Men Out of Uniform

I’d always loved Fleet Week in NYC, but this year I got a whole new reason to look forward to it from now on. My little funky burger joint and bar always gets a lot of sailors. We’re right in the heart of Times Square, where the action is, so to speak. Unfortunately we were short-handed, so I was doubling as waitress and bartender, and it was a madhouse. By the time we gave last call I was ready to get off my feet and have a nice cold drink of my own. “You look bushed.” The sailor I’d been serving, along with his buddy, grinned. And it was a helluva grin. They were both incredibly sexy and they were wearing officers’ beige. Both were tanned, swarthy and definitely drool worthy. “Long night.” I passed them their last couple of brews and rolled my eyes. I’d been chatting with them all night, giving them some tips on good places to visit. They’d been to the City quite a few times, but I knew of some new attractions, like the Hi-Line. “Anyplace else still open around here? We’re not ready to head back to our hotel yet.” “Nope. We’re the last bar standing, guys. But your hotel probably has a bar if you want a last nightcap.” I dropped my towel and bent down to pick it up and when I stood, they were both grinning again, and looking at my ass. “Subtle, guys.” I returned to the bar, cashed out the few tabs and then started shutting down. But the sailors were milking the last few minutes and I’m a patriot, so I didn’t kick them out. When they saw me start turning off the lights, though, they got up and tucked away their change, before handing over a nice tip to me. “Thanks. You made our night.” “Happy to be of service, gentlemen. We New Yawkers aim to please.” For a second there was a pregnant pause and I realized my words might have sounded flirtatious. Not that I hadn’t wanted to flirt. Two gorgeous studs like these guys were rare in my place. “Maybe you’d be willing to extend a bit more local courtesy?” The black-haired guy had a twinkle in his eye when he said it, and if I hadn’t figured it out, he took a couple of steps closer and took my hand in his. “Exactly. Help show two poor sailors a bit more … hospitality?” The sun-kissed brunette moved in a bit closer too. My mouth dried right up. I had a very good idea what these guys were suggesting, and I will admit that while I’m no shrinking violet by any means, the image they gave me of being the filling in a sailor sandwich was, well, incredibly damned hot. Parts of me started tingling, big time. “I, uh – “ “How about a drink at our hotel and we’ll talk?” That let me say yes without saying yes, exactly, if you know what I mean but an hour later, after two tall, icy G&T, I was certainly entertaining some distinctly kinky ideas. When the hotel barman said goodnight, the two of them, each holding a hand, started easing me toward the elevators. “C’mon,” they said in unison. Then my dark-haired sailor Rick, leaned over and whispered. “You showed us such a great time, we want to return the favor.” “We give good …” added Don. “What?” I said “Everything.” What girl could resist? Their room was small, but nice, but that’s the only thing I saw before they had me stripped, and wide-eyed at their equipment. Maybe it was the fresh, salt air, and lots of exercise, but they were both nicely muscled, and hard, hard, hard. In all the right places. They were take charge guys, and I never had a chance. When they suggested I’d be one happy camper with a big cock in my pussy, and a thick hard one up my ass? I practically raised my hand like the good Catholic schoolgirl I’d been and said ‘Yes, Please!’. They had some fun little kinks that I indulged with zeal, I learned I was a lot more flexible than I thought, and trust me when I say I’ll never look at a bottle of seltzer the same way again. There were some hot games of tie me up, tie me down, and summer fun with suntan oil. The guys made everything seem like fun, and it was even when my ass got paddled so hard I knew I’d have no trouble staying on my feet for my next shift. The naughty schoolgirl who got paddled also had to bend over and submit to a Vaseline coated butt plug before being ordered to her knees to suck off her two teachers as punishment. Trust me when I say I’d have gotten better grades at City college if my professors had been half so attentive. All in all, I felt a lot like a horny, female Oliver Twist cuz all night long, no matter how long and hard they gave it to me, I kept begging for more. And like the Officers and Gentlemen they were, they gave it to me.

Ghostly Lover

Caroline moaned. His hands were touching her hot, moist flesh. His gaze never left her face. His body rose above hers, moving, yet tense with his passion. He filled her body, his love filled her soul. She reached out for him, but felt nothing. No warmth, no heated skin. She longed to taste him, but he turned his face away, refusing her his lips. Around her the world was a vacuous, shadowy darkness. But there, in her bed, his presence overwhelmed her. She could feel the heat. The delectable swelling between her thighs as his cock impaled her with brutal, inexorable strokes. Again, and again, her desire rose and rose, until finally, it crested, and swept her away with orgasmic possession. “My love! My life!” The whisper touched her ears as she writhed in desperate delight. Between her legs, the testimony of the body’s joy flowed freely, coating her thighs and anointing the sheets. From one second to the next, as the rays of dawn touched the window, Caroline was suddenly, once again, alone. The weight upon her vanished. Cool air breathed once again across her now damp flesh. She lay twisted in the sheets and blankets as her blood throbbed. Then she awoke. Caroline opened her eyes and looked around the solitary space. Yet she could feel the presence. Feel HIM. The power of his thighs, the steely heat of his cock, and the grip of his hands. She looked down at her arms. Were those the faint marks of fingers on her flesh? Between her legs, her pussy felt used, deliciously tender. A breeze played across her face. His musky scent filled her nostrils. His whisper filled her ears. “Until tonight, my love . . .”

Memories Of Summer

I couldn't believe that after all these years, I'd run into him again at the lake. I hadn’t been there since the summers I spent right after college. Too soon my career blossomed, and I abandoned the lazy weeks by the water, the leisurely strolls through the woods and the evenings skinny dipping beneath the stars for more sophisticated fare.

And now there he was. Standing on the end of his dock next door to mine, looking as long, tall and lean as he had at twenty.

I let the cottage door close softly, unsure as to whether I wanted to greet him now, or gird my loins and come up with some way to sound casual and unaffected by his presence.

Yeah, right.

Then the decision was taken out of my hands as he turned, his bare chest gleaming in the afternoon sun, his swimsuit hanging low on those hips I could almost feel again beneath my hands.

My heart stuttered as he stopped, mid-stride, as he caught sight of me. Perhaps he remembered those long ago lazy days, when we snuck into the woods to make out. When we waited until our grandparents were sleeping and then shed our clothes and slid into the lake. We held one another, we felt one another’s young bodies, luxuriating in the amazing sensation of skin to skin beneath the cool water.

I remembered. Suddenly it seemed like it had been mere days ago. I remembered the smell of his sun-baked skin, the hint of fresh sweat and pine. The feel of sleek, young muscles and soft, full lips. I remembered the sweet agony of him inside me, the experience so new and bright and wondrous. I remembered the sound of his moans as he spent himself inside me, his jaw tight, his gaze sharp on mine as we rode the waves of passion together.

I felt the sun on my face and the wind in my hair as he came toward me, crossing the grass and the bridge with even, steady strides. He was older now. His face bore experience and knowledge and he carried himself with self-assurance and solidity instead of the spring of youth. Yet he was no less dear to me, no less amazing.

When he stood in front of me, looking down, I wondered what he saw. Did he note the difference the years had made in me? I was no longer the lithe, innocent girl who had given herself to him. I had gone through hard times, and good, and knew they had left their marks on me.

For a moment we stood, looking at one another. Then he smiled. And I responded with my own shy grin.

“Hello, Faith.” His voice was lower, richer.

“How are you, Neal?” My own was whispery with emotion.

“Better, now.”

He took another step closer and I breathed in his scent. The same scent that had filled my dreams for years.

He raised a hand and touched my face.

Old Boyfriends, Old Cars

I love old cars. The big wide seats, where you slid across if you rounded a corner too fast. The leg room the spacious back seats. Cars these days are so ergonomically designed it’s like sitting in the space shuttle. And let me tell you, it’s not at all conducive to fooling around when you get a leg cramp trying to climb over the shift.

So I was tickled when I got home and hooked up with my old BF, and we picked up right where we’d left off before I set out to earn fame and fortune as an actress in NYC. Jude never forgot me (he said) and he sure seemed delighted to see me (if the bulge in those tight, worn jeans that hung low on his hips was any sign).

It was the Saturday after I got home and we’d been lounging around the lake, sipping beers and listening to music and watching the sun set. We’d been necking on our blanket – all wet from swimming and horny from getting to know each other again. But there was the odd fisherman floating by, and some kids in tires, so we had to restrain ourselves.

When I got in the car next to Jude, snuggled up against him on the front seat of his 1970 Malibu 450, with good old country music playing loud, and we were headed out onto the highway, I couldn’t control myself anymore. I’d had him rubbing up against my who-ha, feeling me up and sticking that tongue of his down my throat for hours. I decided it was time to give him a little of his own medicine.

There weren’t any cars on the road, so he just gave a start when I slid my hand between his legs, pulled down that zipper and dropped my head into his lap. It was a wild, and free feeling, zooming along the road with my high school boyfriend, giving him a hearty blow job, just like old times. I’d perfected my technique since those days, though, and he was having a hard time keeping focused on the road. He eased back on the gas for safety, I guess, but I was so involved in worshipping his yummy cock that I paid no attention.

So I never saw the rickety old mobile home that had pulled alongside us on the four lane highway. And it wasn’t until Jude pulled on my hair, yanking me up so that his shiny nob popped out of my mouth, leaving a thin string of spit from my chin that hung there as I looked out the driver’s side window.

An elderly woman was leaning out the window looking down at us, her mouth gaping as she stared, while she hollered out to the old woman driving.

“Good golly, Miss Molly, would you look at that!”

What can you do? I wiped my chin, winked, waved, and then went back to finish up my business.

God, I love old cars!