One Night in Hampton

I really liked the "One Night in XXX" reader challenge, and if the challenge is over, that doesn't mean I can't still use the format. This is set in Hampton, Virginia and around Langley Air Force Base, in 1986, before cell phones, before DNA testing, before AIDS among straights, before Google and internet searches and, to be honest, before some of the more stringent base security measures.

*****

It was a typical weekend night when I went to Danny's Bar off of King Street, near the Langley King Street gate. The song "Another Saturday night and I ain't got nobody" came into my mind, and Danny's was a decent place to find some company for the evening. With a Country-Western vibe, it tended to have women who were slightly older, closer to my 36 years than some of the other places around town. It was also not much of a hangout for the hoity-toity professional women, but the ones who liked blue collar guys like me.

Like the song says, "I got some money 'cause I just got paid," and with the overtime I'd been getting, I was getting paid a lot. Our company was doing a project at Langley Air Force Base, and that meant prevailing union wages even for non-union companies, and I was loving it. The boss had bid it tight, and kept us to a strict forty hours when the job started, but constant change orders meant labor-and-materials add-ons, so the old man was less bothered by the OT. Plus, despite the change orders, one thing that hadn't changed was our scheduled completion date, and overtime is cheaper than liquidated damages.

I'm an electrician, and we were completely rewiring the headquarters of the 94th Fighter Squadron, doing ten hour days plus six hours on Saturday mornings. The money was nice, but it was a relief to get out of the headsets to protect our ears from the F-15 Eagles that were constantly training.

It also meant that my hands were cut and scratched from dealing with a million miles of wiring. And that meant that the higher class women wouldn't be interested in me anyway. Not to worry, there were no high-class broads in Danny's!

There was this one woman, though, taking on all comers. Oh, not all comers the way you'd think, but all comers at the pool table. Tight jeans, a men's white "wife beater" sleeveless undershirt over a red bra, and enough flirtatiousness to break the concentration of her opponents, she was up almost $200 hustling.

She'd noticed me when I came in, though I'm not sure why. I was dressed a lot like everybody else, in jeans and a decent shirt, but I'm only a little taller than average, decently strong but hardly a muscle man, and I just don't stand out in a crowd. She'd just polished off another sap she'd hustled, and then asked me if I wanted to try my luck.

"Nope," I said, "I'm very mediocre with a pool cue, and I can see how you've been sharking all of the other guys here."

"That the only stick you're mediocre with?" My jaw dropped at that one. I've seen plenty of girls flirt, though most of the time they're just teases, but never heard a line that blatant from a woman.

"I can hold my own," was the response I gave. I learned a long time ago that women filter out the braggarts. "Beer?"

She at least smiled at that one and said sure, to get her a Heineken Dark. I had one pulled for myself as well.

Turned out that her name was Lucy, and apparently she'd already hustled all of the good pool players; no one seemed interested in losing money to her anymore. The light was typical dive bar poor, but I checked out her left hand when it was under the pool table lights. No wedding or engagement rings, but I could see what looked like a telltale sign, a bit of a depression on her ring finger, as though she was married, but left those rings at home for the night.

Now that could be part of her pool hustle, to draw in men who thought they had a shot of sinking the eight ball in her corner pocket, but it was more probable that she was a married chick, out looking for some strange.

"So, Jody, if you aren't looking for a good game of eight ball, what are you looking for here?" This woman sure was direct!

"Me? I'm looking for love in all the wrong places." She laughed at that.

"Well, you know what they say: if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with!"

At that point, I took her left hand and asked, "What about your husband?"

"Hmmm. I guess you noticed that. Well, he's at Ramstein, and won't be home for two more weeks."

"You didn't go with him?"

"Oh, he's just there on his way back. He spent eight months at Incirlik, and that's an unaccompanied tour. But he got stuck in Germany on his way back home, and I'm about climbing the walls."

I considered what Lucy was telling me. She's married to some Air Force guy, she's horny, and she's got two more weeks to wait. I wondered just how many times she'd pulled this stunt.

But, what the Hell, I'm horny too, and I'm an asshole. And if this guy just spent eight months in Turkey, he probably got some strange while he was over there. Heck, he's stuck with all of those buxom blonde girls in Germany now, with their tits almost hanging out at the Brauhaus, and if he can't get laid there, that's his problem.

oo0oo

I knew that I might be in trouble when we walked into their duplex, in base family housing. There was a small sign by the door, MSgt Ricardo, and I knew that he was a senior non-com. That looked about right, if he was near Lucy's age, but it also meant he was carrying some serious responsibility. You didn't really want to piss off a Master Sergeant.

But what the Hell, this was a one-and-done for me, or at least that was what I figured. He'd never know, unless Lucy told him, and I didn't think that she was that stupid. At any rate, I'd only told her my first name; if she asked for my last name, I'd lie about that.

That was when I saw the second thing that took me aback. There it was, on a shelf, a statue of an erect dick, with three balls. The thing must've been nine inches long, and wasn't skinny. "Look, Lucy, what I've got is good, but if you're expecting that," I said, pointing at the idiotic phallus, "you're going to be disappointed."

She laughed. "Don't worry, I don't expect that, as long as you can do the job with what you've got."

"I can handle it," I said, and seeing where her bedroom was, I took her hand and led her in there.

There was no seduction here, no pretense as to what we both wanted. The things you'd expect, the first time with a girl, of undressing each other, that never happened. Lucy started stripping off her own clothes and throwing them aside, so I did the same, closing the bedroom door behind us.

Lucy was naked first, and then sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for me to be ready. After I kicked off my shoes and pulled my jeans and underwear off with a single motion, I hit my knees beside the bed, and went directly to kissing her pussy. No sense playing around, not with this chick!

Her puss was covered with light brown hair, not too thick and not too sparse, and with an interesting tuft that curled upward, just above where the slit started. My fingers on both sides, pulling her open a bit, my tongue danced around her clit, sometimes very lightly and sometimes harder.

Lucy was getting hot fast, and it wasn't long before I reversed my right hand, and put my middle finger inside of her. It only took one curl of my finger to find what I expected, that rough, ridged patch of her G-spot. Some light pressure of my tongue on her clit, and a stronger curl of my finger on her G, and Lucy just exploded, curling up into a ball, saying, "No more, no more!" She needed a couple minutes to recover, I could see.

"Lucy, I'm home!"

What the fuck!

"Oh, shit, Ricky's home," Lucy half-whispered, half exclaimed. "He's not supposed to be here for two weeks. Quick, into the closet, and I'll get Ricky in the bathroom, and then you can sneak out."

With that, Lucy ran out of the bedroom, wonderfully naked, to greet her husband, and, I guessed, hold him off in the living room and bathroom. I pulled on my jeans, making sure that I hadn't lost my wallet and keys, and my shirt. I slammed my underwear and socks into my pocket, grabbed my shoes, and opened the bedroom window. I didn't know if Lucy was going to be able to keep him out of the bedroom, so I wasn't going to wait; it was out the window for me!

Well, the place had these crappy aluminum framed side sliders, and the screen wasn't designed to be removed from the inside. I did my best to remove it quietly, getting the bottom loose, but them it had to be tilted outward and pulled out of two movable slots at the top. I got that done, but then it fell out, falling into the damned exterior heat pump with an audible clatter.

What the fuck, what I could hear from Lucy with her husband outside the door stopped, and I knew he'd heard that. Fuck it, I dove out the window as fast as I could, cutting the shit out of my hand as it hit the corner of the screen assembly that was standing up against the heat pump. I'd already thrown my shoes outside, sprang up, grabbed them and hightailed it out of there.

"Mother fucker, I'll kill you!" I heard this guy yell out the window, and a couple of seconds later I heard the report of a pistol; the fucker was shooting at me! Thank God it was dark out, and he was a poor shot - maybe because he was so pissed off - and he missed me, not even coming close.

Fortunately, I knew where I was, near where I worked at the 94th Fighter Squadron Air Maintenance Unit, and that was only five blocks away from the Southwest Branch of Back River. Keeping to the shadows as best as I could, I stopped for a second to put on my shoes, and then headed toward the water. I knew that I had to get the fuck out of there, because that shot would surely bring the MPs.

Somehow, I fucking made it, sneaking past the Chapel and across Benedict Avenue. That was where the LAFB family beach was, and I ran down into the water; no one was around at midnight! It wouldn't be an easy swim, but if I got caught by the MPs, or worse, by Lucy's husband, there'd be Hell to pay . . . assuming I even saw the sun rise again.

The tide was going out, which made the swim shorter, but it also pulled me out more toward the marina. It was easier to let the tide take me, and I finally climbed ashore at the far end of Gosnold's Hope Park. That was a good thing, 'cause the park was deserted at night, and I wasn't climbing out of the river in a residential area.

It also meant a longer walk, almost three miles, back to Danny's Bar. The evening was chilly, and all of my clothes were wet. Once I got to the park, I pulled my shoes off and walked barefooted in the grass, swinging my shoes to try to dry them out a bit. I pulled my socks out of my pocket and wring them out as best I could, trying to dry them as well. Wet shoes, or wet socks and shoes, both were blisters waiting to happen on a three mile or more walk.

And I still needed to worry about the cops; if the MPs got the story out of Lucy and her husband, they might be looking for me rather than hauling him in for discharging a weapon on base.

But, eventually, I made it. I'm in pretty good shape, and could have easily walked the three miles back to Danny's in an hour, if I didn't have to try to be inconspicuous. As it was, it took me about two hours, but at least I made it, safely. Heck, my clothes were almost dry by the time I climbed into my 1972 Chevrolet C-10. I pulled out my keys, looked to make sure there weren't any police cars before firing it up, and then headed back to my place.

It had been one Hell of a night, and, bad thing was, while Lucy had gotten off, I never got mine. But at least I was still alive.