myself later." When Susan's eyes fairly sparkled, Beth felt a
rush of horniness and tried to suppress it. Her thoughts wandered
to the other woman's body but she quickly focused on something
else, _anything_ else. She didn't want to think of Susan in
"that" way. It was wrong, wasn't it? Still...

"I know _exactly_ what you mean," Susan said. "If I didn't take
care of myself, I wouldn't get half as much sex as I do."

"I don't do it all the time," Beth said quickly. "Just
sometimes."

"Why not?" Susan asked, genuinely curious. "I do it all the
time."

"But good girls don't--"

"Good girls don't masturbate?" Susan finished, scoffing. "Good
girls are boring. And who wants to be a good girl anyway?"

"Well, I thought...," Beth began, but trailed off. Her imagination
was ablaze with images of Susan playing with herself. Guilt and
arousal warred within her, and she felt her face turn hot.

Susan misinterpreted the reaction as shame. It _was_, but for a
different reason than she suspected. "Oh, I'd never have this
discussion with... Mary Scarlatti," she said. "Or Phyllis Waulk.
But you and me...?"

Beth felt herself relax as she finally mastered her imagination.
_Her_ treacherous _imagination,_ she thought peevishly. After a
moment to compose herself, she met Susan's eyes.

"Exactly," Susan said, sensing their unspoken agreement. "If we
can't have a friendly conversation about diddling ourselves, then
I don't know what we _can_ talk about."

Beth giggled. "Diddling?!"

"What would you call it?"

"I... I don't know," she said, her face heating further. "I guess
I've never really called it anything."

"Frigging?" Susan asked disingenuously.

Beth made a strangled sound, her eyes pleading for the other
woman to change the subject.

"Playing with ourselves?"

Beth felt her eyes bug.

"Rubbing off?"

"Susan, please!"

Susan smiled wryly. "Whatever it's called," she said, "it sure
feels good, doesn't it?"

Beth wasn't ashamed of her body--or her sexuality--but her sudden
flash of attraction for the other woman had startled her. She
didn't want to think of herself as a prude, but she had certain...
preconceptions. And one of those was that good girls didn't have
sex with women. Still, emotions struggled within her, and she
fought to sort them out.

"I'm sorry," Susan said, misreading her mood. "I shouldn't have
said anything."

"No, it's not that," Beth said. "It's just..."

Susan waited.

"I guess it's just that I'm not used to talking about it with
anyone," she lied. The truth was far more shocking, and far more
personal. "My sister... maybe," she continued the lie. "But..." She
shrugged.

"Well, we're not sisters, but..."

Beth smiled automatically--a genuine smile, not one of the
perfunctory ones she'd mastered long ago. "We're sisters of a
sort," she said, glad for the change of subject. "Besides,
Ginny"--her real sister--"certainly doesn't know I gave my
husband a blowjob before he left the house this morning."

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Susan said, leaning forward
confidentially.

Beth leaned forward as well.

"I did too," Susan half-whispered.

Beth rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "I figured that out
for myself."

The two women looked at each other and then burst into giggles.
Paul looked at them from across the room, but then went back to
his blocks, neatly building a house.

Conscious of her son and his uncomfortable habit of repeating
_exactly_ what she least wanted him to, Beth leaned forward. "I
really love doing it, too."

Susan glanced at Paul before shielding her mouth with her hand.
"Me too." Her eyes danced. "I can almost get off, just by sucking
Jack."

Beth couldn't get off just by giving head, but she certainly did
get worked up, a fact made all the more obvious as she fought not
to squirm in her seat. Her senses were afire with lust, from the
memory of David, as well as the direction the conversation had
taken.

She wasn't the only one, she noticed. If anything, Susan's
nipples were harder still, sharp points casting shadows against
the gold and brown of her blouse. For a moment, Beth's
imagination conjured an image of what Susan would look like
_without_ the blouse.

"I'd pay more than a penny for _your_ thoughts," Susan said
suddenly.

"W-why?"

She smiled.

_Knowingly?_

"You just had a... curious... look on your face," she said. "You
almost looked like ..."

Guilt made Beth reckless. "Like what?"

"Nothing," Susan said at last.

In spite of her denial, Beth was certain the other woman had seen
right through her. She felt the slippery heat between her legs,
and thoughts of a bath nearly made her tremble with anticipation.

"I'd better get home," Susan said.

Beth immediately felt guilty.

Susan's expression turned wry. "I want to get home and take a
bath before the boys get home."

She looked up in surprise.

Susan wiggled her fingers, her grin widening. "I need to, ahem,
take care of myself."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she fought to swallow.

"Don't worry," Susan said, "your secret's safe with me."

**

Beth had to wait till Paul took his nap, but when she finally
settled into the lukewarm bath, she didn't waste any time. Her
fingers found her clit and she circled it. Tingles of pleasure
quickly turned into waves of arousal.

She thought about David, and the feel of his body between her
legs. She closed her eyes and imagined the sensation of his lips
on her earlobe, her neck, her nipples. She swallowed hard,
imagining the taste of him in her mouth, the feeling as he gushed
down her throat. Her fingers circled her clit, her nostrils
flaring as she breathed deep. Love and warmth swelled within her
as she thought about David's body moving in sync with hers.

She imagined his head between her thighs, his shoulders forcing
her legs apart, the feeling of warmth as his tongue teased her.
Then she slowed her fingers and circled lazily.

With her eyes still closed, she imagined what it would be like to
feel a woman's touch. Would it be softer? More tender? Would a
woman know just where to touch her to send her into orbit?

Beth felt a sudden tightness spreading outward. The tightness
turned to warmth, a glow growing within her as she imagined her
husband's face above her. But the feeling between her legs was
still soft and tentative, gentle and insistent. It wasn't the
feeling of her husband pounding into her. It was...

She arched her back and struggled not to cry out. Every muscle
contracted as the waves washed over her. Heat and pleasure
coursed through her body, radiating from her center. She saw
spots as she clamped her eyes shut, but in her mind's eye she saw
a woman's smiling face.

Smiling Susan's smile.

Beth's eyes snapped open as she panted. She looked around the
bathroom frantically, but it was just as empty as it had been a
moment before. She lay back in the bath and shuddered with an
aftershock, the water rippling as her chest heaved. Then she
swallowed hard and moistened her lips.

"What was I thinking?" she wondered aloud.

**

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

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