A Sexy Swinger Story
"Through the Ranks" erotica by Craig J. Sorensen
Charlie’s angels, as some of the men in our platoon called them, formed down the hill to go into the mess hall. One by one the women of Company Charlie 1-3 worked down the monkey bars for their dinner, before we men of Delta 1-3 would take our place. Jeanette’s bright red hair peeked from her under OD ball cap as her body swayed side to side. She moved down the bars fast as some people run. We hadn’t even spoken since Basic Training started, but I knew she was hungry. Jeanette ate like a thoroughbred horse. She caught up with the woman who had started before her. “Move it, girl!”
“Red can chase me down the monkey bars any time. What a fuckin’ bod,” the Private in front of me in formation said.
The man beside him elbowed his ribs.
“What?”
“That’s Bannon’s wife.” He nodded back to me.
The horny Private measured me: One third admiration, one third surprise, one third contrition. “Sorry, man.”
“You think I’d prefer you thought she was ugly?”
He grinned then watched Jeanette sail from the last bar like a superhero.
Had you told me a year before I’d be in the Army, I’d have called you crazy. Had I been born ten years earlier and been picked in the draft lottery, I’d have gone to Canada. But Jeanette was always persuasive and I’m a sucker for sound logic. We started with nothing but our wits and our common desire to find a wide world beyond Sioux Falls.
We had a lot to learn.
****
There was a military housing shortage when we arrived at Augsburg, Germany in the summer of ‘79. Having lived apart in gender-segregated barracks for the duration of our training back in the States, we were eager to be together again for more than a few nights in a hotel. We found an apartment and with only our duffel bags, and a small suitcase each, we ascended the stairs to the little, sparsely furnished apartment.
I made her a huge batch of Fried Chicken with mashed potatoes, fresh peas and cream gravy and put a gourmet twist on the meal. As always, Jeanette devoured the chicken and licked her fingers like a lioness scrubbing her paws.
We dressed in jeans and t-shirts, our only civilian clothes, and did our best to mix with the locals with our meager German: a handful of phrases gleaned from an introductory Army program called Head Start. A couple that approached in US Army Uniforms was a welcome sight. The man was dressed in Khaki and the woman, that unmistakable bright green women’s dress from those days. Both wore the rank of Specialist Six, the equivalent of a Staff Sergeant – far beyond our meager matching Private First Class.
The man’s V shaped body implied Special Forces rather than the Signal Intelligence that was dominant in Augsburg. He held out his thick hand. His skin was bronze, his eyes dark as ink and he had a hint of forbidden five o’clock shadow over his square chin. “Stan Davies.” He gripped like Special Forces. He grinned as Jeanette matched his strong squeeze.
“I’m Vic Bannon.” Stan’s wife draped her hand in mine like an eighteenth century lady.
She was short and slim, but curvy. Her deep, cerulean eyes glowed from porcelain white skin and platinum hair. “I’m Isabelle. You new to town?” Her voice was deeper than Jeanette’s, but breathy and delicate.
“That obvious? Just moved in,” I replied.
“You both Army?” Stan studied Jeanette. My regulation haircut made my military affiliation obvious. Jeanette’s shoulder length hair was not.
Jeanette nodded “We just got here. Just gonna stay for as long as it takes to get Army housing.”
“You’re gonna take Army housing?” Stan lifted one brow.
“Well, yeah, why?”
“Suit yourself, but life is a lot better on the economy.”
“We’ve done the Army housing thing. Living on the economy is almost always better.” Isabelle gripped Stan’s elbow and he patted her hand.
“You’re in Germany. Why would you want to live like an American?” Stan shrugged.
I thought about it. “I’ll buy that.”
“Plus, if you can get a cheap place, you can pocket a little extra cash from your Allowance for Quarters. I mean, you already played it smart getting far enough from post that the rent is lower.”
“Oh, our place is cheap, that’s for sure.”
Stan and Isabelle laughed.
“To welcome you to Germany, would you join us for dinner sometime?” Isabelle offered.
“Of course!” It seemed the dramatic change from South Dakota to Bavaria was giving Jeanette a more social outlook.
****
Stan greeted us, dressed in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I was relieved that our informal dress, necessitated by our meager possessions, would not be out of place.
Stan plopped down on the floor and stuck his elbow on the coffee table. “Arm wrestle?”
“Nah.”
Isabelle peeked out from the kitchen also dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. “Good for you, Vic. You don’t have to prove anything.”
“No, I’m worried he’ll rip my arm out of its socket.”
She laughed then disappeared back into the kitchen. I peered in.
“Like the kitchen? Izzy saw it and had to have this place. With what she makes in there, who am I to argue. Have a look.”
Jeanette shrugged. “A kitchen is a kitchen.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” The kitchen sprawled out before me, and Isabelle moved around it like a ballerina, complete with pirouettes. “Looks like you’ve got things under control.”
“I wouldn’t mind an extra set of hands.”
I gratefully accepted every task she set me to. Slicing, dicing, sautéing. “You seem to know your way around the kitchen, Vic.”
“My first job was in a restaurant.”
“Really? Me too. Why did you leave?”
“I was starting to lose the passion for cooking.”
She patted my hand. “Sounds familiar!”
Jeanette bellowed a laugh from the living room.
“Stan must be entertaining her with stories from when he was with the 82nd.”
“82nd? I kind of figured him for Airborne.”
“God, he has some of the funniest stories. He can light up a room all night.”
“Jeanette almost signed up to go Airborne.”
“Really? How about you?”
“You kidding? I can’t see jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.”
Isabelle laughed like this standard Army joke was fresh. “Is that why she decided not to go?”
“Yup. It would have separated us. They offered to send me to linguistics school and even give me a five thousand dollar bonus when I finish. I would have been in training at San Francisco for over a year, so I turned it down.”
****
The following weekend, Stan and Isabelle accepted our hospitality in return. Duly warned about our hot and tiny kitchen, Isabelle wore an airy sundress.
Despite her diminutive body, it was impossible not to graze each other. Our apologies faded as the evening progressed. It became a dance; we learned the steps quickly.
The banter that had filled the living room abated. Knowing that Jeanette wasn’t the best at entertaining, I checked them. The two sat at the small table by the living room window with matching “The Thinker” poses, staring at the distinctive blue and red playing chips of “Stratego.”
“Did she talk you into playing that damned game?”
“Shh!” Jeanette waved toward Stan. “He needs all the concentration he can get!”
“Hey, I’ll kick your butt, lady.” But it was obvious with the small number of pieces on Stan’s side that his chances were fading, and not long after I heard Jeanette’s evil victory laugh.
As Isabelle and I turned to pass each other like large cars on a narrow old city street, she stumbled. I grabbed her waist, and she circled her arms around my neck. Her full breasts pressed my ribs.
“Oh, geez, I’m sorry Isabelle.” I started to let go of her waist, but she felt limp and I had to tighten my grip. Her skin and hair smelled of cinnamon, ginger and lavender. Her nipples poked like fingers.
My cock kissed inside hip.
“Sorry? You saved me! My life flashed before my eyes.”
“I’d like to have seen that. Uh…I mean…”
Isabelle smiled.
“Nice catch, Vic,” Stan said from the living room. He and Jeanette turned back to the wine bottle he and Isabelle had brought. “Anyway, Spatlese is a bit sweeter and more refined then Kabinett…”
Beer and whiskey drinker Jeanette watched and listened attentively.
I released Jeanette and returned to cooking.
****
Stan patted his stomach and produced a cigar pouch. “That was excellent, guys. Join me, Vic?” He pointed to the front door.
“Sure.”
We walked along the streets of the village. He lit a stogie. “I didn’t want to offend Jeanette. I get the feeling she doesn’t care for smoking.”
“She is a bit of a health nut.”
“Me too, in my way.” He took a big puff. “But I do like a good cigar. Do you indulge?”
“From time to time.” He handed me one, lit a match and cupped it against the late summer breeze and I lit the tip in his ample leathery palms.
“We’re all different, aren’t we?”
“How’s that?”
“You, me, Izzy, Jeanette. We’re all different, in our ways.”
“I s’pose that’s true.”
“But you and Izzy sure share that love of cooking.”
“Well, yeah, but she’s so much more talented than I am.”
“She says she’s got more experience, but you’ve got a more talent.”
“I doubt that.”
“Did I tell you I challenged Jeanette to an arm wrestle? Had to get her back for that Stratego thing. Hope you don’t mind.”
He’d been so casual as Isabelle lingered in my arms, how could I begrudge an arm wrestle? “Not at all.”
“She held her own. Tough girl.”
“That she is.”
“She couldn’t take me. Quite honestly, few can, including men. But she was smart and strong enough to make it hard for me to beat her. Clever girl. Took a while to put her down.”
“Sounds like Jeanette.”
“Redheads are tough.”
“I s’pose.”
We continued to walk. He itemized the shops: a local bakery, a butchers, a grocery store called Edka Markt. We paused and peered in a Lotto Toto shop. After a spacious silence he said, “Izzy said we should just make our move.”
I pulled the cigar from my mouth. “Move?”
He looked into my eyes. “I thought it better that you and I talk. I thought Jeanette’s reaction might—well, we don’t want to fuck up the friendship.”
“Why would it fuck up…?” It washed over me.
“I think you know what I’m saying, Vic.”
I shrugged.
“I like that. Make me put it out there. Okay, point blank. We like to swing. We hope you and Jeanette are interested. But if not, we want to stay friends. We like you guys.” He took a deep puff and walked away like a steam engine chugging through an intersection.
I paused, then caught up. “I—I need to take this in.”
“Take your time, Vic.”
****
“He said what!” Jeanette’s cheeks glowed. I thought she was going to throw her bottle of Coca Cola Limonade through the window. I’d been more worried she would be anxious to accept. The thought of Stan – a man’s man – contrasting my slender, understated masculinity sparked a rare strain of jealousy. “You didn’t say no straight away?”
How to explain my attraction to another woman? How to explain the appeal of seeing a man attracted to her? We still weren’t too far beyond newlyweds. “I…uh…”
“What were you thinking, Vic?”
We had talked about our attractions to others when we were separated in training, even had great sex after these talks. Then there was her indifference as Isabelle lingered in my arms. “Look, I’ll just tell Stan no next time I see him.”
“Good. I can’t believe you just—Good.”
****
I awoke to Jeanette’s tongue deep in my mouth. She was elbow deep in my underwear. Apparently, she had forgiven me. She ground her damp pubic hair to my thigh.
I eased her to her back and traced her pussy delicately with my tongue and lips. As she responded, she laced her fingers behind my head and pressed hard to my mouth. I firmed my strokes and introduced my fingers until her pussy was drenched. She grabbed my face and lifted me up her torso. She opened my knees wide with her ankles. “Fuck me hard, Vic.”
She sucked me in. Sweat beaded on our bodies as I pounded for all I was worth. Her moans could probably be heard down to the street. “Oh yeah, Vic, just like that. Harder.” I squeezed her clit and pumped. “Oh fuck! Fuck! Yes!” She’d always been aggressive, but her forcefulness surprised me. She thrust her hips like a mermaid on the hunt as her washboard stomach muscles clenched in orgasm. She guided my butt in her strong hands like a pump until I came.
I lay between her legs panting.
“Vic?” Her voice was a sudden summer breeze.
“Hmm?”
“Do you find Isabelle attractive?”
Between her legs, the shadow of her anger at Stan’s suggestion still rather short, I wasn’t sure how to answer. I decided not to.
“You’d be crazy not to. Truth is we’ve both been flirting with them since we met.”
“Well…yeah.”
“I’m sorry.” She gently kissed my neck.
“For what?”
“I’ve changed a lot since we joined the Army.”
“Don’t apologize. You keep me on my toes.”
She looked away. “Actually, I’m sorry because I’ve fantasized about Stan since we met them. I feel like shit because of it.” I felt like the edge of a plains storm front: jealousy blended with attraction, fear of the unknown, tinted with anticipation. A blow to the gut and the tightening in my balls. She whispered. “I love you, Vic.”
“I love you, Jeanette.”
“Vic?”
“Mmm hmm?”
“Should we say yes?” She held her breath.
My cock inflated into her waist – probably answer enough – but I confirmed. “I—I’d like to.”
She exhaled. “Me too.”
****
Isabelle wore a knee length black skirt and a simple long sleeved bright blue polka dot blouse. Jeanette had opted to go girly, with a new short skirt that showcased her powerful, long legs tight tank top that displayed her strong waist. Yet another surprising change.
Still, Stan’s eyes remained glued to her face as he poured her a Dunkel, a dark German beer.
I had strategized a hundred ways to say “yes.” Instead, I focused on learning more about Japanese cooking techniques. Once stationed in Okinawa, Isabelle knew much. She maintained a respectful distance, but each shred of culinary contact loomed larger.
My emerging hesitation may have been fear that the offer had suddenly been revoked because of their respectful distance. I worried that Isabelle wouldn’t be interested in a skinny, young man like me. I worried that Jeanette asked me to tell them, knowing I wasn’t good at this sort of thing, and that I was her fail safe.
The longer I delayed, the more unattainable the prospect seemed to become.
“Can you chop those scallions for me, Vic?”
I started.
“Please, like this.” She took my knife hand in hers and canted the scallions on an angle to the blade so they came out in artistic little strips. Her breasts pressed my back. Her hand guided the repeated cuts. My cock got heavy.
“How you two doing?” I jerked, but left my hand in Isabelle’s at Stan’s booming voice. His smile put me at ease.
Isabelle nodded to him. “We’re getting close.”
“To having dinner ready!” I blurted.
****
Mid way through dinner, amidst small talk about Army, music, food, travel and sports, the words finally shot from me like an orgasm. “Can we spend the night?”
My heart throbbed.
Jeanette bit her lower lip hard.
Stan grinned, probably at how I worded it: Like a slumber party. I lowered my forehead in one palm.
“We thought you’d never ask.” Isabelle patted my forearm.
****
Stan and Jeanette disappeared up the stairs. Isabelle poured me a glass of Auslese. “I bought a whole case of this on the economy, it’s very good. Gourmet that you are, I thought you’d appreciate it. If you like, you can take a bottle home.”
I took a sip. The flavor was sweet but sublime. It seemed to cleanse my hints of jealousy. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll get you a bottle.” She disappeared into the kitchen. I tried to ignore the bed squeaks above. My stomach began to churn. I gulped the rest of my glass.
Jeanette had been one of the most desirable girls in our high school. I had been surprised that she fell for a poor kid like me and always worried she’d come to her senses. Add to that, Isabelle seemed to be taking forever to get that bottle. Swirling thoughts that she had just walked away grew to a swell. I suddenly felt alone, strangely desperate.
Breathless. Dizzy.
She returned in a black silk baby doll, set the bottle and set it on the table and smoothed her stomach. “Do you like it?”
I drew air. “Very much.”
She looked up at the growing thumps upstairs. “Stan doesn’t care much for it.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“No, really, he just likes me nude.”
I laughed. “Unwrapping the gift is half the fun.”
“Hear, hear.” She tugged the base of my shirt. “May I?” I raised my arms and she slowly drew my t-shirt off.
A sharp thud came from the bedroom above. “Oh yeah?” Jeanette shouted. A male grunt and the bed rattled like it would break.
Isabelle tilted her head. “Sometimes I like it rough.”
“Oh?” I could do rough. It wasn’t what sprang to mind.
She bent her knee, rested it on my hip, and combed her cool fingers in my sparse chest hairs. “But sometimes, I’m a gourmet.”
Another loud pronouncement from the bedroom.
“And a chef.” I stroked her silky thigh.
“Join me?”
“I’d love to.”
"Behind Open Doors" by Roger Woods
****
Isabelle’s full lips were soft as new blossoms.
In the next room, a pounding akin to John Bonham playing a drum solo was in full swing.
Isabelle was so quiet, her eyes intense but at ease. I traced the folds in her ear with my tongue and she giggled. When I held her body tight, I could feel her pulse rush. After long, massaging closed mouth kisses, I introduced my tongue. She moaned into my mouth and unbuttoned my pants. She traced the top of my underwear.
Though Isabelle’s kisses were sublime and her silence compelling, my cock was only semi-hard. I felt increasingly inadequate.
The spaces between the headboard bumps next door grew longer, the grunts louder. The image of Jeanette’s body, the song of her passion became more consuming. Isabelle reached in my underwear. All conspired, a perceptible shift, and I became hard as a flag pole.
I stroked the outside of her silk panties, savored the texture of her pubic hair then dipped inside. When I curled up into her she released only her second moan. Her body was a jeweler’s safe, responding ever so slightly to the turning dial. I began to fathom her silence, and sought divine a third moan – let the tumblers announce another magic moment.
Sometimes you have to orbit the dial twice.
I peeled her baby doll and kissed every inch of revealed skin. Her big pink nipples were sweet like cherries. She’d flavored them! I licked the flavor off slowly then learned her skin’s naked flavor. I eased her panties down, gently parted her thighs and tasted there. The light floral perfume in her shiny curls perfectly complimented her juices. She nestled her head in stacked pillows. I cradled her butt and pulled her to my mouth and sampled every inch again and again.
She pulled from me and patted the dimple in the top pillow. “Your turn.” Her fingers delicately traced my balls. She licked and nibbled every last inch of my cock until it was soaked.
After all of this, her third moan finally came after we switched places again and I pressed the tip in her. Isabelle’s pussy had soft ripples like the disheveled baby doll on the bottom of the bed. We lay, our mouths connected, turning like waves on the shore of a calm lake.
A forth precious moan rose in the silence. A few minutes later, her body shuddered silently then she gasped like being pulled from the water. Her hips rocked and her vagina squeezed. She stroked my back and whispered in my ear. “You really are a gourmet, and a chef.”
I was still hard, still deep in her. “Still hungry?”
“Starved.”
I poised above her and resumed.
****
“Let’s just go straight to bed,” Jeanette said after I fixed a huge breakfast. She stripped her blouse, skirt and underwear in one motion. There were bruises on her hips and back.
“Jesus, Jeanette.”
She winked. “You should see the other guy.”
I forced a smile. “You know, if this—like—if you should find that you want a man who is more—manly—you know?”
Jeanette raised her eyebrows. “What are you saying?”
“I just know—you like it—rough.” I groped for words. “I didn’t know how much. I’m not very…I’m not very rough.”
“Thank god for that. And you are all man.”
We lay in bed. She turned on her side to face me. There was an ease, a peace in her smile as she stroked her fingers up and down my chest. She juggled my balls in her fingers then stroked my stiffening cock. “I had a good time, but I’m really glad to be home.” She smelled of delectable sweat.
“Me too.” I studied her strong torso with my fingers at length. I winked. “What a fuckin’ bod!”
After Dream by Arthur Braginsky
She laughed and turned me to my back.
Our kisses were hard, then soft. She cupped her feet to my knees and spread my legs, then lay across my chest. Her voice was stunningly soft in my ear, the beating of her heart strong and fast. My cock felt so at home in her. She squeezed her hips tight to mine. I was content to remain like a warrior’s sword at rest in its sheath until she resumed. “This is nice,” she whispered.
She finally rolled her hips slowly, luxuriantly, then gave some hard thrusts. Kisses, fondles, strokes and squeezes introduced us to each other in a new way.
Of course, she divined my orgasm from me at her will. Delicious.
We skipped breakfast.
****
Jeanette and I have lived many places since Augsburg, and learned that our outlook on life and love is big, bold, and a bit unique. We’ve shared with other couples, but Isabelle and Stan have always been special. Mercifully, Military Intelligence is a small world, and we keep crossing paths, even now when we are retired from the Army and are in civilian Government Service.
Maybe Isabelle is too much like me, but a taste of something so familiar can become something new and enlightening, and vice versa. I find both comfort and discovery each time Isabelle and I get together and feed our grateful spouses, then make love, long, sweet and nearly silent into the night after the bed next door stops pounding. I comb my fingers in her hair, which has since gone comfortably silver, and we share smiles.
Always something new.
Always something familiar.
Originally published January 2010
