Hello again, Gentle Reader. It's been a while since we checked in on David and Marie, his Merry Widow. I don't really know why, either. These are one of my favorite couples.
Anyway, I had always pictured this story with different points of view. So let's see how they're doing, shall we?
So Dave asked for something he called the "point of view" of one of the participants.
Okay, Dave, here goes. But, spoiler alert, I'm not a writer. Hell, it was always agony for me to write a damn after-action report. You want to know how to manage a bunch of mechanics? I'm your guy. Want to know how to pull a code and fix the problem? Yep, come to my shop. But writing a story? Not my wheelhouse.
Okay, there's the disclaimer. Here goes.
When Dave mentioned Marie, my reaction was, "Why not?" I mean, what the hell. The Vet's Corps was about 90 percent guys and guys all think with their dicks. Turns out, even the girls think with their pussies. A young, healthy group like ours, hell, between drinking and fucking, well, okay, a little bit of studying for most of us, a lot of studying for a few like Dave, our days were pretty much completely used up. And yeah, I suppose we got a little, what do you call it? "Jaded?"
You know. College life and all. And we were all old enough to buy alcohol, and even before legalization, pot was available. A few of the guys were pretty seriously into drugs, and there was cocaine or opium or hashish around most of the time. We didn't do the harder chemicals, the meth or that stuff. But we were pretty much high or at least a little drunk or, more often, both, all of the time.
So anyway, Dave mentioned this old lady he was living with and how she was, what did he call her? Oh, yeah. She was the "merry widow" and interested in some action.
We set it up then, a Saturday night party with the widow as the entertainment. A dozen pizzas were eaten and the second keg tapped before Dave and the old lady got there. We were sitting around, me and the guys, just, you know, shoooting the shit. One of those sessions guys who once lived in barracks get into. A couple were killing something or other on the big TV. Franky had his guitar out and was strumming away. But mostly we were bullshitting.
We got a glimpse of Dave and the woman as they passed through a corner of the room on their way to the bathroom/bedroom hall. I didn't see much but thought, "Nice tits."
Finally, Dave showed up, a shit eating grin on his face, and said, "She's getting ready."
There was a chorus of "She'd better be good after all of the hype," and shit like that. Old Dave just smiled.
"Oh, hell yes," I heard. I think that was Joe. When I turned to look, she had stopped, just inside the room. I'm pretty sure she knew what she was doing. I KNOW she was posing.
And mentally, I agreed with Joe as I thought,
"Oh, HELL yes."
She was good-looking enough, for a chick old enough to be my grandmother. I thought the makeup was a bit overdone, but, hell, that's just me.
But it was those tits that I couldn't look away from.
I'm a man, you know? And EVERY man likes a good pair of tits. Any man, I don't care how fucking gay or bi or trans or whateverthefuck the word of the day is, likes a good pair of tits.
They swayed in an interesting way, not the firm lightly jiggling titties of the girls I typically chased. I watched, hell, I was fucking hypnotized, as she moved to the center of the quilt in the center of the room somebody had found. She was almost graceful as she got to her knees. Her voice was an old woman's voice as she said, "Come and get it boys. Gramma's wanting some cock," or something like that.
