My Vietnamese Granddaughterbyscouries©
"Later," I insisted as I pulled her to me.
"I love you," I whispered to Sam the next morning.
"Yeah sure...I'm just a Vietnamese whore to you," she answered but I could decipher the hope in her eyes.
"Do you love me?"
"You're a dirty old man."
"Do you love this," I asked, holding and offering her my again rampant penis.
"No...maybe....yes...oh yesssssssss," she cried as I filled her.
"They'll be home soon," she said hours later, the sun quickly setting on a cool October evening. "You should go."
"Don't you want your roommates to meet your boyfriend?"
"You're not...Please Joe...I don't want them to know."
"You're mine now Samantha," I told her as I pulled her resisting body towards me.
"We can't...you're old...I'm just a student. It was nice...no, it was perfect, but please."
"We'll need to talk...about our future," I almost pled.
"Not now...please go Joe," she wailed.
I left, and then watched through my cameras as she acted as if nothing had happened when Amy and Cathy returned home an hour later.
'I'm not a virgin anymore' she wrote in an e-mail to her sister late that night. 'An old man made me his slave'.
Her cell phone rang four minutes later. For an hour I heard Samantha whisper our story to her sister. "I love his cock," she repeated again and again.
"Mr. Coursey?" Amy asked two evenings later when she opened the door and found me on her doorstep holding a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers.
"Samantha invited me to dinner," I lied, a broad smile on my lips.
"Uh huh. We decided to try to get along better."
"Oh good," Amy said beaming, surprised but happy that we'd apparently buried the hatchet. "C'mon in," she welcomed. "We're just having lasagna but there's lots."
"Sam, Mr. Coursey brought you some flowers," she announced as I followed her into the living room.
"Did he," she asked blushing, surprised and angry at my gall.
Amy had an innocence that didn't allow her to read what was going on but I could see that Cathy, looking up quizzically from her chair, was suspiciously curious.
"So, did you two talk this weekend?" Amy asked as we sat eating at the dining room table.
"Some," I answered between bites, a big grin on my face.
Samantha hardly talked during the meal, simply sat glumly as the blonds and I talked. She flinched when I slid my stockinged foot up her leg and pushed it between her thighs.
"I'll do the dishes," Samantha said as she jumped up from the table at the end of the meal.
"I'll help," I offered.
"You don't have to, you've probably got things to do," she demurred as she carried a load of dishes into the kitchen.
I followed her, arms laden with more dirty dishes. We said nothing as she filled the sink with hot, soapy water, but then, once her hands were hard at work scrubbing a soapy plate, she hissed, "I told you, it was over. It was just a one time thing...it was a mistake...we can't..."
Moving behind her I put my hands on her hips, holding her even as I slowly slipped them under her top and slid them across her stomach and up to cup her breasts. "You didn't like it? Didn't like my cock inside you?" I demanded as I pushed my hardness into the crack of her bum.
"Please...please Joe...they'll see," she begged. "We can't...it'll never work. No...don't," she cried as I forced a hand down and into her pants.
"You're wet," I said in triumph as I slid a finger into her moist slit. Quickly I undid her button and zipper, then pushed her jeans and panties to her ankles, then freed my cock.
"Noooooooo," she protested softly as I penetrated her.
We were soon both oblivious to our surroundings, two humans lost in our sexual needs. Noisily making love. Then, as we both exploded into orgasm I looked up and saw Amy and Cathy, both openmouthed, standing in the doorway staring at Sam and me. I finally pulled out, then lifted my lover in my arms and turned and moved towards the door.
"Can you finish the dishes girls?" I asked as I moved past the still immobile coeds, my penis dripping a thick long strand of cum.
We made love half the night. Sam's ecstasy echoed continuously through the high ceilinged rooms of the apartment. I finally tiptoed out around four a.m., pretty sure both Amy and Cathy hadn't got much sleep.
After that night all pretense was gone. We needed each other. Lusted for the others body even as our love grew. She soon started to spend almost all her nights in my bed.
"I don't love you," she'd say afterward as we lay panting in my big bed, my sperm sticky on her stomach and thighs. Or say, "It's just the sex," or "this is the last time," or "I can't see you this weekend." And yet night after night she returned to my arms.
"Marry me," I'd always counter, nestling her thin body into mine.
I couldn't help wondering why I'd spent thirty years running after and marrying big breasted blonds. Only a woman like Sam could ever satisfy me.
"I've been there," she said one Saturday morning, holding up a picture she'd taken off the wall.
She was standing in my study, naked, still damp from her shower. "No you haven't," I said as I pulled her against my body.
"I did...last summer, we went to Vietnam...dad, grandma...my sister."
"You couldn't have been there, its way up, north, on the Cambodian/Thai/ Vietnamese border. You said your family came from Saigon...from a rubber plantation close to the capital," I said as I took the picture from her hand and looked at the so familiar scene.
"I stood right there...where the photographer must have stood, we all swam in the little pool," she said with excitement in her voice. "Where'd you get it?"
"I took it. What were you doing there?" I asked, just seconds away from realizing the truth.
"Grandma's family owned land up there, it was their original home. She and my great aunt were sent there during the war...they stayed with their uncle. She cried when we walked around the pond."
As Samantha ran on, adding detail after detail of her family's history, at first she didn't see the expression of shock that covered my face. "What?" she asked after finally noticing my look of horror. And then she knew.
"Oh my gawd," she cried, "you can't be. Pleasssse don't be."
"Are you Kim's granddaughter? Or Han's?" I asked softly.
"You raped both of them?" she wailed, suddenly aware that only one soldier was responsible for the deflowerment of both her grandmother and great aunt. "They were just girls, innocents," she accused as she started to hammer my chest with her small fists.
I finally crushed her to me, then held her immobile as I felt her tears tumble onto my chest.
"Did you know...about me...about...that I was your granddaughter?"
"I never knew you existed."
"Why'd you leave them? Pregnant, alone...with half breeds in their bellies," she demanded.
"They were my wives," I whispered.
"WIVES!" Samantha spat out in scorn. "They were just slants, gooks, chinks to fuck with your big American cock. You didn't give a shit what happened to them," she accused.
I walked to the bookshelf, and from the top shelf pulled down an album, a photograph album almost forty years old.
"What is it?" she asked as I placed it in Samantha's hands. And then whispered almost in awe when she opened the book to the first page and saw me staring back, "my gawd....you're so young...so handsome."
"I was nineteen then. On leave in Saigon. Just a month before I met your grandmother," I answered as I looked at the boy who'd already lost his innocence.
"Grandma," she said excitedly after turning the page.
"So Kim Truong is your grandma."
"Yes," she answered as she flipped a page and was faced by a smiling Joe Coursey between two smiling girls. Her anger had disappeared in her exhilaration at seeing her family in a way she'd never imagined. "They have no pictures," she said sadly as she looked up at me, "the few they had salvaged were lost in the sea during their escape. They're beautiful," she said as she continued to flip through the pages. "I'll have to give them copies."
"What's this?" she asked when she came to a page with a yellowing, half torn piece of paper on it.
"Your grandmother's and my marriage certificate," I said smiling. "December 25th 1969."
"But...Grandma never said she was married."
"I married her sister the same day," I said as I flipped a page and she saw another certificate pasted in the album.
"You couldn't have...it's not possible," she protested, then turned another page and saw the three of us arm in arm, smiling in front of a small Catholic church, the two girls in white dresses and with flowers in their hair.
"The priest was my friend...I'd saved his life...he pretended I was two different people," I said, remembering the happiest day in my life. "I registered one marriage, your grandma's, with the U.S. Military, the other we registered with the Vietnamese authorities."
"I always thought they were raped."
"No one ever said anything? About me?" I asked, bitter I'd been so easily forgotten.
"I was only born in eighty-eight, thirteen years after they'd escaped. No one ever talked about the men, the man who'd defiled them. Grandma had married an American of Chinese descent, daddy took his name."
"Why'd you leave them? They needed you...they were punished...for having American half-breeds, for sleeping with the enemy. Our whole family suffered. They only just escaped. They could have died."
"I looked for them for years," I explained. "The whole fuckin village disappeared."
And it had. In June nineteen seventy I returned from a month up country to find a deserted, bombed to smithereens village. There'd been a skirmish apparently. Enemy activity had been noted during a flyover and a couple of days later a company of marines was choppered in. There'd been a firefight, and when I finally got to read the classified reports months later, found that a massacre had occurred.
'Thirty-nine enemy combatants killed, seventy-two enemy civilians unfortunately caught in the crossfire.' So read the official report. The pictures were ghastly, even for that time and place. Over the next year or so I tracked down some of our guys who'd been there. "It was brutal Joe," one old hand I'd known in the old days told me. "No one, women and children included, survived. They had fucking tunnels everywhere. Filled em with gas. Blood everywhere, we took no prisoners," he remembered.
I heard the same story repeated from every participant I could find, but no one could remember two pregnant girls.
Sam interrupted me when I told her how I'd searched. "Grandma told daddy, when we were there," she said pointing at the picture of the pond, "she said they'd had to leave suddenly when she and Auntie were seven months pregnant...they'd gone north...to Hanoi...that's where daddy and auntie Jess were born."
"They all lived? Auntie Jess?" I asked.
"Yes, grandma had daddy, auntie Han had Jasmine. Half white. Your babies. They claimed they'd been raped to the authorities. But still people hated them, hated the half American babies. They lived in a small village in the north, outcasts."
"I looked everywhere for them. I never believed they were dead."
"They returned to the south after the war. They rejoined their mother, she was a widow. There was no money. In 1975 an old family friend helped them escape. For the last of the family heirlooms they got a place on a small boat with seventy others. It took forty some days before the twenty-five survivors were plucked from the South China Sea."
"But how'd they come to America. For years I checked. I have friends, no Kim or Han Truong ever came to America legally."
"They'd changed their names."
"I've been back. To Vietnam...three times now...there was never any trace."
All morning we talked, exchanging the parts of the story we each knew. I couldn't help cursing the empty life I'd lived for thirty years even as my two women were healthy and living in California. Both had remarried soon after landing on our shores. Happy marriages that had produced children and grandchildren. My son and daughter raised by other men.
"You have three grandchildren," Samantha explained, "me, my sister Cyn, and Rose, Jasmine's daughter.
"I have one other."
"A blond. I had a daughter by my first wife, well my first American wife," I explained. "My wife left when my daughter was three. They wouldn't have anything to do with me for twenty-five years. There's a grandchild now."
"Oh Joe," she consoled as she slipped into my arms.
"What'll we do?" Samantha finally asked. "About us," she added unnecessarily. "We can't go on...not knowing...Joooooooooooeeeeeey!' she protested as my mouth covered hers.
We made love. Then talked. Made love again. We both knew we'd never stop.
"Cynthia's coming for the long weekend....Thanksgiving," my lover told me a week later.
"Good," I said, then pulled Samantha on top of me.
"Why good," she giggled as she slipped me inside herself.
"So, what's this Cynthia like anyway," I asked twenty minutes later.
"She's your granddaughter. Almost as pretty as me...but taller."
"Well at least I know where our height came from now...she's five ten...an inch taller than me."
"And her breasts?" I asked as I cupped Samantha's perfect orbs.
"They're not as big as mine," she said as she arched her back, forcing more breast into my hands. "Cyn is thinner than me...A virgin," she added.
"Will I like her...or is she stuck up like her older sister?"
"Maybe you can show her...like grandma, auntie, like me," she groaned as I pulled and stretched her nipples.
She arrived late Thursday night, with a plan to stay until Sunday night. "I'm going to show her the campus, Boston," Sam had told me. "So she's ready for next year. You can take us out to dinner Friday night," she ordered, or was it an invitation?
I had never told Samantha about the cameras so late that night I was able to watch the two sisters as they whispered together in bed, both naked, lit by a lone bedside lamp.
"Do you like it?" Cynthia asked, her mouth just inches from her elder sister's.
"It's better than I ever dreamed. You'll see one of these days," she promised.
"I'm horny...all the time."
"Your breasts have grown, they're beautiful," Sam said as she cupped and caressed her sister's perfect golden orbs.
"They're still not as big as yours," Cyn complained, then kissed her sister gently on her lips.
"But your nipples are so long," Sam replied as she took a long, quivering nipple between her teeth.
I watched as they gently made love, watched as they curled their long limbs into a Vietnamese soixante-neuf, watched as the two writhed under the others tongue.
"I can feel your hymen," Sam whispered. "I want to be there when it's broken."
"It'll hurt. I'm afraid," Cyn answered as she lifted her hips urgently upward against her sister's probing tongue.
"Maybe I'll give you Joe for a night," Sam teased later as they lay panting in each others arms.
"I'll lick your blood from his cock," she laughed.
"You're crazy...maybe that's why I've missed you so much."
"Do you want to?" Sam lured. "Make love with my boyfriend."
"I don't know him...he's old..."
"He has a beautiful prick...he'll fill you little sister," she said as she moved a hand over Cynthia's breasts.
"You wouldn't mind?"
"I've dreamt of you and me together, with a man, with Joe."
"Me too," Cyn whispered, "me too."
"But you'll have to be number two girl...and I'll let you only if you're good," Sam teased.
"Number two? Hah," the young teen protested as she threw herself on top of her older sister. I watched as they wrestled and hugged and kissed and touched, understood immediately the love that existed between them.
And as I watched them, stroking myself softly, I knew Cynthia would be good. Knew that tomorrow her warm blood would coat my shaft.
And then couldn't help but wonder...
What would happen when I saw Kim and Han again?
How would they react when they found out what was going on with Sam and Cynthia?
Would my only son ever want to meet his American father?
What about my daughter Jasmine?
And my third granddaughter? Rose."
Would somehow I.......
I'm planning on writing a Part 2 of this tale, in fact have a rough couple of page outline already done. Whether and when I write this Part 2 depends to a large extent on the reaction of you the reader to what you've read above. Your feedback will tell me in I should continue or not.
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