by Len Levinson
“A person can almost forget the damn war here.”
“Yes. The war must be awfully hard for a soldier like you.”
His voice dropped an octave. “It is.”
“Have you seen much action?”
“Too much.”
Joanna looked at him; he was huge and handsome in the moonlight. Yet there was something sad about him. She thought it must be horrible to be a soldier and never know whether you were going to be alive or dead the next day. Any man who didn't desert or go insane was a hero as far as she was concerned.
“Have you ever been wounded?” she asked.
“Not seriously. Just a few nicks and scrapes. I came down with malaria once and had to go to the hospital on New Caledonia.”
“You've been lucky.”
“Yeah. Just about everybody in the platoon has been hurt, and a lot of the guys have gone back to the States in pine boxes. I figure my number's gonna come up any day now.”
She looked up at his face. “My number came up today, and you saved my life.”
“Anybody would've done it.”
“But you're the one who did.”
“I guess so.”
Frankie felt ill at ease. He put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet shuffling in the sand.
“Well, anyway,” he muttered, “you don't owe me anything. You would've done the same for me, wouldn't you?”
She was delighted to see him so nervous, because she knew her feminine power was doing it. “Yes, I would have tried to help you.”
“So you don't owe me anything.”
“Why are you getting so sad?”
“Who, me?” Frankie clicked on his magic smile. “I'm okay.”
“Good. So am I.”
“Well,” Frankie said, “are we gonna go swimming?”
“Sure. There aren't any sharks out there, are there?”
“You don't have to worry about sharks when the tide is coming in. It's when it's going out that you have to worry.”
“Why's that?”
“When the tide's going out it takes your scent with it, and they smell it, but when the tide's coming in, your scent doesn't go out to the sharks.”
“I don't know,” she said. “I smell pretty strong right now.”
Frankie pulled his shirt out of his pants and let the sleeves drop off his arms. He looked around and saw a piece of driftwood that the sea had sculpted into a weird conglomeration of horns and tusks, and he hung his shirt on it.
“Look the other way,” she said, unfastening the top button of her shirt.
He turned around and could hear her garments slipping off. He imagined what she looked like naked; there she was, only a few feet away. He thought of her nipples and the golden floss between her legs. He wanted to turn around and grab her, but you can't go too fast with women. You have to do it their way if you want to get what they have to give you.
He sat with his back to her and unlaced his combat boots. Waves crashed against the shore and a sea gull shrieked as he flew past overhead. She hung her clothes on the driftwood.
“I'll meet you in the water,” she said. “Don't peek.”
She ran off, and he couldn't resist looking. Her blond hair flowed behind her. She was slim but shapely. Her ass looked terrific. Frankie kicked off his boots, jumped up, and stepped out of his fatigue pants. He ran across the warm sand and saw her head and shoulders visible in the water. She waved at him and he splashed into the water, jumping over the waves until they got too high; then he dived in.
The water was warm, like swimming through Jell-O. It ran through his hair and along his body, massaging him gently, washing away the perspiration and dirt. He surfaced a few feet away from her. Her blond hair was slick against her head, making her appear smaller, a wraith of the sea.
“Water feels good,” Frankie said.
“Marvelous,” she replied, working her shoulders, and Frankie could guess that she was washing herself with her hands.
“I know something that'd feel better,” Frankie said.
“What?”
“This.”
He grabbed her, wrapped his arms around her, and brought his erection to rest against her belly. She looked up at him, smiling happily, and he lowered his head. Their lips met and tasted salty. He kissed her gently at first, teasing her, because he knew you have to get women worked up slowly, otherwise they'll think you are going too fast, and they'll accuse you of not respecting them and all that bullshit.
“Mmmmm,” she said.
He lowered his hands and cupped her firm, round ass. Her lips parted and he poked the tip of this tongue in. She melted in his arms, and he held her more tightly, so that she wouldn't slip away. Her breasts pressed against bis chest and she pushed her little bush against his thigh. She opened her mouth wider and he pushed his tongue in all the way, while she closed her lips around his tongue and sucked it.
Frankie was getting so hot, he thought the top of his head would explode. She squirmed and wiggled against him, and he ran his hands up and down her body. He wanted to stick it in right then and there, and all his plans to play it calm evaporated in the furnace that his brain had become. He wrapped both his big hands around her rib cage and lifted her up.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a little-girl voice.
He didn't reply, because he didn't want to scare her. The water made her buoyant and easy to maneuver. He lowered her slowly and she got the idea. She spread her legs and he brought her down gently so that his cock would penetrate her muff, but when they touched, he was a couple of inches away from her main spot.
“Forward a little,” she whispered.
He moved her closer to him and changed the angle of his wangle. Then he lowered her again, and this time her vulva swallowed up his cock to the hilt. She moaned softly as he moved his feet around and found more solid footing in the sand. Then he held her ass is his hands and moved her up and down, while she hugged his shoulders and covered his face with kisses. The water made her easy to lift; he rocked her up and down and from side to side, and they performed a little love tango together in the water. The moon made a wiggly line across the ocean and came to a stop on them, and the water twinkled all around them.
His passion became more intense, and he hugged her more tightly against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and squirmed like a snake, moaning and whimpering. His lips found hers and they kissed hungrily, their tongues entwining and drool dripping out the corners of their mouths. He moved her up down, jamming it in as far as it would go and then lifting her so that it almost fell out.
Frankie hadn't been laid for so long that he felt himself going crazy. He knew he couldn't control himself and let her come first. There was no way he could calm down, and he couldn't stop. As he huffed and puffed and humped like a madman he heard the little voice in his ear, saying he was going to come too soon and that wouldn't make her happy, because once women start fucking, they don't like to stop. But what could he do?
Meanwhile she was riding up and down on his orange banana. It was the strangest sex she'd ever had in her life. She thought she'd been around, but she'd never done it naked in the water before, and it was bending her head out of shape. She ran her fingers through his hair and chewed his ears. She scratched his back and bit his shoulder. Her mind flipped around in her head like a pancake on a griddle as she slid up and down on his big banana.
Frankie made a feeble effort to hold back, but it didn't work.
He closed his eyes and his knees sagged as his two little grenades exploded, sending sweet, silky love shooting deep inside her. She felt it surging through her, and it was so hot and gooey and wonderful that it pushed her over the edge into a spectacular multicolored orgasm.
“Oh!” she cried. “Oh!”
Frankie growled as he held on to her tightly and pumped hard, while she twisted and twitched, arching her back and straightening out again, squeezing him tightly with her legs He kept ejaculating, and the water around the
m became clouded with love juice, but then he became completely unraveled and lost his footing in the water.
He tipped to the side, struggled to stay up, but couldn't make it. Both of them toppled into the water and dropped below the surface. Frankie swallowed water, coughed, sneezed, and then managed to push his head up through the surface. He didn't see her around anywhere, so took a deep breath and sank down again, looking and feeling for her, but while he was down she came up, didn't see him, and ducked’ down, looking for him.
Finally they arose together and looked at each other.
“Jesus, I thought you drowned,” Frankie said.
“I thought you'd drowned.”
Frankie reached out and hugged her. “Hey, you're pretty good,” he said, still breathing heavily.
“So are you,” she replied.
They kissed again, but Frankie pulled away suddenly.
“What's the matter?” she asked.
“I hear something.”
She wrinkled her nose and listened. “I don't hear anything.”
“Ssshhhh.”
Frankie knitted his brows together and moved his head around. He thought he heard machinery of some kind but couldn't be sure, because the roar of surf on the beach was so loud.
“I still don't hear anything,” she said.
“Shut up!” he snapped.
He concentrated on the sound and gradually it became louder. It was an engine, probably a motorboat, and it was headed in their direction.
“Let's go!” he said.
“What's the matter?”
“A motorboat is coming. Come on!”
He took her hand and pushed against the water, stretching out his long legs toward the shore, but it was like one of those nightmares where you want to run but your legs won't move fast enough. The water slowed him down and he fought hard. against it, dragging Joanna with him, charging through the waves.
“I hear the boat!” she said, and that really lit a fire underneath her.
She leaped out of the water, dropped down, and leaped again like a gazelle, while he rushed toward the beach like a football player. The water dropped down to their waists and thighs, and then they really made time. They splashed across the final yards of water and hit the beach running. The motorboat was much closer now, and they dashed across the sand to where their clothes were hung on the driftwood.
Frankie took the clothes off the driftwood and dropped them on the sand, then fell to his stomach and dragged her down with him. He huggled her close to him so their sides touched and looked through the tangled driftwood toward the water.
The motorboat came into view around a small sand spit, its single searchlight flashing along the beach. Frankie squinted and recognized it as a Japanese patrol boat. He could even see the crewmembers on deck.
“Keep your head down,” he said.
She peeked through the driftwood beside him and could see the Japanese flag hanging from a short pole at the rear of the boat. They'd made it to safety just in time. Another few minutes and the Japanese would have caught them naked and in the open.
The boat moved past them, shining its light across the beach and into the jungle. Frankie and Joanna could hear the Japanese sailors talking, clanking their equipment. The boat moved slowly, examining the shoreline carefully, and Frankie wondered what they were looking for. He hoped they wouldn't be around when the submarine came to pick them up.
The patrol boat motored away, and Frankie and Joanna relaxed. They turned to each other and kissed softly. He cupped her breast in his hand; it was firm and soft at the same time, just like a breast should be.
She looked at his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “You know,” she said, “you're very good-looking.”
“So are you,” he replied, kissing her cheek and squeezing her breast. “Why don't you roll over onto your back, so's I can talk to you.”
She slapped his face lightly. “You're a bastard too.”
“I'm not a bastard. It's just that when I want something, I try to get it.”
She lay on her back and spread her legs. He crawled on top of her and stuck it in, but she wasn't greasy anymore and he had to fool around a little. She closed her eyes and went limp as he played with her, and he looked down at her face, so perfect and symmetrical.
She opened her eyes suddenly and saw him looking at her.
“What are you thinking?” she asked dreamily, because he was still messing with her.
“I was thinking about what a doll you are.”
“I really like you, Frankie,” she said. “I don't know whether or not I love you, but I know I like you.”
“I'll settle for that,” Frankie said as he slid it in.
“Ooooohhhhh,” she whispered.
He pushed it in all the way and let it soak. She took his big shaggy head in her hands and kissed his lips, sending a thrill through his body all the way down to his toes. His heart swelled up with love for her. She was definitely getting to him. Then he remembered how he'd searched through her luggage and copied the map her father had given her, and he felt shitty. He collapsed on top of her and moaned.
“What's the matter?” she asked.
Never mind.”
“Just remember your wife?”
“No.”
“What is it?”
He raised his head and looked down at her. “I feel bad,” he said.
“Am I doing something wrong?”
“No.”
“What's wrong?”
“You're gonna get mad when I tell you.”
“No I won't.”
“Yes you will.”
“I told you I won't.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. Now tell me.”
“Remember that you promised.”
“I remember.”
“Well,” Frankie said, “do you remember that map you told me about? The one your father drew to show you where the gold is?”
“Yes.”
Frankie took a breath. “I took it out of your suitcase and made a copy of it.”
“What'd you do that for?”
“Because of the gold.”
“But there isn't any gold,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“What makes you think there is gold?” she asked.
“Because Jimmy Hughes was a friend of your father's, and he told me he wouldn't lie about a thing like that.”
She raised her head two inches off the ground. “He knew my father!”
“They used to get drunk together.”
“Why didn't he say something to me!”
“Because I told him you were a hysterical woman and you wouldn't be able to handle it. I told him that because I didn't want you to know about the gold, so that I could have it all for myself someday.”
She looked up at him. “So why are you telling me now?”
“Because I love you, baby,” he said, and lowered his head so he could kiss her lips.
She pushed him away. “You really think there's gold there?”
“Yes.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
“I guess I'm not going to do anything about it, because it's yours.”
“I couldn't find it myself,” she said. “I'll need a partner. If there's any gold there, it should be enough for both of us. You wanna be my partner?”
“Sure,” he said. “I'll be your partner any day.”
“How'll we work it?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, after we leave here, I'll go back to Australia and you'll stay in the Army. How will we get together?”
“What's the biggest town on this island?” he asked.
“Munda.”
“Okay,” he said, “when the war's over, we'll meet in Munda and work out all the details. If I don't show up for thirty days and you don't hear from me, just figure that I got shot someplace and find yourself another partner.”
She pressed one finger against his lips.
“Don't say that, Frankie! You're not going to get shot someplace.”
“I might. A lot of my old buddies are pushing up daisies right now.”
“Just think about the gold, Frankie, and think about my hot little ass. Maybe that'll make you be more careful.”
“I won't forget either one,” Frankie said, taking her hot little ass in his hands and kissing her lips.
She opened her mouth and their tongues met again, just like old times. He pumped her gently and she entwined her fingers in his thick, black hair. They squirmed against each other and held each other tightly as the moon shone down upon them, showering them with pale gold.
Butsko stumbled down the path that led to the latrine, drunk out of his mind. His hat was crooked on his head and his shirt was half tucked in and half hanging out. He'd been drinking a potent beverage brewed by the natives, and it had knocked him for a loop.
He was surprised that he was so messed up. He'd been sitting there in the jungle, drinking with Jimmy Hughes and the natives, when suddenly he noticed that his head was falling toward the ground. He wondered what the natives made that stuff out of. It hadn't tasted bad either. Maybe if it had tasted bad, he wouldn't have drunk so much of it.
He came to the latrine, leaned over the pit, took out his dork, and had to catch himself because he almost lost his balance. He took a step backward and thought of how horrible it would have been to fall into all that putrid rotting shit.
He began to piss; it seemed to go on for hours. He closed his eyes, slept for a while, opened them again, and he still was pissing. Had he drunk that much? “Yep,” he said aloud, “I drank that much.”
It had started in the radio shack and ended with Jimmy Hughes and the natives. Some of the natives had passed out cold and some performed strange little dances, hopping around and wagging their asses. Butsko was going to bed after he finished pissing.
He became aware that he was drained and put his dork away. Then he took out a cigarette, lit it, and turned back toward the trail.
“That you, Butsko?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Lieutenant MacDoughal.”
The big burly lieutenant emerged from the jungle and stepped into the moonlight surrounding the latrine. He staggered because he, too, was drunk, having been sipping whiskey with Captain Eadie.
