Semper F***

"Yes sir," I replied with conviction I didn't feel. Not because I didn't want to marry her—it seemed like the least I could do, now that I made her into a traitor and put her life in jeopardy. No, the problem now was I didn't want to see her go. The sex was unbelievable and I didn't want it to end, but that wasn't the whole story. I was finding that I just liked having her around. She had said I was a lonely man; I guess you don't really realize how lonely you are until you're not. Once she left, I would be alone again, only it would be worse because I would have memories of what it had been like.

"OK, but move fast. There's political winds afoot—we may not be here that much longer. If you want to get her out, you'll need to get her out by this weekend."

"But it's already Thursday, sir."

"You'll have to act fast then," he replied.

"Yes sir."

"You know, Tom, you could have put our entire effort here in serious jeopardy," he said, turning somber, "but even if I wanted to court martial you, I can't, because it would make it public knowledge that we're here, and that defeats the whole purpose. But you're the only operative I've got in an entire province, I need to be able to rely on you to get the job done. How can I know that you're not going to fuck this up?"

"I can only get married once, sir," I replied.

He smiled—a true Marine, wise-ass reply. "I suppose that's true. Promise me you won't cross the lines to inspect any more refugee camps?"

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir," I told him honestly.

"If I were in your shoes, I'd do the exact same thing," he confessed, returning to his desk "Say... when all this is done, you think you could get me an autographed picture of something?"

"I'm sure she'd be honored, sir," vaguely discomfited by the notoriety of my soon-to-be wife.

"Dismissed." I came out of the office and closed the door behind me.

"Well?" asked Aleska anxiously.

"Well," I answered, "let's go find a hotel to check in to. We've got 36 hours to get married."

----------------

It wasn't hard to arrange a quick civil wedding once a few American greenbacks were passed around. But we did need to find witnesses. I knew no one in this country; I naively thought maybe Aleska might have some family or something. Aside from the fact that we were on the wrong side of the border, she told me straight out that she'd been disowned by her family when she started working in porn and hadn't spoken to any of her relatives in three years. But that didn't mean she didn't know people. Her phone didn't work in this country so she looked up numbers on hers and dialed them on mine. To my surprise, I knew both of the witnesses. The matron of honor was a friend of Aleska's from the business who turned out to be Zasha. The only men she knew were actors, and she sensed I'd not feel real comfortable with them as groomsmen. As luck would have it, there was another American in the country, a producer who had just finished doing some shooting in the capital and was waiting to fly back home. My best man turned out to be Nick; as a bonus, he took a few pictures of the event.

Saturday at 4:00, we were standing in the city square getting married. I put on my dress uniform for the occasion. Aleska bought herself a few new clothes, but wasn't happy with the quality of most of what she found in town and she ended up getting married in the halter and miniskirt she'd worn when I first met her. I'd spent all my free cash on her engagement ring, so we had no rings to exchange, either. There were just four of us and a presider standing in the public square—but it's not every day that two of the most recognizable faces in the sex industry are standing around in public, and a small audience began to assemble. When I kissed the bride twenty minutes later, there was a light circle of applause around us.

Our reception consisted of a prolonged pub crawl. We went from bar to bar doing shots—we would go in and announce that we were just married, and the first round was always free. I wasn't counting, but I think our lovely ladies were getting us more than that; in fact, I don't remember paying for any of our drinks at any of our stops, although it might be that I just don't remember. Then, as we moved from our third to our fourth bar, the inevitable happened. I'd just married a porn star without ever once seeing any of her work—I don't know if I could have gone through with it if I had. I was avoiding the subject, but my wife was internationally famous, it was only a matter of time before I would have to confront it. In Europe, see, they're less uptight about open displays of sexuality, so as we walked down main street, among the sidewalk displays that merchants put out to attract customers there was a large metal cart with DVDs for sale. The top shelves held the usual Disney and Hollywood offerings, but the bottom racks were filled with porn. On the bottom shelf one of the boxes staring out at me featuring none other than my new bride, pictured facing the camera with a dick in her mouth, another in her ass and her shaved pussy held open for all to see. Over her head was emblazoned the title "Queens of DP." I gulped; sure I loved the sex, but I could not bear the thought of her fucking someone else, and now all I could think of was imagining my wife sandwiched between two guys at once. All at once I felt like throwing up, and it wasn't from the booze.

I got real quiet at the next bar; all I could think about was that picture of Aleska satisfying two other men's dicks, and seeming so happy about it somehow. Sure, she was a pro and acting, but was I any different? Did one or two kisses mean something, or was I just another guy she had to screw in order to get what she wanted? Wasn't that the essence of our deal, after all? And if so, why should it bother me? It's not like there was any other reason why a world-class beauty like her would to have sex with an ordinary guy like me.

Zasha's English wasn't as good as Aleska's. They tried to keep speaking in English for our sake, but Zasha kept losing track of the conversation, especially since by now we all had a pretty good buzz on. Aleska and Zasha began a private conversation; while I understood the language, I couldn't follow it at the pace they were speaking. English was the only language Nick spoke, so naturally he talked to me. "You're a damn lucky guy, Tom," he said.

"Am I?" I answered in a faraway voice.

"What do you mean?" he answered with surprise, "do you have any idea how many guys would give their right arms for just one night with Aleska?"

"Isn't that the problem, though?" I countered. "How many men have watched her? How many men have HAD her? How many more men WILL she have sex with..."

"Ah, so that's it," he chuckled, nodding. "You can't stand the thought of her having sex with another guy, is that it?" I shook my head. "Have you ever seen any of her work Tom?" I shook my head again. "Tom, Tom, Tom...don't make the same mistake so many of our customers do. Don't mistake sex for love. You can have sex without love just as much as you can have love without sex..."

"Love?" I countered, "what love? I've known her for three days, for crying out loud. We don't LOVE each other." And besides, I thought, you shoot porn for a living—what would you know about love?

"Maybe not," he agreed, "or at least, not yet. But I've worked with Aleska for two years, and I'm telling you, she likes you. I've seen her on the set, and she's all business. She turns it on for the camera, and turns it off just as fast. I've never seen her as relaxed, as natural as she is with you."

"That's just because she's got her clothes on. I'm just her ticket out of the country, that's all," I complained.

"Tom...you're freaking out over nothing. It's not like you didn't know what she did before you married her, why the sudden angst?"

"A store we passed back there, it was selling something called Queens of DP..." I answered distastefully.

"One of my best sellers," he interrupted with a smile, "look, I'm telling you, you may be her ticket out of here, but that doesn't mean she doesn't like you. Just because she's had sex with other men, that doesn't mean she can't love someone. You didn't really expect to marry a virgin, did you?"

"Well, no..."

"Any woman you marry will have had men in her past. The only difference is Aleska's were on camera." That wasn't the only difference—most girls go through life without ever getting double-penetrated. But I let that slide as he continued "you should understand that Aleska is not your run of the mill starlet by any means. She's one of the few girls who goes by her real name, for instance. And did you know she's her own agent?"

"Is that unusual?" I asked.

"Almost unheard of," he answered. "Now granted, the agents in her country suck, but still... you have to have a pretty good head on your shoulders to pull it off. Zasha, for example, she'd never be able to—she's hot as blazes, but what you see is pretty much what you get—not much going on underneath," he continued, tapping his temple. "Aleska's not like that. Her mind is always working, she's always selling." I thought about how she prepared for her meeting with the Colonel and could see what he was talking about. "It just so happens is that the thing she's selling is her body. But I can vouch for this: the Aleska on the inside," he finished as he tapped his chest, "has never been for sale."

"I'd like to believe that," I said wistfully, "but even if I did, now what? She gets a plane tomorrow, and in a week she's on some Hollywood set doing three guys at a time. God..." my stomach turned again at the thought.

"So ask her not to," he answered pointedly.

"Ask her not to? And do what? That's how she makes her money, and I can't afford to support her on my income—certainly not like she's used to..."

"Tom, the industry is a big place," Nick said patiently, "there's lots of girls working in the biz that never do hardcore at all, and it happens all the time that a girl gets engaged or serious about some guy and stops doing it, at least for as long as the relationship lasts. Everyone in the biz has a life off-camera, you know."

"What do those girls do that quit doing hardcore?" I asked.

"That depends on what she and/or her significant other feel comfortable with. Girls do hardcore because it pays the most and is the best way to gain a following, but you can still make decent money just dancing, modeling, or even doing girl-girl stuff. Aleska already has a strong following; I'm sure she could clear 10 grand a week in guarantees, easy, just going around the country and dancing in clubs."

"You mean...she might actually give up doing hardcore...because of me?" I asked quietly. The concept had never occurred to me.

"It's not like she was doing it cause it's fun," he affirmed, "just talk to her about it, tell her how you feel. I'm telling you, she likes you, I can see it. If she doesn't at least meet you halfway on this, I'll join a monastery."

I sat and thought for a while. The girls re-engaged us in conversation not long after. Aleska looked at me funny; she was trying to figure me out. I guess she could tell something was wrong, but didn't know what. She suggested we pick up and go to another bar.

By now we were half-staggering down the street. I no longer even noticed the turn-arounds and stares as men on the street encountered our lovely ladies. The next bar was dark, and had an empty circular booth in the back. I got us a round of Slivovich on the house, and we all toasted and drank them down. Then Nick's phone rang, and he went outside to take the call. Maybe she received some secret woman-signal from Aleska, because Zasha picked just then to go to the restroom. Just like that Aleska and I were alone.

Aleska wasted no time. She hopped up onto my lap, sitting sideways, wrapping her arms around my neck. She gave me a tipsy kiss, then whispered "why is husband looking unhappy on wedding day?"

"I'm sorry Aleska," I fumbled, "I...I'm really not used to the attention you get. I've never even seen any of your work, and..."

"Fact that I am porn star bothers you, yes?" she interrupted. I was beginning to realize there was no bullshitting this woman.

"You know, what's past is past and I can't change it," I said, "it's the future that bothers me. I...I just can't stand to think of you having sex with other men..."

"I was wonder how long before you say something," she said to my surprise.

"I'm sorry, Aleska, I know it's how you earn a living, but..."

"No sorry," she interjected, "is what is. Some men like to watch wife have sex with other man. Some men hate. You want Aleska no have sex with other man?"

"Well, yeah," I stammered.

"OK. Aleska no have sex with other man," she said matter-of-factly. "You want I keep clothes on? You want I retire? Is OK if I dance in club?"

"Yeah, I guess that would be OK..." I said, hoping that all clubs had no-touch rules.

"Just no touch," she clarified, as if reading my mind.

"Right," I said, somehow feeling better already.

"What of picture? You want I no pose for picture?"

"Would you do that if I wanted you to?" I asked. I was OK with it, but I was testing her.

"If husband want I no pose, I no pose," she said flatly.

We gazed into each other's eyes; I suddenly felt as close to her as ever I had, post-orgasmic or otherwise. Rather than answer, I kissed her—soulfully, with tongue, for a long time. My heart felt light as a feather. Finally I broke off, stroking her pretty face, saying "I guess I don't have a problem with pictures if it's just you. There's already lots of them out there; if people want to pay for more, why not give them more? I'm not so sure how I feel about the girl-girl thing, though..."

She smiled and gave me another quick kiss. "You good man, Tom. I glad you say something now, not let it bother you for long time."

"You don't know that I'm a good man, you just met me," I protested.

"Aleska know," she countered confidently. "I confess—I engage before. No marry, just engage—Aleska get cold feet. Was nice man, rich man too—but no good man. He like most man—he see what he like, and that all he care about. Man like Aleska body so much, he no care what she think. Maybe you right, maybe man no like porn star dumb—maybe he like porn star with no head at all. Just empty body for fucking."

"Aleska, how can you say that," I said, knowing deep down I knew men that probably described.

"See," she smiled, "you no think like that. That why I say you good man. You know Aleska good sex, but you not satisfied with that—you want know more. And you good heart. You put your life in danger to get medicine to that girl..."

"Don't look at that as noble," I complained, "that was guilt. I was one of the ones that raped her."

"Rape her? No, I no think you rape her," she argued. "I think she do what she think she need to do stay alive, and maybe you take her up on it. Did you hold her down? Did you hit her?"

"No!"

"Of course not...that not Tom. Is complicated. On one hand, you know she not really want have sex with you. On other hand, she not tell you stop." I shook my head—she was eerily perceptive. "Is no really that different from work. I no want have sex with strange man, I want make money. Way to make money is have sex with man on camera, so I do. Does he rape me, because deep down I not want sex with him?"

"No, but it's different when you're motivated by money versus by fear for your life," I said sadly.

"Yes, is different—but no so different, maybe. Maybe there no gun, but if I no make money, maybe I starve. In some way, all porn star have sex as way to stay alive. Some woman maybe stay marry to man who beat her because he also pay bill. Woman have sex for many reason besides seeing man that make panty wet. I no lie to new husband...when I make proposition, I thinking will be like movie. I give you what you want, and not expect anything in return, in exchange for green card. I do not know you then. I am surprise...happy to find that you good man. Maybe you no always do good thing, but then you feel bad about later" she said, gently touching my nose. "Most man just go on to next one; you go out of way to make amends. Aleska am liking Tom. Make me feel here," she said, touching her chest. "Aleska not know what feeling is." She flashed her steel blue eyes at me, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Aleska know all about sex, but not know much of love. Maybe is what Aleska feeling?" She snuggled in close to me and we kissed.

Zasha came back; we didn't even notice, we were too into our kissing. On top of that, her tight little ass in my lap had started working its magic in my pants. Zasha got the hint; when Nick came back, she suggested we call it a night so we could have our honeymoon. It seemed like a great idea to me.

When we got back to the hotel, we didn't have sex right away—we stood just inside the doorway and kissed like we had in the bar, for a long, long time. I suddenly felt like I really did, in fact, have a wife now.

"You get more comfortable with Aleska wife, not just porn star?" she teased as she held my hand and led me towards the bed.

"You fame will still take some getting used to," I admitted, "you know, even Colonel Peavey asked if you could send him an autographed picture or something."

"I maybe have present I can give," she replied, but didn't elaborate. She just wrapped her arms around me again and started to kiss me. She gently pressed me down onto the bed, still kissing me. She began to rub the front of my pants again, though.

"Mpff..." I said, interrupting, "this is a dress uniform. Need to make sure I don't wrinkle it!"

"No?" she teased, "take off then!"

So I did. I stood up and started taking off the uniform. She lounged back, watching, making eyes at me. As I dropped my pants (and hung them neatly over a chair), she pulled up her skirt, parted her thighs slightly and began to rub herself. "What are you doing?" I smiled.

"Your boxers...they excite me," she answered in a low voice. I unbuttoned the dress jacket and put it by the pants. Aleska took her other hand and pulled her halter top to either side to reveal her breasts. Then she watched herself as she tweaked her nipples erect, masturbating all the while. Damn, it was hot. "Come over here," she breathed. I walked to the side of the bed. She gently pulled down on my waistband, and my erection immediately sprung free. Watching me, she stuck out her tongue and slowly, maddeningly slowly, licked the underside from ball to tip. She kissed her way down, then licked it again. Then she tilted her head slightly and sucked it in. Her lips caressed me, her tongue massaged me as she sucked me slowly and with feeling. This wasn't a porn blow job, fast and hard to reach orgasm as fast as possible. This was her wanting the intimacy of close contact with the most sensitive area of my body. It was amazing—and all the while, she kept masturbating through her thong. I couldn't reach her crotch standing next to the bed on it, but I could reach her tender pink nipples. While she sucked me, I caressed her soft breasts, holding the nipples between my thumb and index fingers and rubbing them gently for mutual enjoyment.

"Lay on bed," she whispered. I lay down next to her, but no sooner did I than she was up—and over—and on top of me, upside-down. She swallowed my dick while thrusting her crotch in my face. I started licking the outside of her panties; I could feel the erect clitoris through the fabric, and I could smell her musky scent. Between my saliva and her juices, the panties quickly became soaking wet. I pulled them aside so I could touch her bare flesh; she jumped ever so slightly when my tongue made direct contact with her clit. I was so engrossed in her genitalia that I barely noticed just how far down her throat she was swallowing me until I started to feel her nose gently touch my balls on the downstroke. Damn—she had me deep-throated completely. That made me twitch and get momentarily even longer, which unfortunately triggered her gag reflex. She had to spit me out for a moment, but as soon as she caught her breath she swallowed me again, right down to the root. It was unbelievable. I paused for a second to absorb the sensation—and then set right back to licking her pussy again.