“Excuse me, uh, Jessica.” He slipped by her, butt first.
“It’s Jocelyn. Give me a sec to dress, I’ll give you a ride back.” She pulled jeans over her naked hips.
“I’m good, Jocelyn.”
“But if you’re AWOL—” A tight T-shirt squeezed bare breasts, hard nipples pointed at him.
“I’ll be fine.” He cupped his hands over his bulging zipper as he departed and hoped he could find the way back to Sheridan.
Though Jocelyn had sex with him twice, they’d gone so fast. She worked her clit deftly in the tub, pressed the little sprayer tight to her pussy and finessed a nice orgasm. She still needed to feel a man. It was Saturday, and tonight the Top 5 would be hopping.
Indeed, a half dozen men approached. Jocelyn picked over them, including one agile fellow who had accompanied her to Trick π a few months before and with whom she’d had toe-clenching sex. She instantly regretted sending him away, but did not take corrective action.
She sat on the same bar stool she’d taken the prior night, wondering where the night had gone.
“Jocelyn?”
She felt a strange sense of relief. “Didn’t get thrown into the stockade?”
“I was lying. I’m on a three-day pass. I’m a shit liar.” Alex shrugged. “The truth is, I’m just not into casual, you know, sex.”
Jocelyn blurted a laugh then bit her lip. “Really? I mean, you were pretty Johnny on the spot with the Trojans.”
“Well, that was…that’s different.” He turned away.
“I meant no offense.” Actually, she did; his reaction surprised her.
Big strong grunt, tank commander, his voice kind of choked up. “I mean, I—look I, I just, I don’t like casual, you know, sex.”
“Enough said. I’m not your type.”
“Really, it’s not that. May I?” He pointed to the bar stool by her.
She nodded. And within seconds, the conversation was strangely warm. She didn’t quite get him, and she liked this. For the second night of her day-beggar weekend, she did not drive back to the apartment alone.
Alex had never known a woman like her. She was like something from the pages of Playboy magazine. Better, really. She was funny, beautiful, dressed so sexy, so at ease with herself. They talked long into the night on a gaudy chaise lounge. She led him to the bed he’d awoken in and squeezed the rubber that he had left behind over his cock.
Jocelyn’s face was so beautiful, looking up at him. “Mmm. You feel so good in me, Alex.”
A tingle shot up his shaft, his balls tight as a peach. Yes, he had become better at getting down to business where a woman’s recompense was a wad of marks. No expectations, no remorse, fast relief, so he focused away from the gorgeous face, body and voice beneath him. He managed to stretch it out until Jocelyn’s head turned from side to side and her hips thrust like a jackhammer. She pounded the bed, punctuated by an orgasmic shout. He quickened his pace and drew a deep breath as he careened toward release.
The rubber tore. “Oh shit!” He quickly pulled out. “Do you have another?”
“I can go you one better.” Jocelyn bent over his lap. He’d only had this done a couple times and didn’t like it. The sensation was strange; it never made him come.
Her tongue swirled around his tip. Like a hair-trigger rifle, he exploded. Jocelyn spat the juice onto his muscular stomach and wiped her chin. “Christ! Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I—I’m sorry!”
“At least warn a girl. Shit!”
Not her type of man, Alex. Military bearing, dress-right-dress, muscle-bound Alex. Acted kind of dumb, but he got her strange sense of humor, Alex. And yet, he had left her so satisfied. The memory of his surprise ejaculation even turned her on.
Jocelyn always wore sexy lingerie to work, a secret beneath her uniforms, and though she knew Alex would never approve of this, she felt a similar secret inside him. There was such unrealized potential in him.
She hated that she invited him next Sunday, the next day she’d be at Trick π. He hadn’t answered. Now she worried he would not come.
The next Saturday, Alex was as horny as he had ever been. He dressed to go to Forty Mark Park. His hand was on the door of his old Audi, pocket of rolled-up marks. He went back in. He took a deep breath and vowed not to go to Trick π the next day despite Jocelyn’s warm invitation but all he could think of was the small apartment just a couple of clicks off post and that damned fascinating, amazing woman.
Jocelyn stripped off her robe. Nothing underneath but silver jewelry. “Undress, please, Alex. Have a seat.”
He took the chair by the bed. His jaw slackened as she caressed herself, warmed her nipples with her lips and tongue, then cooled them in a stream of breath. She lay down and demonstrated just how much force her body could take. Pulled her nipples, assaulted her clit, even swatted her ass.
Alex’s cock curled toward the ceiling; a glossy line of juice trickled to his hard balls. His hands clenched the arm of the chair like an aviophobe in profound turbulence. Jocelyn thought he might break the arms of the chair. Oh, the power in those hands, those arms, she wanted that power. “Fuck me, Alex!” He’d said he didn’t like when she talked dirty, but he was on her like a starving leopard on an ibex. He barely managed to get a rubber on, then reached between them and worked her clit hard. He pounded into her, slapped her ass, confirmed she liked it, and when she nodded, spanked her harder.
He obliged, in all ways. Her legs opened and closed like scissors at his pressure and his audible thrusts. He sucked her nipples hard, then blew on them without missing a stroke, and her orgasm exploded like a supernova. She felt it in every extremity, even her hair. She ascended to the next orgasm almost instantly. Then another. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!”
Her throat was hoarse, and she was coated with their combined sweat when Alex finally let go. She held tight to him. Felt so good, the steadying pace of his heart.
She wanted, needed to know more about him. This need felt strange.
Jocelyn pulled Alex from his clothes as soon as he arrived for their next tryst. He stood like a statue being carved. She gave him a tiptoed kiss, then eased his back to the bed. He opened his arms.
She sat on the side chair, still in a satin bra and panties. “Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“How you like it.”
“You know how I like it.”
“There’s always room to learn. You’ve seen how I like it, and I must say that the result was impressive.”
“You do great. Let’s do it like that night.”
She walked over, kissed him, took his hand and curled his fingers to his cock. “Show me, handsome.”
He took a few strokes then stopped. “Let’s just…you know.”
She urged him two more times, then gave in, but it was as if they had never fucked before, and not in that good “new discovery” way. He was detached, thrust hard, but without passion, no attention to her intensely sensitive breasts, no swats of her ass. She faked an orgasm, he came quickly, and they lay in two awkward heaps.
“Alex, I just wanted to understand more of what you like.”
“What’s to understand?”
“I mean, like, I showed you. After that you—”
“Look, I don’t like to…” He shrugged.
“Show off? I’ve seen you watch us fuck in the mirror.”
He shrugged again.
“You don’t like to jerk off? What, you think it’s not macho?”
“No, I mean—”
“You think it’s better to go to whores?” Adept at interpreting, she figured that much out, but his expression let her know she shouldn’t have said it. She covered her mouth.
“Who said I—I—” He jumped up. His pants were on, the rest of his clothes in hand when he went out the front door from Trick π.
“Alex!” She tried to follow, but big as he was, Alex could move fast.
Jocelyn spent the ensuing days off at Our Place, playing backg
ammon and cribbage. She stopped frequently at the Top 5 and got proposals there, but they weren’t tempting. Twice she braved the Bonanza and fended off eager grunts. Her days off at Trick π were spent listening to music and sleeping alone on the chaise. She was strangely relieved each time she headed back to Sheridan to resume barracks life and her next six-day workweek.
She even stopped at Alex’s company on Sheridan Kaserne, but predictably, the orderly room clerk deflected her queries about Alexander A. Archer.
Jocelyn folded her arms tight after the waitress seated her across from Alex in the dining room at the Top 5 club. She’d wanted to grab him a half dozen times, but she was still too mad. She even pouted, but having never done it before, wasn’t sure she did it right.
“I never saw much point to women in the army, Jocelyn. Figured there was nothing they could do that was that special.”
“This is how you apologize for leaving me hanging for over a month?”
“You’re a ditty bop. You’re supposed to be good at listening,” Alex said.
She almost laughed. “I’m used to listening to Morse code.”
Alex recited the words dot and dash to form the letters l-is-t-e-n.
Jocelyn hid her surprise that he knew Morse. She sat back and waved for him to continue.
“Jocelyn, I never saw much point to all the attention the army lavishes on you people. What do you do, listen to a radio? What’s the big deal?”
Silence.
“So tell me where you went for the last month, Alex.”
“I’ve been on leave. It took that long to understand.”
“Understand?”
“How tough your job is, or might be. I mean, I can’t really know. I don’t have your clearance, never been trained in what you do, but I can kind of guess.”
“What are you talking about, Alex? Stop being so cryptic.”
“I took a month off, learned Morse code, then locked myself away in a hotel room with a shortwave radio. I dialed in wavelengths and copied down what I heard. First, I worked six swings, then two days off, six mids, and two days off. Back to days. Working tricks and listening to blips made me batty, Jocelyn. I fucking barely got through it.”
“You really did that? For me?”
“I still think the army mollycoddles you field station bait and ought to make you ride in back of deuce-and-a-halfs or cattle trucks instead of German tour buses, but I do respect what you do.” He smiled. “So, can I recharge your battery? Change your tire?”
Jocelyn lifted her brow.
“You know, like the auto club.” He held out his hand.
She blurted a laugh and took his hand. “Let me recharge you.”
“No, this one is for you.”
Alex led her to the chair next to the bed and eased her down. “Jocelyn, I’ve had a few bad experiences with casual sex along the way. Hurt a really nice girl and—well, yeah, I went to prostitutes. They get to put food on the table, I get my rocks off. And yes, jerking off is for sissies.”
Jocelyn laughed, then grabbed her mouth.
“It’s worth a good laugh. You messed up my perfect system, and suddenly, it was hard to be without you. So I went off to prove some stupid point that I could do the job you do. The more I realized I couldn’t, the more I thought of you. I could only think of you, I’d…I’d fallen in...” He began to undress. “Fallen in love enough to do something I’ve believed was wrong all my life.”
She reached for the top button of her olive drab fatigue top.
He took her hand. “No, just watch.”
She hadn’t masturbated since he left. Watching took an immense toll on her libido. This was only amplified by the fact that Alex’s thick, powerful body looked so beautiful.
Her hands gripped the arms of the chair as he spread his thick legs. He looked so vulnerable, so powerful. His face blossomed with embarrassment. He gripped his cock and demonstrated a twirling motion. He bent the thing downward and this made him gasp. With his other hand, he worked his balls with surprising force. Many of the things he did would never have ever occurred to Jocelyn to do.
As bad as she wanted to slip her fingers down the front of her fatigue pants and plain army panties, she remained fixed to the chair, and she watched how he now went from the rough treatment of his cock to gentle caresses. He stopped.
He took a deep breath, stroked his cock again and let his other hand descend. He pressed one large finger to his anus. He pushed it in and stroked his cock fast. It erupted hard, shooting long tendrils that looked to be in slow motion up his narrow, muscular stomach, over his thick pectoral muscles. Some even reached his chin. He went limp, and she rushed to him. She licked every ounce of the semen from his body. Tasted strangely nice.
She whispered in his ear, “Looks like you ruined my system too.”
Four women at a time would take adjacent two-day shifts at the apartment they called Trick π. Adventurous women. Those who were their guests were often surprised at what they found. Strong women who knew themselves and took control of their sexuality, and sometimes the sexuality of others.
This was in the late seventies, and the residents rode the social changes like surfers. When one of the four members left, usually because she was getting out of the army or rotating to another duty station, another from her trick was recruited to take her place. Not just any woman took a position among the elite of Trick π.
Jocelyn Valentine D’Ameron still had another year in her tour at Field Station Augsburg when she happily surrendered her front door key to an eager replacement. Jocelyn had a new, permanent roommate, and they took a new place in off-post military housing, as was typical for a married couple in the army. They bought a big, brand-new bed, and its headboard pounded the wall like a carpenter driving nails, sometimes days, sometimes swings, sometimes mids. Basically, whenever their very different shifts coincided or conjoined.
Sometimes they took refreshers, and one watched the other pleasure themselves.
Alexander Anderson Archer didn’t like that Jocelyn kept her last name. At least, not at first. See, Alex was still an old-world man who had much to learn about modern women.
Jocelyn was just the woman to teach him.
Fortunately, she had found room to learn too.
FIGHTING FOR FRESNO
Ericka Hiatt
Oso kicks the door open and carries Arly over the threshold, slung over his shoulder.
She pounds on his back, kicking her legs and yelling, “No, no, no!” at the top of her lungs, laughing so hard she can barely breathe.
He’s laughing, too. “Shh, baby, you’re gonna get me arrested,” he says, but he loves it. He soaks up the joy and the passion she radiates.
The hotel room has an antiseptic smell and it’s hot. He kicks the door shut behind them, walks over to the air-conditioning unit and turns it on, balancing her on his left shoulder.
Outside their window, across the parking lot, the motel sign flickers jarringly, FRESNO INN, garish orange and red, lurid green and turquoise. He reaches out to snap the curtains shut.
Arly says, “I’m too heavy, honey, put me down. You’re gonna hurt your back.”
Oso reaches over with his right hand and slaps her ass, then strokes it, his hand reaching up under her miniskirt. She’s soft and round and he grabs a handful of her sweet ass and squeezes. She struggles, laughing still but she makes a sound, it comes from deep in her throat. His heart thumps.
He holds her tighter against his shoulder. “Baby, it’s my job to carry the big ol’ gun when we patrol. That big ol’ gun weighs about fifty pounds more than you do. I hike all day with that goddamn thing weighing me down. Ask me which weight I’d rather schlep around, okay?”
He slings her around into his arms like a sack of potatoes, showing off a bit, grinning like an idiot when she shrieks and grabs his neck, her eyes wide.
Her body lies warm and pliant in his arms as he carries her. He tightens his hold on her, just to feel her softness mold around his fingers.
He likes the contrast between the muscles in his arms and her lush body, the soft brown skin of her cleavage, the silky press of her thighs. He lowers his head and kisses between her breasts, nuzzling into them while she squeals and laughs and tries to wriggle free. He catches the lace of her bra in his teeth and pulls it away from her left breast, shaking his head back and forth like a wolf, growling, breathing in her perfume.
Her laughter fades. “Shit...” she whispers, and he raises his head to look into her eyes. She returns his look, wide-eyed, and licks her lips as her eyes flick down to his mouth.
“Please,” she says, like it’s going to save her life, “please kiss me.”
Denny’s at nine P.M., the dinner rush. He used to bus tables and it was hard not to think like that. Nine P.M. Dinner rush.
There was still light in the sky away to the west; golden orange and red, deepening to purple as he looked east.
Across from him, she smiled ruefully. “Arlaina Maria Consuela Saez,” she admitted.
“Wow, that’s beautiful,” he said, and meant it.
“It’s way too long.” She took a too-big drink of her iced tea and gestured at him, swallowing hard. “Your turn, army boy.”
She loved to challenge, not the kind that poked around for weakness. When Arly challenged, she did it with laughter, wanting you to challenge her back.
He grinned. “Esteban Roberto De La Rosa.”
“How come everybody calls you Oso?”
It wasn’t a blind date, though it felt like one. His uncle had said something about running into that nice girl at the supermercado the other day, you know, what was her name, the one who had lived over by the high school, and why didn’t Oso give her a call?
Duty and Desire: Military Erotic Romance Page 5
