Archive-name: Working/victgirl.mf

Archive-author: Anonymous, 1991

Archive-title: Victory Girl, The





March, 1943, somewhere in the U.S.A.



     Ensign Harold Peck, USN, opened his wallet to pay the

cabby.

     "Here ya go, sir; this here's a fine USO club, you'll see. 

You're gonna have a fine time.  Ah, that's seventy-five cents." 

Peck handed him a dollar, and the cabby reached for his change

clip.

     "Keep it," said Peck, opening the door.

     "Thanks, sir.  Maybe I can give you a lift back to the field

later."

     "Yeah, maybe."  Peck crossed the sidewalk quickly, feeling

the Winter night bite immediately at his face.

     The USO club occupied a local gymnasium.  It was warm

inside, and a middle-aged woman at the door was hanging coats. 

Peck gave her his overcoat and peaked cap, and paused at the

inner door to look around.

     The basketball court had been converted into a dance hall,

with a dozen tables clustered at one end, and a refreshments

stand at the rear.  Red, white, and blue bunting and official

posters decorated the walls.  Some of the overhead lamps were

out--whether broken or turned off, he could not be sure--and

those that remained cast the big room in an indistinct light.  A

half-dozen couples were dancing to big band tunes piped through a

rather tinny-sounding amp system.  About a dozen young women

clustered along one wall, watching the dancers and whispering to

each other.  A few others sat with men in various service

uniforms at the tables.

     Nice odds, thought Peck, strolling toward the refreshments. 

A matronly woman was ladling punch from a chipped bowl.

     "Evening," he said.  "Got any coffee?"

     "Why sure," she smiled.  "Just you wait one moment."  She

turned to the counter behind her, and poured him a cup.  "There

you are."  He thanked her.  "Say, those look like aviator's

wings," she noted.

     "Yes, ma'am."

     "Well, it happens there's another aviator in here tonight,

and I'll bet you boys would have a lot to talk about."  She

pointed to a man in Army green sitting alone at a table with his

back towards them.  He seemed to be slouching very low in his

chair.  Peck felt no particular urge to strike up a conversation.

     "Well, I don't know, ma'am," he told the woman by way of

excuse.  "I'm just killing some time, and I can't stay long."

     "Oh, don't be silly," she said brightly.  Coming out from

behind the counter, she took him by the elbow and propelled him

toward the table.  "Here we are," she said before he could argue

further.  "Now, what was your name, son?" she asked as the Army

flier looked up.  Peck noted bloodshot and bleary eyes, a

distinct odor of gin, and three empty coffee cups on the table

around a half-crumpled pack of Camels.  The soldier grinned

lopsidedly.

     "Harris, William, Second Lieutenant, U.S. Army Air Forces,

at yer service.  You s'pose I could have a little more coffee?"

     "You sure bet you can, Lieutenant.  This here's, ah . . ."

     "Harold Peck," he admitted, seeing that the introduction was

now inevitable.  They shook hands, and the matron hurried back to

her counter.

     "Navy, eh?  Well, have a seat, Navy.  You waitin' fer a

plane outa here?  Yep, I thought so.  Same here.  S'posed ta been

outa here yesterday, but what a SNAFU."

     "Rough weather," Peck observed.

     "Yeah, sure.  Picked a fine place to wait, though, I can

tell you.  A fine place."

     "Here's your coffee, Lieutenant," said a red-headed girl who

had come up from behind.

     "Thanks, honey," he said.  "I won't need any sugar with

that, either--not with you around."  She giggled, and hurried

back toward the others along the wall.  Peck guessed she was

still in high school.

     "A fine place," said Harris once more.  "So, you just get

here?"  Peck nodded.  "Well," the soldier continued, "Lemme give

you just a little advice before I go.  If you like brunettes, see

about that one over there, on the right.  If you like blondes, I

recommend the one right next to her.  And if you like redheads,

well, I ain't tried her yet, but the one with the sugar looks

mighty sweet."

     Peck just sipped his coffee, trying to think of nothing. 

But Carla's image rose relentlessly in his mind's eye, her smile

seeming to mock him.  Involuntarily he clenched his jaw, and set

down his cup just a little too hard, so that it clinked and

spilled a bit into the saucer.  Harris eyed him closely, as

though trying to focus through a haze.

     "Headed out to the fleet, I'll bet," he said.  Peck nodded

slightly.  "Yeah, I thought so.  Me, I'm goin' ta Europe.  Ya got

a girl at home?"  Peck said nothing, but Harris was undeterred. 

"I'll bet ya do, some little sweetheart," he continued.  "Well, I

got one thing to tell ya, an' that's this: forget her.  Ya think

she's gonna wait while you're out there killin' Japs?  Fat

chance.  No, she's gonna find some pretty little momma's boy with

some kinda' loophole 4-F certificate, and pretty soon she'll

forget you ever existed."

     Peck felt hot anger rising, and told himself to ignore it. 

Harris was drunk, and this was no place for a scene.  But he

could still see Carla's handsome face; her dark, cascading hair

and striking eyebrows, her full lips, her provocative gaze.  In

his mind, her smile seemed to become a leer, and he willed her to

disappear.  Drunk or no, Harris had guessed the score.  Carla

hadn't even waited for Peck to ship out.  Bitch, he thought, but

without really feeling it.  He was still too much in love with

her to feel vindictive.  But whoever the other guy was, he was

damned lucky Peck hadn't been able to find out.  Probably some

sonofabitch in a zoot suit.

     Harris didn't seem to notice the depth of Peck's reverie. 

"Tell you what," he said with a slightly surreptitious glance to

either side as he reached into his pocket.  "I gotta get the hell

outta here; gotta get back to the field.  I wish I could stay for

another round, but I'm too drunk.  All fucked out, anyway.  So I

won't need these, but you . . . you just might."  He grabbed

Peck's hand under the table and pressed something into it.  Peck

realized at once that it was a fist full of rubbers.  He started

to object, but shut his mouth quickly as he realized that arguing

would only be counter-productive.  If this slob was about to

leave, he could get rid of the rubbers later.

     "I got a feeling about you, sailor," said Harris, standing

up from the table and swaying dangerously.  "Stick around here,

and mark my words, you won't regret it."  After giving him an

exaggerated, knowing wink, the Army pilot made off unsteadily

toward the door.  The old woman helped him into his coat and cap,

and in a moment he had disappeared into the cold night.  Peck

caught a glimpse before the door swung shut, and saw that it was

snowing again.  He rolled his eyes and thrust the condoms

unobtrusively into his own pocket.

     Peck had just accepted a second cup of coffee when he began

to notice that he was receiving attention.  Several of the girls

along the wall were sneaking glances at him when they thought he

wasn't looking.  Neither dancing nor chatter appealed to him at

the moment, so he decided to ignore them.  He pulled out one of

the Camels Harris had forgotten, and stuck it in the corner of

his mouth.  Unfortunately the Lieutenant had neglected to leave

any matches.  Peck was fumbling in his pockets, trying not to

scatter condoms on the floor, when a smooth, feminine voice spoke

close beside him.

     "Need a light, sailor?"

     Peck was slightly startled, but caught himself in time to

avoid appearing so.  Instead, he looked up casually, and then the

whole room seemed to wobble for a moment as he focused on her. 

She was radiantly beautiful, with long, wavy golden hair and a

face like sunshine; surely not yet twenty.  He saw blue eyes and

long lashes; a white blouse buttoned up to her slender throat,

and over that a light blue sweater.  He arched an eyebrow.

     "Sure," he said after an appreciative pause.  She held out a

match in her cupped hands and confidently lit his cigarette.  As

he inhaled, Peck dropped his eyes and took in the sight of her

small, saddle-shoed feet; grey socks; slim, well-shaped ankles

and calves; a plaid, plaited skirt that ended just below her

knees; and gently curving hips.  He straightened up quickly,

then, taking the cigarette in his fingers and hoping she hadn't

noticed his appraisal.

     "Thanks," he said.  "Care to join me?"  He thought belatedly

that perhaps he ought to stand up, but it would have seemed too

theatrical now.

     "Maybe," said the girl with a sly expression.  She put the

matches in her sweater pocket and clasped her hands behind her. 

"Whom would I be joining?"

     "Harold Peck," he said, deciding to stand up after all. 

"They call me Woody."

     "Susan Carlson.  Pleased to meet you, Woody."  She sat down

across from him, with her hands on her lap.  "Are you sure you

don't mind when people call you that?"

     "Aw, no, not a bit.  'Wood pecker' is so obvious, there'd be

no use getting sore about it."

     She smiled again.  "I see you're a flier."

     "That's right.  Just out of training, actually, but they

tell me I'm a natural."

     "Really?  You have a lot of talent?"

     "Yep.  That's why they put me in fighters.  I'll be out

there in a Hellcat pretty soon."

     "What's a Hellcat?"

     "Oh, sorry.  New fighter plane, and a really sweet ship,

too.  They're already running wild on the Japs; I just hope

they'll save a few for me."

     "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Woody.  So you're heading

for the war zone, huh?"

     "Yeah.  Keep an eye on the papers.  You'll be reading about

me before long."  He said it with a smile, so that it didn't

sound like a boast, but Susan knew that he wasn't entirely just

kidding, either.  It crossed her mind that people read obituaries

in the paper as well as headlines about heroes, but of course she

didn't say anything like that.  A song was just ending.

     "Do you like to dance, Woody?"

     "Yeah, I do," he said almost too quickly.  He stood up,

stubbing out his cigarette, and took the slender hand she

offered.  The song was "In the Mood," which Woody realized was

now much more appropriate than it would have been a few minutes

ago.  He was a good dancer, and so was she.  The girls along the

wall watched intently, a few of them with obvious envy.  Susan

paid them no attention.  The next song was "Moonlight Serenade,"

and Woody slipped his left hand around her narrow waist to the

small of her back, drawing her closer.  They swayed easily to the

familiar melody.

     "Just passing through?" she asked casually.

     "Yeah.  Not going anyplace tonight, though, the way it's

snowing."

     "Mmm," she agreed.  "Ever been here before?"

     "Nope.  I'm from Florida."

     "Maybe I should have guessed that from your tan."

     "Ah.  Well, I would have gotten that at Pensacola, anyway." 

She, in contrast, was not tanned; but as he held her, Peck felt

that she gave off a healthy sort of glow just the same.  She

stood about six inches shorter than his 6'1", and as she turned

her head closer to his shoulder, his nose and lips brushed her

hair.  She smelled fresh, as though she had just stepped out of a

warm bath and somehow gotten her hair dry already.  At that same

moment, she was thinking about how wonderfully strong and

confident he seemed, and she wondered what sort of vigorous

physical training they must all have to do in the Navy.

     They danced several more songs before returning to the

table, and he brought them some punch.

     "You're a wonderful dancer," he told her.

     "I was just going to say that to you," she smiled, looking

bashful.  Yeah, Woody thought to himself; she looked shy, but she

also seemed to have a certain knack for getting what she wanted. 

     "You in school?" he asked.  She seemed caught off-guard for

just an instant.

     "Well, yes and no.  Temporarily I'm just working, but I will

be back at the University pretty soon."

     "Thought so.  I had you figured for a thinker from the way

you said 'whom' at the beginning.  What subject interests you?"

     "Oh, a lot of things, really," she sighed, looking

thoughtful.  "Literature and psychology, mostly.  I'm still

deciding."

     "That's great," Woody said.  "I want to go back to school,

too, when this is all over.  You'll probably have it all in the

bag by then."

     They drank their punch and danced some more, making

intermittent smalltalk.  But as they left the floor a second

time, Susan glanced the clock on the wall.

     "It's getting a little late, Woody.  Could you help me find

a cab?"

     "You bet," he said, feeling a bit disappointed that it would

end already, but of course trying not to show it.  He helped her

into her coat, and she also pulled on a pair of rubber boots--

obviously a pre-war purchase.  In a moment they were standing

outside, where the snow now stood ankle deep.  Peck looked up and

down the empty street, finding no sign of a cab.

     "Well, I guess I'll have to call one," he said.

     "Yes," she sighed; "They always do this.  The driver's

probably having his coffee now, and we'll have to wait a hour. 

Unless . . ."

     "Well?  Got an idea?"

     "I don't know about you, Woody, but I like to walk, and I

don't mind the snow.  Of course, I'm the one with the boots, but

. . . would you mind too awfully much walking with me?  It's not

far, and there's a main corner right nearby.  I'm sure it will be

easy for you to find a ride there."

     "Sounds good to me," Woody grinned, and he ducked briefly

back inside to get his cap and coat.

     They continued to talk lightly along the way, but presently

Woody began to wonder precisely what would happen when they

arrived.  He suddenly seemed to run out of casual banter.

     "Do you live with your folks?" he asked, perhaps a little

too innocently.

     "No," she said.  "I'm sharing an apartment with a friend who

works, too."

     "Sounds practical."

     "Yes, it works out nicely."  Without comment, she slipped

her arm around his waist, and seemed to shiver a little bit. 

Pleasantly surprised, Woody answered promptly by placing his

around her shoulders, and she glanced up with another sort of sly

smile.  They continued on in silence, except for the soft squish

of snow underfoot and the sigh of their breathing.  A cab cruised

past, but if either of them noticed it, neither let on.

     "Well, here it is," Susan said finally, at the door of a

four-story apartment building.  Peck realized he had no idea how

long they had been walking.  He turned to face her, letting go

her shoulder.  "Can I get you something before you go?" she

asked.  "Coffee . . . or maybe a nightcap?"

     "You don't look old enough to be offering people nightcaps,

Susie," he said.

     "I'll bet I'm as old as you are," she answered without

hesitation, again looking sly.  "Come on."  She turned to unlock

the door, and he followed her inside.

     The apartment was on the fourth floor: #403.  Peck looked

around as she hung up their coats and his cap on the back of the

door and pulled off her galoshes.

     "Where's your chum?" he asked, seeing that there was only

one bedroom and it was empty.

     "Working an all-night diner.  She gets off at eight."  Woody

automatically glanced at his watch, and was glad that she didn't

see him do it.  It was only just past eleven.  He began fiddling

with the big wooden radio which stood next to the door to the

small kitchen, where Susan was preparing something.

     "Not too loud, please," she cautioned.  "Touchy neighbors." 

     "Right, I understand."  Woody found a program with some more

slow dance music, adjusted it to a soft level, and turned off the

overhead light in favor of a smaller lamp beside the door. 

Sitting down on the short sofa, he loosened his tie a bit and ran

his eye along the row of books on a shelf above the radio.  There

was one by Sigmund Freud, and another by Jane Austen; but Woody

had never heard of them.  He closed his eyes until he heard her

reenter the room a few moments later.

     Susan carried a cup and saucer in either hand, and Woody

noticed that her sweater was unbuttoned.  She handed one cup to

him, sat down alongside him, and slipped off her shoes using only

her feet.  Woody took a sip and tasted coffee, with a generous

dollop of brandy.  He realized that for the first time in a long

while, he felt very good, very relaxed.

     It was a small couch, and Woody could feel Susan's hip and

thigh against his own.  Unfortunately, he began to feel an

awkward silence, and he groped for something to say. 

Possibilities ticked through his mind, but nothing sounded right.

Helpless, he set down his coffee on the endtable beside him and

hesitantly turned to look at her.   Susan, too, had put down her

coffee and was leaning close beside him, gazing deeply into his

eyes.  He could see the rise and fall of her modest bosom with

each breath, and her lips parted slightly.

     At last, Woody's conscious mind just seemed to give up, and

without thinking about it any further he grasped her shoulder

again, pulled her the remaining few inches to him, and kissed

her.  Her lips were soft, her mouth warm and wet, tasting of the

brandy.  With his other hand he caressed the side of her head,

running his fingers gently through her soft, streaming hair. 

Susan sighed, and kissed him back, pulling him even closer to

her.  Her back arched slightly, pressing her breasts against his

chest through their clothing.  Again he noticed how fresh and

clean she smelled, and he felt his pulse quicken. 

     "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met," he breathed

in her ear, conscious of no deception.

     "And you're the most beautiful man I've ever met," Susan

answered softly.  She began lightly licking along the edge of his

left ear.  Woody sucked in a shallow breath involuntarily as her

tongue probed farther, and he suddenly felt a powerful stiffening

in his crotch.  Would she notice?  Did it matter?  He gasped as

he heard and felt her hot, moist breath in his ear, and she began

to unbutton his shirt.

     "I want to see your tan," she whispered, drawing her legs up

onto the couch beside her and tugging at the knot of his tie.  He

helped her with that, and shrugged of his shirt.  Then he raised

his arms, and she drew back from his ear long enough to slip the

T-shirt over his head.  Now it was Susan's turn to catch her

breath as she ran her hands over his bronzed, well-muscled torso.

      "Fair's fair," Woody said impishly, reaching inside Susan's

unbuttoned sweater with both hands to grasp her breasts through

her cotton blouse.  She made no objection.  He caressed them

gently, feeling them restrained behind her brassiere as she

continued to stroke his back and chest.  Suddenly she bent

forward and kissed one of his nipples, sucking gently and running

her tongue in small circles around its edge.  God, he thought, is

she ever full of ideas.  What would she do next?  He felt a

further surge of hardness between his legs.

     "What kind of stuff are they teaching you at college these

days, anyway?" he asked.  She just smiled.  "Aren't you feeling

hot?" he suggested, easing the sweater down over her shoulders.

     "Mmm-h'm," Susan mumbled, still licking his chest but

stretching her arms back for a moment so he could remove the

sweater completely.  Her woolen skirt had ridden up well above

the knee, exposing a generous length of her smooth, bare leg. 

God, Woody thought suddenly, what if she's only teasing me, like

Carla did?  But the thought was cut short when Susan pushed him

gently backward by the shoulders, so that he lay back against the

cushions at the end of the sofa, with his right leg stretched out

on it and his left foot flat on the floor.   She sat on the couch

between his knees, and began unfastening the slide-buckle of his

belt.  Woody felt a flash of anxiety, but she proceeded

unbuttoning the waist of his trousers without hesitation, giving

him no opportunity to object.  She smartly unzipped his fly, and

there was the big, bulbous head of his swollen cock, pushing its

way insistently over the waistband of his boxer shorts.  In

another instant she had pulled down the shorts as well, and ran

her hand delicately along the length of his member.

     "Gosh, it's big," she said, looking at him with wide eyes. 

"I've never seen one like this before."  He wasn't quite sure how

she meant that, but it didn't really matter.  As she tentatively

fondled his harness, he reached up and began undoing her blouse

from the neck down, pausing after each button to squeeze her

breasts.  When he reached the waist of her skirt, he tugged the

hem of the blouse free and undid the remaining buttons.  He then

began to grapple with the clasp of her brassiere, but with no

result.  She let go of his penis for a moment to help.

     "It is tricky, isn't it?  You're lucky you don't have to

wear one."

     "You're lucky you don't have to wear a parachute and a life

preserver," Woody grinned.  Suddenly free of the brassiere,

Susan's breasts sprang forth and turned out to be larger than he

had expected.  He ran his hands hungrily over them, feeling her

nipples stiffening and poking against his palms.  She sighed, ran

her fingers over his chest to stroke his nipples, and then

resumed tugging gently at his penis.  It had begun to wilt

slightly, but that trend immediately was reversed.  He grasped

her hips, and encouraged her to rise up briefly so that he could

swing his other leg onto the sofa as well.  Then she settled back

down, now straddling his thighs, their crotches only inches

apart.  She still wore her skirt, but it was bunched up about her

waist, and he could see the white cotton panties she wore beneath

it.  He felt her dampness as she brushed against his leg.

     Slipping his hands once more across Susan's now taut

nipples, Woody then ran his hands gradually down her sides and

over her hips.  Reaching farther down, he grasped her ankles,

which were curled back beside his knees.  From there, he slid his

hot, horny palms slowly up along the length of her smooth, firm

young legs.  She was tugging insistently at his penis now, and he

felt himself careening toward the edge of release.

     "Wait," he hissed urgently.  She didn't seem to understand

at first, and he gently grabbed her wrists.

     "Oh, no, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

     "Hah!  No, baby, not a bit.  I just don't want this to end

too soon."  He raised her right leg again, and swung both of his

out in order to kick off his shoes and trousers, which were still

halfway on.

     "Can we go in there?"  He nodded toward the bedroom.

     "Sure," she grinned.  "As long as we don't rumple up my

friend's bed by mistake."  She stood up and took him by the hand.

At the last moment, it occurred to Woody to grab his trousers,

which still had Harris's rubbers in the pocket.  It was beginning

to look like that goon had been right about tonight after all.

     Woody shut the bedroom door behind them.  Susan did not turn

on the lamp, but there was a window, and it seemed to have

stopped snowing outside.  Pale, silvery moonlight shone in a

shaft through the top pane, where the curtains were open.  Susan

gestured toward one of the beds, and he sat down on it.  She

immediately knelt down in front of him and reached for his penis.

Woody realized with a twinge of anxiety that it had gone soft

again already, but the feeling of her fingers tugging gently at

it quickly reassured him that his hardness would soon return. 

Suddenly he felt her warm breath on his groin as well, and his

cock stiffened with a mighty surge.  Even as it did so, Susan ran

her tongue along its underside, lapping playfully at the tip as

she completed the stroke.  She paused a moment and looked up at

him with mischievous smile.  Then she lowered her head again,

placed the end of his penis completely inside her mouth, and

began to suck hard on it.

     "Oh, Jesus," Woody groaned involuntarily, feeling his juice

rising rapidly to the bursting point.  His face contorted as

though in pain, he looked down and could see her blond head

rising and falling over his crotch in a rapid rhythm.  He was

only seconds from the point of no return when he managed to

reassert himself.  Taking her head gently in his hands, he raised

her face up just in time, and then placed her fingers around the

base of his penis.

     "Hold on for another second," he grunted, groping for the

trousers.  In a moment he found the pocket, and retrieved one of

the condoms.

     "Put this on it," he asked her.  "I have to have you."

     "Yes," she sighed.  The rubber didn't seem to present any

mystery to her, and in a moment she was rolling it down over the

length of his straining shaft.  The squeezing pressure drove

Woody close to the edge of eruption, but he closed his eyes,

breathed deeply, and managed to push the moment back again. 

Susan climbed up to sit astride his lap, arms encircling his

neck.  As she kissed him, he felt his cock jutting up under her

skirt.  The head brushed against her pubic hair, and he realized

that she already had removed her panties, although he hadn't

noticed her do it.  It was almost time.  He unhooked her arms and

broke their kiss just long enough to slip the blouse and dangling

brassiere off her smooth shoulders.  As they moved, one of her

nipples touched one of his, producing an erotic jolt which made

his cock twitch and poke at her abdomen.  She kissed him again,

breathing deeply, and returned one arm around his neck as he

fondled her breasts.  With her other hand she alternately stroked

his cock and her own wetness.

     Even in his state of rising passion, it occurred to Woody

that she was doing most of the work; but he decided to let it go.

Things were going just fine the way they were.

     "I want you," Susan breathed finally.  "I'm ready."  He

rolled over on the bed to his right, placing her on her back, and

propped himself up on his elbows above her.  She kept a grasp on

his penis, and as soon as they were steady, she placed the head

at her opening.

     "Now," she gasped.  "Do it now."  But instead of obeying

her, Woody balanced himself on one arm and reached down between

them with his other hand.

     "What's wrong?" Susan said, letting go of him.  Woody just

smiled.  Grabbing hold of himself, he began to stroke the head

along her furrow, occasionally probing the opening slightly but

not pushing inside.  She was breathing more quickly now, almost

panting.

     "Oh, come on," Susan moaned.  "Do it!  Put it inside me." 

As Woody stroked her again, her eyes rolled back, and she groaned

deeply.  Suddenly he could wait not another moment, and he leaned

forward with a quick motion, sliding his quivering, swollen cock

smoothly into her hot, slippery opening.  Despite Susan's state

of dripping excitement, her vagina gripped him tightly,

immediately driving him to the edge of ejaculation.

     "Oh, jesus christ!" Woody groaned, straining to hold himself

motionless.  Susan looked up through half-closed eyes at his

face, contorted in desperate concentration.  His eyes were shut

tightly, his jaw clenched.  She, too, felt poised at the brink of

something momentous, something almost frighteningly powerful.

His penis seemed to be lodged so deeply within her abdomen, she

felt unbelievably full.

     At last, Woody felt safe enough to begin a tentative outward

stroke.  As he did so, Susan uttered an involuntary little

squeak; and when he began to push back inside, the feeling of his

penetration plunged her into a frenzied incoherence.

     "Oh!  uh- uh- Ugh!  Aaaaaahhh!"  She was almost screaming,

and despite the onrush of his own explosive orgasm, Woody had the

presence of mind to wonder what her neighbors would think.  He

gently but firmly covered her mouth with his hand, muffling her

continued cries.  She bit his palm, jerking against him

powerfully, her legs clamped tightly around his waist.  Suddenly

the moment was upon him, and Woody could bear no more.  Feeling

his penis growing even further as it prepared to spew, he flung

his head back sharply and arched his back.

     "God bless America!!!" Woody bellowed, blasting out his

gigantic load of cum with enough force to rupture a poorly made

condom.  Fortunately, Harris had given him Trojans.



     Woody left early the next morning, and they never met again.

A few months later he was dead, and he never quite fulfilled his

boast of making headlines as an ace.  But he thought of Susan in

that last moment before his Hellcat slammed vertically into the

sea at 500 knots, because the night with her had been the best of

his life.



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