Frans Liberation Ch 01

We met at a funeral.

I had been deployed at the time of my mother's death. My unit was in charge of training reservists prior to being shipped overseas. I ran the ranges. You want to shoot, I was the man to teach you. Great job, great mission. It was something I like to do and as a side benefit I had to go shooting once a month just to stay qualified. Like I said, great benefits. The only negative was the fact that I'm fairly large - 6'4", 245 lbs. In pretty good shape but that does not translate well to the world of firing ranges. I know, everyone thinks that guys in the military should all be huge 6'6" monsters with lasers shooting out of their eyes and hair wafting in the breeze in slow motion, but ninety percent of the time your laying on your stomach trying to be as small as possible (makes it harder for the other guys to shoot you) so size is not a great benefit. Anyway, I digress. We were down in the Southwest in the middle of nowhere running lines to get reservists ready to be able to defend themselves.

I watched a Humvee come driving to the range. It was strange; we were not scheduled to complete instruction for another three hours. Odd. My Command Master Sergeant dismounted to vehicle and started towards me in the middle of the line. I started to become alarmed as this was well outside of the safety protocols we had established. Even more alarming to me was the fact that there were two other soldiers with him, a Lieutenant and another Sergeant. "Crap, what did I do this time?" I wondered.

"Sergeant Green, please remove and hand over your sidearm" the CSM said to me. My heart started racing as I started to remove my holster. This is bad. You never disarm a range instructor while the range is active.

As I handed over the holster I said "Gary, what have I done? What did I do that you want to arrest me?"

Gary Coleburne handed over my pistol to the Sergeant that had come with him. The look on his face was grave. I'd known Gary for three years. He'd been ideal as a leader; praise in public, always taking you to the side to explain what you did wrong, asking questions to get you to think of the better way to accomplish your mission, a magnificent instructor. If he was going down this route, I was in big ass trouble and I didn't even known what I had done wrong.

I was concentrating so much on Gary, trying to read what I had done by his expression on his face that I had forgotten about the Lieutenant until he spoke to me for the first time.

"Sergeant Green, we are here to relieve you of your duties. We have received word that your mother has passed away".

I swear it was a Hollywood moment; I heard the words come out of his mouth and then all there was just a low buzzing sound. I must have stood there for a minute just staring at the officer.

"We're here to take you to the airfield and put you on a plane. I had the duty corporal pack your belongings and he will meet us there".

"I'm sorry sir. Where are we going?"

I did not understand. Why was I going to a plane, I had a range to run; people to train. I guess I just sorta blacked out. Next thing I know I'm at the airfield being walked to a cargo plane by my CSM.

The next few days were a complete blur. I, to this day, cannot remember much of them. I see snapshots; flying into Travis AFB. Getting into my sisters car to drive across the bay. Walking into my parents' house in San Carlos seeing my father just sitting in the kitchen staring out the back window at the bay. Ironing my dress blues for the funeral. Telling stories at my mother's eulogy of her love of baseball and the Giants.

I finally broke out of the fog by someone touching my arm. I was at my oldest sister's house during the wake. The courtyard patio was full of people, most of them I did not know. Friends of my parents I guess. A woman was lightly touching my arm asking if I was okay.

This was the first time my eyes saw Fran.

"I'm sorry, did you ask me something?" was all I could say.

Fran was not a supermodel. She did not have the face that could launch a thousand ships. She was though the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in person. She was short. Of course, everyone is short to me (I'm 6'4" barefoot). She was 5'3". Her eyes were an amber brown, like gold mixed into your coffee. Her brown hair was worn just down to her shoulders in very light curls. Her face, the shape of a heart. My brain just shutdown looking at her. She was perfect.

A slight smile played across her face fighting a look of concern.

"I asked if you wanted a cigarette. I was told you smoked but you've been standing here for about an hour just staring at nothing. Did I interrupt your thoughts?" she said. I could tell that she thought I was not completely there but felt bad over smiling at me at a wake. Maybe she thought it was inappropriate.

"No, I was just coming to realize that I'm here. And yes, I would love a smoke. Want to join me?" I asked as I gestured her towards the street. I won't smoke in my own house, won't do it at my sisters. She turned and started towards the driveway. I could not help but give her the once over as we walked. She was not supermodel material. She had curves. Breasts that were just right. Enough for a hand or a mouth. A smaller waist flaring into a larger hips. At a guess 34 (B) - 26 -36. A body a man could appreciate with an ass you just wanted to take a bite out of. Her neck was long and slender. The type of neck you wanted to spend an hour just kissing and nibbling. I guess my staring triggered something because she looked over her shoulder while walking to say

"You can look for another fifteen feet but then I'm going to want that cigarette". I must of turned twenty shades of red being busted that much. As I gave her the smoke she smiled and said "At least you're on the road to coming back to us. Glad my ass could help".

The cigarette turned into three hours of talking. She coaxed stories of my mother and her antics out of me. Stories that made us both side splitting laugh and stories that had us both leaning on each other with sobbing. It was three hours that allowed my conscious to catch up to my body for the first time in a week.

As we walked back to the house Fran turned to me and asked "Would you like to come over for dinner sometime? You know, if you have the time before you return to duty?" Before I could reply, and I was going to just say "Fuck yes", Fran spotted my sister Anne and yelled "Anne, going to kidnap your brother tonight. He'll be home late. And probably drunk. And probably won't remember much. Going to show him how the Russians mourn!"

Ah, that's it. She was a friend of my oldest sister. I knew I would not forget a woman like this. I had just never met her before. Found out a little while later that she worked with my sister. She ran the books at a fabrication shop.

"Go for it but we want him back in at most three pieces tomorrow" my sister yelled back followed by a loud cheer from the crowd. Had no idea what that was about but I guess it was an inside joke. Boy I was naive.

At seven that evening, after the final toast and helping my sister clean up her place there was a honk of a horn. I looked out the window to spot a mom mobile - a sky blue minivan. Fran is behind the wheel waving me over through the rolled down window. I grab my uniform blouse and head out front. "Get in, it's time to eat!" she says. I turn to the house to talk with my sister and see Anne just standing there with a drink, waving me away.

"Go with her. You need to get out of here for a while and remember what happy is" Anne says. "We'll be fine. Just going to get drunk some more and you suck at that!" Great, my oldest sister just announced that I was a lightweight. Now the world knows.

I jump into the minivan and ask "So, where to now and what are we drinking?" With a laugh of angels and devils, Fran accelerates down the street.

"So, how do the Russians mourn?" I asked, not knowing what else to say. I didn't know this woman. She knew my family but I had never met her. She was a complete mystery to me. I guess I was naïve, not wanting to intrude on her personal life. If I had any brains what so ever, I would have realized that I was in a car with a rather stunning woman behind the wheel on my way to something that would end up with me "in less than three pieces" my sister had said.

"Actually, I'm Russian and Italian. First generation American. Mom was Italian, Dad was Ukrainian. They met, fell in love in Canada, and moved down here after the war to start a family. Forty years later, both are retired bakers. Four sons and me. Guess they saved the best for last." she said with a grin. "My mother taught me respect and grace. My father taught me passion and integrity. So, we're going to get you drunk. We're going to get you fed. We're going to get you to remember what it means to be alive" Had I known then what I know now, I would have strapped in for the whirlwind.

We arrived at her house about fifteen minutes later. The rest of the ride had been quiet. I was still lost somewhat. She shut down her engine and hopped out without a word, heading to the door. "Come on slowpoke!" she yelled over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. I got the message and left her van putting on my uniform.

I get to the front door which is just standing wide open. The living room was typical American. Couch, two chairs, television. Shelves of knickknacks. Everything beige. "I'm in the kitchen. Come on back" I hear. I can see some of her below the island cabinets that formed the kitchen. She's reaching into a cabinet grabbing glasses. I was enjoying the view as her dress had strained down as she was reaching up. Her breasts were there, barely restrained by the fabric. I took off my uniform blouse and cover and draped them over a chair - I didn't see a coat rack so that would have to do. As I walk into the kitchen I just see this beauty in a dress standing there with two glasses and a bottle of wine. Really didn't see the wine as I was looking more at her legs. While it was a conservative dress by most standards, it did heighten the appeal of her legs by hiding just the right amount and showing off the curves of her calves and ankles.

"Up here sailor boy" she laughs.

Busted again I say "That's airman, not sailor, civilian!" in automatic banter.

"Not by what I've been told. My dad was a sailor and he told me stories about how sailors act when they see a woman for the first time in a long time and that was how you were looking at me" she replied. "By the way, still enjoying the view?" she quipped at me while pouring the wine. She lifted both glasses and handed me one to with a raised eyebrow, daring me to respond. Damn, was I getting hit on?? Am I that oblivious??

I went with bravado; "Like what I'm seeing but I'm not seeing enough" That should put me back on top of our little banter game. "Come back at that" I congratulated myself.

Fran cocked her head to the side for a moment, a look of calculation in her eyes for a moment before they solidify into action. "Here, hold this" she said as she passes me her wine glass. As I take it out of her hand she reaches behind herself and I hear a zipper moving down. In a flash, she shrugs her shoulders, moving the straps of her dress over her arms. The dress cascades down to the floor to pool by her feet.

Here she is. A woman I met for the first time in my life only a few hours ago at a wake for my mother. Now she's standing in front of me in a black lace strapless bra and a pair of French cut black lace panties. I have completely shut down at this point. I'm just standing in a kitchen holding two glasses of wine with a mostly undressed, very desirable, woman staring up at me. I see her face begin to color slightly. Her chest is heaving a little causing the lace covering her breasts to move a little. It's quite obvious that her nipples are completely hard. Her aereolas, a almost chocolate brown, a barely covered by the lace. She is shuffling her feet. She's looking at me with a look daring me to say something.

"Wow. I mean Wow!!" was all I could say. This was a woman's body that only painters and sculptors could capture right. She could have been the Venus D'Milo.

"That's it...Wow!? You really need to learn to talk to a woman. Jeez. Wow!!?? How about "you're the most beautiful women ever" "You're what men kill for" "You should be in Playboy" And I get Wow!!" she begins to giggle hysterically. As I blush again (getting to be a habit with this woman) and she stops laughing she looks me in the eye. "It's good to see something there besides sadness. You're sister said you were good looking. It's good to see it" she says as she picks up her dress. She saunters by while grabbing her wineglass out of my hands. "I want to get this in the wash. Come on back" she states. I will admit it didn't take much coaxing to follow that barely covered ass back to her laundry room.

"The problem here is I'm conflicted" she says as she puts her dress in the washer and turns it on and turns to face me. "The Italian side of me wants to get you drunk and hold your hand while you cry. The Russian side of me wants me to make you forget you're in mourning and take you to bed. Can't do both, can't do either. Can't find a middle ground" she says as she hops up to sit on the top of her dryer. She's actually three inches taller this way. Easier to reach. My god, stop it! This is not a time for getting laid.

The hell it isn't. I lean over and kiss her. Not the gentle light smattering of lip to lip. No, a full on tongue to her throat kiss. I guess I startled her. She straightens up as if trying to back away for a moment before she starts to respond. Next thing I know, her tongue is back into my mouth probing mine with desire. I break the kiss for a moment and just stare into her eyes.

"It's the uniform. Nothing more attractive than a man in a uniform" she says as she reaches out and grabs my shirt, pulling me into her. We both manage to put our glasses down, spilling a little but who cares. Soon my hands are on her back pulling her into my body. Her hands are behind my neck and head pulling me down to her. Her legs spread as she squirms towards me to make full contact.

All I could feel was the heat. The heat of her breasts through my uniform. The heat of her pussy pushing against an already engorged manhood. I moved my lips down to that throat that I had stared at with longing. My lips and tongue caressing every inch on the side as her body arched up and to the side. Every part of her was telling me more..give me more. My hands moved down her back to unclasp her bra. It fell away like chiffon on the wind. I started to use my teeth on the delicate soft flesh of her neck, my body screaming to me to latch on and not to let go. Desire was taking control of me, I could not stop. Fran dropped her arms off of my neck to clasp my hands to her breasts. The firm yet soft skin yielding to the hands that were exploring them, caressing them, enclosing them. Her nipples were hard, the size of dimes and as hard as steel. As my fingers ran over them moans crept from her throat, first soft but soon becoming animalistic. Her hands moved to my shirt, pulling incessantly on the buttons. Her hands we soon on my chest, grasping, scratching, pulling at my flesh. My mouth moved down her chest to her breasts. As my mouth started to suck her nipples between my teeth, my hands moved to her hips. Grasping her hips, my fingers started to move down inside the barely concealing panties. One hand moved to hold her ass, that ass that I just wanted to kiss, to lick, to hold while the other moved to the front. My fingers found her pussy. There was no hair. It was bald and smooth as silk. Running my index finger over her clit found it rock hard. It was like my penis, fully erect and asking for a touch. Further down, my fingers found her entrance. It was wet. Wetter than any other pussy I had felt. It was running down and collecting on the top of her dryer.

As my fingers entered, her moans were no longer quiet, no longer restrained. "Fuck...give me more, more fingers, faster" was all that came out. The rest was some language I don't understand. It was all grunts, moans, gasps.

After a few moments her body stiffened. "I'm cumm...arghhhhhhhhhhhh...my god...fuck...ahhhh" Her body spasmed against mine, her fingers cutting into the skin of my chest, blood being drawn. I released the nipple in my mouth to look upon her face. It was arched back as far as it would go, eyes white only, rolled up under the lids. Her legs twitching against the outside of mine, her heels dug into the back of my knees. Slowly, without rhythm, her body started to unclasp mine, her head rolling to the side, her breath slowing. Her eyes roll back down and smolder at me. I now know how a baby gazelle feels staring at the lion ten feet away. This was going to get interesting.

"You have way too many clothes on" she whispers as she dismounts the dryer. Her hands immediately reach to my belt and zipper, loosening both. As she starts to remove my pants she looks up, a smoldering fire in her eyes. "My turn" she states.

Just as her hands reach inside to grasp my penis there is a sound of the front door knob turning. "Mom, we're home" is cried out by an eight year old boy, ahead of his ten year old sister, who is looking pouty as only a ten year old can. Both kids start to clump their way up the stairs, oblivious to what is going on in the laundry. I spin, look at Fran, shock and confusion on my face.

"Shit. He was supposed to keep them overnight tonight. He knew that" Fran angrily whispers while fumbling for a shirt and shorts on the shelf. She looks at me, sees the confusion on my face. "My kids. I'm a single mom. Their asshat father pulls this shit all the time. Doesn't take them for the weekend. Drops them off unannounced".

I start to put my uniform back together quickly before anyone else notices. Damn, not only an engorged erection, but an unsatisfied engorged erection.

"I'm so sorry. I promise I'll make this up to you. Please don't be angry. I don't normally throw myself at guys this way but I saw you hurting and wanted to make you smile at least for a bit" she says, tears forming in her eyes.

"Stop", I say. "I'm a single dad too. I know what it's like to have no time to yourself or to have any chance for intimacy. Don't worry about it. Just glad your kids didn't catch anything" I was taking the high road but meant it too. I understand the feeling. My kids were staying with relatives while I was deployed but are with me 100 percent of the time when I'm home. It gets lonely. "You sure made me forget about things for a while so no harm. Anyway, I'm going to hold you to that promise. You will make it up to me when I get back her next time."

I ended up with a phone number, another long, smoldering kiss, and a taxi. I spent the time in the cab thinking about what had happened. And planning what will happen.

TO BE CONTINUED