Hello, my name is Gary O'Brian, but no one calls me by that name. My mother used to, but she was the last one who did a lifetime ago. My friends call me Dacro, my enemies used to call me Sanx, and since a man is the sum of his friends and enemies, the name people label me with is Dacro Sanx. A name I wear in shame, a name I can not forget for as long as I live, and a name that ruined any chances for me to have a (normal) sex life 34 years ago. Not because of a physical condition, but something psychosomatic an illness caused by fear or anxiety rather than by any physical problem. At least that's what I've been told over the years.
Look at that medal framed in glass that's a constant reminder of everything. It is just a single medal that people are so impressed with, but personally makes my stomach turn. Not sure if the others who have received it feel the same way, but that's what I feel when I see a Purple Heart. Sure I was wounded in battle, but the wounds I received were nothing compared to the suffering I've had to deal with since those days.
As a young man merely 18 years old, I found myself as a wild war-machine wearing green camouflage in the steamy, sticky jungle, fighting every movement of leaves, every sound of the wind and getting a rush every day from life. Vietnam was no vacation trip, but ending up in re-con gave me a lot of time on my own. We all had our call signs, and I selected Darkroad, since each mission felt like I was leading the others on a dark road to something menacing, through the ever-present mud and muck. It was Johnson who first got lazy and reduced Darkroad to simply Dacro. Later, Burnstein changed it to Dac, but for higher security reasons, all nicks had to contain at least two syllables; so everybody forgot about Gary O'Brian and in his place emerged Dacro Sanx. Sanx, because that was the last word the Vietnamese said to me in their last breath their way of saying "Thanks" through their bloody throats.
My duties were to scout areas, eliminate obstacles, and to make sure that the boys in Intelligence were feeding us the right information. They rarely were, but we all knew that anyway. It was during one of those usual walks in the jungle that I came to meet her, Yen Lo, a young Vietnamese with long pitch black hair, high cheekbones, dark brown mysterious eyes and fragile lips. Her slender body, wrapped in a pale green dress, moved with grace when she walked down the lonely road. I observed her every movement for several minutes from my hiding place above the road, before she vanished into the green forest. She had been entirely without jewelry, but the two bamboo sticks she had in her hair had been very elegantly crafted. Of course I didn't know her name until much later.
The days were lonely a time when almost nothing was happening in our region. It seemed as if the war had stopped, at least for me, because all I could hear were the birds singing and the raindrops falling upon the dense canopy. Occasionally, I felt as if I could hear the rays of light, filtering through the leaves. At this point some of the others got paranoid saw enemies in the shadows and thought every beautiful vibration in the air was the sound of VC footsteps. I would have perhaps met the same devastating end, but I had the graceful image of her moving in my mind. She walked down the road every day about the same time sometimes trying to hide beneath the trees, as if making sure that no one followed her. On other days, she strolled down the path like any happy young lady without any worries.
On one of those days, the 13th to be exact, she stopped below me on the far end of the road, and seemed bothered with something in her sandal. She leaned down and posed so invitingly that I felt an involuntary bulge in the front of my fatigues. For some time I gazed at her while she examined her small, dainty foot. When her examination was over, she looked up without changing her position, straight into my eyes, and smiled. She put her index finger between her lips and gently sucked it for a fraction of a second, before nonchalantly continuing on her way.
For days to come she would ignore me. Then, on the 19th day, she stopped at the same place, kissed a red flower that she was holding, and wrapped a piece of paper around the stem. She placed the flower on one of the branches of the tree closest to her and casually walked on. It was without a doubt a note to me, but would I dare to go and get it? For hours I kept looking at the delicate red flower, and as the sunset was devoured by night, I finally worked up enough courage to crawl down from the cliffs that had been my hiding place, and grab the note. It was written in English, although I probably would have been able to understand it even if it hadn't been.
"Com to the cave tomorro, pleez"
Next to the words was a small, hand-drawn map, with a flower in one place and a cross in another. Crawling back to the hideaway that was more my home than the camp where the others were, I kept reading the note until it was impossible to see it before my eyes. The sleep was for some weird reason so comforting that night. I awoke to the sound of someone walking on the road below, and as I looked down, I noticed eight short men wearing the same uniform and carrying weapons. The war was not over, even if it was peaceful right now, and this was just another indication of that fact.
The day passed with very little activity on the road, and as the afternoon came, so did she. With a red flower adorning her hair, she passed by without even glancing my way, but suddenly I noticed the movement of her hand. She made it into a fist, but the left index and middle fingers extended. I interpreted this to mean two hours.
As time passed, so did the sun, and when it was time for our first rendezvous, I made my way silently towards the cave that her map had indicated. In retrospect, I'm still not sure what made me do it. I was only 18 years old, in a lost world where the only beacon of light was this woman, and I suppose I wanted to follow her out of this darkened void and be enveloped by her radiance.
The cave was totally hidden in the bushes, with only a 2 feet entrance. She had placed the flower from her hair as a marker, and when I silently crawled in, I found that the cave was larger than the entrance indicated. Within just a few yards, I was able to stand up straight. As I peered further inside the cave, I saw a faint light, which drew me closer, like a moth to a flame. The cave had a fairly large chamber, and she was kneeling on a bamboo carpet, with her head against her knees and her arms stretched out offering me a few pieces of sweet fruit. A small candle was burning as it sat on an overhanging rock, covering the entire chamber with a pale yellow light.
"Pleez, tis for you."
I kneeled before her, picking up the fruit from her delicate hands and said, "Let me see you."
She raised to her knees, and her face was even more beautiful than I had been able to make out from the distance that our contact had been before except for a large bruise on her left cheek. I reached out my hand to gently caress it, but she turned her face away in shame. She did not say a word as she started to take off her dress before me revealing her small breasts in total nudity, and with a breathless whisper as her dress slowly slipped down her petite body, she said:
"I want you."
I was so paralyzed that I didn't know what to say, but then I felt her warm hands guide me to my back as she sat across my stomach and started to kiss me with soft butterfly kisses. Her hips were rubbing over my crotch, and I lay there panting, with a huge erection inside my baggy army trousers. Her touch was electrifying, and I found myself captured in the moment, vulnerable to all things in life, wanting only to be cherished by this fragile woman. Time seemed to stand still as she continued to kiss and caress my quivering body. My shirt was soon unbuttoned and my chest lay naked before her, and she slid her fingers across me, raking her nails against my rough skin.
Her entire body traveled downward, until her legs were wrapped around mine, and her fluttering hands unzipped my pants. The boxers I had on stood up like a tent, which she found amusing as she started to lean forward. With her hands resting on my thighs, she began licking me through the boxers, and the chamber was suddenly filled with the sounds of a harmonic choir which was actually my own voice, reverberating off the walls. The electricity was shooting through my body, originating from the single point where her tongue was slowly licking, and causing my muscles to spasm. Unable to control the shaking, I was grasped and held in her hands as she continued to lick me slowly. For what seemed like an eternity, she kept wiggling her tongue over the boxer-covered head until she gently pulled them down, revealing the war-virgin inside.
"See." she whispered.
I summoned up the strength to look down, and saw my cock standing totally erect the black head less than an inch from her mouth. Then, I felt her breath as she surrounded the head with her lips. Once in her mouth, she remained still and started to hum a low melody, spreading vibrations down my shaft, and the gentle touch was the sweetest torture to my loins. Every muscle in my body had gone from spasms to an intense, fixed cramp at her tender mercies. As she began to hum the low melody once again, the juices in my balls began to boil. The softness of her touch was amazing, yet so demanding that I arched my head back against the rocky ground, unable to maintain eye contact. In the next moment, it was all over when she suddenly stood up, put on her dress and whispered:
"Cum for me."
