Rest and Relaxation Ch. 01

We'd been ordered to The Rung Sat Special Zone for an operation, the conclusion of which proved to be special indeed. I had just turned 21 and was assigned as a gunner aboard a 50-foot river assault/patrol boat in Viet Nam . . . essentially, a motor yacht with guns.

After four days of assaults, ambushes, firefights, and re-supply escort runs we were granted 24-hours of down-time in the city of Vung Tau before heading back to our base near Saigon. Vung Tau was, at the time, a designated "in-country" R&R destination. Officers and enlisted men from all over III and IV Corps, the southern areas of Viet Nam, were granted up to a week of rest and relaxation among the beaches and parks, restaurants and bars, opium dens and brothels of this "resort" town on the South China Sea.

There was also a large U.S. military hospital in Vung Tau, which meant, of course, women; more specifically, American women, Army and Navy nurses, Red Cross volunteers, and female journalists. All of these lovely ladies were, by law, off limits to the likes of enlisted pukes such as me.

However, when you're young, combat-tested, and have your own armed-to-the-teeth-motor yacht; when you are allowed, indeed often ordered to carry side arms and combat knives about town; when you are also allowed to keep your hair at an almost fashionable length, grow a mustache . . . a full beard being just a tad beyond your years . . . and have a deep, rich tan gained from almost four months of fighting, fornicating and finagling in the relentless tropical sun, you think yourself one bad-ass-son-of-a-bitch.

I found myself, along with Marty, the boat's other gunner, midmorning of our post-operation R&R, on watch aboard our newly provisioned, re-armed, and swabbed-down vessel, which we'd christened "Stoned Pony" a few weeks back during an evening of beer drinking and weed with the only diversion nearby being a bucket of white paint and a stencil kit.

We were docked hard by the north entrance to "Beach Alpha" as this stretch of the waterfront area was called, and the three other guys of the boat's five-man crew were ashore, doubtless pursuing the mundane, not to mention landlocked sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll to which we were ordinarily accustomed.

Marty and I were lounging, shirtless, in cut-off camo's and flip-flops, with beer and cigarettes close by, at the stern of the boat between the .50-caliber machine guns mounted at each stern quarter. I was trying to read an old edition of Stars And Stripes and becoming dizzy from ogling the inconceivable number of round-eye women, all shapes and sizes, styles and colors, each alluring and enticing, that paraded, as if for our personal perusal, up and down the boardwalk fronting the beach.

Marty, ordinarily taciturn, couldn't help himself and kept up a running commentary on the myriad attractions of the ladies, many of whom were clad in fetching, usually skimpy beachwear, with a number of the girls accompanied by older officers doubtless harboring lecherous intentions.

In a moment of distraction, while Marty leaned over the cooler to grab another beer and I became semi-engrossed in yet another week-old box-score from a world that I was no longer part of, we were disconcerted by a loud female voice calling out, "Hey, guys? What kind of boat is that?"

Marty and I both turned to see two gorgeous creatures, a raven-haired beauty and a stunning redhead, each in their mid-twenties, leaning on the walkway railing some thirty yards off our stern and looking over toward . . . us. Both wore a pair of ass-fitting cut-off jeans, with the dark-haired girl in a paisley halter top and the redhead in a tight, white, V-neck tee shirt. The raven haired doll, very fit and sun-browned, carried a towel and a small beach bag slung over her shoulder. It appeared to be she who'd hailed us as she smiled and gave a small, shy wave.

Ordinarily, I'm not the most forward nor the wittiest of guys. Inspiration and opportunity are, however, not totally alien to me. "Madam," I called out with a jaunty salute, "this is the official Vung Tau Harbor tour boat. Tours given every day at . . ." I consulted my pocket watch ". . . eleven twenty-three hours. Y'all have about a minute and a half before the next one departs."

Both women laughed, but I could hear Marty behind me muttering. "Jesus Christ! Don't screw this up."

The dark woman replied "Doesn't look like you have many customers," and Marty groaned.

"Got one young, brave, sorta handsome, and definitely unbalanced American Naval-type here," I said throwing an arm around the deeply scowling Marty. "But he paid for the dee-luxe tour," I went on. "That's the one where you get to shoot the guns and yap on the radio and steer the boat and toot the whistle. It also comes with all the beer you can drink." I paused, looked to the muttering Marty and shouted, "This brave, young, sorta handsome American Naval-type gentleman has just informed me that he'd be honored to pay for two additional dee-luxe cruises if you fine ladies are interested."

Marty angrily shrugged off my arm to the cheerful laughter of the girls. "Why, thank you, sir," the redhead replied glancing toward her companion, then at an abruptly sweating Marty. "We'd be dee-lighted to accept your offer."

To the frowns and clearly audible imprecations of a trio of khaki-clad officers nearby, amid the enthusiastic backslapping and "Right on, bro" from Marty, and in time with my breathless chant of: "Thank you God, thank you God, thank you God", the women, curvaceous, young, enticing, alluring, and just plain hot, sauntered over to the gangway, down to the dock, and stood before the short plank between the pier and the boat. Marty and I were tripping over each other to reach the plank, to escort these visions of loveliness aboard the Stoned Pony.

I gratefully helped the raven-tressed goddess step onto the boat. "I'm Jimmy," I said to her. "Welcome aboard. I'll be your guide on this dee-luxe tour."

"Hi, Jimmy," she replied, "I'm Kerri. Thanks for, um, holding the tour for us."

"I'm Shauna," the redhead introduced herself as Marty helped her on board. "Thanks for, um, paying," she said with the proverbial knowing smile.

"Like he said," Marty mumbled, "welcome aboard."

We escorted Kerri and Shauna to the stern and settled them semi-comfortably on a couple of ammo boxes next to the starboard .50-caliber stinger.

"If you ladies would care for a pre-cruise cocktail, we have a notable selection of fine beer and, like, soda pop," I said indicating the cooler. "Plus, there's a magnificently aged . . . and I do mean aged . . . processed cheese and a few crackers in that box of C rations next to the cooler."

Kerri leaned forward, her breasts bulging over the colorful halter. "I'd love a beer," she said, smiling, "but I think I'll pass on the cheese and crackers."

Looking with frank, 21-year-old appreciation at the plainly visible tan line of Kerri's tits, I felt what had been a semi-erection burst into full bloom. I wanted to rip that halter-top away from those magnificent orbs and pump my hardness between them . . . and that was just for starters. I turned to get some beers, but not before noticing Kerri's eyes caress the bulge now most apparent in my suddenly constricting cut-offs.

Marty, similarly aroused, already had an arm around Shauna's petite waist. I noted his hand inching its way toward her incredible ass.

Grabbing four beers, I opened and handed them around with the announcement that we ought to get the show on the road. "Would you care to accompany me to the bridge," I asked Kerri. "Besides toot the whistle and all that other stuff, dee-luxe tour passengers also get to help start the engines." I stood in front of her, legs slightly apart allowing her eyes to devour the tented front of my camos.

"I'd love to," Kerri responded with a small grin. As we rose to go forward, Shauna and Marty also stood, and Marty's hand found its target while he tried to distract her by explaining the hand-cranked 40-millimeter grenade launcher attached to the stern rail.

I maneuvered Kerri toward the bow to the pint-sized hatchway leading into the pilothouse. Cautioning her to watch her head, I ducked through the minute opening leading into the small space surrounding the armored bridge compartment where I had set up, some weeks previously, a folding bunk complete with mosquito netting, a fan, two Navy-issue camouflage quilts, and a small reading light. This was where I slept during extended operations. It was also where I imagined myself atop, or beneath, the enticing creature hunched just outside the hatchway, nipples barely covered by her top, which seemed considerably looser than before.

As she stepped over the hatch combing, I reached out to steady her and found my hand, of its own accord, brushing one of those perfect tits. I discovered that her nipples were rock hard and I began to fondle her as we crouched in the tiny hatchway. With a small shiver, she thrust her breasts toward me, inviting more. Resisting, again, the urge to unleash those awesome boobs, I helped Kerri through the hatchway, into the pilothouse.

We moved to the helm and Kerri put her hand on my erection, began to massage my throbbing pole. She asked softly, "Is that part of the dee-luxe tour, too?" I was afraid I'd cream my drawers before we even got underway.

"Oh, yeah," I moaned. "All inclusive." Reluctantly, I moved to the controls and began setting the throttles. "See those buttons there?" I said, coming to my senses. "You push those, I'll work the throttles, and we'll get this beast underway."

"I know what beast I'd like to get underway," Kerri said giving my cock another squeeze.

It was with a superhuman effort that I once more resisted the urge to take this erotic beauty right where we stood; just plough her against the bulkhead, rip her cut-offs apart, drop my pants, and ram my massive erection deep into her moist and willing pussy. Instead, though, I merely gasped, "Easy, darlin'; one beast at a time."

When the engines exploded to life, Kerri let out a peal of delighted laughter. I smiled over at her and hollered at Marty to take in the lines.

After a moment, Marty walked past the armored windscreen, opened earlier to catch the faint breeze. He was followed by the stunning Shauna who had doffed her tee-shirt to reveal a faded yellow bikini top. Her lightly freckled cleavage jiggled sensuously as she walked, and I really wasn't sure how much longer I could control myself. I tried to focus on conning the boat, and as soon as I saw Marty signal that all lines were in, I eased the Stoned Pony from her berth.

As we approached the wooden minesweepers tied up at the end of the Navy piers, Kerri impetuously heaved her breasts out of the paisley halter-top, unzipped my camo's, unchained my cock from my issue-green boxers and . . . that did it. I came in great, looping gouts of cream all over the wheel, the throttle base, the instrument panel, Kerri's cut-off jeans, and finally, my own feet.

Thus we passed the last minesweeper at the pier as I stood, trembling and huffing, cock dangling and dripping from my cut-offs, in a puddle of my own juices.

"It's been awhile, darlin'." I looked with an embarrassed smile toward Kerri and was startled to see her rubbing her own crotch, moaning and shuddering, breasts swinging enchantingly to the meager sway of the boat.

"God," Kerri panted. "I can't believe how much your shooting cock turned me on." She groaned then, and collapsed against the bulkhead. After a moment, she gasped, "I've never seen a man ejaculate like that. My God, it was awesome. I didn't know that there was so much . . . or that it was so powerful.

Immediately, I began to regain my erection. "Right now, darlin'," I said, "I just want to think about ejaculating in you." I had a sudden inspiration, "Have you ever fired a machine gun before?"

She looked at me, her dark eyes flashing, face flushed and shiny with post-orgasmic pleasure. "Are you talking about one of those big guns out there?" She pointed to the turret mounted 20-millimeter cannon at the bow.

"Well, maybe you can try that, too. That's a twenty mike-mike," I explained. "The fifties back there," I jerked my thumb toward the stern, "are more what I had in mind, though."

She gave me a dubious glance and said, "I'm not really a gun person. Wouldn't you get in trouble shooting guns around here?"

Waving vaguely out at the bustling bay where fishing boats, cargo craft, water taxis, and other gunboats plied to and fro, I replied, "Obviously we can't shoot 'em exactly here. But we can go out into the ocean, light off a few rounds. All part of the dee-lux tour."

Kerri called out to her friend, "Hey, Shauna? You want to shoot the guns?" We heard an enthusiastic "Hell, yeah," from back aft. Kerri laughed, and I admired, yet again, her bounteous bosom. "Okay, let's go shoot the guns," she said.

Yelling to all and sundry to hang on, I slammed the throttles forward; the Stoned Pony bellowed and began to sprint.

Some moments later, Shauna, now topless herself, pink nipples and tiny belly button nearly bringing me to my knees, sauntered back to the bow followed by a flushed and perspiring Marty. Kerri, spotting the two gunfire-support destroyers loitering at the entrance to Vung Tau Bay rushed, breasts swinging freely, cutoffs speckled with my cum, out to join her friend. I throttled back halfway, and we cruised sedately past the destroyers, with Kerri and Shauna, bare nipples proud and erect, waving enthusiastically next to Marty, who stood between them wearing a satisfied smirk.

The decks of the two cans were suddenly packed with cheering and whistling sailors, while both warships cut loose with horns and sirens and bells. We were all most happy to provide the crews with a little extraordinary entertainment on what was, for them, an otherwise ordinary morning.

Once past the still-appreciative destroyers, we headed into the South China Sea and I turned north along the tropical coast, looking for a secluded spot to do a little shooting . . . in my case, a little more shooting. I called out to Marty to charge the .50s and invited both Kerri and Shauna back to the wheelhouse. When they entered, I asked Kerri to take the wheel, which she did with only a little hesitation. I doffed my sperm encrusted cutoffs and boxers, threw them in a corner of the space, and re-took the helm.

I had, by now, regained a respectable erection, thus Kerri, apparently inspired by my nakedness, stepped out of her shorts, stripped off the pink bikini bottom beneath, and stood regally displaying her trimmed and bountiful sex.

Shauna gazed at her friend and panted, "My God, Kerri, you're beautiful." Before my amazed eyes, the gorgeous redhead quickly doffed her own clothes to begin fondling and caressing a passionately responsive Kerri.

*

Stay tuned. In the next episode, Marty, Shauna, Kerri, and I shoot the guns, toot the whistle, and experience a short, terrifying encounter with Victor Charlie.