Fuck, she had a wicked tongue. I wondered why her insulting me at every turn was turning me on as much as it was. And a drummer, eh? I bet she’s done some banging...
“Woah, there, cowboy. I know that look, and lemme stop you right there. Whatever crack it is that you’re planning on making about the way I handle my sticks, or banging, or pounding, don’t bother. You may think that you just made it up, but trust me: I’ve heard it already. More than once. And I’m way past the point where I think they’re funny, or even a bit amusing, or even cute. So just... don’t, okay?”
I chuckled. She was a handful. We agreed to meet back here at six, and she went back to her rehearsal, and I went back to Thompson. Despite being surrounded by bagpipes, I think she got the better end of that deal.
Once we managed to find it, McNally’s turned out to be a really nice place. It was only half full, which I had been led to believe would be impossible to find during Tattoo week, and they had a surf and turf on special for only fifteen bucks, which included an enormous whole lobster and quite possibly the most delicious steak I had ever tasted. We each got one, and a local beer called Keith’s Pale Ale which turned out to be really good, too.
Lisa was really good company. In between her smart-assed comments - which, to be honest, were starting to give me one hell of a hard-on - she told me a little bit about what it was like to play in a pipe band, and how to pretend to be listening to someone when you’ve get heavy-duty earplugs in to preserve your sanity. In exchange, I told her a little bit about being on the gun-running team, and explained that “Gunner” wasn’t actually some amazing title you got for sniping enemies, but was really just the equivalent of a Private in the artillery. To her credit, if she was disappointed to hear it, it didn’t show.
She let me pay, which was a nice surprise, and once we made it out of the restaurant, she used the front of my shirt to pull herself up on her toes and me down low enough for her to suck me into a mind-blowing hold-nothing-back devour-every-inch-of-me kiss that left me dizzy. She tasted like steak and beer, which was really fucking hot, and she smelled like lobster, which was, well... not. So did I, for that matter, and I suggested going back to my bunk to clean the fishy smell off us. Thompson would be out getting shit-faced, as was his daily ritual, and wouldn’t be back until at least two in the morning, I promised.
I won rock, paper, scissors and got the first shower. The cheap motel bathroom was kind of dingy, but the water was hot and clean and fresh and felt amazing pelting my naked skin. I knew enough to bring my own bodywash with me instead of hoping that the dives they put us up in would provide tiny little bars of crap soap, and the rich lather on my cock and balls was almost one stimulation too many after an evening out with Lisa.
I was still debating whether a quick jerk-off was a wise move considering how close I was to coming already when she decided to join me. Clothed, Lisa was pretty fucking hot. Naked, she was like a miniature goddess or something. Every inch of her skin was the same creamy peach, there wasn’t a tan line in sight. Hard pink little nipples pointed straight up from tits that were just the right size to fit in a hand each with nothing left over, which I didn’t waste a minute doing, getting her as lathered and wet as I was. She didn’t shave her pubes, which was a relief to me since I always felt like a creepy old dude whenever I fucked someone who was clean-shaven down there. They were blond, which explained the blue eyes, and she purred like a kitten when I soaped them up.
She pulled in close to me under the pelting water, and took my cock in one hand, grinning up at me when she produced an unwrapped condom in the other. I leaned down to kiss her, then guided her arms up around my neck so I could roll it on. As nice as her hand had felt, I needed more than that right then, and I reached around to cup her ass in my hands - oh my fuck she had the most perfectly grabbable ass there ever was - and lifted her onto my cock. We kissed again, and she wrapped her legs around my waist and writhed against me like crazy but at these angles, this was just a tease. Don’t get me wrong - having her moulded to me like that felt really fucking good, but there was no changing the fact that the lower half of my cock was pinned between our bodies instead of buried in hers, which is what we were both starving for.
As frustrated by the current situation as I was, she somehow managed to guide us down so that she was on her hands and knees facing the back of the tub, and I was on my knees behind her, the water from the shower pelting off our backs and bouncing in every direction. She was using one arm to brace herself against the back wall, but the other reached between her legs to take hold of my cock and guide it toward her cunt; even slick and soapy, she was so tight and warm that I was blissed out on her even before our hips met and my body was sealed against hers. I took a page from her book and braced a hand on the wall above hers, and wrapped the other around a perfect curve of hip. She was irresistible. Any intention I might have had of taking it slow and trying to keep it about her, figuring out what she liked best, was lost in this wave of desire I had for her that was so strong it hurt. I drove my cock into her over and over again, fuelled by an animal urgency, and the harder I fucked her, the harder she thrust that luscious ass back against my hips in response. Her hand had stayed between her legs and her fingers were flying against her clit. I could feel the back of her knuckles flicking teasingly against my balls at the end of each deep, fevered thrust.
She’d caught the same panic, too, though, and soon she was getting herself off with a feral growl, and the waves of convulsions of her innermost muscles sent me way over the top and then some. I bucked against her - hard enough that I could feel the backlash of her head hitting the arm she’d had up to brace herself - and crushed her body against mine as I rode out each violent jerk of my cock as it exploded into the tip of the condom. It was my turn to growl then and that made her squirm against me in the most adorable way. Not wanting to let the moment go just yet, I clung to her, and kissed the back of her neck over and over until she finally had to force me back up to a standing position so we could both re-clean ourselves.
We’d managed to half flood the crappy motel bathroom’s floor with our antics, but I could deal with that later. It was far more important right then to fold a towel-wrapped Lisa in my arms and share a beer, and extend this feeling that we were the only two people on the planet just a little bit longer.
I invited her to stay. Sure, the tiny single beds in the room were little bigger than cots and Thompson would be even more charming when he got back soon pissed as hell, but despite the obvious attractions of my offer, she went back to her own motel; her morning the next day started way too fucking early. Before she got dressed and kissed me goodbye, though, she promised that we would see each other again before the end of the Tattoo.
The next day Lisa played the opening ceremonies, and despite her band being 90% bagpipes, they were pretty good. And I have to admit that even though I missed the revealing nature of the tiny tank top, she looked pretty damn cute in the whole uniform, even the dorky knee-socks. I noticed her later in the stands during the gun run, when I wasn’t busy racing to take apart, lug, and reassemble a heavy-assed howitzer, all for the thrill of competition. We won, too, making us eleven-for-none so far this season. Whoopee.
That night, she rang me to let me know that her roommate had hooked up herself and would be gone until morning.
Lisa’s band had put her up in a far nicer motel than the one we were staying at. There were two beds per room, same as ours, but they were generous doubles instead of glorified cots, and the TV remote wasn’t bolted to the bedside table.
The initial frenzy out of our systems, we were able to take it much slower this time. I peeled her clothes off piece by piece, brushing gentle kisses onto every inch of skin that I exposed. She was more businesslike when it was her turn, but once she had me stripped, she gave me a playful push backwards onto her bed and her tongue took a long, slow tease of a tour across my body. My nipples stiffen
ed to painfully hard little pebbles when she took them between her lips, letting her teeth graze against them with the barest little pinch. By the time she was halfway down my chest, my cock was at attention and shamelessly waving for her to notice it.
She reached it eventually, after she had satisfied herself with tiny little licks and kisses across my stomach, so light they made me shiver. Somewhere along the way she’d managed to palm a condom, and she slid it onto my extremely stiff cock with skill - using only her lips and tongue. I admit that I thought this was a move that didn’t exist outside the porn industry but I was never more glad to be wrong, because my fuck it was sexy!
She made it clear that she was going to be in charge this time as she straddled me, and lowered herself with maddening slowness onto my dick. Instead of getting frustrated, though, I let my eyes and fingers wander just as slowly across her naked skin. Rocking gently together in time, our sex this time was the complete opposite of our original encounter: sweet, and slow, and caring, and, unbelievably, it was even better.
Long after we were both sated, we held each other in this strange bed, in a strange town, where the only thing that seemed certain was the warm comforting feel of her skin against mine. It might have been minutes or hours that passed without either of us saying anything, but eventually she pressed her forehead to mine so that our eyes met, her hand a gentle weight on my cheek.
“Feel like telling me what it was that had you so upset yesterday morning when we met?”
Maybe it was because of the tone of her voice, implying that there would be no judging, no matter what I said. Maybe it was because I knew I would probably never see her again, or maybe it was because she’d caught on to something I didn’t even know myself: that I really just wanted to let it go and tell someone. Whatever the reason, I was floored to realize that I did, actually, want to talk about it.
“I got a Skype call that morning. Jim - he’s a buddy of mine from Basic - he’s shipping back on medical. IED took out his leg, and they’re not even sure if they can fit him with a prosthetic because of the damage it did to his hip, too.
“It’s not fucking fair, you know? Six months ago we were running together down the streets of Montreal looking for the best strip bars, and tomorrow he’s going to be back home in a fucking wheelchair, and here I am and I’ve never even left.”
Some psychic premonition or women’s intuition or something told Lisa that I wouldn’t be able to keep on going if she saw me cry, so instead of saying anything, she just curled up into my body, resting her cheek against my chest, and squeezed my hand. I think I might have been more grateful for that than anything else that she did the whole weekend.
“It’s just... you sign up and they tell you we all share in the same risks in combat, you know? Some of you will not come back. They say it over and over again, but then there’s me, six months out, and chances are I’ll serve my whole term here in Canada, pulling a Forrest Gump in front of audience after audience while everyone else I trained with is already out there making a difference.”
I couldn’t bring myself to say anything more, and so I didn’t. Neither did she, for a really long time, and I was grateful for that, too. It was a weight off just to have said it, and I was actually almost at peace when we finally both fell asleep.
The next morning was kind of surreal. Both our outfits were packing up, shipping out that day, and there was pretty much no chance of our paths ever crossing again. I was going to miss her.
Before she left, she climbed into my lap, took my face in both her hands, and gave me one last mind-blowing kiss. I wrapped my hands around her waist, and didn’t know if I’d be able to let her go.
“I was in the stands during your race, you know,” she whispered in my ear. I knew. “And maybe you didn’t see it, but every eye in the place was glued on you guys. Even the teenagers, and they don’t like anything. We need people like you, here, in our face, reminding us that people just like you are over there fighting for us and for what we believe in. If it takes a gun race to make them watch, then give them a gun race. You’re good at it. Make. Them. See. That’s your job, and sometimes, like when you get that call and know there’s nothing you can do about it, it’s harder than just going out and fighting, but it’s needed. You’re needed. It’s not fair, but there it is.”
She got up then, grabbed her suitcase, and walked to the door, setting the latch so it would lock when I left. And that was it. I knew I’d never see her again. It’s funny, you know - I’d met army groupies before, of course, but none of them were anything like her.
“I’m not,” she answered me, even though I was pretty sure I hadn’t said any of that out loud. “Army boys are my groupies.”
I guess I couldn’t argue with that.
Also Available from House of Erotica
Venus
Hawthorn
The taxi dropped her off at Southampton wharf. As the driver and a steward were unloading her luggage onto a trolley she gazed up at the towering white side of the ship that was to be her home for the next three weeks and read the name painted proudly on the prow: the Venus. She had chosen this cruise for the ship’s name; she had always loved Botticelli’s painting of the Birth of Venus, showing the goddess of love emerging from the ocean. Idly she wondered which of the long lines of blue-tinted windows was her cabin.
The taxi driver, standing at her shoulder, coughed delicately, and she turned at once. “I’m so sorry, I was miles away. Thank you - how much do I owe you?”
“All taken care of by the travel company, ma’am. Just wanted to say enjoy your trip.”
She smiled sadly. “Oh, thank you. I hope so.”
He turned away and she glanced at the steward standing by the laden luggage trolley. He gestured towards the boarding ramp. “This way, ma’am.”
She followed him as he manoeuvred the trolley up the ramp. He was young, she noticed, in his early twenties - five or six years younger than she herself. His white uniform was sharp and crisp, his dark blond hair curling into the collar of his shirt. The tailored trousers skimmed toned thighs and the short-sleeved shirt revealed tanned and muscular arms; he obviously took advantage of the ship’s gym, she thought. What a fantastic job if one was young, free and single - seeing the world while living and working in serious luxury.
Then they were aboard, and the steward - Matthew, she read on his badge - passed the trolley to a minion while he conducted her towards the reception centre at the heart of the ship. There an immaculately coiffured hostess produced maps, itineraries, lists of the ship’s facilities, and the keycard for her cabin suite.
Matthew was at her side again as she turned away. “May I show you to your suite, ma’am?” he enquired.
“Oh, yes please, but for heaven’s sake don’t call me ma’am,” she replied. “My name is Judy.”
He grinned. “Can’t use your first name - ship’s protocol. I’d have to walk the plank.”
She blinked, then realised he was joking. “Oh ... oh, I see. Then it’s Mrs Bartholomew - no. Not that. Miss Evans. Call me Miss Evans.” She shrugged uncomfortably, looking at her hands. “Just got divorced.”
His brow creased. “I’m sorry. Miss Evans it is.”
She followed him down some wide stairs and along a richly carpeted corridor to her suite, where her luggage was waiting. Matthew gave her a brief tour of the compact but luxurious quarters - sitting room, ocean balcony, bathroom, double bedroom, ensuite - and then left her to settle in. Half-way to the door he glanced back.
“If you need anything, please shout. I’m usually around.” He smiled and was gone.
She looked around her. The suite was immaculate and sumptuously furnished, but she sighed as she sank onto the comfortable sofa. No escaping it now, she thought. You’re here, and you’re on your own. No threats from Simon, no fair-weather friends, no solicitors - just you, in
this cabin, for three weeks. The rest of your life starts here.
Over the next four days Judy saw Matthew regularly. He was, as he had promised, usually around - it seemed he was responsible for her wellbeing, along with that of the wealthy passengers in the suites neighbouring her own. He was attentive and pleasant without being obsequious; when she ordered food he accompanied the waiter who brought it, when she needed information he was most often the one to provide it, and when she lost her keycard it was he who found it after a short but frantic search (it was under a table in the salon, having fallen out of her bag while she was having a manicure).
During that time she noticed his hands, strong and long-fingered, and his confident easy smile. His working uniform - tailored white trousers, a short-sleeved shirt with the ship’s name on the pocket - was always crisp and smart, and he seemed unflappable and efficient. He had a charismatic physical presence with his broad shoulders and well-toned physique, but he was never overbearing or domineering. She began to look for him, and to smile and wave when she saw him.
On the third day the Venus made landfall, calling at Funchal on the island of Madeira. Judy spent a pleasant but solitary afternoon exploring the cobbled streets, and bought a silver and sapphire necklace in a tourist shop. She smiled wryly, remembering how Simon had disliked silver, saying it looked cheap; she had never agreed, but, as with so many other things during her marriage, she had acquiesced. Now she fixed the silver chain around her neck with a small thrill of defiance.
The next night she was invited to dinner at the Captain’s table. She dithered over what to wear, because most of her formal clothes reminded her of events she had attended with Simon. Eventually she settled on a blue-green silk dress, sleeveless, calf-length and gently scalloped at the neck and hem. It was elegant and complemented her slim figure, and she had worn it only once before, to a garden party thrown by some of Simon’s less objectionable friends. The cut and colour reminded her of the sea, which seemed appropriate somehow, and she wore the sapphire necklace from Funchal. Her dark shoulder-length hair she left loose and tousled; the sleek bob Simon had insisted on was growing out, and she hadn’t thought to get it restyled.
Uniform Behaviour Page 11