Ron's Journal 06

Angelina came over and kissed me. I saw that Hope and Nita were kissing and stroking each other, and Ann and Lucia were 69ing. I watched both couples carefully. I love to watch loving women, loving.

Lina went to Hope and Nita and touched them and said, "You should have Ron now."

Hope and Nita lay on either side of side of me, nestling against me, kissing my face and each other, rubbing my chest, my sides, my hips, my legs. They leaned up and traded stuffing their breasts in my face, dragging their nipples across my mouth. Their hands circled my inflamed cock. I could get no stiffer.

Nita rolled me on my side, bent my body, wrapped her legs around my head, and stuffed her pussy into my mouth. Hope put her legs around Nita's head for the same and swallowed my cock. Our daisychain triad pulsed and shook, our hands exploring each other's bodies as we slurped and moaned. We all came, me last. We stayed together for some minutes, savoring our flavors, until we just fell apart.

Ann and Lucia had disengaged from their 69 to watch our triad. Ann dragged Lucia over to me saying, "We've gotta get some of this!"

Ann and Lucia started in together on my cock, first with just their hands, then with their tongues. I glanced up from watching their dancing tongues to see Faith and Hope with Lina between them. They were kissing Lina's face and breasts while fingering her, together, and she was smoothing their bodies in return. The image zapped my mind and I almost came again -- but then the tongues stopped.

Faith looked at Angelina, looked at me, and said, "I think they're ready now."

Hope led Lina over to me and said, "Take him, he's all yours."

Lina kissed me, then straddled my waist and lowered her open pussy onto my straining cock. She twisted a bit, realigned, slid down until we were fully engaged, my cock sheathed in her like a knife. She slid up and down. The other women had their hands and mouths on us both, fondling and kissing our bodies as we moved together. I raised my hips to meet her pelvic thrusts, faster and stronger, drowning in the sensations that seemed to last forever.

After an infinite timeless time of ascending pleasure, Lina came loudly, repeatedly, enormously, crying "RON-RON-RON-RON-RON-RONNNNN". And then again. And again. Her orgasms finally triggered mine. I shouted something, I don't know what. I felt myself empty into her, and again, till my innards had liquefied and voided, and only a dried husk of me remained.

The women continued to handle and mouth Lina and me everywhere. My whole body felt afire, sensitive to the point of complete overload, spasming uncontrollably. Lina looked as if she felt the same, constantly twitching and moaning. She toppled on me in exhaustion when the hands allowed. I was still inside her.

The hands left us. When I could open my eyes again, I saw the three couples coupling, each pair of partners wrapping around themselves. I tore my eyes away from the maddening sight and saw Lina move her eyes from our companions to my own eyes. She looked at me in wonder, and she kissed me.

Our kiss lasted another infinite eternity. I stiffened within her again, hardened, probed. I rolled her off me, sat up cross-legged, pulled her into my lap, and impaled her wonderful cunt again. We sat in the kundalini yoga position for what seemed like hours, breasts and mouths together, breathing together, existing together.

Juanita fetched a pile of blankets to throw over each couple. We fell asleep before the glowing stove.

We all slept late Sunday morning. Somehow, coffee and tea were prepared and poured, granola and yogurt and fruits were consumed -- nobody had strength for anything more elaborate. We stoked up the fire. We sat together on the spread-out weavings, still naked. My hands and eyes caressed these beautiful women. I cried tears of pure joy.

We spent the day that way, holding and loving our partners but touching each other as we talked of our hopes and dreams. It was the best day of my life, and the worst, because I knew it could never happen again.

We finally dressed and walked downstairs for a goodbye dinner at a nearby Punjabi restaurant. We washed down hot curries and vindaloos with cold beer, and joked, and laughed, and disturbed the other patrons, but too bad for them!

And then it was time to leave. I kissed the sisters and their partners goodbye. I picked up my duffel and guitar. Lina walked me to the uptown subway station and stopped me at the top of the stairs.

"M'seur Ronaldo, I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I won't say adieu. What do they say in Hawai'i? Aloha. Goodbye and hello. Goodbye for now. Hello if you ever return. I will never forget our time here. Never. Ever."

Lina kissed me softly on my lips, and turned and walked back to the loft; and my heart shattered and fell to tiny broken pieces as I descended to the underground maze that would take me away.

NEXT: Kansas sucks, and blows.

******************** 13: The Big Red One -- Sublimated Sex

I left New York on Sunday night and spent the next two days being pulverized by the base check-out process. The Army lives on paper and it fed well those days.

On Tuesday, we finally learned our next postings. I had put in for Panama or Korea. Ha ha. The posted list of names was entirely alphabetical. If my name had been just one slot higher, I would have been assigned to Army-Navy Liaison in Key West, Florida. Surf's up, dudes! Instead, I was going to a tank unit in... Kansas. Miserable fucking Kansas. Oh shit.

First Infantry Division. The Big Red One. If you've gotta HAVE one, have a big RED one -- that's the slogan.

I arrived in the midst of a blizzard that had knocked out all power within 80 miles. Portable generators were hauled from motor pools to barracks to keep the troops from freezing to death. Welcome to Kansas, where it's either too hot and too windy, or too cold and too windy.

I was posted to the communications section of an armored battalion headquarters. They already had too many RATTmen. And because of my civilian history, I could not get a SECRET clearance. So whenever SECRET traffic was sent or received, I had to leave. Pretty funny, hey?

The commander saw me running around with a camera and assigned me to be unit photographer. I was given the downstairs mop closet as a darkroom, about 6 by 12 feet. I bought all my own gear and chemicals and film and paper. I owned everything I shot. It was a dream job.

I shot every event and action involving the unit. I shot aerial survey photos from helicopters. I shot our month-long wargames in Germany, where I was the first one up every morning, the last one in at night, documenting everything. I sampled local moonshine schnapps. No naked girls, though. Too bad.

I shot many official and unofficial portraits. Guys liked me to shoot their faces in high-contrast, high-detail, every pore and scar and sweat rivulet showing, and to shoot them with their girlfriends in soft misty romantic moods. I charged enough for the unofficial work to cover my costs and pay for materials for the official shots, and a bit more.

Some of the unofficial shoots were hot. Troops and their gals rented motel rooms off-base and called me in for personal porno sessions. I was invited to share in the fun a few times. Like I said -- a dream job.

"OK Darlene, roll onto your side now. Sarge, lift her leg and slide right in," I directed.

"Ron, can you put that camera on automatic? I sure do want pictures of your cock in my mouth while Sarge fucks me. That OK with you, Sarge?"

"Yeah, that'll be super sexy. Ron, stick your dick in her face."

"I never refuse a direct order, Sarge," I said compliantly.

___

My old Hollyweird lover Keri was now an Army electronics specialist who was constantly on short assignments at various bases. She kept track of my location. Whenever we were nearby, we got an off-post motel room and fucked constantly. She was still so thin that she hardly dented her uniform. We made no promises to each other.

Girls were available in the off-post town -- for a price. I felt uncomfortable with doing business with an off-post prostitute. A few of my buddies decided to book a girl for the night. I was invited, but quietly declined. My buddies all got butt-shots in the post VD clinic a few days later. Ha!

I hung with a biker group in a nearby town. I photographed their runs, their interactions with police, their bikes and their women. I even had photos of them published in EASYRIDERS magazine. Some of the mamas were very very friendly, although we had to be discreet.

"Hey there, Specialist Ron, why don't you show me just how special you are?"

"How special am I? Well, see this 210mm lens here? That's almost how long I am."

"Let's just see... oooh, that's BIG. How do you taste? Mmmm... pretty damn good!"

I learned my lesson long ago: Promise her love, but give her nine inches.

I kept up pen-pal correspondence with ever-waffling Sherry in upstate New York, with Clem The Chemist in prison, with Yoko in Hollyweird, with Jim and Tahoe on the Funny Farm, and with my sisters. I tried to correspond with Angelina but she said she wanted no part of a long-distance relationship.

My closest confidant and friend on post was Samuel, a young first lieutenant, short and pale and canny, a friend-of-a-sorta-friend. The sorta-friend was a San Francisco underground cartoonist I had sometimes hung with innocently. This cartoonist gained notoriety with his death, strangling himself while playing auto-erotic asphyxiation games. Samuel said he was writing a biography. I doubted that this would help his military career. He shrugged. What career?

"You spend your life here on photography," Samuel said. "You know it's sexual sublimation. You're in the darkroom all the time because you're not getting enough pussy."

My HOW TO SHOOT NUDES et cetera books often kept me occupied during darkroom sessions. Good thing I could lock the door.

I had told other troops about my New York activities. When I mentioned seven women, they usually shrugged and said yeah, right. When I told Samuel, he seemed to expect no less of me.

"So you're with all these amazing gals off-and-on for almost three months, and screwing one regularly -- and you didn't do much photography, right? See, like I said, it's sublimation, a substitution."

___

Other than the job, Kansas sucked. I took no leave, knowing that if I left, I would not return. And my dream job was not permanent. The new battalion commander did not see a need for a photographer. His new sergeant-major sent me to the motor pool for permanent clean-up detail. Some NCOs jealous of my former privileged status took the opportunity to make my life miserable. I was maximally pissed off.

I had joined for a two-year enlistment, thinking I could extend if I liked the Army. I did not extend. I used my saved two months of leave to exit early. I checked out of Fort Bumfuck just before Labor Day.

The check-out process included turning in all equipment, although I managed to get away with an extra field jacket and a parka. I packed all my personal gear and relocated to the open transit barracks for my last night on base. After a late evening of beer and bullshitting, I nestled into my bunk.

I had a rare erotic dream. My flesh was warm, excited. My cock was wetly ecstatic. And I slowly drew away from sleep and became aware that I wasn't dreaming. In the darkness, I felt a mouth gently and expertly working on my cock. Waves of pleasure were building.

I reached out and felt a head with short nappy hair. As my excitement grew, I sank my fingers into the nap and pushed my hips forward, face-fucking the invisible mouth's fat soft lips. Hands pushed my hands away and the head and mouthed moved at a faster tempo. I reached under my tee and tweaked my own nipples.

My cock was held deep in this anonymous throat. I spasmed, shooting globs of glop into my excited sperm receptacle. The mouth pulled my cock out slightly and vacuumed my jiz until I was drained dry, tongue and lips working with less pressure, until my cock started going limp.

The mouth left my cock. Warm juicy lips gently pressed against mine. I held that nappy head and smooth face for a few moments. Then my unknown fellator rose and walked away silently. I wasn't even sure of their gender. I pulled the blankets back over me and returned to sleep. At least I got a good send-off from the Army, hey?

NEXT: Sometimes, there is no escape.