Dune What's Right

With two of the F16's landing before us, as gracefully as ballerinas, I carefully put our 'hippo' down almost as smoothly. Taxiing with two engines, we were met with a military Humvee with flashing follow me in English and smaller German sign letters. We got to the parking zone, I disengaged the turboprops, locking brakes, and we were home...

Yes, I know. You never read about this. For political reasons, or due to powers unseen, this incident received no press, no AP or Reuters news release. The girls were all repatriated. All, that is, except for Darlene.

After everyone had hugged and departed, Darlene was still there. I asked her where SHE was headed to. She looked at me as if she had known me always. I exchanged a silent moment with her. She noted that no one was waiting for her, and no one was waiting for me. "I notice that your wife, your girl friend didn't bother coming here to welcome you home."

I said, "Now, who is the interrogator? [We both laughed] OK, you win. My two parents are very elderly, and no, there is no fraulein, no Elke or Heidi, in full German regalia, waiting to welcome me home. I have no one at the moment."

Darlene put out her hand, taking mine. She kissed my hand, saying, "Yes you do. Now, show me this 'great ancestral home' that you told me about while I sat silently in that playroom."

I could not believe it. The most beautiful, healthiest, strongest, sexiest, of all of those ravishing beauties was now holding my hand, expressing an interest to enter my life. I stroked her shimmering, silky henna flowing locks, grabbed a hold and planted the most fervent kiss I had ever made in my life.

Darlene found it amusing; the great ancestral mansion looked like the crème colored, with brown cross checking, little gingerbread homes people made for Christmas. Hardly imposing, the house could become a home, if we worked at it.

Within a month, Darlene and I were husband and wife. Our honeymoon was spent at the most romantic spot on earth, Italy's Lake Como.

Looking out over the balcony to the shimmering waters of the lake, I held the hands of my new wife. As the sun set, we shared aperitifs before trying one of the numerous great restaurants in the area. Walking in the warmth of the late spring dusk, it was just so perfect. I had not held hands with anyone for 30 years, but Darlene was a sentimental soul.

We returned to the hotel, which was 123 years old. Darlene put on her honeymoon trousseau. It was a pity, though. The hotel was 123 years old, and they knew nothing of insulation and sound suppression then. We didn't feel like entertaining the entire hotel, giving them a play-by-play of our nuptials.

After a whirlwind three days, in spite of the obvious frustration of restraining ourselves, we left beautiful Lake Como for beautiful Bavaria. Back at the ancestral cottage, I told my parents about the Italian hotel. They looked at each other and smiled. I settled Darlene and myself in the guest room. When I went to tell my parents about a shower problem, I found a big note on their bedroom door. It said that they were staying at a Munich hotel, don't worry, don't search for them, just enjoy their master bedroom, freshly made up for us. They would return in three days at 9pm. Happy honeymoon.

I knew my parents. They were not staying at the Hilton or anywhere else I would think to look. They were not to be found, staying at some bed and breakfast outside the city proper. We honeymooners had no choice now but to use the main room.

Darlene was a great cook, thank goodness, so our first meal was a success. We had the same taste in food, I guess because we were both 'southerners' (sic). After finding US cable shows in English, Darlene and I settled down to last schnapps in bed. When we doused the nightstand lights, we cuddled. In the dark, Darlene sobbed, saying how much she thanked God for the deliverance, the deliverance that I had a hand in. We kissed lightly but warmly. She pulled away from me, which signaled the end of the honeymoon night, I supposed.

Then, I heard her move hither and yon, with covers opening, and buttons popping. I heard what sounded like a garment landing six feet away on our loveseat. Darlene returned to the center of the king-sized bed, now wearing her birthday suit. Her warm loving hands were pushing my clothes off, from the collar on down. I got the hint, and sprung out of bed, returning in under a minute. The sensation of Darlene against me was the richest, warmest, most fulfilling feeling I had ever had. Our lips locked, and it was so solid a bond that I wondered if we would ever cease in our embrace.

With lips still firmly engaged, I rotated so that I could rise up and insinuate myself between her tanned, perfect legs. They slowly opened. Her hands guided this pilot in, my humble eight inch cock entering her for the first time. I was careful to drag my uncut ending slowly against every square inch of her welcoming vaginal walls. She moaned in pleasure. When I pushed her body up, rotating her legs on my shoulders, her pretty little feet near my ears, I found her open, exposed, ready. Plunging in with all my might, I claimed my bride at that moment. My proud modest eight inch cock could only tap at her cervix and look in the distance at her uterus, but I was just big enough, just deep enough. As she thought one last time about her miraculous rescue at my hands and kissed me tearfully in appreciation, I was overcome with joy. As my uncut cockhead tapped her cervix, then gave her womb a nice slap, she moaned in orgasm. I was waiting for that magic moment; I simultaneously came, unleashing my own micro-sized air force with attack orders. They had a payload to deliver, and they did. In wave after ecstatic wave of millions of assaulting sperm, some of the attackers were bound to get thru and penetrate the target ovum. That was our prayer, at least.

As my beautiful new wife Darlene and I slept silently, my modest male organ still inside of her, still occasionally shooting, at about 3am or so, she conceived our first child.

My parents returned at 9pm as promised (not 8:59, not 9:01...ah, German punctuality!) They asked if the 'arrangements were satisfactory'. Typical German understatement. Darlene hugged them; after all, they were her new parents. I was happy to see that we all got along perfectly.

We newlyweds had to live in the small guest room for a while, to my embarrassment. Lufthansa was delighted to take me back, but union seniority dictated I had to wait for the next retirement, some six months in the future. Darlene was the model of patience and knew we would be all right...really. At the moment, though, we were penniless and homeless.

What I feared might happen, did. Darlene and I were six months from my re-employment, and about two years from getting German (hard to get) home loan credit. I feared my parents might look at us, look at their eventful lives, and decide it might be best for all for them to vacate. I would never know if that was the case, but father contracted pneumonia that winter. Mother soon followed.

Darlene was as sad as I as we laid them to rest in our family memorial yard. Holding my hand, we walked slowly back to the ancestral cottage, now OUR home. Still holding hands in the warmth of our crackling fireplace, we looked at each other. Hearing the cry of our new son upstairs, upstairs in OUR home, we suddenly realized that WE now were part of that ancestral tree. My job for Lufthansa would have me apart from her for days at a time, but Darlene and I would have a rich life together, with five healthy children and all the material necessities of life. She thought that I was the miracle worker, saving her and her friends from a life of tyranny and pain. But I knew better, for it was she that saved me from the same thing.