by Len Levinson
“Here I am!” she said, trying to attract him again.
He didn't make a sound.
“I'm over here!”
Again he didn't respond.
The jungle was silent. She was wondering what to do. He rattled a branch in the bush he was hiding behind.
“Is that you?” she asked.
He didn't reply.
“Are you all right?”
He felt cruel, teasing her that way, but kept his mouth shut and shook the branch again. He heard her moving closer. Peering through the brush, he saw her come into view, her face very serious, carrying his uniform in her arms.
“Where are you, GI?” she asked.
He wiggled the branch ever so slightly, and her head snapped toward it, eyes focusing.
“Are you there?”
He remained absolutely still, watching her through the branches. She tiptoed closer, cocking her head from side to side, trying to see around the bush, hoping to pick up more sounds with her little ears. She approached the side of the bush, paused, then turned the corner to move behind it.
He sprang up and grabbed her slender wrists, and she screamed like a frightened animal, her body stiffening, her eyes bulging out of her head in horror.
“Gotcha!” he said.
She relaxed and looked angry, but could not repress the smile creeping onto her face. “You very sneaky,” she said.
“You're damn right,” Bannon replied.
She handed over his clothes.
“Thank you.”
“You welcome.”
He tucked the clothes under his arm. “Well, I guess we might as well get back to the village.”
“Why so much hurry?” she asked, looking demure, giving her eyelashes one slight flutter.
“I'm in no hurry,” he said.
“Then let us sit and talk for a while.”
“Okay.”
She dropped gracefully to the ground and sat with her legs tucked underneath her. Bannon didn't know how to sit, because he was wearing the short lavalava skirt with no underwear. He decided to lie on his side and hold up his head with his hand.
She reached into her bodice and took out a half-pack of Chesterfield cigarettes. “I have brought these for you.”
“You think of everything.”
“I wash your clothes too.”
“You did?”
She nodded solemnly.
Bannon took the cigarettes and the little pack of matches tucked into the cellophane. “You are very good to me and I appreciate it. You are a very nice girl.”
“You save my life,” she said. “I do anything for you.”
Bannon could think of a few things that he'd like her to do, but he didn't want Butsko to cut his dick off, so he didn't mention them, lighting a cigarette instead.
“You are married?” she asked.
“No. Are you?”
She shook her head. “You have a girl friend back in your country?”
“Sort of.”
“What is sort of!”
Bannon blew smoke into the air. “I guess you could say that I have a girlfriend.”
“You love her very much?”
“I don't know.”
“If you not know, you not love her much.”
Bannon shrugged. “Maybe.” He puffed his cigarette. “What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Many.”
“I can believe that. You're very pretty.”
She pushed air at him with her hands. “You GIs full of baloney.”
“It's the truth.”
“Ha!”
He inhaled the cigarette and looked her over, and a scrumptious little morsel she was to his eyes. Her breasts were small, her legs the color of honey. Her eyes looked right through him to his naked soul, and her shy, coy manner was bringing out the beast in him.
“What is it like where you are from?” she asked.
He looked around at the jungle. “Oh, a lot different from here. We don't have so many trees and there's not so much wetness. Mostly we have grass for miles and miles, as far as the eye can see, and we have herds of cattle that eat the grass. The sun is hot like here, but it's a dry heat, and people say it's very good for you.” Bannon described Texas and, in doing so, evoked it for himself. He remembered golden vistas, mountains and canyons, rodeos, and honky-tonk Saturday nights. She could sense him going away from her, drifting back to that land so far away, a land she could only dimly understand.
“What did you do there?” she asked.
“I was a cowboy.”
“A what kind of boy?”
“I worked with the cattle, moving them around, stuff like that. I rode a horse a lot.”
“Why they not call you a horseboy?”
Bannon shrugged. He'd never thought about that before.
“Tell me about your girl friend?”
“There's really not much to tell. She's a few years older than you, a little taller, and she's got red hair.”
“Red hair!”
“Well, it's not really red. It's more of a brown color.”
“It must look very funny.”
“Not really.”
“You think she is pretty?”
“Yes.”
The girl frowned. “You think she is prettier than me?”
Bannon had been around women enough to know that a man could not answer questions like that. If you give the woman the answer she wants to hear, she'll say you're lying, and if you give her the opposite answer, she'll scratch your eyes out.
“You're very pretty,” he told her, hoping to evade the question.
“Prettier than your girl friend with the funny red hair?”
“I haven't seen her for so long that I forget what she looks like.”
She pouted. “I don't believe you. You think I'm ugly.”
“That's not true.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it's not.”
“You are a bad man.”
“Why am I a bad man?”
“Because you not tell truth.”
“But I did tell you the truth.”
“No, you didn't.”
“What makes you think I didn't?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Because you not act as if I pretty.”
“What do you expect me to do.”
“Well,” she said huffily, “if you not know what to do, you even worse than I thought. I leave now. Good-bye.”
She moved to get up, but Bannon grabbed her wrist.
“Hey, don't be mad,” he said.
She tried to break loose, but his grip was like iron. “Let me go!”
“I thought you said I saved your life and you'd do anything for me.”
“That was before!”
She tried to punch him in the mouth” with her free hand, and he caught her wrist in midair. His forward lunge caused him to fall on top of her.
“Be nice now,” he said.
“I hate you!”
She squirmed underneath him, trying to get loose, and he could feel her strong, lithe body beneath the thin cotton of her sarong. All he wore was a thin cotton lavalava skirt, and he was getting turned on. She could feel him getting turned on, and she struggled harder.
“You a dirty man!” she said.
Bannon hadn't had a woman since he had left Australia, and he was only twenty-three years old, with more hormones than he knew what to do with. Her sarong slid up her thighs, and his lavalava slid up his. Their legs rubbed against each other, and he could feel her little cupcake pressed against his raging erection.
“Pig!” she said.
“Now, now. Calm down.”
He was bigger and stronger than she, and he held her wrists tightly, gazing down into her limpid eyes. She realized the futility of her struggle and went limp underneath him, looking up into his eyes
“You're so pretty,” he said.
“Ha!”
“It's true. You are.”
A wick
ed expression came over her face. “Prettier than your girl friend?”
“Yes,” Bannon replied, because Ginger was long ago and far away.
“You sure?”
“I'm sure.”
“You not lie?”
“I not lie.”
She closed her eyes, her chest still heaving with the exertion of her struggle. He lowered his face and kissed her lips; they tasted like exotic tropical fruit. She moaned softly and he let her wrists go, running the palms of his hand over her silken hair and bringing them to rest on her shoulders, squeezing them as her tongue slid through his lips. He licked her tongue, and the fire of passion burned hotter inside him. An artery in his throat throbbed like a tom-tom, and a loud rushing sound was in his ears. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly to her, kissing him passionately, and they bruised each other's lips, scraping teeth.
They squirmed against each other, clawing at each other's garments. He tugged the top of her sarong and the material fell away, revealing her breasts. They weren't as small as he'd thought; the tight top of the sarong only had made them appear that way, because it flattened them down, but they were nice handfuls, like grapefruits. He cupped her right one in his hand, the first tit he'd felt in nearly six months, and nearly swooned. He lowered his head and pressed his lips against the nipple, sucking it into his mouth, running his tongue across it, making it hard and pointy. She dug her fingers into his hair and pulled him tightly against her breast. Her breast puffed like a marsh-mellow around his lips and nose, and he opened his mouth wider to take more of it in.
It was delicious and he nearly came in his lavalava. While sucking her right tit, he pushed more of her sarong away and dropped the palm of his hand on her left tit, running his thumb over the nipple, making it hard too. She kissed his scalp and chewed his hair, undulating her hips, pushing his lavalava down.
He loosened her sarong and pulled it off while she unwrapped his lavalava, throwing it underneath a bush. Naked now, their bodies came together. Bannon held her tightly and felt as though he'd been drenched with fire. She was so soft, so smooth, so wonderfully alien to him, and she was biting his chin so hard he thought she might draw blood, but he didn't care.
He reached down between her legs; she already was soaking wet. The sensation was familiar, because he'd had a substantial amount of sex in his life, and yet foreign, because you can never get enough of pretty girls. He slid fingers through the slippery crevice, the magic spot he thought about, dreamed about, and craved all the time.
She grabbed his cock and squeezed it so hard some juice oozed out. Bannon's balls were at a rolling boil, and he felt ecstasy radiating out of his groin. She was frail and small and he was afraid of hurting her but couldn't control himself.
He pushed her down onto her back and she spread her legs. Her bush was covered with moisture and gleamed like diamonds. He held his cock in his right hand and lunged forward. She touched her fingers to its head and guided it in. Bannon thought his head would explode as it sank in all the way. Her little lamb chop quivered with delight, and Bannon had an orgasm on the spot.
But he was a young man, and young men have orgasms all the time. He didn't need to rest, he didn't have to go to the bathroom, and he didn't feel like smoking a cigarette. All he wanted to do was fuck himself silly, and that's exactly what he proceeded to do. He drew his steaming, dripping member out of her furnace, paused for a moment, and plunged it back in. She raised her knees in the air and sucked air through her clenched teeth because she thought she might die of pleasure.
He pulled out and pushed in and then pumped her steadily, while she wagged her hips from side to side and whispered words he didn't understand into his ear. He ran his hands down her swaying body and cupped her ass in his hands; it was a round, firm, muscular ass—not hard like his own ass, but with a marvelous resilience and texture.
He held her steadily and worked her like an expert, although he wasn't thinking much about what he was doing; it all came naturally. She rubbed her nipples against his hairy chest, placed her hands behind his head, and pressed his mouth against hers. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and she sucked it in a pulsating rhythm in time with the motion of his pile-driving ass.
Birds whistled in the trees and monkeys looked down at them and cackled. Insects buzzed around them and sucked their blood, but they didn't give a damn. She wrapped her legs around his waist and wrestled him hard, and he pushed deeply into her, pulled out slowly, and pushed in again. He moved his hips in a spiral motion, corkscrewing in and out, a trick he'd learned in a whorehouse in El Paso.
Suddenly Bannon remembered Butsko, and his pecker shriveled a bit, but the girl was so beautiful and her body so fine, he didn't care if Butsko did chop his dick off, because this would be worth it; life could offer nothing more.
Then she moved in a strange way—he couldn't figure out exactly how—but it changed the angle of her vagina brought a delicious friction to bear against the head of his cock, the most sensitive part of his body. Bannon's tongue stuck out and his eyes goggled. He thought he was going to die, because no one could possibly survive such wonderful sensations. They were so powerful that he could no longer move. She had him in some kind of weird leg-lock and she was doing all the moving.
“Give me your milk,” she whispered passionately into his ear, and then bit his earlobe.
Bannon couldn't move or get away. She had him where she wanted him and his soul was jelly in her hands. He could feel her drawing the orgasm out of him, and never in his life had a woman put him under her control so thoroughly. She played him like a violin, and his balls exploded, the hot silky substance shooting out of him like fire.
Bannon felt as if somebody had plugged him into the Boulder Dam turbines. His ears tingled and his eyes protruded out of his skull as his body went into convulsions. Rapture jolted every cell in his body, even down to his toes. His cock felt like it was six feet long, throbbing deliciously, gushing like a fire hose.
She whimpered and squealed and bit his shoulder as her own fireworks went off. Bannon wrapped his arms around her clumsily and held her tightly because he was afraid she would get away. The experience was bending his mind to the point where he'd thought he'd get so far out he'd never come back again, so he held on and buried his face in her neck, drooling like a child, his eyes rolling up into his head.
Finally neither of them could move anymore, and they collapsed against each other. She lay with her legs flat on the ground, spread out her arms, and tried to breathe. Bannon could feel her breasts rising and falling underneath him. He wondered how such a little person could have as much strength and endurance as she. He gulped down air and thought he'd faint, raising his head a few inches in the air and turning away from her so his flow of air would be unobstructed. When his head was clear, he rolled off her and fell on his back beneath the bush. He patted the ground all around him with his hands until he found the cigarettes and matches, then lit one up and looked to the treetops, where a family of monkeys was looking down at him.
“You are all right?” she asked, still breathing heavily.
“I think so,” he replied.
“I thought I killed you.”
“I thought you killed me too.”
She rolled over and lay her face on his chest. “I love you,”
she said. “Why don't we get married?”
“It's okay with me,” Bannon replied, for he was still in the bright glow of sexual love.
“Okay. I talk to my father when we get back.”
Bannon puffed the cigarette and thought of what life would be like with her on Guadalcanal after the war. They'd eat bananas, coconuts, and fish, and fuck in the sun all day. To hell with Texas. To hell with Ginger Gregg. She'd probably forgotten about him long ago anyway, and besides, she couldn't fuck as good as this island girl.
“I love you from the moment I first see you,” she murmured into his chest.
“No kidding?”
“I look
at you and you were like a god, I swear it. And you save my life like a god. I not belong to me anymore, and I not belong to my father. I belong to you.”
“You saved my life too,” Bannon said. “I belong to you as much as you belong to me.”
“We belong to each other,” she said.
Bannon puffed his cigarette and massaged her neck as she purred against his chest. He hadn't been this happy since his last night with Ginger Gregg.
She stirred and kissed his nipples lightly, going from one to the other and then back again. Moaning softly, as if she were eating something delicious, she pressed her lips against his chest, working down his belly. His pecker twitched to life and he hoped she was going to go all the way down. She held his pelvis in her hands, poking her tongue into his belly button, and then moved lower, licking his lower abdomen, making Bannon's toes curl.
Her cheek scraped against his pubic hair as she went down and took the head of his rigid cock between her lips. Bannon dug his fingernails into the dirt and hoped she'd mangle it firmly with her mouth, but she was gentle at first, manipulating it lightly with her lips and tongue, tantalizing him. Bannon closed his eyes and smiled, all thoughts of the war far away. Her mouth played with his pecker for a while, then she opened wide and lowered her head, forcing his pecker deep into her throat. She tightened her lips around him and sucked hard.
Bannon thought he was going to come on the spot. He opened his eyes to slits and looked at the beautiful island girl sucking him off. He placed his hand on the back of her head as she moved up and down, sucking furiously, massaging his dick with her tongue. Bannon worked his pelvis to keep time with her. She held his cock in her hand to steady it and glided her mouth up and down. Bannon groaned, his tongue hanging out, and he gripped her head more firmly.
He'd come twice already, so he was able to hold back now. Her head bobbed up and down and she shuddered, making little animal sounds, becoming so excited that she even bit him a few times, but it was a good pain. Bannon drifted off into a sexual reverie. He thought of having sex with her in a hundred ways, in all the positions, on beds and in bathtubs, even high up in the branches of trees. He wanted to devour her, swallow her down, and make her a part of him forever.
