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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: saigon.txt (MF, rom)
Authors name: Captain Steve (sailtwo@hotmail.com)
Story title : Saigon Remembered
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2000. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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Saigon Remembered (MF, rom)
by Captain Steve (sailtwo@hotmail.com)
Date: 5/00
***
Warning, contains strong sexual content. Our stories are
written for fun and are free. Permission is not granted
to post anywhere for profit.
Captain Steve and Linda
http://www.asstr.org/~Captain_Steve
Thanks to Dr. Spin for his help.
***
I settled into the wicker chair and contemplated my
drink. For some reason, Vietnamese tonic water is blue.
The aroma of quinine and gin stimulated my nostrils. I
started to take a sip, when I noticed I had an erection.
Strange, I thought. I'd been somewhat dejected lately,
and here I was sitting on a hotel verandah with a bunch
of guys.
"Roundeye. Roundeye."
The whispers went round the wide porch, with its
beautiful white columns.
"Roundeye."
I turned in my chair and saw her. Surely the erection was
from sensing her, not the gin. Beautiful long, blonde
hair cascaded from under her cap, and even at this
distance it was obvious that she was one of the few that
could make a baggy, fatigue uniform look good.
"Roundeye." The word rocked the porch of Saigon's
Continental Hotel. Every eye was on her.
"Shit, just our luck, one damn roundeye left in town, and
she likes girls," came from the table next to me. The
blonde was holding hands with a young Vietnamese woman as
they approached the hotel.
All eyes on the porch were riveted as she hugged the
shorter woman, then kissed her as they departed. Both
were in tears.
Like cattle, myself included, the eyes all watched the
blonde ascend the steps and cross the porch. She passed
through the french doors and sat at the bar just inside.
Conversation returned to the war, but it just wasn't the
same.
I was sick of it all. Three tours. First flying F4
phantoms, then as a forward air controller in O2s. My
last mission had almost been my last. An almost spent,
stray round penetrated the Cessna's thin skin and-yes-I
was shot in the ass.
I was sick of it all. Now assigned to HQ 7th Air Force, I
was in the ridiculous position of identifying targets for
Washington's approval to ensure political correctness
(Although, we didn't use that term in those days). No
dummies, the North Vietnamese. They moved targets before
approval came.
I was sick of it all. I loved the Vietnamese; great
little capitalists. Give them a chance and the country
would again be the jewel of the Orient. I hated the looks
in my friends' eyes. We were running out on them. They
knew it; I knew it.
Enough of my ruminations. A few bold warriors made forays
into the bar to approach the blonde. All were rebuffed.
She sat by herself. One of the few white women left. We
were pulling out. Why was she here?
What the hell, I thought. I hadn't had an erection for
three months. Apparently she had done it to me from a
distance, when I couldn't even see her. All I wanted was
conversation with an American woman. No, I was lying to
myself. I was horny for the first time in three months.
My two Vietnamese girlfriends had left for their
villages. I'd sent them off after guilt pangs rendered me
almost useless. I really did like these people, and here
I was taking advantage of their women and now, running
out like a rat.
I wrote a note.
"Hello, my name is Jeff. I suppose those other guys used
up all the good lines like 'Hey baby what's your sign.'
I'm desperate to talk to an American woman. Would you
mind? I'm the ugly Captain sitting at the corner table to
your left."
I sent the note with the waiter. I watched her open it,
then drop it to the bar surface. She ordered another
drink and continued to sit and face the wall. I could see
her shoulders shaking.
I sipped the cool drink. My initial excitement was gone,
as it became apparent that I had another five months to
go for... what... conversation... sex...
I turned back to the street. Trucks everywhere full of
farm produce, cloth and a myriad of goods choked the
streets. Damn these people were good. The markets were
getting ready to close and another day finished. Idly I
watched a team unload...
"Hey dumb-shit. Look alive. You just won the prize," came
from the table next to me.
I turned and saw her waving to me.
Now the eyes watched me, as I crossed the porch.
"Maureen," she said, holding out her hand.
"Jeff." I held her warm, small hand.
"Just talk? The guys were probably laying bets on who
would get a chance with me. Guess you won."
"Really, Maureen, I just want to talk," I lied. "If you
want me to go back..."
"No. I feel so bad. I just let my secretary, Phong, go.
She and I were so close. I hate leaving like this.
She turned to sip her drink, and I let my eyes wander.
Red Cross, her nametag said. That explained the long
unmilitary hair. Her eyes were bloodshot and dried tears
stained her face.
"You're going to miss this place too?"
"Yea Jeff. I feel like I'm abandoning a child. I never
should have come."
The next two hours went quickly. We talked of the war and
how we had both initially regarded the conflict as an
adventure, then fallen in love with the quiet Vietnamese.
I told her of my flying and how I missed my dead friends.
She talked of her parents and how horrified they were
when she had joined the Red Cross.
I mentioned how I had felt the day I first saw a picture
in the Stars and Stripes of Jane Fonda sitting on an
anti-aircraft gun pointed into the sky. It didn't mention
the date, but I could have been flying that day.
She stared at me, then stabbed me in the heart. "My
husband's in Canada. MIT graduate. Lost his deferment."
Now I noticed her rings. Out of practice, I guess.
We switched to safe subjects. We spoke of Erasmus and his
criticism of the church, but my mind was on her full
lips. I tried to concentrate on the orphanage, where I
taught the Catholic sisters English on weekends, their
strange pronunciations so strange as they copied my
southern accent. It did no good. I would miss them. I
wanted her.
We spoke of Descartes, and his rational approach to
philosophy, but my mind was on her legs. Thinking of my
friend Minh at my favorite restaurant did no good. I
wanted her.
We spoke of Goethe and his views on nature, but my mind
was on her hair. I wanted to touch it and no thought of
other friends could negate that feeling. What a woman.
It had been three hours.
Too soon, I saw her return her female things to her
purse. Damn, I thought, as I enjoyed the remnants of
another erection that had appeared moments earlier.
Another five months...
"Want to sleep with a protester's wife?" My head snapped
up; my mouth hung open. Her eyes held mine.
"No," I heard a voice that must have been mine say.
"No?" Didn't think I would ever get turned down in this
town. And you're the only guy I've asked.
"No means I don't want a protester's wife. Yes, means I
want you, because I want you. I don't bear him any ill
will. He can do what he wants."
She stared at me for what seemed a full minute.
We climbed the stairs, as the elevator was out as usual.
She lived in the hotel and had a small room on the third
floor.
We stood on her balcony and looked down at the town.
"Jeff, I've never been so bold with a man before."
"I believe you."
"I know this sounds like an old movie script, but I
couldn't be alone tonight."
There just weren't any words, so I kissed her.
"Wait, I've got to freshen up, she said, "I'm going to
take a shower. You could use one too." We both stood with
the usual sweat rings extending from our armpits.
I stayed on the balcony and watched my beloved city as it
began to rain. Big, fat, drops spattered everywhere. The
stench of hot asphalt reached my nose as the streets
turned a muddy black. Briefly I thought of Maugham's
"Rain" as the drops turned to torrents. Behind me I could
hear the shower. I removed my shirt and felt the water
soak my hair and run down my chest. It was warm and
pleasant.
Soon I felt her presence. The erection returned. A hand
went to my shoulder and a female form in a towel pressed
against my back. I could smell strawberries from her
shampoo. Strawberries, it had been so long.
Reluctantly I broke from her and showered. Finding no
towel large enough to wrap around me, I walked nude into
the apartment. Maureen was still on the balcony, standing
in the rain. I removed her towel and pressed my naked
body against her. With my nose in her hair, I inhaled
strawberries.
She turned and for the first time in my life I really
kissed a woman. On the bed, I approached her with
tenderness. She was in a hurry, but I made her relax.
There can only be one first time. Lightning split the
sky, and I had momentary glimpses of her soft breasts.
Her hand moved down my stomach and I felt her search,
until she had my aching cock in hand.
She cried, and I kissed her tears. Our lovemaking was
long and slow. Technically I had always been good at sex,
but never before had I felt more than surface emotions.
We fell asleep in each other's arms. Late that night, I
awoke to hear her struggling. The twin clinks on the
floor told me that she'd removed her rings.
Decades later I stand naked on another balcony, looking
down at the world. I still hate myself for leaving my
Vietnamese friends. It starts to rain. The asphalt turns
black. I think of days past. Then I smell strawberries as
warm breasts caress my back.
Captain Steve sailtwo@hotmail.com
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 16