"Ohhhhh!" groaned Bert, laying his cock in her vibrating cunny, his finger working her asshole. Her sperm drained out in one long continuous strand; it had a jarring, exhilarating effect on Bert, a free, reborn sensation of being once again in command of his life, his destiny.
The girl had felt something, too. When at last her cunt released him, her body slumped down against the ground. Her sphincter was loose as her cunt. He dragged his collapsed cock and watched his sperm dribble from her slit. He had never come so hard. His balls kept pumping out sperm as his dick continued spurting. He popped his finger from her asshole, and watched the girl squirm on the ground, her eyes staring aimlessly, her jaw hanging slack.
Bert struggled to his feet and found his thighs wobbly and barely able to hold his weight. He reached down and pulled up his pants. "Man, you ruined it for us," complained a Marine. "She's wasted. No fight left in her at all."
Or me either, Bert wanted to say. He didn't though. It might make him sound weak to his buddies.
At the day's end, the squad, what was left of it, marched back to their camp where they were airlifted back to Da Nang. A strange thing happened once back. The top brass decided to award Silver Stars for bravery to the entire squad, an unprecedented move by the Marine Corps. Bert didn't understand why; perhaps, morale was down because so many Marines had been killed lately. Handing out medals was one way to keep the men's spirits up and maintain discipline. There had been rumors of mutiny. So he had a Silver Star. Big deal, it was only a piece of metal. Still, it kept him out off the jungle patrols and behind a desk where he pushed piles of meaningless paper around. At night, he searched out the prostitutes that hung around Da Nang, but the sex wasn't the same. Even the young girls, jaded and unresponsive to sex, did not excite him. After his Vietnam duty, he was sent to Pendleton and later got an honorable discharge.
His bout of impotence was behind him, but Bert felt vaguely discontent. His life had never been fulfilling in the same, exalted way it had been during combat. He could not shake the memory of the captured Viet Cong girl. Bert went to bed with lots of girls, but always the sex was the same old thing. The more girls he tried, the less interesting it got. The girls were unable to detect his unhappiness. His sexual prowess was never challenged; if anything, his performance was something to emulate. Several women had even proposed marriage to him, but Bert declined. He wasn't interested.
The return to civilian life proved uneventful. Bert drifted from one job to the next, never staying long in any one place. He left his Olympic medal and the Silver Star at his parents' home on the Strand and moved around the country. A day never went by when he didn't think about the VC girl in the jungle. She was real to Bert; more real than anything he found in civilian life. He took girls to bed, but after they left, he would lie back, close his eyes and dream about the girl back in Vietnam. He remembered how terrified she was; terrified and angry, a killer. A strange combination for a girl barely in her teens. And a virgin, too! His mind went over each detail again and again until his penis went erect.
He pictured the girl's cunt in his mind and a terrible urgency overtook him as Bert grabbed his cock and jerked the iron-hard shaft, reliving the terror and exhaustion he had experienced. His cock would grow and his balls churned with sperm, and then he would come in a soft dishtowel he carried for these occasions. After the orgasm had drained off his passion, Bert would lie in bed wondering why his life was falling apart. He had hated the war; so why was he attached to this one single incident? Combat situations produced strange reactions in men. But others had lived through wars and gone on to happy marriages and good jobs. Why couldn't he?
A Pendleton psychiatrist had told him the reason for his strange obsession had nothing to do with combat; that the root of the problem went deeper and he would need psychiatric counseling.
Bert had taken the advice, but the civilian shrink he went to seemed more interested in his Olympic medal and Silver Star than he did about Bert's emotional stability and he quit after one session.
Instead, Bert got a letter from the family lawyer telling him to come home immediately. His family had been killed in a freak accident.
He had been out of town and the letter was a week old when he got it. He jumped on the first available plane and got back to the Strand just in time for the funeral. Bert never had much feeling for his father, a crusty, hard-line retired admiral. But the old man was well-known in the community and half the town had turned out for the funeral.
Which is how he got his coaching job. The old swimming pool had been rebuilt and the recreation director was looking around for a new coach, preferably one with a name to lend prestige to the $10 million complex. Bert was a natural choice.
When the director approached Bert, he was surprised at the former star athlete's cynical, indifferent response. That not the Bert I knew, the director thought. But hell, the pool needed a name and Bert was a big drawing card so he was hired on the spot. Must be the death of his folks, the director thought, that makes him act so weird.
The Strand was very lucky that Bert happened to come across Alice Dilly one early morning. Bert had spent two lackluster months coaching the swim team. It was dull, monotonous stuff, worse than he remembered it years before when he swam for hours a day. It was sickening and Bert was going to quit that day. His mind was made up and there was no changing it once a decision had been reached.
On his last day, Bert rose early and headed down to the pool. His assistant, John, a simple-minded high school punk had told him that the filters were acting up and not enough chlorine was getting into the water. Bert decided to check the equipment and was down in the cellar compartment checking the gauges when he heard a splash.
He looked up, not thinking, and saw Alice's sleek figure undulating through the opalescent water. The water magnified her features: her breasts looked fuller, the nipples thicker. "My God," he said. Transfixed, he watched her dolphin-kick across the pool; his eyes followed every graceful stroke; her tits moved weightlessly, her flat belly sucked in and out, her slender buttocks flexing with a sudden savagery catapulting her up and down. He thought it was an hallucination. He feared for his sanity. "That can't be," he gasped, blinking.
But it was. Over the hum of the filtering machine, came the noise of water splashing in the pool. Maybe it's a prank, he reasoned, remembering how impulsive the high-school girls were these days. He watched the girl's slim body disappear from sight, waited for the sound of the flip turn at the end of the pool. God, didn't she know that he was downstairs fixing the filters? She had to, thought Bert. His car was parked in the lot. Anyone would spot the car and realize that he was at the pool.
Then it hit him. The fog! It had been so thick he needed a flashlight to find the front door. The girl probably didn't even see his car. Suddenly, he was terribly excited. His body was sweaty and his cock went hard, growing stiff as a baton. Through the thick viewing glass he watched; nothing but empty, chlorinated water. Then like an apparition she floated by again, her gentle flutter-kick supplying movement.
She's beautiful, he thought, gripping his cock. The years melted away and he felt young and vital again. He never had the nerve to swim naked like this girl was doing. Always his life had been tightly structured; swimming was not fun, it was a highly competitive sport whose only reward was winning. It had burnt him out, made him hateful, empty inside.
Bert never took his eyes off the girl's naked figure. Even after the swim which lasted only a few minutes, he stood in the cramped quarters watching. His cock had been hard for ten minutes, yet it didn't ache in the least bit. On the contrary, he felt strong and self-assured, horny in fact. It was the best erection he had had since Vietnam.