Canon Ch. 07

"Really?" she whispered, beginning to pump her pussy up and down on his dick.

"Mmmmm. Yes. I just lie back and watch the show while you jack me off with your pussy..." She giggled and put her hands behind her head, leaning back in his arms and wriggling sensuously, teasing him as she bobbed up and down.

"I love to show off for you, Geoffie. I love to be naked under your eyes. I love it even more when I have your big old cock in my pussy." She humped her pelvis subtly as she slid up and down.

"Oooh, baby," he breathed. "Oooh, yeah... Squeeze me..."

"Mmmm. Like that?"

"Urk. Yeah. Oh, oh, yeah."

"Mmmmmmmmm.... So big..."

They fucked gently, sensuously, making it last, slowing down when they felt orgasm approaching, speeding up to keep it nearby. They floated at the edge of cumming for half an hour or so; it was a sweet dance that they had grown very good at.

"I love fucking you, Little Heart," he said softly as he teased her nipples. "And I love that I can see everything now without your hair in the way."

She smiled and sank all the way down on him, then ground her pussy into his crotch, stirring her hole deeply with his stiff dick. "Let's cum, G-Geoffie," she whispered shakily. "You wanna c-c-cum?"

He pulled her close, pressing her pointy young breasts into his gray, hairy chest. "Sure," he rumbled. "But don't cum till I tell you to."

She whimpered and bit her lip as she felt him thrusting deep inside her. "O-okaaay....."

Geoff hung on for long seconds at his favorite moment in time - feeling his cum rushing up from his balls, his sweet Amy's pussy tube squeezing and grasping slickly at his bare cock, her high, little-girl orgasm-voice shakily begging, "Please, Geoffie - I'm gonna cum... I'm gonna cum now..."

"Cum then, baby," he groaned, "Cum for me..." And as she shuddered and let go on him, he felt his soul shooting from his dick deep into her wetly caressing hole.

"Oh, G-God..."

"Love you..."

"So good...."

They floated for perhaps a minute, perhaps more, perhaps forever, in that wonderful ocean of spurt and squeeze, clench and gush, arms wrapped around each other and tongues trying to tell each other what love is; and finally they came to the surface to find another orgasm waiting.

Geoff's were dry; hers were not, and they slid from one peak to the next for five or ten minutes. They called it "chaining," and they had learned to just be grateful and ride with it when it came upon them, and not worry or wonder about how or why it happened.

They finally spun back to Earth and sat in the circles of each other's arms and legs, gazing into each other's eyes and finding the other halves of their souls there.

Amy leaned her cheek on Geoff's chest and closed her eyes. Her pussy still clasped his softening cock in its wet and gentle haven. "I love that, Geoffie," she whispered into his gray hair. "I just love it when we get all locked up like that."

"Mmmm. Me too," he murmured. Then he smiled. "Gives a whole new meaning to 'locked up and chained,' doesn't it?"

She giggled and nuzzled him. "Ooo, Geoffie, chain me up... Chain me up naked..."

Then she lifted her head and looked at him. "That reminds me," she said. "When are we going back to Juicy? I want to be stuck naked for a few weeks again."

They had returned to their island twice that year, and both times Amy had to go without clothing the whole time; the second time she even did without sandals, and that was for three weeks. She adored the feeling of being "stuck naked," without the slightest hope of covering herself, and her excitement fueled Geoff's.

Her pussy was constantly wet and swollen on the island, and that finally gave it its name; they called it Juicy Island.

"When is this semester over?" he asked.

"Week after next." She felt his dick slip out of her pussy and shivered. "Can we go?"

He grinned. "Let's spend Christmas with your mom and dad, then you can take the spring term off. How about getting stuck naked for a couple of months?"

"Ooo... I'd like that, Geoffie... I'd like that a lot..."

---

And so they did. January was the perfect time; they fled the gray, snowless cold of the Southern winter and spent its coldest months on their idyllic island in the South Pacific.

That trip required several visits from the seaplane to bring supplies. Amy was obliged to hide naked in the trees as the pilot and Geoff carried the boxes and bags into the hut. She felt deliciously vulnerable and exposed the whole time, and Geoff was in turn infected with her excitement.

He had by this time introduced Amy to the pleasures of vibrating dildos, and she enjoyed snuggling intimately on the beach with one inserted in her slippery pussy and turned to the low setting. They would kiss and caress each other for hours as Amy drifted from one dreamy, effortless orgasm to the next. She also grew to enjoy holding one inside her as she lovingly sucked Geoff's cock; she adored turning it up and timing her own orgasm to the moment when he spurted and squirted cum in her mouth or on her face, and he loved watching her gasp and shiver as he coated her tongue and lips - and her lewd smile as she looked at him afterwards.

They experimented a bit, as always - and sometimes they didn't.

"Geoffie," she said to him quietly one evening as they roasted hot dogs over the fire, "You can take me in my bottom if you want."

He looked at her quizzically. "You mean, anally?" She nodded. He smiled. "Thank you, Punkin, but no thanks."

"You don't like that?"

He shrugged. "I know some guys do," he said, "but I never saw much sense in it." He grinned at the naked girl. "Why would I want to fuck your asshole when the most wonderful pussy in the world is two inches away?"

She giggled, and he thought he heard a little hint of relief. "You didn't really want that anyway, did you?" he said softly. "It was just for me."

She nodded. "But if you want it, it's yours, Geoffie. I told you - I'll do anything for you."

He rested the stick that held his hot dog on one of the rocks by the fire, took the nude teen in his arms, and kissed her. "Thank you, Little Heart," he whispered. "But I never want you to do anything you don't want to do."

She snuggled into his arms. "I know, Geoffie. But if it's for something you want - well, you don't have to know."

He leaned back and looked at her sternly. "Now, Amy, I don't like that much." He frowned. "Tell me the truth. Have you ever done something you didn't like because you thought I wanted it?" He looked her right in her big, disconcerting eyes. "Truth, now."

She looked up at him. "Not exactly," she said timidly.

"What does THAT mean?"

She wriggled. "One thing, at first, I didn't want to. But after I did it, I loved it."

"What was it?"

She blushed. "Riding Honey. I was scared of that the first time." She shivered. "Now I love it. Mmm. I wish we could bring her here."

He smiled. "Anything else?"

She shook her head, eyes wide and innocent - both of them.

"Well, okay," he said. "But you're doing something right now that I hope I never, ever, do."

She blinked. "What?"

"You're burning your weenie."

She squeaked and pulled it from the fire, and they both laughed. "If you ever do, I'll kiss it and make it better, Geoffie."

He grinned. "Will you kiss it even if I don't burn it?"

"Don't I now?" She smirked. "Besides, I LIKE 'em hot n' juicy." She looked at him as she took a large, deliberate bite of her hot dog, and giggled.

"Ouch," he said, and she laughed. "And you prefer aged beef, I'll bet."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, yessss... It's so much more flavorful..."

---

Their favorite time on the island was sunrise. They would sit on the beach in the darkness before dawn in their Yoga connection, naked and embracing each other, with Geoff's hard dick balls-deep in her warm, wet hole - and just sit, without moving, for an hour, or two, or more.

As the Sun slowly rose, they too would slowly rise, higher and higher, until that moment when the Pacific sky was filled with golden bars of light radiating from the eastern horizon. At that moment, they reached that pinnacle of ultra-orgasm and deep oneness that they both found so precious - and their hearts and minds, now one heart and one mind, were illuminated as brightly as the sky and as filled with golden light.

The old man and the young girl - on their island, the only man and woman in the world - felt their hearts fill and their souls touch. As their faces and bodies. - old and young, scarred and flawless, wrinkled and smooth - were lighted by the rising Sun, they held each other and came, beyond thought, in still, wordless ecstasy, and they could not tell where one ended and the other began - body, mind, or soul.

And so they would remain, rested and content, silent, warmer and closer than either had ever been to another or ever could be.

When they were ready, they would walk together down the beach and into the surf, where they would laugh and embrace and let the infinite, ancient ocean move them and rock them and draw them back to Earth.

---

In spite of Geoff's daily ritual of caressing and covering Amy's ivory skin with strong sunblock from hairline to heels, she gradually acquired a subtle, golden glow - without tan lines, of course. Her hair began to show dark-red highlights, and her beauty, impossibly, seemed even more alluring; less ethereal, more earthy. He had not thought his passion could grow; and yet it did.

Sometimes, he thought, it seems like I'm growing younger. At seventy-one, he felt closer to fifty than to seventy; before Amy, he had felt perhaps sixty on a good day.

He wondered how long they had left together - and then rejected the thought. That had become a reflex.

---

A day came, more than halfway through their nine-week stay on Juicy, when Geoff saw Amy heading for their open shower with a bar of soap - and he stopped her. "Not now, Punkin," he said. "Later. Look."

He pointed toward the west. The Sun was still high, but below it, a line of ominous, roiling blackness was visible, with sparks of white light throughout. She looked at him with a worried expression.

"Storm front," he said. "Don't worry, it's not one of the big typhoons. But it'll be spectacular."

He grinned down at her. "We can play in the storm, Little Heart," he whispered. "And have the best warm shower ever."

And so they did. They had dragged their featherbed back into the hut to keep it dry, and were waiting on the beach as the sky grew dark and the storm rolled in. They gasped as the big, warm drops began to pelt them.

In seconds they were being hammered by a fierce downpour, every inch of their bodies whipped by warm wet impacts, whirled by wind, illuminated by blinding flashes of crackling lightning and shaken by rolling thunder. Laughing and gasping, they soaped and caressed each other in the rain.

Geoff and Amy fell to the sand and eagerly began to fuck in the crashing, pounding torrent. He was kneeling upright, with Amy lying before him with her bare feet cradled in his elbows. She gasped and writhed as the hard hot rain drenched and massaged her breasts and belly and face, and as Geoff's cock slid in and out of her clenching pussy. He gazed down at her, transfixed, as she was lit by intermittent flashes, her body gleaming-wet and shivering as he fucked her.

They rolled and wrestled in the storm, shaken by the thunder and blinded by the lightning, soaked and sprayed by the torrential rain, and moved beyond all those by each other's passion. They gasped and laughed and cried and fucked in the storm, their faces and bodies streaming, till they came together - clinging to each other as the sky and sea raged all around them.

As their passion waned, so did the power of the storm. The found themselves lying together on the hard, wet sand, holding each other and caressing soft, wet skin as the rain - softer, warmer, gentler - soothed and washed them. The thunder rolled in lower tones, growing distant, receding.

"That was - awesome," breathed the girl.

"I've been in rain like that before," said the old man. "This was better." He squeezed her and kissed her ear, and she pulled herself closer, rubbing her bare, wet thigh on his hip.

"I love you, Big Heart," she whispered. "You take me to places I've never imagined." After a moment, she giggled. "And fuck me there." He laughed.

A few moments later, the rain stopped as if turned off by a switch. They watched the wall of rain sweep on beyond them, a line of gray mist above the ocean.

The sun came out. They lay in its warmth for a while, then Geoff got up to get dry wood and start the fire again. He knelt to arrange it, and soon a merry blaze was crackling on the bed of rocks.

Amy sat up and watched him, her arms around her bare knees. She thought of him in that hard rain so long before - bloody, wounded, fighting and caring for men more wounded than he. She smiled.

As they ate - a simple lunch, canned beef stew with crackers and fruit - Geoff seemed to be preoccupied. There was a beautiful, naked teenager sitting beside him, and he hardly glanced at her, staring fixedly at the fire instead.

Amy left him alone. She had seen him like this before, and knew he was making some sort of decision.

---

After lunch, they settled down under the shade at the front of their little shack. Geoff leaned back against the thatch, and beckoned to Amy to lie across his lap.

She did, snuggling into her favorite spot in the world - her Geoffie's arms. They sat silently for a while, and Amy waited. She sensed that something was coming, but knew there could be no pushing for it. He would speak when he was ready.

And he finally did. He kissed her short hair and spoke softly:

"Punkin, last year you asked me how I won that damned medal. I've never talked about it before, not since I had to file my formal report. But I want to tell you, now."

She kissed his chest. "Okay," she whispered, and placed her small hand over his heart. "I'd like to know, if you want to talk about it."

"Never have before," he said shortly. Then, "I guess I feel safe with you, like you do with me."

She snuggled close, nuzzled his chest, and waited.

And he began.

"It was the start of the rainy season. We were moving up a path in the jungle, fifty-two of us, and I thought we were being careful..."

---

He spoke for over an hour; sometimes in a voice so soft she could barely hear, sometimes choked with emotion, and sometimes with anger. He wept from time to time, and she caressed the back of his old neck as he cried into her hair.

He told it all, in far more detail than the colonel had. He told of the initial ambush and the chaos and panic that followed it; of pulling a few of his men together, seeing a weak point in the enemy's line, and of forcing their way through and fighting their way to high ground. He told of the blades and bullets that pierced him and of killing the men who used them, of the fierce, brutal joy of taking the lives of so many of those who had attacked his men - and of his frustration at not having killed even more. He told of shooting a wounded man between the eyes without a second thought, of killing another with a Ka-Bar fighting knife between reloads, and of fighting and killing hand-to-hand till another Marine threw him a loaded weapon.

He told Amy of things he had told no one; of holding a young lance corporal and weeping as the boy died in his arms, of killing another Marine himself - a man who was in horrible pain, and would inevitably have died that day or the next after much more of it - and of hearing the cries of a Marine in the jungle that he could not reach, and of hearing those cries stop.

He told of cooking snake and monkey stew in a helmet over a smokeless fire; of feeding men whose hands were useless; of being grateful for torrential rain that hid them from the enemy, washed the dried blood from his hands, and refilled their canteens; and of staying awake for almost three days through anger and shame and sheer will.

Finally, he told her of seeing the Hueys landing, down the ridge from their position, and of the medics leaping from them and running toward them - and of waking up in a Navy hospital bed four days later.

He leaned back against the thatch, drained; his lined old face was drawn and pale. "Thank you, Amy," he said in a tired, raspy voice. "I've needed to tell that for a long time."

"Thank you for trusting me, Geoffie," she said.

He smiled at last, and she kissed him. He was sitting with his hands lying on the boards on either side of him, palm up.

"Anyway," he said, "Now you see why I didn't deserve that medal."

She shook her head. "No, Geoffie," she said. "I see why you did."

"But-"

"Geoff, don't you see? If not for you, no one would have come back from that ridge. No one."

"But we-"

"Geoffie." She stopped him. He looked at her. "You were prepared to die to keep those men safe, weren't you?"

He nodded. "Of course," he said.

"And you thought you were, didn't you? When you saw those choppers land - you laid down and died, didn't you? That's what you thought."

His old eyes widened. "How did you know that? I didn't tell you that."

She smiled, her strange eyes wet. "I know you, Geoffie. That's the only reason you'd lie down."

His hands slowly rose, and slowly embraced her. He held her close, and as she knew he would, the old soldier quietly began to weep, hot tears running down his cheeks and onto her bare back.

"That's why you don't think you deserve the medal, Geoffie," she whispered into his graying chest. "It's not because you didn't do enough. You know you couldn't have done any more."

She lifted her head and kissed his wet cheeks, then spoke with infinite gentleness: "It's because you don't think you should have come home, either. You think you should have died out there, too." She looked into his eyes. "Don't you?" she breathed.

He closed his eyes, and pulled her toward him. "Yes," he quavered. "Yes. Yes, that's right..."

He began to speak more rapidly, as if a stream had opened up, a dam broken. "I should have died with them. That's what should have happened. I should have died, too. It wasn't fair. Why me? Why was I spared? Why did I get to live when those young boys didn't? It wasn't fair..."

He cried again, more audibly, sobbing into her hair as she held him.

She knew what would stop him. It might sound egotistical to someone else - but there was no one else there.

"Geoffie?"

"Mm?" He released her, leaned back, wiped his eyes.

"Can you think of a reason you were allowed to live?"

He looked at her blankly. She smiled and pointed at herself, one pretty finger between her breasts.

He blinked, looked back at her eyes - then, very slowly, he began to smile.

"Right again, Punkin," he whispered, nodding, looking at her strange, wondrous eyes. "I've been grateful to be alive this last year or so, for the first time since then. But I never made that connection."

He hugged her, then held her close for long minutes. She could almost hear him thinking, shifting gears, restructuring his most fundamental beliefs and perspectives - and then he sighed, and she could almost hear them click into place.

She looked up at him. "Well?"

He smiled, and she saw something in that smile that she had never seen before.

Peace.

---

They did not make love that evening, nor that night. They talked quietly, played a game of chess - Amy won; Geoff was still digesting his new insights - and they listened to the Canon in D as they snuggled without speaking and finally drifted off to sleep.

The featherbed was still inside the hut after the storm. At some time long after midnight, Amy felt Geoff stir, get up, and leave their bed.