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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