Fool Me Once

Herein lie the ongoing adventures of Paul O'Brien. For background, please read my previously published series "Just Out of the Service." All characters are fictional and over the age of consent anywhere in this universe.

Prologue

1969 -- Grafenwoehr, Germany

Friday night and 1LT Paul O'Brien's company had finished its support mission. On Monday they would be returning to their home base. "Thank God they don't fire tank qualifications over the weekend," thought Paul. After a couple beers at the Officers' Club, Paul had decided to wander downtown and take in one of the German bars to see if there was a decent band playing in one. As he passed one establishment that he knew to be "off limits" to US troops, he heard raised voices. Turning, he saw four bodies emerging from the bar. One of them was PFC Wilson from his platoon. The other three were in uniform and were wearing the distinctive black beret of French tank troops. He remembered enough of his student French to understand the conversation was not a warm appreciation of comradeship in arms. In fact, the three French troops were agreeing to kick Wilson's ass.

Paul stepped over, grabbing Wilson's arm, he pulled him away from the confrontation. That was unfortunate because the first blow aimed Wilson struck Paul on the side of the head. Paul whirled, threw a punch, and felt his fist land flush on the nose of the Frenchman. The feeling of satisfaction disappeared immediately as his mates began to pummel him. Just as Paul was going down, he heard the sound of running bootsteps and a whistle. The MP's arrived just in time to spare Paul a major butt-whipping. That was the good news.

The bad news, he thought, came Monday morning when he received an order to report to the battalion commander. Entering LTC Sampson's office, he braced and saluted, "Lieutenant O'Brien reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease, lieutenant. Tell me, have you avoided fomenting any more international incidents since Friday evening?"

"Yes, sir."

"The sergeant major had a conversation with PFC Wilson. It seems he was rescued from great bodily harm by an impetuous young officer. He's going to get an Article 15 for visiting an off-limits establishment. It doesn't help that he stood by while an officer took the beating he deserved."

"Begging the colonel's pardon, but Wilson deserves the Article 15, but he didn't deserve what was coming from three French pricks. Thanks to the MP's, it was over almost before it began. Wilson never had a chance to get back in it"

Sampson reflected on this for a minute, "You're a good platoon leader, Paul. Great potential. Your company commander has pleaded with me for leniency in this matter, but that was unnecessary. Once you gain a little maturity and a little more knowledge, I am sure you will make an excellent company commander. And where you're going for your next assignment, you'll certainly need all the knowledge you can muster. I'm not going to make any official note in your record on this. Keep your nose clean and continue the mission the way you have and you'll be on to your next assignment with high marks. Dismissed."

The following week, Paul was standing in the track park as his platoon finished maintenance on the personnel carriers. He saw an NCO approaching, whom he recognized as SFC Knight from the S-3 (Operations) shack. Knight threw Paul a less than crisp salute, "Mornin' sir."

"Good morning, sergeant Knight. To what do I owe the honor of a visit from Ops?" inquired Paul.

"Got nothin' to do with Ops, lieutenant," replied Knight, "The sergeant major asked me to come talk to you. You musta really impressed him and the old man stickin' up for Wilson the other night. What are you doin' for lunch in an hour?" the sergeant asked.

"I was planning on having it at my quarters with my wife," Paul replied, wondering what the fuck this was all about.

"Well, how 'bout instead you meet me at the gym? Maybe I can show you something that will help you down the road."

Intrigued, Paul answered, "Roger that, sergeant Knight. See you there at 1200 hours."

When Paul stepped into the gym, the regular "friendly" pickup basketball game was just cranking up. The handball players were arguing over who had the court first, but there was no sign of SFC Knight.

"Hey, LT," came the shout from across the gym. Looking in that direction he saw Knight standing in a little used corner of the building. He trotted across to where the NCO was waiting.

"Now, lieutenant, what do you think might have happened if the MP's had been a little later getting to your party?"

"Not sure, but it wouldn't have been pretty. For me."

"Damn straight! Now, the sergeant major suggested I teach you some things for such situations that you probably didn't learn in officers' training. First off, let's say I am intent on kicking your ass, and I make a move on you, what you gonna do?"

He made a half lunge toward Paul who reacted by trying to take some sort of boxing stance. Knight shot an open palm out, hitting Paul in the chest, knocking him on his butt.

"Let's try that again." This time Paul reverted to his wrestling training. Knight stepped inside his arms and halted his palm strike before it reached Paul's face.

"Guess I have a lot to learn."

"Ain't that the truth. But you have tools. You did manage to flatten that Frog's nose. Let's talk about mindset when you find yourself in a situation that might get ugly. First thing to know is you don't want to fight. But when you have to, I mean, really have to, then you want it to go down on your terms. Like when you were in Ranger school and were given the mission to raid an enemy position behind the lines. As you got ready to execute the assault plan, did you fire off a bunch of hand flares and tell the enemy you were about to come kick his ass?

Fuck no! You hit him with maximum firepower and shock effect. Do your damnedest to end it right there, no resistance, no counterattacks.

Well, that will be your advantage in a fight. We're gonna meet here every lunch hour for the next month. At the end of that, you will know enough to kick the shit out of 99% of the population. But because there is that other 1% out there, you never want to find out unless you have to."

1979 -- Palo Alto

4:45 AM, the phone rang. "Motherfucker!" cried Paul, "Who the fuck would call me at this hour?" It did not help that Paul had closed the bar last night. The band at Barney Steele's had just been too good. He had danced a lot with a lot of different women, but none had struck a chord with him. Still, the band was rocking; outstanding female lead fronting a horn and rhythm section that Tower of Power & Chaka Khan would stop and listen to for a moment. This was the club scene on the peninsula in the late 70's; bands everywhere that were just short of making the big time, all playing for no or next to no cover. And the women. Oh, Lord, the women...

A few people had answering machines that would pick up the call after a few rings and offer the opportunity to leave a message on a cassette. Paul had been meaning to get one of those for some time, but something more important always got in the way. After all, acquiring one would have taken valuable driving time to Radio Shack, or some other electronics store. There always seemed to be higher priority business to be dealt with. The phone kept ringing. And ringing.

His personal hell continued as the phone rang without stopping for over two minutes. Pulling the pillow over his ears only muted it by half. He remembered reading that Ma Bell had scientifically designed the ring tone to raise alarm. He was convinced it was true. His arm snaked out blindly groping for the handset, hitting it, knocking it to the floor, and finally pulling the cord, brought it to his ear. Getting the mouthpiece reasonably close to his mouth, he managed to answer, "This better be good, or I swear I am going to do great harm to you and your loved ones."

"Paul?"

Immediately, he recognized his ex's voice. "Karen, what the fuck? Do you know what time it is? On a Saturday morning?"

"Sorry, you know I was never good with that time zone thing. I just wanted to tell you I will be in San Francisco next week for an education conference. Maybe we could meet up and catch up on what has gone on since we, uh..." The pause lengthened.

"Divorced, Karen, is that what you meant?"

"It seems like a harsh term, Paul. I know that's what is was, but we were so in love once, saying 'divorce' just seems so final."

"Karen, remember all those legal papers we signed? It was final. It is final."

"Well, some things have happened. Bad things. When I found out my school district was sending me to this convention, I called your parents to get your phone number. Paul, I really need to see you. You may be my only hope."

Paul thought, "So now I'm Obiwon Kenobi?" But he said, "What kind of trouble are you in, Karen?"

"I am afraid to tell you over the phone. Can you meet me at my hotel, and I will give you all the details when I see you? I am booked on a flight on Tuesday landing at SFO at 4:30 PM on United. We are all booked at the Fairmont. Do you know that hotel? They said it was pretty well known. There are no meetings until the following morning. I thought maybe we could meet for dinner."

Paul kept his business calendar reasonably full through the early afternoon hours each business day. As a financially comfortable bachelor, he preferred to keep late afternoons and evenings open. "I will pick you up in the portico of the hotel at 7:00."

*****

At precisely 7:00, Paul's BMW 3.0 CSi rolled up under the portico at the top of Nob Hill. The valet reached for the door handle, asking if he were checking in. Paul told him he was picking up one of their guests. Karen was "only" five minutes late arriving. The valet said under his breath but loud enough for Paul to hear, "Worth waiting for."

Karen was everything Paul had remembered. Long, silky, light brown hair that hung down to the small of her back was the same as he had first seen in Amherst in 1965, before he asked her to dance. Even longer now, the super fine strands of her hair blew around her face in the slightest breeze. At 5'9" and 145 pounds, Karen had always been a sight. She was wearing a conservative blouse over a skirt that stopped about two inches above the knees of her long, perfectly shaped legs. Nothing sexy, but no one would miss the effect. However, men never looked at any of that. When she and Paul parted, she had been wearing a 34-DD bra size. The cup size had not shrunk over the intervening years, but the band size had moved up a notch. It was obvious she was trying to minimize her gifts. It was an impossible task.

Paul had made a reservation at La Bourgogne, and, after greeting the maitre'd, they were seated in a secluded corner. For the first time since they had reconnected, Paul had a chance to see Karen closely. Her makeup was well done, but he could tell it was heavier in certain areas. Alarm bells went off. It was clear she was trying to conceal bruises.

Paul was tempted to dash right in. The years intervening between his combat experience and the present had taught him not to be so hasty. A quick assessment informed him what Karen's problem might be. He wanted her to tell him. But, first get dinner ordered.

They made small talk through the first courses and the entrée. Neither wanted dessert, and both ordered coffee. Paul looked at the brown eyes he had loved when they met and asked, "What do you want from me?"

Karen held his gaze for what seemed like hours. Then the tears formed in the corners of her brown eyes. They broke free and cascaded down her cheeks. She said, "Remember Joni Mitchell? You don't know what you've got till it's gone? That's you. I was so sure of myself when I left you. The movement was just beginning then. We women could do anything that men can do. But, you were big macho ranger dude You didn't fit the narrative. I was independent. You reinforced me when you came home from Vietnam when you were so accepting of my new views. I had no idea what you had experienced and why you did not want to confront me. I was happy for that. I was so self-absorbed, it never occurred to me you had been through hell. I didn't want to fight with you, but I was so sure of myself that I just wanted to be on my own and live my own life. At the time, I didn't realize how much I would miss you. Miss us. So, I pretty much went on the usual post-divorce fuck-a-thon, hoping to find another Paul O'Brien, I guess. About two years ago, I thought I had struck gold at last.

"When I first met Bruce, he was everything I thought I wanted. Whatever I wanted to do seemed to be just what he wanted. He sent flowers after our each of our early dates. He was at my beck and call. Pretty soon I was seeing Bruce all the time and my contacts with my friends were growing more infrequent. After a year, we were together so much, it seemed natural that I move in with him. As time went on, where we went and what we did was more what he wanted.

He thought nothing of spending a few nights with his drinking buddies, but if I wanted to see my friends he became derisive and angry. It got so I was afraid to say anything for fear of igniting his temper. I mean, I have seen your temper, but I was never afraid you would vent it on me. I cannot say the same about Bruce.

My worst fears were realized when I told him about coming out to this conference. He immediately accused me of trying to get back with you. I had told him all about you. When I said that was not my intention, but I was going anyway, he hit me. Not just once, and not with an open hand. I ran out the door, drove to my parents' house, and blubbered out the whole sordid story. They wanted to call the police, but I didn't want the trouble. I felt I was to blame in some way, and I didn't want to answer questions and make statements. I was also afraid they might not believe me, and I was afraid things would be worse if I did call the cops, and they didn't lock Bruce up."

"Again, what do you want from me, Karen?"

"I told you I had moved in with Bruce. Now, I don't want to confront him, but all my stuff is at his house. In the two weeks between the incident and now, he has tried to contact me every day. He called my parents and told them he was sorry, and that all he wants is for us to get back together. He even sent flowers to me at their house. I know what will happen if I go back. Bruce will be nice for a while, but the rage will never be gone. Can you go back with me and help me move out?"

"Whoa," said Paul, "that is a tall order. How long will you be in town for this gig?"

"The conference goes through Friday noon, but I took a chance and booked a Sunday return flight hoping you and I could spend some time together," Karen replied.

"Let me think about it. For now, let me get you back to the Fairmont."

As they rolled up to the front entrance, Karen turned to Paul and said, "I have one more favor to ask you. Please take me up to my room and fuck my brains out. We may have had our differences, but we were dynamite in bed."

Done deal. Paul got out, tossed the keys to the valet who was opening Karen's door.

As soon as the door to the room closed, Karen was all over Paul. Her lips crushed against his and her tongue shot into his mouth. He pulled back a little then kissed her back but slowing her down. Soon their tongues were intertwined in an ancient dance. Paul felt Karen's breasts pushing against his chest. She ground her hips into Paul's and felt his rock-hard erection through his trousers. Before Paul could react, Karen broke the kiss and whispered, "I am glad to see he remembers me."

She dropped to her knees, undoing Paul's belt, unzipping his fly, reaching her fingers though his briefs and grasping his cock. Pulling it out, she took an instant to admire it, then she closed her lips around it head. Her tongue licked the slit and she was rewarded with a large drop of pre-cum. "Mmmmmm," she hummed as Paul felt the vibrations run though his body. Pulling away for a moment, Karen said, "I've really missed this."

After sliding her lips up and down Paul's shaft several times, she stood up, kissed him again, stating simply, "We have way too many clothes on."

Moments later, the clothing problem solved, Paul was on his back in the middle of the hotel room bed with Karen on her knees between his legs. She was doing her best at getting her mouth all the way down his shaft. Then she pulled up until only the head was in her mouth where she flicked her tongue along the sensitive frenulum area under his slit. Her mouth popped off of Paul's dick and she ran her thumb up the underside of the shaft from the balls to the head. Karen was rewarded with a flow of pre-cum that first formed a large clear drop which then burst and it flowed down running onto her thumb. She licked it off sighing, "Preview of cumming attraction."

"The attraction will cum soon if you keep that up," moaned Paul, "do you want to move on to something else."

"Nope, there will be time enough for that when my work is done here," she replied. With that she again took as much of him into her mouth as she could. After two or three more trips up and down, Paul felt the familiar feeling begin in his balls.

"Karen, shit, you're so good at that I am going to cum really soon," he warned as she felt him begin to thrust. She could feel his head swell even more.

Karen increased her efforts. In just a few seconds she heard Paul cry out. The first jet of his salty fluid surged into her mouth. She swallowed it right down. There followed another two major blasts. They weakened. Paul's dick finally stopped throbbing in her mouth and began to soften. She let it slip from between her lips. A lone strand of cum hung from her lower lip to his cock head. She licked it away, and crawled up Paul's body, kissing him once her face reached the level of his. He tasted himself on her tongue, something he always found erotic.

Karen nestled against Paul's right side. Her right breast was resting on his ribcage. Paul wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tighter to him. His hand squeezed her breast lightly. Then his forefinger circled her dark brown areola causing the nipple to harden instantly. "Oooooh, that feels sooo good," Karen cooed. She slipped her hand down Paul's chest then lower until her fingers encountered his thick pubic bush. She wrapped them around the soft fleshy shaft.

After several minutes of this Karen felt the limp member become not so limp. Paul pushed her onto her back where they began kissing passionately. Karen's ministrations were working. He knew he would soon be ready for round two. He broke off the tongue dance and moved lower to begin kissing her on the side of her throat. Low moans escaped her lips. Paul resisted the urge to suck the flesh between his teeth. It would not be nice to send Miss Norton back to the classroom with a big hickey. On second thought, he remembered she was on summer break. He sucked a generous chunk of flesh between his lips and teeth. Karen grabbed the back of his head and pulled it tighter against her throat. The more he bit and sucked, the louder she moaned. "Yes, Paul, mark me. I'm yours, and I don't care who sees."

He redoubled his efforts and thought, "That should show everyone what a great time Miss Norton had."

He moved his body lower until his lips encountered the same right nipple he had teased earlier. As his mouth surrounded it and he pulled the half inch crinkly rigid cylinder into his mouth and lashed it with his tongue. He felt Karen's chest push up to force more of her bounteous orb into his face.

"Remember to treat each one equally," Karen whispered. Paul knew from their years together that the sensation in each respective breast was not equal. The left one was far more sensitive and responsive. It was there he focused his attention next. Karen's soft sounds suddenly rose in volume. As Paul squeezed and suckled her tit, he reached down between her legs and put his hand over her pubic mound feeling the heat emanating from beneath his fingers. It was hotter than he recalled, no doubt because Karen had removed a significant amount of pubic hair. She had not shaved, but it was now much more fairway than rough. His middle finger parted her lips and encountered a sensation like sticking his finger into a warm pie. Her juices fairly flowed out around him. Pushing deeper, his digit sank directly into her vagina. There was no doubt about the level of Karen's arousal. When he pulled the finger out and slid it up around her stiff clitoris, she lurched as though she had been shocked.