Working/victgirl.mf
                                  Anonymous, 1991
                                  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.

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"
                        "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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