Gender: Male Age: 64 Location: Deep, Deep, Deep South
The Therapy I Needed
My name is Scott Radner and it was the end of May 1970 and I had been out of the United States Marine Corps for a grand total of 9 weeks. I had returned Stateside from ‘Nam nearly 6 months ago on a medical evacuation flight after I had gotten busted up when the chopper I was traveling on was shot down. I was a 2 digit midget as they used to say when you were really short in your tour and about to be rotated back to the States when it had happened.
I was finishing up my 2nd tour in ‘Nam as the team leader of a Battalion Recon unit and this was likely the last trip into the boonies I would ever have to make. We had been playing up near (over) the DMZ having dropped in by night with a primary task of gathering intelligence We had ambushed a small motorized patrol and found we had captured a full blown NVA Lieutenant General and a Chinese Colonel doing a little sightseeing and I had split the team 5/4 with the 5 guys taking them back while the 4 of us set a false trail for those who were going to be following us. We led them on a merry chase for a week before slipping back across the DMZ and heading for our pickup point.
I had an open offer to go to OCS sitting in my file, but had decided that I had seen enough, heard enough, done enough and I was simply going to get out when my enlistment was up in March. I was pretty fucked up at the time and getting very hostile toward authority, especially the assholes that didn’t have a clue what they were doing, but gave us fucked up orders anyway - ‘Nam had a way of doing that.
Anyway I noticed that the chopper carrying my team and I away from our pickup point was flying really low and asked the Crew Chief if there was a problem. He covered the mouthpiece of his headset and said there sure was and his name was 1st Lieutenant Chambers, the birds’ pilot. It seemed he was looking to score “brownie points” with the squadron’s CO by trying to spot ‘charlie” on the ground so was flying below regulation height. Normal height he said was usually 1500 meters or so and here we were not more than 150 off the deck. I was just getting ready to move forward and have a “word” with this wannabe john wayne pilot when all hell broke loose. The bird took a burst of fire from the ground that killed the pilot, severely wounded the co-pilot and damaged the front rotor.
The co-pilot did a hell of a job keeping the bird (a Ch-46 without power has the glide ratio of a brick) in the air and managed to get us about 8 klicks downrange from where we initially took fire, screaming out Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, as he gave our coordinates on the radio. We finally came down and came down hard. Everyone in the back of the Chinook was pretty busted up with lots of broken bones and a couple of severe look gashes and cuts, me being one of them. Well everybody but our “medic,” a short little Mexican-American with a perverse sense of humor named Miguel Gomez, who got bruised up a bit, but nothing broken or busted. We scrambled and set up a defensive perimeter as best we could, knowing that if the VC found us before help arrived we were dead meat and we hoped like hell that help was on the way. We found out later that there was 3 full battalions of VC and a full regiment of NVA in the area and the pilots had been cautioned about flying too low. Hell I haven’t yet figured out why they sent that big bastard to pick us up in the first place other than I had heard that it was a tad faster than most of the other choppers with a bit greater range.
The crew chief and another crew member got the co-pilot out and applied temporary bandages to the 3 bullet wounds he had and left that dead son of a bitch pilot handing from his straps. I recommended the co-pilot for the CMH and he ended up with a Navy Cross which I thought grossly unfair considering what he had done.
I had a pretty good gash across my forehead and another down my cheek that bled pretty badly, and I knew that more than a couple ribs were busted because I could feel them grating whenever I moved too quickly. Miguel told me that the co-pilot would live if we got him to help fairly soon and then said that Steve Michaels, our explosives guy and Joe Barton, who handled heavy weapons were mirror images of one another in that their injuries were exactly the opposite of each other. Me, he said, would have a couple of nice sinister looking scars on my face and for me not to try passing them off as dueling scars because everyone would think I was a lousy swordsman.
The first incoming rounds started to go ping off the body of the chopper when 3 gunships showed up and began blowing the shit out of the bad guys. A couple of jets then moved in and dropped napalm on 3 sides of us and two dust-offs were right behind them and behind them a sky-crane to retrieve the downed bird. We got loaded on board the dust-off and were soon on our way to the hospital.
I was lucky as the x-rays confirmed that I had 4 broken ribs, but they weren’t broken all the way through, they were what were called non-displaced rib fractures. The biggest danger was the possibility of pneumonia setting in so after they had strapped me up they started me on breathing treatments that forced me to take deep breaths and it hurt like a son of a bitch! Since I was so short on my tour it was decided that I would be shipped home to recover and get out. I ended up in Balboa Naval Hospital where I spent my days laying in the sun and healing. Finally the day arrived and I was discharged from the hospital and 3 weeks later the Corps and I parted ways.
I had taken my discharge on the West Coast and had saved up the vast majority of my earnings while in the Corps. That and a really good run of luck at the nightly poker games has given me a respectable road stake of about 10 grand, most of which I had converted to traveler’s checks. I had no real family to return to as dad had died when I was very young, mom had passed during my first tour in ‘Nam, and I had no brothers or sisters. I had a couple of aunts and uncles and a slew of cousins, but I was never close to any of them and had never, in fact, met the majority. I was just drifting around the country traveling where I wanted, doing what I wanted. I had a really short fuse to my temper, probably drank too much, and was very sexually frustrated because when girls saw my face they just avoided me. Oh, I wasn’t ugly, ugly, but I wasn’t my usual handsome pre-war self either so I picked up the occasional hooker and got my rocks off, but it wasn’t the same.
I used to be fairly good looking; at least I never had a real problem getting into a girl’s pants when I was in high school especially once the word of my abnormality spread. I stood 6’ 3” tall and weighed 195 lbs and I was blond haired and blue eyed. I had an average size cock of some 6 ½ inches in length and maybe 4 ½ inches around behind the helmet. I did have one somewhat unusual physical attribute in that I was able to take my tongue and completely cover the end of my nose with it or, if I went the other way, I could place the tip of my tongue under my chin. When I stuck it out from my mouth it measured nearly 5 ½ inches from my lips to the tip, yet somewhat surprisingly it never affected my speech or gave me any other problems. I had let my blond hair start growing a couple of months before I got out and now it hung to just below my shoulders and was raggedy looking because I never had it cut or shaped. I made a conscious effort to keep in shape running a couple of miles every day and doing a minimum of 50 push-ups, sit-ups, and bends and mothers every morning.
I was feeling pretty good, it was a nice and warm, sunny Friday, I had cash in my pocket and the ’63 MGB I was driving was purring along I-70 in Kansas when I hit a section of highway that would make a laundry washboard look and feel like a smooth slab of steel. I was doing about 70 mph when it happened. I figure that the rapid up and down motion caused the rear leaf springs to fail because one moment the ass end of the little car was in the air and the next the whole ass end of the car was dragging on the interstate and then the rear wheels blew from the force of the body rubbing on them. I managed to steer to the side of the highway and sat there for a minute or two thinking that this was really fucking weird, then I smelled gasoline. I unassed myself from the car real quick pulling the dry chemical fire extinguisher from the back storage area with me as I went. I scurried to the back of the car and saw a thick trail of gas leading back onto the roadway. Christ I thought, all I need is for some asshole to come along and flick out a cigarette butt and poof no more Scott and no more MGB. I pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher and covered the gas trail from the roadway in and then sprayed as much of the dry chemical powder under the car as I could or rather until I ran out of the shit.
So there I was sitting on the side of the road completely broke down and not a pay phone in sight. It wasn’t long before a State Trooper showed up and after looking at my paperwork said that while he couldn’t give me a ride he would tell the wrecker service in the next town to come and get me. He asked me a bunch of questions about myself like how long I had been out, where I had served, and where I was heading. It wasn’t the 3rd degree, but it got real close to it. After about 20 minutes I saw a tow truck heading in the opposite direction and watched as he drove on past to a turnaround about a half mile away. Five minutes later he was pulling up to the back of my car.
He introduced himself as Jack Savage of Jack’s Towing, Auto Repair, and Salvage in Paxico, KS.
“Hell of a mess you got there Scott” said Jack after he had looked the situation over for a bit. He got in and turned his truck around so that his hook was at the back of my car. He then threw a couple of chains around the rear axle and started lifting the ass end of the car in the air. As he did so the drive shaft hit the ground with a loud “thunk” and Jake reached under and pulled it free of the transmission. He got out a series of straps and lashed the steering wheel so that the front tires faced directly forward and said “Let’s go.” I climbed in the cab and when a break in the traffic happened he pulled a fast u-turn and we were off. It was only 4 miles to his exit and it wasn’t long before we were sitting in his office having a cold beer.
“Well now” said Jake, “let’s see what the damage is and we can take it from there” He had spotted my car over a lift when he brought it into his yard and now he hit the hydraulic levers to raise it up in the air. The muffler was gone from the headers back, well not exactly gone as it had been squashed pretty flat when the body fell on it. It was the muffler that had punched a hole in the gas tank and Jake whistled when he saw that. “Scott” he said “you have to be one lucky son of a bitch that your car didn’t go up in flames.” I already knew that the tires were gone, but when I looked at the rims I could see they were badly damaged as well. The leaf springs were simply gone, the drive shaft and u-joint were damaged, and I didn’t know whether the transmission had taken a hit or not. The car was a wreck and we both knew it.
Back in Jake’s office, drinking another cold beer, we went over the list with Jake telling me that I would be lucky if parts could be found in Kansas City. More likely he said it was going to be either Chicago or New York and was the car worth that much to me. We drank a couple more beers and he said he would call around and let me know what he had found. There wasn’t a hotel or motel around, but I was used to camping out so that wasn’t a problem. Jake offered me his couch as he said he was going over to his girlfriends in the next town over and wouldn’t be back until morning. I said thanks and asked him if there was a place I could pitch my tent and he pointed down his yard and said that all the way at the end there was a nice shady spot and pond the local kids sometimes used for swimming and making out, but he doubted anyone would be there tonight to hassle me. I thanked him and grabbing my pack and throwing it over my shoulders I picked up my ice chest, to which I added the six pack Jake had given me, and turned to start trudging when Jake called out “Here” and tossed me the keys to a vintage 1943 Dodge WC-62 1 1/2-ton 6x6. “I trust you not to run off with it.”
“Thanks Jake” I said as I tossed my gear in back. The truck fired right off and sure didn’t sound like the stock 218 CID engine. I quickly figured the shift pattern and away I went in search of a little peace and quiet. I spent an uneventful night and the next morning got up early and headed back up to Jake’s office. Jake had been in the office for nearly an hour by the time I arrived and after I had poured a cup of coffee and sat down he tossed me a yellow legal pad. On it, neatly listed, was every part I needed for the MGB to put it right and out to the side the cost to replace. The total came to just under $1,800 and I sat there for a minute soaking it in.
“Look Scott, I know this is a hard decision to make, but in all honesty it would cost more to fix your car than it’s worth” said Jake.
“I know that,” I replied, “but they are the only set of wheels I have and I have nowhere else to go.”
“What about your family” Jake asked me.
I explained that I was an orphan and my car and the gear in it were the sum total of my worldly possessions. I felt a twinge of sadness go through me as I said that, but nothing showed on my face.
Jake said he would sell me the Dodge truck I had driven the previous night for an even $1,000 and take my MGB figuring that he could get maybe another $750 to $1000 for it in parts. The truck, he said, was one that his dad had bought surplus with the idea of making a wrecker out of it, but couldn’t find the right engine. “Then” he said, “the son the biggest farmer in the area and a real prick, you know quarterback of the high school football team and “stud” about town, had rolled the pretty and shiny 1967 Dodge RamCharger 4x4, with its special ordered Mopar 440 engine, his daddy had brought him for graduation.” This is a prick who less than six months before he finished high school and just after football season was mysteriously classified 4-F by the draft board.
Now I have a great deal of respect for those who were legitimately against the war (and still do) and refused to fight for moral or religious reasons and even those that fled to Canada to avoid having to serve because they were acting out of strong personal convictions, but I cannot stand a punk that has daddy find him a cushy slot in the Guard or claims 4-F status under false pretenses. It just really pisses me off.
“Well,” said Jake “I towed the truck in here and when his daddy showed up the next day told him that the frame had been bent.” “Well he got all excited at that and said he was calling his insurance company to have the truck declared totaled and then signed the truck over to me for the cost of the towing charges before storming out.” “Hell” said Jake “I didn’t even get the chance to explain to him that the frame was only bent a little at the very back end and that I could most probably straighten it for a couple of hundred dollars.”
“Anyway he tried to claim I cheated him by saying the truck was totaled when it was not and we had words.” “I called him a fucking liar in front of his wife, son, and daughter and told him that if he continued spreading lies about me I was going to make him tell the truth,” said Jake as he continued with the story. “His son, who has less sense than a rock, took a swing at me and tagged me one on the jaw screaming that I can’t talk to his daddy like that.” “Well I turned toward him because he had sucker punched me and backhanded him to the floor.” “I started to get in his face tell him what a goddamned fool he was when someone shouted “Look Out!”
“Now when a person yells something like that to me I just naturally duck as low as I can and it was a good thing too or his daddy would have smeared my brains all over that place with the barstool he was swinging.” “I came up out of my crouch with a hard uppercut to his wind followed by a rising knee to his face and that was the fight.” “His son had a broken nose and he was out cold and you know” he said to me “I could swear that it was his daughter that gave me that warning.” “I grabbed a pitcher of beer and poured it all over his face and when he started to come around I grabbed him by the hair and poked my pen in the side of his neck like it was a knife blade. I told him he had better start telling the truth as I was tired of his lies and bullshit and if he didn’t I was going to cut his throat and to hell with the consequences.”
“He started mumbling something and I told him to speak more clearly.” “That’s when I discovered that I had broken his jaw” he said to me “so I grabbed a waitress’s pad, handed him my pen, and told him to by god write the truth about everything or I was going to break his goddamned neck after I had dismantled his body.” “He sat there and scribbled for a good 5 minutes before coming to a stop. I took it from his hands and I asked one of the Deputy Sheriffs that had arrived on the scene to read what he had written so folks couldn’t say I was telling stories.
“Now I must have either really put the fear of god into that sorry bastard or my knee had shocked his brain something awful for not only did he confess to lying about what I had said about the truck, but he also admitted to having an affair with another woman.” “He said that for several years he had been blackmailing a woman that worked for him to having sex any time he wanted and his “rights” included both he and his son molesting her three underage children!”
“Now let me tell you that this bit of news sent shockwaves around the room, but he wasn’t finished, no, not by a long shot.” “He went on” said Jake with relish in his voice, “to confess to working with two local bankers to advance loans to local farmers who were having difficulties and when they defaulted he had a corporation he and the bankers had set up buy the property from the bank at a steep discount.”
“Oh he was a slimy bastard all right,” he went on, “he, and his son when old enough, were involved in ripping off people in 3 counties, and he was the one behind the movement to have the three counties voted dry, because he couldn’t get the local beer distributor and several of the bars to sell a piece of their business to him.” “Scott,” Jake said, “I want to tell you that by that point, the men wanted to take him and his son out and string them up, and the women, well they wanted to cut off his and his son’s balls with dull scissors and then feed them to each other.” “If it hadn’t been for those two Deputy Sheriffs and a half dozen more they had called in for backup there would have been blood spilled that night” he finished.
“Anyway” Jake said, “he had pulled the original engine out of the old dodge and replaced it with the blown Mopar 440, the transmission, transfer case, rear axle and far too much other stuff to list. “Basically what you have here Scott” he went on, “ is a truck that looks exactly like a lengthened and slightly modified 1943 Dodge WC-54 on a 1 1/2-ton 6x6 frame, but under the skin is a completely modern vehicle.” “Now I am not going to drive that truck, I started it as a restoration project and got carried away.” “95% of the parts came from my salvage yard and what I did have to buy was pretty cheap” he said, “and besides you need a vehicle”
“I won’t argue with you Jake” I said “and the truck would work perfectly for me.” “With a little work inside I could easily turn the space in the back into a nice small camper and with its off road capabilities go places I could never have reached with the MG.” “Let me think about it and I’ll tell you in the morning” I said.
“Now I’m curious” I said to Jake, “that’s one hell of a story and I would like to know what happened to them after that night?”
“Well the Feds claimed precedence and after the trial they were convicted and are serving 25 years to life for everything from tax evasion, violation of federal banking laws, kidnapping and violation of the Mann Act and a whole slew of other crimes” said Jake smiling, I think it’s what is called “piling on” as they added every small violation they could find.” Then, to top it off” Jake continued, “the State decided to hold their trial as well.” “Normally the State will withhold taking someone to trial if they are being tried by the Feds’, but in this case, since the pair of them had done so much damage locally it was decided to try them anyway.” “The jury convicted them both of every single charge the Grand Jury brought against them and the Court sentenced the pair to another 35 years each with the sentence to run consecutively to the federal one so should he or his son ever get paroled they will move from the federal pen right to the state pen!”
“Ok, so what happened to the mother and daughter” I asked? “I figure they got divorced and moved, but did they end up with anything at all after the dust and restitution claims were settled?” “It just seems unfair that they would be made to suffer because of those two assholes” I went on.
“It’s funny you should mention that” said Jake, “Cathy, the woman I am seeing is Hansen’s ex-wife and his daughter Kristin should be home from college tonight and I invited them to come over for dinner this evening.” “I think that you would really like Kristin” said Jake, “she is tall like her mother and has the same red hair and slender build.”
“I don’t want to discourage your match-making Jake” I said, but girls aren’t really interested in me” I said pointing to the scars on my face. “Every one of them I have met has turned away once they got a close look and I have just gotten used to the rejection” I said a bit bitterly. “Hell! Even some of the hookers I have picked up had a hard time looking at me and that really sucks!”
Jake just looked at me for a long minute and then continued as if nothing had happened or been said “They both lost a lot and had to sell all but the quarter section of land and the main house to pay all the debts off, but that quarter section was hers originally as she inherited it from her folks and her brother inherited the same size piece of land across the road from her.” “You met her brother by the way” he said.
“Jake, there’s only one person from this town I have ever met and that’s you” I replied.
“Nope” he said “think about it for a minute.”
Well I racked my brain for a couple of minutes when it finally hit me. “That State Trooper is her brother” I asked?
“Sure is” replied Jake. “He’s the one who came and got me because he saw you had been in the Corps and he knows I have a soft spot for my fellow Marines.”
“You were Corps” I asked somewhat astonished.
Jake unbuttoned his work shirt and took it off, then he pulled up the short left sleeve of his tee-shirt and there was the patch for the 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines (2/5) with its motto “Retreat Hell.” There isn’t a more highly decorated Infantry battalion in the entire Marine Corps and they are considered to be the best of the best by those that would know. “I was too young to fight in WW II, but when I turned 18 in 1945 I enlisted right after I finished high school and served in the Corps from 1945 to 1953. My father and grandfather before me were Marines and I lost two toes at Frozen Chosen, but I made it back.” Jake paused for a minute and seemed to collect his thoughts.
“I don’t talk about this often and maybe I should” he said quietly, “my son, Jason was born in 1945, 3 months after I enlisted.” “His mother was my high school sweetheart and she and I were secretly married when we found out she was pregnant with Jason.” “From the time Jason was born all he wanted to be was a Marine Fighter Pilot and he learned everything he could about jets and flying.” Jake smiled and said “Hell, I think he spent more time at the county airstrip than at home after he turned 12 and I always knew that if I needed to find him all I had to do was go there and there he would be trying to cage rides from the pilots – and I’ll be damned if he didn’t get more than just a few.” “Jason was an exceptional child.” said Jake, “he was born with an extraordinary mind and lightening quick reflexes.” “School was a breeze for him and he finished high school when he was 16.”
“He went off to college and studied aeronautical engineering at Wichita State and really thrived.” “Of course,” said Jake “I am glossing over many of the obstacles both he and I faced but we overcame them all.” “When he turned 18 he went to the Marine recruiters and told them he wanted to enlist as a fighter pilot and the recruiters laughed at him.” “They stopped laughing when he maxed all the tests and showed them what he had accomplished so far.” “A week later I received a visit from a couple of Marine Officers who wanted to know more about my son because he was such a prodigy.”
He was 18 ½ when he finished all the course work for his degree and by the time graduation at Wichita State rolled around he had finished boot camp and graduated from OCS the week before.” “Watching him cross the stage in his Dress Blues brought a lump to my throat and tears to his mother’s eyes.”
Jake paused for a minute or so before continuing. “He went to NAS Pensacola for flight school and from the first day was at the head of his class” said Jake. “Nothing seemed to bother him and he said that there were rumors floating around that NASA was considering him for a slot in the Astronaut Corps.” “He went from NAS Pensacola to MCAS El Toro when he finished basic and advanced flight school where he was taught the finer points of flying the McDonell-Douglas Phantom II F4-B in combat situations.” “He finished his final polishing in August 1967 and after 30 days leave he shipped for Vietnam.”
Jake started to get choked up and when I asked if there was anything I could do he just shook his head no. We sat there for several minutes in silence and finally Jake said in a low, soft voice
“On October 7th, 1967 my wife and I were paid a visit by a Marine Corps Major and a Navy Chaplain” “They told me that on the evening of October 5th, 1967 my son, on his 3rd combat mission, was shot down by a SAM rocket near the DMZ.” They said that there were signs that both of them had ejected, but no sign of them was found on the ground nor did the VC parade them around as being captured like they usually did when they snagged a pilot.” “The hell of it is” said Jake with tears streaming down his cheeks “is not knowing whether he is alive or dead.” “My wife Caroline couldn’t take the stress and one day, just before Christmas 1967 took my .45, jacked a round into the chamber, and placing the pistol just below her left breast pulled the trigger.”
Christ, I didn’t know what to do or say and then, surprisingly, I found me on my feet walking around his desk to him. I didn’t know what had come over me, but I squatted down in front of him, placed my hand on his shoulder, looked him squarely in the eyes, and said “Jake, he’s alive” and he looked up at me. “I don’t know how and I don’t know why I do, but I just have this very strong feeling that Jason is still alive and that one day he will come home.”
Jake looked at me like I had lost my mind and perhaps I had. I got up and walked out to the truck and started it. I then drove back to my campsite and just sat sucking on a cold beer at 10 in the morning. Jack’s two stories impacted me deeply, especially the one about his son and the suicide of his wife. I tried to think why it was that I said to Jack that his son was alive and more importantly why I fully believed that one day his son would come home to him. I must have sat there for hours drinking beer before finally drifting off into a sleep that was plagued with flashbacks and nightmares.
I don’t know how long I slept, but I woke drenched in sweat with a foul taste in my mouth and a blinding headache. All signs that I knew from experience signaled another nasty flashback. I reached into my dopp kit and pulled out the bottle of pain killers one of the doctors had given me for my headaches before I got out. He had told me to use them sparingly because they could be addicting, but that if I needed a refill I was to take my medical records to the nearest VA hospital and they would refill my bottle for me. They really chewed up my stomach, especially when it was empty, but when I woke up from one of these episodes the last thing on my mind was food. I actually preferred taking a couple of shots to ease the pain, but then that led to taking more shots and then even more shots until I eventually passed out again. There were times when I felt my life was starting to spin out of control and I didn’t know what the hell to do about it.
The pond looked really cool and refreshing in the late afternoon sunlight after I got my wits back and I decided to take a dip and scour off some of the stink. I pulled my shirt over my head and shucked out of my jeans and socks and grabbing my towel burst out of my tent at a dead run for the water. I had pitched my tent about 20 feet from the pond and had covered about half the distance when I heard a sharp intake of breath and a girl’s voice called out “are you Scott.” I looked back over my shoulder and was awestruck by the vision of perfect beauty I be held. I was so distracted that I didn’t see whatever it was that caught my left foot sending me sprawling head over heels into the water to end up with my feet on shore, my ass laying in about 6 inches of water while my hands stuck straight down below me and could find no bottom.
I tried to flip over, but couldn’t get any leverage, until finally in desperation I raised my right leg in the air and swung it over to the right before rapidly swinging it to the left. This gave the rest of me enough impetus to roll to my left, burying my cock and balls in the mud and my upper body under water. I still couldn’t touch bottom so I stroked like mad with my outspread arms to keep my head above water and tried to use my feet and toes to push me into deeper water without much success until I emulated an inchworm and flopped my way into deeper water. It wasn’t pretty, but it did work. I flipped around underwater and at last found my footing. I looked for my towel, but it was nowhere in sight. I shook the water out of my ears and brushed the hair from my face and looked shoreward.
Lying on the grass and rolling around in laughter was that magnificent vision of loveliness that had so distracted me to begin with. From what I remembered from my brief glance I estimated that she was between 5’8’’ and 6’ with long red hair and a relatively slender body. She was wearing a very, very pale green sundress that complimented her coloration and from what I could see from my position in the water had on neither a bra nor panties. When that clicked in my brain my cock, in spite of the cool water surrounding it, immediately became as hard as a bar of solid steel. I looked down and could see the head of my cock straining as if it wanted to reach the surface a couple of inches above it and quickly realized that if I could see it so could she. I looked up and saw her staring at me with her beautiful lips slightly parted and her tongue lightly caressing the bottom one.
I took another 2 steps backward and immediately went underwater again as the bottom fell out under my rear foot. I came up sputtering as I hadn’t been prepared and was somewhat short of breath. Again I shook my head to clear the water out of my ears and pushed the hair out of my face as I treaded water. I looked back to shore only to find this red headed vixen laughing all over again. I could feel the heat in my face, neck, and upper chest as I blushed even more furiously than before and decided to try and regain a little bit of control back.
“Excuse me, Miss” I called out seeking to get her attention focused on me. It took nearly a minute and a dozen calls before she finally acknowledged me with a languorous “Yes.”
“Excuse me” I said, “but have you seen a blue towel anywhere, I seem to have lost it.” I could tell that she was really trying hard to keep a straight face and not succeeding all that well.
“Yes sir,” she replied trying to stifle a giggle that escaped anyway, “the last I saw it was slowly sinking in the middle of the pond” and she snickered.
“Well damn” I replied, “I really needed that towel.”
“Now why would you need a towel sir?” she asked.
“Why to dry off of course” I responded.
“But sir,” she replied “it is a beautiful and warm afternoon and I am sure that you would dry most effectively in you were to but sit on this lush grass for a little bit.”
I could see where this was going so I decided to play along and I have to admit that she certainly was worthy of my undivided attention. “Yes Miss, I understand that,” I replied “but there is another reason that I am loathe to give for fear that it might offend your beautiful and sensitive ears with such crudeness.”
“Well sir” she asserted “while my ears are undoubtedly beautiful, or at least so I have been told, they are nowhere near as sensitive as you may imagine.” “Now please sir your other reason.”
“Well Miss” I said “while I am still loathe to express it I fear I must.” “The simple fact is that I am quite without clothing and I would not wish to either frighten you or offend your delicate sensibilities by emerging from the water without something to cover my nakedness.”
Her next response through me for a complete loop for she said: “What sir shall you give me were I to retrieve a fresh towel for you?”
I figured that the game had run its course and she was tiring of it – I was wrong.
“Why anything that is within my ability to give Miss” I answered “You need but ask and I will give it to you upon the instant if at all humanly possible.”
With that she rose straight to her feet and walking over to my tent pulled out my other towel. She then sauntered back to the edge of the pond, kicked off her sandals, and waded out to the edge of the drop off. She rolled the towel tightly and with a smooth underhand toss put it right in my outstretched hand. She then went back to where she had dropped her sandal and bent at the waist to retrieve them and in the process giving me one hell of a shot of her upper thighs, lower ass cheeks and in between the two the puffy lips of her pussy and I would almost swear that her asshole winked at me. I didn’t think it was possible for my cock to get any harder, but it did!
As she swished her way back to her resting place I scurried up the underwater embankment to shallower water and quickly unfolded the towel holding it out in front of me so as to conceal my raging hardon and not a millisecond too soon as no sooner did she reach the place where she had been sitting than she spun around and said “Sir, you did agree to accede to my wish in return for my providing you with a towel did you not?”
“Most certainly Miss, is there something I can do for you right this minute” I asked.
“Why yes there is” she responded, “I want you to come over here beside me and spread your towel out so that I may recline upon it while you eat my sopping wet pussy.”
Once I mentally overcame my shock at hearing her say that I said to her “Fair Maiden did my ears hear you correctly, for I thought I heard you say for me to come over there and perform a sexual act upon your stupendous body?”
“Are you always this slow of wit Sir, or perhaps a bit hard of hearing,” she snapped in mock anger, “you heard me correctly and by your own admission you owe me, so get over here!”
With all due haste I made it to her side where I spread my towel and then scooped her up in my arms and gently deposited her on it. I slipped her dress off over her head and sat back on my haunches and marveled at her perfectly formed 36B breasts. As far as I was concerned she was an exquisite work of art to he handled like the finest china and I was about to rock her world.
I lay between her legs and for just a moment allowed my nostrils to fill with her scent savoring every aspect of the complex aromas rising from her dripping cunt. I extended and hardened my tongue and then slowly dragged it from her beautifully formed rosebud up the length of her slit trying to gather every drop of her sweet tasting nectar before slowly circling her rather pronounced clit. Kristin, for that is who I imagined her to be, sucked in her breath before releasing it in low, deep sounding hiss and raised her pelvis off the ground to mash her cunt into my face.
I lowered my head and began again except this time I probed her anus with the tip of my tongue, slipping maybe three quarters of an inch in past her ring of sphincter muscles. I swirled my tongue inside her and she let out a grunt as her hips involuntarily contracted. I withdrew my tongue and circled her rosebud before beginning my journey to the top of her slit, but this time I allowed the very tip of my tongue to drag lightly over the top of her blood engorged clit. Another sharp intake of breath followed by the same low, deep hiss, but this time it was accompanied by a slight shiver as her pelvis lifted.
Up and down, up and down went my head and tongue, licking and probing her ass and cunt. Slowly I slipped first one finger and then a second into her hot oozing cunt before sliding one finger and then the second into her asshole and gently eased my thumb into the space vacated by my fingers. My other hand that had been engaged in fondling first one perfect breast and then the other, taking a nipple each time and rolling it between thumb and forefinger, moved down to her abdomen to try and keep her ass anchored to the ground as she was constantly bucking.
Her breathing was coming in gasps as she inhaled and hisses as she exhaled and her bright green eyes had taken on a glazed look. I could feel that she was approaching that point of massive release so I angled the hand on her abdomen down so that my fingers could reach her clit. As I mashed downward on her clit with my fingers I shoved the two in her ass in as far as they would go and extended my abnormal tongue inside her pussy and found her G-spot.
The scream she let out would have woken the dead and certainly shattered any crystal had there been any nearby as her massive orgasm overtook her. Her body rippled from her head to her feet and her head flailed from side to side as wave after wave of her orgasm ripped through her perfectly splendid body. I gave her cunt one last lick from ass to clit with my tongue fully extended to its maximum and as hard as I could possibly make it. Her body began its convulsions all over again as another even more massive orgasm racked her young nubile body. I crawled up and wrapped my arms around her, kissing her lightly and gently stroking her hair until she had calmed down. Once she had settled down somewhat I stood and went to my cooler where I pulled a bottle of Seven-Up from the cold ice water and reached into my tent and grabbed a washcloth that I dipped into the ice water and wrung out.
I opened the bottle with a church-key and handed it to her as I knew her throat had to be bone dry. She looked at me and nodded thanks and after letting her take a couple of swallows I squatted down beside her and gently wiped her sweaty face with the cold, damp washcloth.
Kristin let out a sensual moan of pleasure as the cold, damp cloth came into contact with her flushed skin and she looked at me with an intense stare. She then reached for my face with her hands and pulling it to her kissed me on the lips and then traced the scars on my face with her lips. She then kissed me with a level of passion I had never before experienced. When she finally broke away she said staring deeply into my eyes “that was the tenderest, most passionate, and mind blowing orgasm I have ever had in my entire life and I am quite afraid that you and your tongue have ruined me for no other will ever be acceptable!” and then hugged me with surprising strength smashing my raging hardon between our bellies.
“Oh my, you took care of me and no one has taken care of you.” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “I’ll have to take care of that right now” as she literally swallowed my cock to its root. The feeling was so intense I went straight to the ground, completely helpless to do anything but lay there! She began bobbing her head rapidly up and down and she deep throated me with every stroke. One of her hands held and fondled my balls while the other pulled, tugged, and yanked on my nipple all the while rolling it between her fingers. I could feel the pressure rapidly building and so could she. Just before I erupted she took the thumbnail of the hand caressing my nipples and pinched a nipple between it and her finger. The pain was so intense I though my heart had stopped and then my cock exploded. If I had had a chronograph available I am certain that it would have measured the speed of my cum leaving the tip of my cock and impacting at the back of her throat as having broken the sound barrier. Each blast seemed stronger than the one before it and it felt like my cock was recoiling after every one. My toes curled and every fiber of my being was focused on the tip of my cock. Even the toothless hooker in Bangkok, by who I used as my measuring yardstick for all blowjobs thereafter couldn’t hold a candle to this amazingly beautiful young woman.
She pulled and licked, and sucked on me until I started to get hard once again. I knew her intent and said, “there is nothing I like more than slipping my cock into a beautiful woman and Kristin you are certainly a beautiful woman, but we simply don’t have time.” “Jake told me to be at his house at 6pm sharp and not to be late.” “Since it’s now 5:30 we just have enough time to take a quick plunge and get the sweat off us and still make it in time”
“Oh pooh” she said “you’re no fun at all” and with that she jumped to her feet, ran a dozen or so steps, and plunged into the pool with me but a step or two behind her. When I surfaced I could see my bar of Ivory floating a short distance off and swam over and retrieved it. Kristin was standing in water to her waist and raised her right foot to the surface. There clasped between her toes was my other towel. I took it from her and threw it ashore and then I gently scrubbed her body as she did mine. We rinsed and walked to shore holding hands and I felt like a bloody teenager all over again. Using the towel I carefully dried her, avoiding the rather large wet spot toward one end and as she slipped her sun dress back on I finished drying off and slipped on a pair of shorts and a light pullover shirt. I grabbed my wallet and the keys to the truck and within a couple of minutes we were headed back to Jake’s house.
There could be more if you like – just let me know – THX
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