The Sailor's Wife

She lay on the sands of Alameda sunning herself, her back to the behemoth of the Naval Air Station, attempting to ignore its overwhelming presence in her life in that late summer of 1972.

Perspiration glistened on her twenty-five year young body, and a sip of beer refreshed her as it slid coolly down her throat. Stephanie tried to think about something, anything other than the loneliness and frustration of the separation from her husband. He adored her and would eagerly do anything for her. But how could he give her what she needed when he was at sea? The immense aircraft carrier wouldn't be back from practice runs for another week. She'd be there, waiting on the huge docks as the gray warrior slowly approached the pier. Glenn would be peering from the flight deck, attempting to catch a glimpse of her, and a half-hour later he'd come flying down the gangplank. They'd go to the apartment halfway up the Oakland hills, walk down to the Baskin-Robbins for a hot fudge sun­dae, and perhaps make love that night.

Stephanie had plenty of practice being a sailor's wife. Two years at Mare Island began to teach patience when he didn't come home every fourth night, standing guard over school buildings and barracks that no one would ever bother to attack. During the first VietNamese cruise she'd gone back to the Midwest to live with her mother, a frustrating experience during which she realized, for the first time, that she was a girl no longer, but a woman with mature needs and desires. During Glenn's second cruise she stayed out in California, living in an old apartment building near Lake Merritt next to another wife. Lenore was fun, and they'd assuaged the temptations of being alone by constantly checking up on each other. But then her friend's husband was discharged, and Stephanie lost her girlfriend, confidant and chaperone. Now Stephanie lived in a much more modern place, but the lack of company was driving her nuts.

She looked around the beach in hopes of finding a diversion. Women like her sunning themselves. Were they also waiting for their husbands to return from the sea? A volleyball game played by bronzed youths. A frisbee landing in the tiny waves of the Bay retrieved by a Labrador. A solitary youth in cut-offs, patrolling the beach, long brown hair tumbling down his back. Would Glenn look good in long hair? Even if the Navy would allow him to go unshorn, would he let it grow to please her? The man, or was he a boy, checked her out and then moved on down the beach. She didn't mind, the ritual was part of the beach scene, and she knew the yellow bikini showed off her best feature, long legs on a five foot ten frame. She had full breasts, not too large, and some men's glances lingered there, pondering the flesh beneath the bra. Most men never got up as far as the face framed by long brunette hair, a little stringy, with a long and pointed nose that she hated. If they bothered to talk to her, most of the time she just flashed her ring finger at them, and they'd move on.

Damn, the next year was going to be hard. Glenn would be back for a few weeks, but then he'd be gone again for nine months as the ship voyaged 7,000 miles across the Pacific to launch bomb-laden airplanes over the jungles of Southeast Asia. Would this war ever be over? But soon after the deployment, Glenn's term of service would be finished. After four and a half years, she could hold out another seventeen months, couldn't she?

The guy in cut-offs, now a hundred yards away, turned and started back. She enjoyed his trim silhouette against the glint of sunlight. He was really young, she could tell now. Stephanie remembered how Glenn treated her when they had first started making love in the summer after she graduated. When they got the chance, they did it over and over again, sometimes three or four times in a single hour. She didn't have the experience to appreciate the attention then. Now, it was all changed. Didn't they say that a woman's sexual peak was in her mid-twenties? Just because her husband wasn't around didn't mean she didn't have desires. Quite the opposite, in fact. She recalled with shame how just last month she had sampled illicit relief.

What had she been thinking? A Friday night, and isolation had driven her to a bar a few blocks away. A good-looking guy bought her a second rum and coke, and then a third. Dancing to the beat of the jukebox, he tried to hold her intimately. She knew she had, unintentionally she was sure, given him some hope. After the fourth drink, she told him she had to go home, and when he insisted on driving her, she didn't resist very hard. She let him kiss her in the car, and then she took his hand and led him up the stairs to the apartment. Somehow, she was a little surprised when she was naked and lying on her back, the first time she'd been with a man other than Glenn. She wasn't even sure she had an orgasm, but that wasn't extraordinary. Most of the time with Glenn she didn't come either. After the guy drank a beer, he escaped into the night, clutching her phone number, but of course he never called. Just as well, she lamented. For a few days, she tried to tell herself that she was drunk, that she'd been raped, but she knew it was a lie. She'd had, deep inside her that night, a need to get laid, and she'd walked to the bar subconsciously wishing for it. In the following days, remorse made her ill. For the first time in months she fled to the confessional, promising the hidden priest she wouldn't ever do it again, and returning the next day for Mass. She dreaded her husband's return, sure that with one glance he'd detect her adultery. In the end, she'd been able to act naturally, showering him with consideration, baking his favorite cake, letting him choose the movie, and even giving him the unusual treat of a blowjob.

Still, she remembered the sensation of the other man's attentions, how he kissed her, undressed her, gently laid her on the bed, fondled her breasts, and then covered her with himself, thrusting his member into the dark gully of her sex. In some indiscernible way his lovemaking had been different. Perhaps it was that his tool was a novel size, or that there were exotic scents, or that his movements inside her touched unexplored regions. When he spurted, she remembered pushing her groin firmly against his, wanting to secure all of his juice deep in her innards, almost as an animal instinct. Lying here on the beach, she was certain that the reminiscence of the strange body on top and inside of her was causing her to blush. She wanted to put her hands between her legs, to bring herself off as she often did in her bed at night, to pretend he was still fucking her.

Suddenly she heard a voice say "Hi," shocking her out of daydream. It was the good looking kid, returning from his inspection of the seashore. Damn, he probably caught her staring at him. "Hi yourself," she smiled, and he sat down in the warm sand beside her.

"My name's Chuck."

"Stephanie. My friends call me Steph." His pick up lines were naïve, and she figured he was a senior in High School. She decided not to blow him off, to let him stay. Just someone to talk to. He watched her as she raised the beer to her lips and took a long swallow.

"That looks good."

"It is," she responded. She got the last two bottles of Olympia out of the cooler, pried the caps off, and handed one to him. She could tell from his tentative manner of swigging the beer that he wasn't used to drinking, at least not in public. Despite his youth, he was likeable, and Stephanie appreciated the company. He really was handsome, and the firmness of his young body aroused her. The John Lennon glasses were pretty sexy, too. If he were a few years older, and she was single, what would happen, she wondered? Chuck guzzled his beer while Steph sipped hers. By the time she was done, the late afternoon wind through the Golden Gate was beginning to chill the sweat on their bodies. It was time to leave, but the idea of another lonely night spent by herself depressed her.

"Want another beer?" she asked.

"Sure."

"We'll have to go to my place. It's about five miles away. Do you mind?" Nothing was going to happen, she was sure. He was just going to be company.

"Okay. I've got nothing going."

Chuck gathered the beach towel, cooler, and romance paperback while Steph slipped into her cover-up. On the way to the car, Chuck picked up a T-shirt and a pair of tennis shoes. Stephanie unlocked the red VW bug, got behind the wheel, and leaned over to let Chuck into the passenger seat. She realized, too late, that he had gotten a pretty good view down her bra. The idea that he might have even seen a nipple sort of thrilled her. Oh, well, no harm done. A U turn, and they were soon passing through the Webster Tunnels and up into the McArthur district.

"How old are you, Chuck?" she asked.

"Nineteen," he responded without hesitation. Six years younger than she, and at their ages, six years was a lifetime. She wondered if it was true, if he was even younger.

"Still in High School?" she challenged.

"No, graduated in June. I'm going to the College of Alameda now."

"Still living at home?"

"Yeah, I'm trying to get the bread to move out. I've got a part time job at an auto store, and some guys are talking about getting into an apartment together. And I'm trying to buy a car, too."

East on Lincoln and a sharp turn onto a residential street lined with two story apartments. Stephanie pulled into a carport, led the young man up the outside stairs, and opened the door.

"Listen, get us a beer out of the fridge. I'm gonna put some clothes on, okay?" She went into the bedroom, stripped off the swimsuit and donned panties, shorts, and a sweatshirt. When she returned to the living room, she found Chuck sitting on the couch sipping beer, she sat down beside him, not too close.

"This is great. Listen, do you have an old man or anything?" The wedding photographs were hanging on the wall, and a pair of Glenn's shoes were still underneath the end table.

"Yeah, he's in the Navy, on a ship."

"Is he in 'Nam?"

"He will be soon."

"Bummer."

Steph changed the subject, asking Chuck about his job. He did oil changes and tires mostly, she thought about how he was similar to Glenn. A little self-centered, but slightly shy, too. She decided she liked him.

The evening breeze swept through the open window, and Stephanie realized she was chilly. She felt gritty with the remnants of the sand and salt water on her body.

"Listen, I'm going to take a bath," she said. "Is that okay?"

"Sure."

She left him with instructions to help himself to another beer if he wanted, entered the bathroom, and filled the tub with water as hot as she could stand it.

She relaxed and let her thoughts stray again to the other guy, three weeks before. Now that she was in private, she let her fingers wander through her pubic hair and play with her clitoris. When her breathing grew shallower and quicker, she knew that instead of her finger, she wanted - she needed - a man to fill her. Wouldn't it be nice if the California Adonis in her living room would storm in to take her? A knock came on the door, disturbing her fantasy, echoing abruptly in the confined room.

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?" Well, talk about timing. "Do you need anything?"

"The rest of my beer would be nice. I left it on the coffee table."

"I'll get it for you."

"Okay."

The footsteps padded away. She thought about his solid thighs and gorgeous hair. His young ass would be really firm, wouldn't it? Dare she consider actually doing it? Why not? So what, no one would ever know. He didn't come knocking on the door just to see how she was; he wanted to find out if she'd let him into the bathroom, and into her bed. What about her husband? Right now, she didn't care; she could hide it from him.

A few seconds later the door cracked open, "I'll just leave it on the floor, okay?"

The moment of truth. Was she really going to let this happen? What if she was imagining things, if he really was just trying to be a nice guy? She reached for a towel, and used it to cover herself. "No, bring it in, would you? It's okay."

He entered the steamy bathroom and his glasses fogged. He took them off and stumbled over to the tub. Stephanie was sure he really couldn't see much of anything. She stretched her arm out and caught his leg, letting him know where she was, and accepted the offered bottle.

"Thanks. You don't have to leave, if you don't want to. Stay and talk," she invited. Chuck sat on the toilet lid at her feet, grabbed a tissue, and began to wipe the glasses. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No, had one, but she went into the Haight with a guy she met a couple weeks ago."

"How long were you dating?"

"Since we were sophomores. She's the only girl I ever loved."

"You miss her?"

"Yeah. But she was getting to be a drag, anyway," he said, shrinking from his ache. "It's time for me to move on."

Steph relaxed. "Did you ever make love with her, Chuck?"

"Yeah, we got it on. But it's hard sometimes, finding a place to do it. We both have brothers and sisters, so that was out. Mainly it was on the beach under some bushes, and this summer we told our folks some lies and got a motel for the night. That was great."

"I'll bet. I remember the first night my husband and I did that." Steph could feel Chuck's eyes examining her, trying to discover the breasts under the towel. He wanted her, she could sense, and God knew he was making her hornier by the minute. "Why don't you join me in here?" she offered.

"Yeah. Sure." The inflection was tenuous, as if he didn't believe this was happening. For a few seconds he hesitated, and then he turned his back to her, pulled the T-shirt over his head, unzipped his fly, and flung the shorts and underpants into the corner. She scooted up, making room for him, uncovering herself in the process, and as he climbed into the water and sat cross-legged facing her, she inspected him. His manliness, fully erect of course and standing straight from his body, was easily as large as her husband and larger, she thought, than the guy a month ago. Their bodies touched for the first time at the knees. It was sort of funny, the way he was trying to look at the ceiling, at the wall, anything but her. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I will be in a second. It's just a little strange, that's all." He turned toward her, and gazed first at the breasts, taking in the suntan lines and dark brown aureoles, and then further down, attempting to discern the dark brown pubic hairs distorted by the ripples, and the pinkness they hid.

"Enjoying it?" she whispered.

"You're beautiful."

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls." Stephanie leaned forward, scooped water in her hand, and poured it onto his shoulder. "Feels good, huh?"

"Yeah." She put her hand on his neck, caressing it. She figured he'd grab her, kiss her, do something, but he just sat there, looking at her, not knowing what she expected of him.

She tried to guide him closer. "You know, they do this all the time in Japan," she said. "They actually wash each other. Would you like me to wash you?"

"Yeah, that'd be really great."

Steph took the bar of soap and began to lather first his shoulders, then his arms, and hairless chest. Under the water, she rubbed his legs and then moved her hands to his sack and rod. Letting the soap drop to the bottom, she massaged his tool, enjoying the softness of the skin and playing with the circumcised head. Chuck leaned back, closed his eyes, and let Steph pleasure him. But, of course, he wasn't about to let it stay at that. His hands grabbed at her, his palms were full of her breasts, and she leaned towards him for their first kiss.

She desired no further foreplay, she was ready to culminate their budding relationship, and she tried to pull herself into a kneeling pose. He understood her intentions, leaned back and let her position herself. But the tub was just too narrow, and when she attempted to drive his sex into her she slipped, their wet bodies lurched apart. She stood, grabbed at him and cried, "Come on." Without drying herself, she ran to the bedroom and flung herself onto the bedspread, spreading her legs wide, waiting for his arrival. He was on top of her in a flash. Reaching between them she positioned his cock at her opening, relishing the passion as he slid into her. She was wild for it, gluttonous, and as he thrust in and out of her, she used her legs to push her vagina up, meeting his plunges with pushes of her own. She grabbed his ass, imploring him to go deeper and deeper, and the pressure of his chest on her breasts enticed her to pleasure. She was close, on the verge, just a moment from release when she felt him go rigid, stopping, and she knew he was exploding. She just needed a little more, and she pleaded, "Keep going, keep going!" but by the time he absorbed the message into his orgasm-fogged brain, it was too late. She was off the edge. 'Damn, double damn,' she thought as he collapsed in a heap on top of her. For seconds he lay there, recovering from his exertion, and then he tried to kiss her.

"Honey, screw me some more. Make me come, too." Once again his now semi-rigid tool began to slip in and out of her wet tunnel, and she used both her hands and her commands to move him. "Faster, over to the side. Now, straight in, hard!" But the more she implored, the less satisfaction she obtained. Soon his used cock slipped from inside of her, and even though he tried to push it back in, she knew he couldn't do it.

She rolled him off her, grabbed some tissues from the box, and wiped herself clean of his sperm, then wiped her juice off his limpness. He was on his back now, an arm covering his face, and she took a minute to admire his beauty. Relinquishing the desire to quench the fire in her private parts, she took the opportunity to cuddle up to his side and stroke his smooth chest. Kissing him, she asked, "Was it good?"

"Fantastic! Man, you made me feel so hot. Did you like it? Was I good?"

"You were fine," she fibbed. She kissed him again, this time deeply, hoping to assuage his tender emotions. He responded by playing with her breast, pinching the nipple. The tingle of excitement returned, stronger, and Steph welcomed it. Soon he pushed his face down to suck on her nipple. He was a little rough, which was just fine. "Harder," she implored. He bit her, causing a flash of pain that flared into her loins, drawing a gasp from her. "Not that hard." He continued to suck, to probe, to pinch.

Stephanie let her hand slide between her legs. She'd never masturbated with a man before, but she badly needed to come, and she was willing to do anything for it. With her index finger, she began a circling motion directly on her clitoris. Concentrating first on the pressure she was placing on her hot spot, and then on the sucking and pinching Chuck was applying to her nipples, she soon returned to a state of sexual agitation. Chuck injected a digit and began moving it inside her inflamed pussy. For minutes she aroused herself with help from the boy beside her, and finally, flashes of amber began to permeate her cerebellum. Not the lightning of a full come, but mini-orgasms lasting only a few seconds, then receding from the precipice. In her frenzy, she placed a hand on his leg and was overwhelmed to discover another erection. Maybe a young stud was what she needed to match her insatiable desire.

She pushed the cub on his back and straddled him. She grabbed his cock and furiously sank down onto it, burying the tool inside of her as high as it could possibly go. Taking one of his hands and placing it on her breasts, she exclaimed, "Don't stop." While she ground herself against him, her other hand continued to excite her exposed clit. She moved her hips to her own secret rhythm, pleasing herself, using his body purely for her own desires. At long last waves of pleasure broke over her, followed by eddies of calm that only served as preparation for the next tremendous whitecap.