tagRomanceCanon Ch. 05

Canon Ch. 05



Amy stared at Geoff as he stood in the doorway of her room, and he stared at her. "Likewise," he said.

Amy wore a chocolate-brown evening dress that hugged her curves. It was perhaps a tiny bit shorter and a tiny bit lower-cut than was quite proper, but she looked ravishing. The dress contrasted fetchingly with her ivory-pale skin, and her hair was pinned up in Geoff's favorite Victorian style. Her jewelry was a blue topaz necklace with matching earrings and bracelet, and her purse and pretty high-heeled sandals were that same pale blue.

It took a moment for Geoff to notice that her dress matched her left eye and her jewelry matched her right. The effect was magical.

The old man himself stood as straight as a new recruit, wearing his Marine dress blues for the first time in many years. He was rather proud of the fact that they still fit.

Amy had never seen them. "I thought you were going to wear a suit," she said wonderingly. She thought he looked strong and manly and noble, all of which he was.

He smiled thinly. "I'm not a suit kind of guy, Punkin," he said. "I don't own one. Or a tie, either. When I dress up, these are what I wear. If my blues aren't formal enough, fuck 'em."

She stared at him in open admiration. "You look wonderful, Geoffie. May I look?"

He grinned. "Please do."

She came closer and gazed at the five rows of ribbons on his tunic, and at the row of medals above them, touching them reverently. She ran a small, white hand up and down his sleeve. She touched his sergeant-major's patch - yellow stripes on red, three up, four down, with a star in the center - and then she ran a finger down the double rows of short diagonal stripes that ran from his wrist to his elbow. "What are these?" she asked.

"Those are called hash marks, Amy," he rumbled. "Each one represents a battle."

She looked up at his leathery old face. "You've got a lot." He nodded, his face solemn. She smiled and said, "I'm so proud of you, Geoff. I'm proud to be yours."

The old man in the dress uniform looked at her, thinking. Then he nodded, as if he had come to a decision. "Come with me, Amy," he said.

They walked down the hall to Geoff's study, which she had seen, but not often. He went to his desk, pulled out a lower drawer, and took out a flat, leather-covered box. It had the Marine Corps globe-and-anchor emblem embossed in gold on its lid.

He turned to her. "Punkin, I haven't worn this since they gave it to me - and that was long before you were born. Your mom and dad don't even know I have it." He looked at the box, then held it out to her.

"But tonight, for you - I'm going to wear it. Would you put it on me?"

Amy took the box from his hand, wondering. She opened it.

Inside was a medal: a five-pointed star, hanging point down from an anchor which was attached to a pale-blue ribbon. The panel from which it hung bore thirteen tiny white stars.

Even Amy knew what it was.

"Geoff - this is the Medal of Honor," she said reverently. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and adoring. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

He looked uncomfortable. "I don't want everyone making a big deal about it," he muttered.

She stood on tiptoe and fastened it around his neck, smoothing the ribbon around the stand-up collar of his blue tunic. Then she stood back and admired him. "Geoff, I'm so proud of you," she said again.

He smiled - strangely for the old warrior - shyly. "Thank you, Punkin. Come on, let's go."

He picked up his white dress cover from the kitchen table, and they went to the garage. They took the Jaguar, of course.


Four months had passed; Amy had settled into her classes, doing her usual A-plus-plus work. Geoff liked to watch her study, admiring her eyes behind her glasses as she read, her pretty hands as she wrote, her little pink tongue as it protruded from her sweet lips when she concentrated. He ached to hold her and kiss her at all times - but while she worked, he watched and smiled only, and enjoyed the ache.

They made love in some fashion every day, usually more than once; and they had grown more and more skilled, and more passionate, as the weeks went by. Amy did indeed spend their weekends as his naughty slave girl, naked and barefoot, reveling in her ability to please and tease and shock him and make him laugh and smile and moan and cum and sometimes weep with pleasure and love and gratitude. Amy wept too, often enough; tears of joy at her own good fortune at being blessed with his unconditional love and devotion. Old and weathered he was, but not weakened by it; and his passion was as young and strong as her own.

Their time together was sometimes dreamlike, sometimes surreal; swept away daily, sometimes hourly, by waves of love as overwhelming as breakers on the ocean - and storms of blazing, consuming passion and lust as intense as any hurricane. They loved, they were in love, they made love, and they licked and sucked and fucked like rutting animals when the fire burned within them - and it burned often.

She danced and posed for him often, too; and she made him cum with her nude loveliness and sizzling sexuality alone, just as she had wanted. Geoff adored those times as much as she, taking pleasure unimaginable from the sight of her bare body and her eagerness to tease and shock him.

Were they happy?

They were far beyond happy. They were complete.



They were on their way to a concert at the school. Geoff was not much for formal affairs, but this one was different. The local symphony was performing at the college's auditorium, and prominent on the program was Pachelbel's "Canon in D."

"Thank you for getting the tickets, Geoff," said Amy, watching him from the left front seat as he drove.

"Wouldn't miss it," he said. "Fact is, I called in a favor to get the Canon on the program."

She blinked. "Really?"

"One of the Symphony board members was my commanding officer," the old man said. "Colonel Johnston. One of the best men I ever served under." He smiled and added, "Put me in for the MOH. I told him I didn't want it, but he did it anyway."

"Will he be wearing his dress uniform, too?" she asked.

Geoff considered. "If he's there," he said. "Wouldn't surprise me. We Marines are partial to the blue."

When they arrived at the hall, Geoff parked the car, helped Amy get out - it wasn't easy, in a dress - then put on his hat and looked around. "Uh-oh," he said.

"What?" She looked toward the hall. "Oh."

There were at least two score of Marines and sailors in dress blues and whites, Army officers and NCOs in Class A's and dress blues, and even some Air Force officers in their dress uniforms entering the. Hall with their wives and dates.

"What's wrong with that, Geoff?" asked Amy, puzzled.

"You remember how I said I didn't want anyone making a big deal about this?" he asked, indicating the medal around his neck. His craggy old face was grim.


"Well, Johnsty's going to make a big deal about it." He offered his arm, and Amy took it; then he took a deep breath, visibly braced himself, and they started for the door.

She looked up at him proudly and squeezed him arm. "Good," she whispered.

He looked down at her, surprised, then smiled wryly.

"Like I said, Punkin. For you." He looked toward the hall and made a face. "For you, I'll even put up with this."

She twinkled up at him. "Be proud, Geoffie. You're allowed." He snorted, and they walked on.

As they entered the lobby, Amy fairly glowed to see senior officers - even admirals and generals - come to attention and salute as Geoff passed. He returned their salutes with an ironic air, nodding and smiling his thanks at their deference. Several came up to him to shake the old man's hand, saying, "Thank you, Sergeant-Major," "It's an honor, sir," or simply, "Semper Fi."

They worked their way into the auditorium, and finally took their seats - on the front row, no less. Amy was enthralled by the sight of the stage, the instruments, the podium with its stacks of sheet music and small white baton. More patrons came to speak to Geoff and shake his hand, and he rose to greet every one.

He invariably introduced Amy as his "dear friend." Some looked at her with a veiled speculation, but most simply greeted her warmly. One elderly woman winked at her and whispered, "Lucky girl," which made her giggle. The old woman and the young one exchanged conspiratorial smiles, and Amy felt strangely lightheaded.

She knows, she thought. Does it show that much?

Finally, the audience was seated and quiet, and the musicians entered and spent the usual cacophonous few minutes tuning up. The conductor entered from the wings, resplendent in white tie, and bowed to a round of applause. He then stepped down from the podium and approached a microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen - Colonel Harold W. Johnston, United States Marine Corps, retired."

A tall, distinguished-looking man in a well-tailored tuxedo entered from the opposite side of the stage and strode to the microphone to a round of applause which lasted a bit longer than that for the conductor. The only sign of his service was a small gold pin in his lapel, which Amy recognized even at that distance to be the globe and anchor of the Corps.

"Here we go," whispered Geoff ruefully. Amy squeezed his arm in encouragement.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the colonel, looking around the hall, "Tonight is a special night - and word seems to have gotten around. I see a lot of dress blue and white and green out there. The troops are in attendance." There was a rumble of assent, and the colonel went on.

"There is a man among us tonight," he said, "whom I've been trying to get to come to the Symphony for years. And the old goat is finally here." There was a round of good-natured laughter.

"I know this man well," the colonel went on, "and I know if I tried to tell his story, he would come up here and hit me. And believe me, I don't want that." More laughter, in which even Geoff himself joined.

"But I think we owe him a moment to honor his service and his valor, which I WILL tell you, are the most worthy of honor of any man I have ever known or served with."

He stopped for a moment, visibly moved. "And so - even though I know he hates this - ladies and gentlemen, I give you Sergeant-Major Geoffrey Rider, United States Marine Corps, retired - holder of five Distinguished Service citations, two Silver Stars, the Navy Cross, and the Medal of Honor." He beckoned to Geoff, who, with a rueful look at Amy, stood, turned, and faced the audience.

As one, they rose to their feet, even the musicians. The applause was deafening, punctuated with cheers and whistles and martial whoops. The old soldier stood stoically, nodding and gesturing for them to stop, his eyes glistening.

Suddenly, he turned and mounted the steps to the stage. As he approached the microphone with a determined air, he muttered out of the side of his mouth to his old friend: "I'll get you for this..." The colonel laughed and stepped back.

Geoff stood at the mike and waited for the ovation to end. When it didn't, he held up a hand and frowned, and the noise subsided quickly. Amy watched him, her heart bursting with pride and love.

He leaned in to the microphone, and his deep voice boomed through the hall:

"Thank you all," he said, "but some of you know I don't like this much. I know old Johnsty here does, and he should have known better." He growled the last with an ironic smile at his former commander, and once again there was a round of laughter.

He turned back to the listening crowd, and his face grew grim. "Let me tell you why I don't like it. Don't get me wrong: I'm not angry," he said, shaking his head. "I'm deeply, deeply honored. But I'm not the one we should be honoring. The real heroes - and we all know this - the real heroes..."

He paused, looking out at the hundreds of faces watching him.

"....they never came home."

He let those words hang in the hall for a moment, then spoke more softly. "How about a standing ovation for them?"

The old man stepped away from the microphone and began to clap, slowly, standing straight and tall, alone in the spotlight.

Amy stood and joined him, along with a few others - and then, quickly, more and more, till the whole hall was on its feet and clapping, hard and loudly.

It went on and on. Amy looked around and saw tough old soldiers with tears running down their cheeks, clapping for friends long dead. She felt moisture on her own face, and clapped till her hands hurt.

As the clapping continued, and grew louder, and as shouts and cheers began to ring out as well, she began to weep openly. She watched her lover, standing up for the honor of dead men more than for his own, and she cried.

No wonder I love him so, she thought. He's the best and strongest and noblest man I've ever known.

I want to wear his name. I want to be his wife and I want the world to know it....

Where did that come from? she wondered.

And then she realized that that was the one thing she could never have.

Geoff mouthed the words "Thank you," and left the stage as the ovation was still going on. He went back to his seat and stood beside Amy, touched the tears on her cheeks adoringly, then joined in the clapping himself. As it slowly subsided, he hugged her, holding her head to his chest for a long moment before they resumed their seats.

She leaned close to him and breathed into his ear: "I love you, Geoff."

She barely heard his whisper over the last of the applause as the audience sat down, murmuring their admiration for the man who had taken their tribute and given it to others.

"You are my life, Amy."


The concert finally began. It was a mixed bag; it began with the longest composition, Handel's Water Music, which was followed by a short intermission.

Afterwards, there were two Mozart concertos, including one for clarinet and orchestra, which Geoff had also selected; a Bach fugue; and the shortest piece on the program, Rachmaninoff's 18th Variation from his Rhapsody on a Theme from Paganini.

Amy gasped and looked up at Geoff when the familiar music began, and he smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. It was the theme from a movie they had both loved long before that summer - "Somewhere in Time."

They had watched it together since, and it held a deep resonance for them both. They, too, were soulmates separated by time - though not as much time as in the movie, for which they were grateful.

Finally, the bass viols, accompanied by pizzicato violins, began the eight deep notes of the "Canon in D." Amy and Geoff looked at each other...

And they could not look away.

Her eyes, so strangely different and yet at that moment the same, spoke to him of her pride and trust and admiration - and as the music changed and grew, more complex and profound by the measure, of her love, her passion and her hunger.

In his lined, weathered face, she saw his adoration, his devotion, and his gratitude - and his own passion and aching need.

He lifted her small hand and kissed it, heedless of the eyes of others. She touched his old cheek, as if they were alone.

And as the Canon ended, they bowed their heads as if in prayer, their foreheads touching, the lined and the smooth; and their hands, so different, were clasped together beneath their chins.

When the last strains died away, they looked at each other and smiled - and no one watching could have failed to see the loving look that passed between them.


Two old Marines had seen the pair listening to the music. As they left the hall, they, along with more than a few others, watched the old man and the young girl walk to the Jaguar hand in hand.

"I don't think we need to worry about the sergeant-major's morale," one said with a smile.

The other grinned. "She's a pretty little thing, isn't she?" They watched him pick her up and deposit her in the car.

"A beauty. God bless him," said the first. "He deserves her."

"Yes, he does," said the other. "I hope she deserves him."


Amy wondered the same thing herself, as she and Geoff made love that night.

They were in the steam room, with the steam low; the room was warm and foggy, but not searing-hot. Amy sat in the circle of Geoff's strong legs and arms, her own arms and legs wrapped around him - and all her weight resting on the stiff 70-year-old cock that impaled her to the heart.

They had sat so for more than an hour without moving. It was a Tantra Yoga technique that Geoff had taught her, and it had become almost sacred to them.

As they sat, still and intimately connected, their thoughts and emotions slowed and centered, spiraling and circling down, down, till they were at the silent center of each other's souls - without words or thoughts, in neither darkness nor light, within and around each other, outside of time and space. They became one being, a single soul with a single consciousness.

And as they remained still, beyond that oneness, they felt a rising energy, a tide of pure elemental sensation that began deep inside them and rose, as irresistible and overwhelming as a tidal wave, till they were swept away in a massive super-orgasm that lasted for long minutes, so deep and intense that they seemed to melt and burn away to nothing in its flame.

They slowly emerged from the storm, still connected, clinging to each other, soaked with sweat and sitting in a pool of cum that flowed from them both - but as rested and relaxed and peaceful as if they had slept in each other's arms instead of having just been vaporized in an eternal nuclear climax.

They finally moved; and Geoff stroked and petted the naked girl in his lap as she nuzzled his chest affectionately.

"Mmmm... I love that so much, Geoffie..."

He kissed her moist temple, brushing her hair with his lips. "I need that like I need air, Amy," he said, his gentle words a strange contrast to his deep and gravelly voice. "I need to touch your heart..."

"Mmm. Me too." She hugged him, squeezing him tight with both her arms and legs.

They kissed, and then snuggled for a few minutes, neither wanting to break their connection.

Geoff rocked her gently as they embraced. "Thank you for the music tonight, Geoffie," said the nude teen in his arms. "It was wonderful. Especially the surprise."


"The 'Somewhere in Time' one," she murmured, rubbing her cheek on his wet, gray-haired chest. "That was so special..."

He stroked her wet hair, smiling, but said nothing.

"Are you OK, after all that at the concert?" she asked.

"Sure," he said. "I think it came out all right. How about you? I really wish you hadn't seen that..."

"I loved it, Geoffie," she whispered. "Every girl wants to be loved by a hero."

"Aw..." He started to protest, then decided to let it go. He squeezed her, kissed her damp shoulder, and, again, said nothing.

"Will you ever tell me what you did?"

"No." The word was definite and final. "That was a long time ago, Punkin."

She wriggled in protest, but did not argue.

He lifted her face to his. "Let's think about today. And tomorrow." He smiled.

Then his face grew serious. "And maybe after tomorrow."

She gave him a warning look. "Geoff, you're not-"

He laughed. "No, I'm not thinking about the bucket, Amy-" The reference being to the one he was going to kick one day- "This is something else. Come on, let's shower and go snuggle in the living room before we go to bed."

She pressed him a bit as they bathed, but he only shook his head. Finally, they were settled on the big sofa, Geoff in his boxers and Amy in nothing but her glasses. He wrapped a soft blanket around them both, and they cuddled under itfor a moment - till Amy said, "Okay, now. What are you thinking about?"

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