Ginger
By John Jameson
E-Mail to: Jameson1780@altavista.com
Yes, I know--Ginger sounds like a stripper or some fantasy character. In
some ways she was a fantasy character, except that she was a living,
breathing woman as well. If it makes you feel better, change her name to
Mary or Phyllis in your mind, but I'll always remember her as Ginger.
I was in the Navy at the time, and we'd recently returned to our
homeport of San Diego after an extended deployment to WESTPAC. (To those
of you lucky enough never to have been there, WESTPAC is Navy- speak for
Western Pacific. In 1972, that meant one thing: a tour of duty off the
coast of Vietnam.) Typical of my brilliant timing, I'd managed to join
the Tonkin Gulf Yacht Club just as Dick Nixon decided it would be a good
idea to increase the naval pressure on the North Vietnamese. The seven
and a half months of our deployment had been spent primarily on the gun
line or on carrier escort and plane guard missions.
During the previous deployment, the U.S.S. Hummer (not her real name)
had fired 500 rounds from the destroyer's five-inch main guns over the
course of six weeks on the gun line and enjoyed liberty call in over a
dozen ports in Polynesia, the Far East, Australia, and New Zealand. This
time, we'd spent six months in the Gulf and the South China Sea, fired
off fifteen thousand rounds of five-inch, and snagged six visits to
Subic Bay in the Philippines and five glorious days of R&R in Hong Kong.
On our return stateside, I had a week-long visit from my family. I
didn't really expect my fiancee to meet the ship, since she was a
college junior at the time and we returned in September, shortly after
the fall semester began. I did think it showed class that she waited
until the ship was back in port and she'd got a first hand report from
my sisters on my health and fitness before she wrote to tell me she'd be
ever so much happier with someone else. She was also sure I'd be happy
to know the proceeds from selling the engagement ring I'd given her
before setting off for Southeast had funded the trip she and her
new love had taken, ostensibly to relieve the stress before the start of
classes.
Damn, that sounds kind of bitter, doesn't it? You'd think I'd be happy
that the last of my fund had gone into buying a diamond ring,
which had given so much pleasure to my beloved, wouldn't you? I guess I
was just grumpy at the time--everyone knows how unreasonable some
Vietnam vets were on their return to the World. I'm sure my fiancee
needed to get away for a while to rest up from all the stress and
tension of summer vacation and working those backbreaking twenty-hour
weeks at the mall.
San Diego is a beautiful city, or at least it was then--I'm sure it's
even nicer now. Okay, so there were still places where you'd see signs
that read "Sailors and Dogs Keep Off the Grass." The climate is
incredible, and the scenery is breathtaking in its beauty and majesty.
About the only civilian women who would talk to sailors, however, were
the hostesses at the USO and the professional ladies on Broadway in the
massage parlors and strip joints. But show your military ID at the gate,
and you got a discount on admission to the San Diego Zoo.
Since I'd never been much into hookers, I spent a lot of time playing
pool with the junior hostesses at the USO and attending parties at the
homes of shipmates, many of whom were married. Gradually, a core group
of us formed a regular social circle that got together for parties,
night clubbing, movies, and trips to the park for softball and touch
football. One of the few unattached women in the group was Ginger.
She was actually a former neighbor of one of my best friends and she had
a who was also stationed in San Diego. Ginger had moved out
there from their small Nebraska hometown to attend San Diego State
University (SDSU), and since she and Rich had been such good friends
back home, she became a part of our group. Ginger was always there,
whether it was for a party at someone's apartment or a highly
competitive game of touch football. She was full of fun and mischief,
always ready to join in whatever mad plans we might make, but
tragically, she limited her sex life to her fellow students at SDSU.
A tragedy indeed. Ginger stood about five-eight, with honey hair,
which flowed in unruly waves over her shoulders, cornflower-
blue eyes, a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and a
wide, full pair of lips, which begged to be kissed. She had marvelous
breasts, without a trace of sag, despite her distaste for wearing
brassieres. Ginger had a nearly flat stomach, neither rippled with
muscle nor rounded. Her waist was almost slender enough for my hands to
enclose fully, and her hips and ass were slim and firm and would have
looked gorgeous in one of today's thong bikinis--they were pretty damn
fine in the two piece suits of the time, for that matter. Her long, lean
legs, with the subtle play of muscle under tawny skin, were usually
accentuated by short skirts and cutoff shorts. When she did wear jeans,
the fashion of the day assured that they were tight enough that there
was no doubt about the shape of the woman beneath them.
In many ways, Ginger was typical of small-town of the time. She
knew what sex is and how babies are made, but beyond that, she was
naive. She didn't have twenty or thirty years of feminist philosophy to
tell her that she had a right to expect certain things of a lover.
Suddenly immersed in the sexual free-for-all of campus life in the early
Seventies, Ginger was a living contrast between wide-eyed naivete and
sexual liberation.
While more than once I found Ginger to be the subject of my fantasies, I
was no more likely to hit on her than I was the women in our
circle. She was a friend, and female friends were rare enough at the
time that I wasn't about to endanger the friendship just because I
hadn't been laid in nearly a year. Besides, she showed no sign of being
interested in me other than as another surrogate brother; although, I
doubt she told her about her dates in quite the graphic detail
she sometimes shared with the rest of us. Many nights, I'd gone back to
the ship or bedded down on someone's couch with the image of Ginger's
sexual escapades racing through my sleepless brain.
Shortly before I was to go home on leave for Christmas, there was a big
party at the apartment of Wayne and Lanie Biggs. They lived in a Navy-
dominated complex in Chula Vista, so the party flowed into a dozen
others scattered around the complex, with people wandering from
apartment to apartment drinking, snacking, and listening to stereo
systems cranked up to the point that the windows rattled. I was catching
my breath in the little free space on the sofa, drinking a cold beer,
when Ginger popped out of the mass of bodies occupying the center of the
room. Her hair was a bit disheveled, and she had a slight sheen of
perspiration on her smooth, tanned skin; her cheeks were a bit flushed
from dancing and laughing. Spotting me, she must have realized my lap
was about the only available seating space left in the apartment, and
she dropped unceremoniously onto me and made a grab for my beer. She
laughed when I swatted her playfully on her denim-encased ass and
complained that at least she could have asked before draining half my
drink. She whispered something unintelligible into my ear.
"What was that?" I shouted above the pounding of the music.
"I said let's find someplace less crowded, and I'll even fetch you a
fresh drink myself to make up for this one," she replied, leaning close
enough to my ear that I could make out what she said above the noise.
She stood and took my hand, and we weaved through the crowd to the front
door. We wandered to a couple of other apartments with parties in
progress, but the crowds were incredible. We did manage to snag a couple
of beers at one place where they'd left the cooler outside on the
balcony that ran the length of the second floor, but we couldn't find a
place to sit.
"Come on," Ginger laughed. "Let's go down by the pool. It's closed for
the night, but at least we can sit down and hear ourselves think."
Hand in hand, we strolled down behind the buildings to the pool area,
but even though it closed at ten and it was now nearly midnight, it
wasn't exactly deserted. We'd just hopped over the low fence and were
heading for the lounge chairs when Ginger stopped so suddenly I almost
ran into her. She raised her finger to her lips and then pointed to the
pool, and I saw what had stopped her. There was a couple sitting on the
steps in the shallow end. Or rather, the woman was sitting at the top of
the steps, facing away from us. Although the was facing in our
direction, I don't think he saw us as his face was buried between his
companion's legs, and they both seemed to be too engrossed to pay any
attention to us.
Stifling the impulse to laugh, we hurriedly slipped back over the fence
and left them to their pleasures. Ginger's hand was once again in mine,
and we walked away quickly until we could stand it no longer. We burst
out laughing at what we'd nearly interrupted.
"I didn't have the heart to intrude on that," Ginger said through her
laughter, "although I don't know if they'd have noticed. She sure seemed
to be fully occupied, but maybe he'd have welcomed an excuse to stop
going down on her."
"Then again," I countered, "he seemed to be as much into it as she was.
God knows, I'd be pissed if someone barged in while I was in the middle
of eating pussy."
Ginger looked at me oddly. "Oh, come on, I know only go down on
women so they can get blow jobs or if the woman isn't wet enough. You
don't have to pretend they enjoy it."
It was my turn to stare at her. I realized that although I'd heard her
describe giving head often enough when she talked about sex, she'd never
once mentioned having an orgasm while being eaten. Could it be this
walking wet dream hadn't yet encountered a guy who enjoyed going down on
women? The thought brought me to a full stop in the shadows behind the
apartment complex.
"Ginger, can I ask you a personal question?"
When she nodded her permission, I took a deep breath, and the scent of
her jasmine perfume reached me on the still, warm air.
"Haven't you ever gotten off by someone going down on you?"
"Not really," she replied candidly. "I mean, I've been close a few
times, but then it was my turn to give them head, or they realized I was
wet enough to fuck or whatever, so they stopped." She looked down at the
ground.
"I mean, it's not like I don't come--I usually manage to come before
they're done fucking, and if I don't, I get off on my fingers afterward.
Everyone knows usually come before do."
"Shit!" I exclaimed without really thinking. "I can't believe that--if I
were eating your pussy, you'd have to drag me away."
"But if I came," she argued, "how would you get off?"
She pondered that thought and went on, "I guess you'd want a blow job,
or you wouldn't have eaten me anyway, right?"
"No, no, no!" I countered. "I mean, yes, I wouldn't turn down a blow
job, but I'd get off even more if we fucked, hopefully after you'd had a
whole string of orgasms."
Though her disbelief echoed plainly on her face, I could see through the
white tank top she was wearing that her nipples were erect, and she was
breathing faster than she had been. Frankly, our conversation, in
combination with the image from the pool, had given me a throbbing
erection, which was straining against my tight jeans. I just hoped
Ginger didn't notice it; I didn't think she would in the shadows, and I
sure didn't want her leaving at this point.
"I've read about women having multiple orgasms," she told me hesitantly,
"but I always assumed they were either exaggerating or that they were
somehow freaks."
"The way I see it," I explained, "sex is about getting your partner off
and trusting him or her to make sure you do, too." Ginger inched closer
to me. I could feel the hardness of her nipples against my chest, and
the unmistakable scent of an aroused woman caressed my nose. "The whole
idea of making love should be to give pleasure to someone," I insisted.
"I know I get off so much more when I know I've made a woman come,
preferably over and over, before I can't hold back any more and come
myself."
"Oh my God," she whispered, her lips only inches from mine now, "you're
serious, aren't you?"
I felt her hand slip between us, and then her fingers brushed lightly as
feathers over the front of my jeans. I gasped--if I hadn't known better,
I'd have sworn my jeans and briefs had dissolved away and her fingers
had brushed against my bare cock. I felt the heat of her skin and the
incredible softness of her caress, and then our lips met.
She tasted faintly of hot dogs and beer, and I'm sure I did too. It
didn't matter; we kissed with tender delicacy for what seemed ages
before the tip of her tongue tickled my lips and my mouth opened to her
caresses. I returned her kiss and caresses hungrily as our hands began
to wander over one another's bodies. I'd never felt my skin so
stimulated with all my clothes on, and judging by her little moans and
gasps, she was getting as turned on as I was. Feeling brave, I finally
touched her through her jeans, trying to keep my touch as light as
hers had been on my cock. I could feel how her juices were already
seeping through the denim.
"My apartment is less than five minutes away," she whispered, her teeth
gently tugging at my earlobe.
"I know it is."
"Then why aren't we there fucking each other's brains out yet?"
We took my car because it was parked closer than hers. I'd barely driven
out of the parking lot before she unbuttoned my jeans and dragged my
zipper down. I tried to keep my attention on the road as she managed to
fish my throbbing cock out of my briefs and began to stroke it gently
with her hand.
"Baby, you know how long it's been for me," I groaned. "If you do that,
I'm liable to come all over your hand."
"No you won't," she giggled.
"Why not?"
"Because of this," she whispered, and arched her body over the center
console of my '67 Mustang to slide those warm, full lips down the length
of my cock.
Her tongue felt like a live creature as it swirled around my superheated
flesh while her head bobbed up and down energetically. It was literally
only seconds before I could feel the semen boiling up from my balls, and
I tried to tell her, but she just harder and faster. I stiffened
and felt the warm blasts of shooting into her waiting mouth as she
gulped and slurped hungrily.until, at last, I was drained. It was
Ginger's turn to be surprised when, after pulling into her driveway a
couple of minutes later, I pulled her close and kissed her deeply, the
salty taste of my still faintly in her mouth.
"Why did you do that?"
"To thank you for an incredible blow job," I told her. She looked at me
and raised an eyebrow, completely unconvinced of my motive.
"If it's okay for you to my cum, why shouldn't it be okay for me
to kiss you after you've done so?" I asked.
"I've never met a guy who would kiss me after he came until I'd at least
gargled--until you."
She smiled and slid out the passenger door. Leaning back in, she looked
at me and giggled, "Enough talking--let's get inside, so you can put
your money where your mouth is, if that's the phrase I was looking for."
Ginger laughed again and ran for her front door.
I laughed back and raced her to the door, catching her as she was
unlocking it, and tumbled in behind her.
"Are you serious about trying to make me come several times?"
"Baby, I'm serious about trying to make you come until you beg me to
stop. It's time someone put your pleasure ahead of theirs and let you
feel what sex should be. I may not be the greatest of the western
world, but I care about you and want you to know how good it can be to
the best of my ability."
Ginger took my hand and led me toward her bedroom, though we seemed to
be stopping about every two steps for a long, hot, wet kiss and a lot of
caresses over and under our clothing. Finally we were there, with the
big bed beckoning us to begin our journey to paradise. I playfully
pushed her back onto the bed and pulled off her shoes and then grabbed
the waistband of the jeans she'd already unbuttoned and unzipped. They
were so tight she had to wiggle her ass and legs as I pulled to get them
off, but it didn't take long. I saw that, rather than the tank top I'd
thought she was wearing, she had on a white sleeveless body shirt. No
big deal.a couple of tugs, and the crotch snaps opened, even though the
shirt and the under it were now soaked with her juices. Ginger
sat up and tugged the over her head impatiently, and I finally saw
her breasts, those marvelous that I'd dreamt of so often.
My dreams hadn't done them justice. Ginger's weren't massive,
but they were well proportioned to her long, slender frame; firm as a
teenager's with her nipples tilted up just enough to qualify as "perky."
Her were nearly as tanned as the rest of her body, and I
remembered the little patio out back with the privacy fence, which kept
her neighbors from on her. Apparently she took full advantage of
it. Her nipples were about the size and length of pencil erasers, a dark
rose color surrounded by deep pink areolae about the size of a
half-dollar. I looked down over her flat, toned belly as I slipped her
wet down those long, luscious legs and noted there were no tan
lines below either. Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed to accommodate her
skimpy bikinis and was clipped short. It was the same honey color
as the hair on her head, and I could see her outer labia were swollen
and opening, revealing the dark pink color of her engorged inner lips.
My eyes roamed slowly upward from her feet--actually a little small for
her height--along those gorgeous legs and up her body until I saw her
smiling at me.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, giggling like a
schoolgirl.
"Sorry, I got lost staring at the most beautiful woman I've ever seen,"
I replied truthfully, if a bit hoarsely. "What am I forgetting?"
"Get out of those clothes; I want to see you, too."
I realized I was still fully dressed. I kicked off my shoes as I
hurriedly peeled my tee over my head and unbuckled my belt.
Ginger's nimble fingers had already unbuttoned and unzipped my pants,
and now she helped me peel them down along with my briefs. I kicked them
toward the bedroom chair and dropped to the bed beside her, my arms
going around her and pulling her close, feeling the hardness of her
nipples pressing into my chest. We kissed again--wet open-mouthed kisses
accompanied by frantic caresses. Her breathing was as harsh as my own as
our hands explored one another's bodies. Despite having come just a few
minutes earlier, I felt every nerve ending in my skin come alive to the
sensation of her slender fingers gliding over my body.
Ginger purred like a friendly as I kissed down her neck and the
upper slopes of her breasts--purring that changed to soft moans as my
lips and tongue danced lightly over her rock-hard nipples. I one
into my mouth and flicked my tongue against the underside as I pressed
the sensitive tip against the rough surface of my palate. I felt her
fingers tangling in my hair, holding my mouth to her breast. I spent
several minutes worshipping her magnificent breasts, licking and her nipples--even biting them gently and tugging them with my teeth,
which brought forth a string of approving breathless comments.
I began to kiss gradually down her belly, eliciting giggles when my
tongue flicked in and out of her bellybutton, and then she gasped more
when my tongue began to trace the edges of her pubic triangle. She
arched her back and cried out when my tongue slid down over her swollen
clit and explored between her slick inner lips. Her scent was slightly
musky, with undertones of jasmine perfume, and her copious juices were
clear and almost sweet. I parted her labia with my thumbs and began to
flick the tip of my tongue between them, around the entrance to her
cunt.
"I'm wet enough, baby--you don't have to do that if you don't want to,"
she moaned.
"You're more than 'wet enough,'" I replied, "but this isn't about
getting you wet--I want to see you, smell you, hear you, feel you, and
taste you when you come. I want to experience your orgasm with all my
senses."
I caressed her with my fingers and licked up and down the length of her
slit, my tongue occasionally brushing over her clit but not really
attacking it directly. Ginger's long legs slid over my shoulders, and
her heels began to move against the muscles of my back as she spread her
legs wider the more I licked and nuzzled her sweet pussy. Gently easing
the index and middle fingers of my right hand inside her, I glided my
tongue upward and began to lightly tease her clit, bouncing the hard
little nub on the tip of my tongue. I heard her gasp again, and her
pussy clamped down on my fingers. She shuddered and stiffened, then
began to thrash about as her first orgasm washed over her so that I had
to hold tight to her hips in order to keep my tongue on target.
"Oh, shit! Oh, God, that's so fucking good!" she cried out. "Yes, baby,
right there! Oh, GOD!" Her nails dug into my scalp as she pulled my
willing face closer to her crotch. "Fuck yes! Oh, baby, just keep doing
that!"
As I felt the spasms inside her slowing, I removed my fingers from her
cunt and began to thrust my tongue in and out of her hot, flowing pussy.
My slick fingers brushed against either side of her clit, and within a
couple of minutes, she was crying out again and drumming her heels on my
back. I kept alternating my tongue and fingers on various parts of her
pussy until she finally let her legs slide from my shoulders and pushed
me away weakly.
"Oh, baby, I'm getting too sensitive--I can't take any more for now,"
she murmured hoarsely.
I slowed, my tongue and jaw nearly numb, though I was reluctant to leave
the taste and scent of her. My face was drenched with her juices, and I
rested my head on her thigh, smiling up at her. In a minute, still
breathing raggedly, she smiled back down at me with her eyes shining
brightly.
"I've never come like that before," she whispered. "It was like being on
a roller coaster that didn't end." Ginger slipped her arms around my
waist as I slid up her body and stretched out beside her. All of this
time going down on her had given me one of those hard-ons that feel like
they'll never go away; although, I knew from the feeling of her strong,
slender fingers, which encompassed it and stroked it gently, that I was
far from numb. I wanted to look into her eyes when she came again, and I
told her so.
"More? You really think I can come again so soon after that?"
"There's only one sure way to find out, isn't there? The only question
is if you want the top or the bottom. I don't care as long as I get to
watch that beautiful face."
Ginger's only answer was to roll over and squat over me, slowly lowering
her hips until I could feel the head of my cock nestled between the
slick inner lips of her cunt. She reached down with one hand until she
got the alignment she wanted, then stared into my eyes as she braced her
hands on my chest and slowly sank down on my cock, letting the swollen
head feel every little ripple inside her as she engulfed me in her heat.
My hands reached up and cradled her marvelous breasts, my fingers
delicately attacking her erect nipples. The only points of contact
between us as she began sliding slowly up and down my rigid length were
my hands on her tits, hers on my chest, and that wonderful friction of
my hard cock sliding in and out of her very wet, willing pussy.
For the longest time I just lay there, my hands caressing and exploring
her breasts, but otherwise just drinking in the sensations. The sight of
her lovely body moving up and down on mine, her lovely face a study in
concentration. It seemed as though she was throwing not only her body
but her whole consciousness into pleasing me (and hopefully herself) as
droplets of sweat rolled down her face, and her wavy golden tresses flew
about her head in rhythm with her motions. Her expression was that of
the accomplished athlete putting forth total effort in a passionately
dedicated quest. That look of concentration was punctuated occasionally
by a secret smile or gasp of pure delight as some wave of sensation
passed through her body. She moved her hips in little circles and then
sometimes straight back and forth as they rose and fell at a slowly
increasing tempo.
Her moved in counterpoint to her hips, it seemed, though I did
my best to keep them from bouncing too much within the loving grasp of
my hands. Beyond the visual stimulation of watching her determined
assault on my sanity, there was the tactile sensation. It wasn't just
the friction, enhanced by the rhythmic tightening and relaxation of her
internal muscles, but the feel of her skin under my hands as we both
became drenched with the sweet sweat of sexual effort. The occasional
impact of a droplet of her sweat falling onto my body delivered a little
shock like a warm, slow spring rain. Above the aroma of fresh
perspiration and surrounding us like a blanket was the scent of aroused
woman. Nothing compares to that scent, slightly tangy with a hint of
musk and unidentifiable undertones that made every inhalation an
aphrodisiac delight.
Several times I felt tremors move through her body, and the flush that
extended from her hairline to the roundness of her deepened.
Though neither of us made a sound beyond our harsh breathing and
occasional grunts and moans, I knew Ginger had reached another little
peak of pleasure. Gradually her pace quickened until finally her knees
came to rest beside my ribs, and she began to slam her hips down with
each stroke, igniting my own passions. I responded by digging my heels
into the bed and thrusting up to meet her, the soft slap of damp skin
meeting equally damp skin which grew faster and louder.
Ginger's blue eyes locked with mine as she began building to another
major eruption. Breathlessly she urged me onward. We were vocal, too, in
urging each other on. As our climaxes neared, we gasped and cried out
sweet obscenities to push one another over the edge.
"Danny!" she moaned. "Oh, God, yes!"
"Come for me, Ginger--God, baby, I want to feel you come again!"
The rest was just wordless moans and screams for a while as Ginger's
body went rigid, except for her hips, which ground down against me
spasmodically as the inner walls of her clutched at my cock. As
she slowed and began to slump forward onto my chest, I rolled us over so
that now I was above her, my weight supported on my hands.
As soon as her hips stopped moving, I pulled back and slammed forward,
the force of my thrusts driving her hips down into the firm mattress
just as she had done to me. I abandoned all restraint--there was no more
attempt at tender lovemaking; this was fucking, raw and animal, and
Ginger's heels were soon digging into the cheeks of my ass.
She urged me to fuck her even harder as we both began the wild ride
toward our ultimate explosion. I felt her nails digging into my
shoulders and back while our bodies slammed together like rutting
beasts. I could tell she not only accepted the challenge of achieving
one more orgasm, she welcomed it. I felt her lips and tongue teasing and
biting my nipples, and I knew I wouldn't last much longer, but I held
back doggedly, determined to wrest one more orgasm from this sweet
goddess, who was so generously sharing herself with me, before I lost
all control.
"Harder, baby!" Ginger gasped. "Fuck me deep and hard--yes, like that!"
Just as I lost all ability to maintain any kind of rhythm, Ginger
screamed out my name in a long, drawn-out wail and went absolutely rigid
under me. Her heels pressed me inside her at the same time my hips drove
forward. I felt her cervix kissing the swollen head of my cock in the
instant before I began to shudder and empty myself inside her. The
spasms within her heated milked me until I collapsed, and I could
barely find the strength to propel my weight to the side, so I didn't
crush her beneath me.
We lay like that for long minutes, in great gulps of air to feed
our starved lungs. I'm sure she could feel the rapid pounding of my
heart just as I could feel hers, and as our breathing and heart rates
began to return to normal, I turned toward her and saw the glow in her
cheeks and eyes. I tenderly brushed some wet tendrils of hair from her
face, and our lips met softly, clinging as we trembled through uncounted
little aftershocks.
"Danny, that was.no one has ever.oh, fuck--I've never come like that in
my life," she giggled.
"I could tell that from our conversation earlier," I panted, smiling and
brushing one hand from her shoulder to her hip with all the delicacy my
shaking hand could manage. "I wanted so much for you, at least once, to
know what it feels like for someone to be as focused on giving to you as
they are on receiving pleasure from you."
We traded murmured endearments and soft caresses for a few more minutes
before sleep overtook us. When we woke to the morning sun peeking
through the blinds over her bedroom window, we shared the shower and
cleaned each other thoroughly (filling the shower with as much laughter
as steam) before stumbling into the kitchen for coffee and juice. We sat
together nude on her little patio and talked quietly, laughing and
joking like the friends we were and the lovers we might become, until
Ginger took my hand and led me back to the bedroom.
Our lovemaking this time was slower, less driven, but each of us was
determined to make it special for the other. While our orgasms weren't
the wild explosions they had been in the wee hours of the morning, I did
manage to hold mine back until Ginger had crested at least twice,
finally reaching my own release as she alternated me and
stroking me between her warm, firm breasts. She laughed with delight
when at last I erupted between those incredible breasts, directing some
of my shots onto her before she the remaining semen from my
cock with her mouth.
After another quick shower we dressed and drove back to the apartment
complex to retrieve her Jeep. I had to return to the ship to prepare for
a short temporary duty assignment, and we didn't make any specific plans
for my return.
Although Ginger and I dated several times over my remaining months in
San Diego and made love at least a couple of times a month, we remained
more friends than lovers. My own social life improved thanks in no small
part to Ginger introducing me favorably to some of her female classmates
at SDSU. The weekend before my discharge from the Navy, we did drive up
the coast to a beautiful, little inn near San Luis Obispo where we did
our best to drive one another insane with sex. We also found time for
dancing and sampling some incredible food at the inn and at a restaurant
nearby.
Our letter writing gradually dwindled and stopped after I returned home.
Ginger became just a memory, but one that I treasure. To this day, I
find myself reaching into the storehouse of my mind and up the
memories of those magical months. I have no regrets when I look back,
only warm thoughts and an occasional moment of wondering if Ginger,
wherever and whatever she may be today, also looks back from time to
time and smiles at the recollection.
Whatever road you've traveled, Ginger, and wherever you find yourself--I
still love you.
--------------------------------
This Copyright © 1999, John Jameson, All rights reserved
Permisson is hereby granted to post this on non-profit archives,
specifically ASSTR, as long as the and this notice remain intact.
No permission is granted to post this in any form on any
for-profit site, including banner-supported, membership or sites
requiring "adult verification" IDs.
--------------------------------
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I want to thank those who helped me by proofreading and
editing this for publication. David and John, your help was
invaluable. Special thanks to Miss Behavin' for her inspiration and her
generosity. Without you this would not have seen the light of day.
Any errors in this are purely the fault of the author; I welcome
your comments.
--------------------------------
|
|
