Games SOME People Play! Ch. 14

"Me for showering and getting dressed," I said, as I swung open our door. It seemed like a week since I had worn normal, dry clothes. I admit, I was going to miss the intoxication of three nude Lorraine women, but the precedent had been set; this family never would be the same.

Behind me, Susan's sigh was emphatic. "Me, too, Tommy."

"I'm wearing my only clothes," said Sandra, but I could use a fresh-water wash; I can't tell if I smell of seaweed or fish or semen or all of them."

"If you've all calmed down, now..." Stephanie began. "I think I'll dress and borrow a car, okay?"

"Not okay," said Sandra wearily. "Not mine.

"Not mine," said Susan.

"Well, I can walk as far as George's place," said Stephanie angrily. "What is this control trip with you two?"

Sandra turned to her. "Just for a few minutes, will you listen, for a change? I am your mother, you know."

Stephanie stood silent, fists on her hips, defiantly patient.

Sandra said: "I would like to tell you, and Susan and Tommy, what has been going on with me." She added, "I mean specifically my sex scene—that's actually non-sex scene—since your father died. And I might explain that I did not have an entirely uneventful virginity before I was wed."

Stephanie frowned slightly. She had a characteristic gesture, probably unconscious, while deciding what to say. Her right hand came up and cupped her left breast, gently massaging its nipple. She said, as though reading out her own thoughts, "And then, I'm next, right? You tell, and then I explain why I'm an out-of-control nymphomaniac?

"Right?" she insisted. "That's the goal of this exercise?"

Her mother said, conversationally, "You never knew that I was in the Marines, did you?"

"What?" demanded Stephanie, almost shouting, dropping all pretense at blasé lack of concern.

"In the fucking Marines, Mom?" It was Susan, from the bottom of the stairs, who had paused on her way to a shower.

"Oh," I murmured. "Well, that explains some things, anyway."

"I never mentioned it. I was dishonorably discharged."

But she added quickly, "But it wasn't my honor," laying an emphatic palm on her chest. "I was screwed."

"You don't mean literally...?" I paused.

"If we can get dressed, mix a few drinks, and postpone the next orgy for about an hour, I will tell you," said Sandra.

"Fine with me," said Stephanie. "This is more interesting than inciting Toy Boy George to caveman behavior."

"Thank you, dear," said Sandra. "Just an hour."

"And I tell mine, too?"

"That is up to you, Stephanie. I hope so. I show you mine, you show me yours."

"The only thing I haven't done is suck your clit," said Stephanie. She already was headed toward the stairs.

"And between mother and grown daughter, that is not ordinarily viewed as cause for reproach." Sandra could keep up with Stephanie sally for sally.

Susan stepped aside, letting Stephanie go first, lingering at the bottom of the stairs. When we heard Stephanie close the guest-bathroom door, Susan turned. "Why is she so sick?"

"She's testing on us everything for which she ever thought or feared we might condemn her—disown her," said Sandra slowly. "She has probably wondered for 10 years what her family would say if they knew how she was acting."

"Yeah," said Susan. "I see that. Yeah."

"And I am expecting you and Tommy, if called upon, to tell all," said Sandra.

"Sure," said Susan, with a shrug. "It isn't very titillating."

***

"I was a little old," said Sandra. "Twenty-one when I enlisted."

We had taken our customary positions around the coffee table, Susan and I on the sofa, Sandra and Stephanie in the two easy chairs opposite us. Sandra held a dirty martini with three olives; the rest of us white wine. Generational difference.

"I really wanted to do it. 'Desert Storm' had gone down that year and everyone felt, 'Hey! We've got a great military. Heroes. Shock and awe.' Remember, the country had been living with Vietnam for decades. America beaten. Wrong cause. Napalmed people. Let down our allies. God-awful situations in Cambodia and in the Vietnam with the boat people. Ugh! War!"

I said: "All the heroes back then had been long-haired war protestors, self-righteous draft dodgers, and hippies on LSD. Also, brave little guerrilla fighters for independence. Until they took over in Cambodia and we found out that they were genocidal communist mass murderers."

"Yup, all that," said Sandra. "Perhaps we were ready for something new. Desert Storm seemed to blast all that away in 48 hours of U.S. invincibility.

"I mean, that wasn't the only reason I enlisted. You know I'm obsessed with fitness, my body. Marines are all about that or so they say. I figured this was the ultimate challenge. This was how I'd know I was at my peak. I absolutely had gone through college a virgin. Sure, I let guys play with my tits for hours. Goddess Boobs. But I never let them get inside my pants-ever. Some of them actually cried in frustration. I let a few come between my tits. I gave them hand jobs. No blow jobs, though.

"And how about me? That kissing! And then fondling! Hours of fondling until I thought I would go psycho, but I couldn't touch myself and neither could they. Once I creamed them off, they were like puppies, but I was, like...still boiling over down in the pussy."

"I get it," said Stephanie. "Like the Boy Scouts. Work out hard and stay clean. So you joined the Marines. Nothing like working out till you collapse as a way to cope with that tormenting clit."

"Not too far off, pet," said Sandra. "But joining the Marines is not a casual alternative to rigorous exercise classes for ladies. I liked the idea of competing one-on-one with men, on their turf. I didn't want to be the weaker sex."

"Oh, but we are the weaker sex," said Susan, dismissively. "At least in the sense you mean."

"A woman in the Marines, of course," said Sandra. "Up against male Marines, sure. But not back out here in real life?"

"You mean like dealing with Butch?" I said.

"Sure, but also dealing with most men," said Sandra.

"So what happened?" asked Stephanie.

"Well, I hit South Carolina at the beginning of June with the rest of the recruits."

"Oh, God! South Carolina!" muttered Susan.

"Susan, ALL Marine recruits from east of the Mississippi—all—train at Parris Island. Eight-thousand acres of slave plantation—because 5000 or so are unusable salt marsh. That was basic training. Twelve weeks and you are transformed, they told us; you are a Marine, forever different and distinguished."

We, Susan, Stephanie, and I, had stopped commenting. We wanted her to get on with it.

"You've read all those stories about women in the Marines blabbing to female senators and investigating committees about what it's like to be a woman in the Marines. They keep saying, 'You're a bitch, a slut, or a dyke; there's no other way the guys see you.'"

"True?" I asked, breaking our silence.

"Never heard it while I was in there," said Sandra. "But that stuff about exercise and the libido? What crap! Sure, after 20 miles with full pack, you collapse. But all that exercise, fresh air, and, you know, violent activity: the guys were going animalistic. And the girls were, too."

Sandra said, "Look, I was a classic piece. Big girl. Blonde. Heavy boobs, full hips, cute... Lots of the girls were small, compact. Tough, but sort of boyish. I don't mean they didn't get their hits, they all did.

"You shower separately, dress separately, and sleep separately. The brass aren't out of their minds. But you can't stay in a robe and veil. You're in a T-shirt and soaking wet, or rolling in mud. Sure, you've got a bra, but then the sand mites get into it and it feels as though fire ants are dining on your nipples. You don't care WHO is there! You rip off that T-shirt, tear off the bra, and fling it as far as you can. The guys watching? You just grin. We're all buddies, you know?

"Look, I knew I was going to get hit. I always got hit. But in college I had fed'em my tits and they had to be satisfied. At Parris Island, we had hand-to-hand combat and guys would cop a feel. I liked it! Giggled! I was used to that. My boobs were public, but I had an above-the-waist policy like a girl at a Tennessee all-girls school on dating nights.

"I was the 'bitch,' not the 'slut.' The girls that kept taking the pill and going down for one well-hung guy after another, they were the sluts. Christ, I heard them having their orgasms every night—like frogs or crickets, in every dark corner.

"Well, no guys got into the women's dorm. That was off limits. A little dyke activity, girls who found reasons to walk around the dorm bare-ass for hours. I had no problem with them. A couple times, I practiced hand-to-hand on one. I excelled, by the way. That shot to the solar plexus worked on the girls who were so padded with muscle, the only other shot was to the neck, but that's a kill blow.

"Well, let me get to it. Nights we went to mess. Watched some TV, had a soda, laughed it up. Guy and girls. Guys always, I mean always, had some secret hooch. A flask or something. I was dying for it. I sucked it up on the night that basic was over and I knew I was going to be a Marine. I got plastered.

"Going back to the dorm, I had a Marine escort of two noncoms, three recruits, all guys. I felt on top of the world; I had passed. This was the life; I felt strong as an Amazon, I slept good, I ate good, I shitted good. I even felt incredibly clear-headed—most nights, at least.

"Anyway, we were laughing, and someone said, 'Let's take the obstacle course one last time!' They had to have planned it. All the guys immediately cheered. Cake walk! We were Marines!

"I don't know exactly when they hit me. I was taking the course well, breathing hard, of course, in a sweat. One of the guys tackled me, landing right on me, bringing me down, laughing. So was I...at first. But then he's tearing open my belt, dragging down my pants. And I'm laughing hysterically because I'm plastered and I like this guy. But then, wow! Some other guy is flipping me over, unbuttoning my blouse. And another guy has got the bottoms of my pants and he's dragging them off as I'm kicking like mad.

"I was half-laughing, but getting pissed, now. Did I want it, right then? Don't ask. My official mind said, 'No.' And meant it. I knew that five guys, my fellow Marines, were stripping me and probably I was going to be gang raped.

"I've read since that something like one in three female Marines can expect to be raped in her lifetime. One in five women in the population at large. That seems ridiculous. Some Senate committee.

"But right there, on a hot July night in South Carolina, out on the obstacle course in the trampled grass and soft dirt, I almost started to cry. They had everything off but my panties. I was fighting—all the kicks, punches. But they were just laughing at me. They got my panties, sure, held them up and gave the Rebel yell. A real moonlit southern night, and I was rolling in the dirt, bare ass, begging like a baby for my clothes.

Then I thought: "Get out of here! This is a gang bang! I was up, kicking at their nuts, swinging. And they were laughing. So I ran. I mean, this was the obstacle course, so bare-ass in the moonlight I'm going over the rope obstacles, the walls, all of it. And my bare tits and my belly are getting a good scraping. But the guys are right behind, the whole time.

"And suddenly, I realize: They're getting off on this. This is big-tit Sandra bitch going the obstacle course bare-ass, panting and whimpering. A little drunk. And sure, they're keeping up. I'm the fox; this is the fox hunt. Tally-ho!

"So I just stop, panting like mad, sweat pouring down my face, trickling down between my boobs, itching my pussy. And maybe some sand fleas, for all I know. And so I stop and turn. And they stop, five of them, grinning because now they have me.

"I say, 'You're actually going to gang bang me? Right here, on Parris Island? Marine to Marine? Because I'm not going to shut up about it. You'd better kill me and bury me, here.'

"My speech, but I'm scared. Not terrified. Five good-looking horny Marines can't terrify this 'bitch.'

"And you know what the boys are doing? The ole boys who aren't old at all? Yup. They're stripping. Right there. I already can see three stiff peckers. One guy is rubbing it like crazy.

"I said, 'I'm a virgin, guys. You can laugh, but I am. I don't want you to take that away from me.'

"I hear the drawl of a wonderful Dixie moron. I mean, a good old-fashioned moron. And he says, 'That's the least interesting of the female orifices, right guys? We can let her keep it, for the honor of the Marines?'

"And then, before I can launch one decent kick, they're all over me, a coordinated attack, all bare ass, now, and I'm down, yelling at them. And they flip me over, right on my face in the good southern dirt. And a weight like a truck hits me, driving my breath out, as a big one dives onto my back. So, I'm there, squirming in the dirt, just trying to breath, and I feel it in my asshole. My very first total ass penetration.

"No lube, girls. Dry penetration. And I'm squealing and jerking my fat ass and trying to crawl forward in the dirt to get away. Apparently, I made a big hit. They'll all standing around clapping.

"I'm sort of blubbering, though not making any noise doing it. And I start getting practical. When is George donkey going to come? How long will he take? Christ, he's rammed me 30 times? Can't he get it off, already?

"But he does, of course. He's hooting and cursing as he comes-and you know what? I'm getting off on it. This grunt is reaching paradise in my l'il ole asshole, he's calling on his mother, and God, and country. I even jerk up my butt to meet him. Sure, I'm sore, but better, now, with some genuine Georgia organic lube.

"What's next? They just roll me over on my back under that white Dixie moon and, ever respectful of virginity, some guy is sitting on my boobs, crushing them, and I have the first-ever stiff pecker in my mouth. His hands are on either side of my head, so he really can jam it down my throat.

"I do what any sensible gal would do. I suck like mad. Trying to make him come and get this over. I even reach up and tickle his balls. Jesus is this kid hung! Today, I get off just thinking about it.

"I don't want to give you chapter and verse on each guy," said Sandra, suddenly flopping back in her chair. She held up her glass. "Refill?"

Every one of us started to our feet, but Stephanie won. "Sure Mom," she said, snatching the glass. "God, what a story, Mom! I had no idea!"

Settled again, drinks refreshed, Sandra continued. "Nature took its course. And thank God, for that! Each guy came. Three in my mouth, two in my ass. And, you know, once they've shot it, remorse sets in. I just lay there, a curvy white corpse under the moon. I was breathing slowly. I knew it was over, I had survived another Marines training course.

"One of them said, 'Get up, now, honey. We'll put you to bed. You're still a virgin, right?'"

"I didn't move, didn't open an eye.

"They tried to pull me to my feet. I went limp. Finally, I said, 'Five Marines gang raped another Marine.'

"'Aw, fuck!' someone said. 'You aren't going to play it that way, honey?'

"'Gang rape isn't play,' I said.

"'Well, you got five of us saying you tried to seduce us, but we weren't having it. And then, we bring charges against you for slander, ruining our reputation. All that.'

"I still just lay there. I said, 'Okay, that's the way it will be.'"

"'Well, fuck,' says another one. You really are a bitch! You enjoyed every minute of this. Your ass was like a furnace!'"

"They walked away, talking, left me under the moon-in the dirt.

"And it all played out more or less as they said it would. Brought up on charges; I'm one, they're five. I lose. Dishonorable discharge."

"I can't believe this shit! Mom! How can that happen?" It was Stephanie, but she spoke for all of us.

"The miracle would be if it happened any other way," said Sandra. We just listened, watching her face.

She said, "But the mills of God grind slowly. A couple months after I was excreted from the Marine Corps, these same guys were brought up again on similar charges. A reunion celebration on another female recruit, banging the shit out of her, but oops! She was the daughter of a famous Marine commandant.

"In the end, they all confessed. And, in the process, they happened to mention another Marine bitch, some woman they had done one nice night in July under the South Caroline moon. Some bitch named Sandra Lorraine.

"So guess what? Official red faces. Very red. And I got my choice. Back in the Corps? Honorable discharge? How about Honorable discharge with all benefits?

"Done. A lifetime income and medical benefits from a grateful country for my service to five horny Marines.

"That's it, that's my story."

"But Dad?" asked Susan.

"Don't ask, don't tell. I didn't tell. And he did get to bust my cherry. It was a wonderful marriage, you know." She reached up a finger to carefully wipe her eyes. "I had waited so long for the guy, the one guy who was your dad, that when he died so suddenly, I couldn't move on. He had been my one and only-I mean, at least the way I measuring things. Crazy, in a way.

"But when I'd meet a guy, I'd be asking myself: Really, Sandra? He measures up to it? Or are you going down-market, now? Well, it always seemed down-market."

"And then yesterday afternoon," said Susan slowly, frowning. "I mean that was..."

"Squalid," Stephanie pronounced. "That was my sex life, not Mom's. Squalid."

"Just some travel to another dimension," said Sandra firmly. "Not at all squalid, ecstatic, but not part of this life."

"So you're going back to chastity?" asked Susan. "I mean..."

"Oh, no," said Sandra. She sighed. "Yesterday ended any idea of staying pure to honor my marriage. I had been like an alcoholic 'white-knuckling it.'"

"What will you do?" I asked.

"Well, not a repetition of yesterday, as much relief as that was. I'll do something."

"Well," said Susan, "I think I'm the boring one in the family, when it comes to sex. Do you suppose I'm under-sexed or something?"

She leaned forward on the sofa, elbows on her knees, with that expression that I recognized meant she had made a big decision. She said, "Although a girlfriend of mine and I once were lying side by side on a double bed with a whole fraternity of naked guys lined up outside the door to be serviced. That was my third year at state college. In fact, that's how I met my wonderful husband."

She turned to me with a nice smile. "In fact, he was in the line and hoping to fuck my girlfriend, not me."

I closed my eyes. "Oh, my God," I muttered. "You're going to tell this to your mother?"