First North American Serial Rights
Dave and Jenna's Naked Day
by Zapperz
I was dreaming a dream of ten years previous, a time
long
before my present reality.
It was 1976, and I was still a civilian living at home, lying naked in bed in my attic room, getting a
really good
blowjob.
Wendy was naked too, on all fours and straddling me, humping her wet pussy on my left calf, holding my cock in both fists, sliding her sweet mouth up and down, sucking energetically at the two or so inches protruding from her two-fisted grip. I twined my fingers into her curly Afro, moaning as her sucking got
really
good to me.
She answered my moans with little whimpers, humping my calf a little faster, the tickly bubble inside my loins growing and growing. I was going to explode in her mouth, she'd swallow every drop and I'd still be hard and we'd both want
more....
Wendy took one fist away and slid her fingers between her legs, getting them good and slick. Then she pushed two of those slick fingers into my ass, finding my prostate and massaging until the combo of her mouth and fingers made that big tickly come-bubble
pop
.
I woke up all at once to see Jenna's sweet mouth working on me, short chestnut pixie curls bouncing, her own moaning O-face as
she
humped my calf.
It was
her
fingers inside me as I cried out, jacked my hips up and blasted off in
her
mouth.... not Wendy's. And it was
her
crying out around me, coming from sucking me off....
not
Wendy.
When I stopped coming, she stopped sucking, sliding up to kiss me; I tasted myself in her mouth before she scampered away to get a sudsy washcloth to clean us. It was fucking
awesome
.
My Seiko said it was a little past one in the afternoon, and I noticed a pile of our boots and uniforms by the bed. We'd been so tired at shift's end that we'd had some Sleepytime herbal tea in the kitchen, then gone upstairs, stripped naked and slid into bed, without even hanging them up. And obviously I'd slept deeply enough to dream of a memorable blowjob delivered ten years ago by the cousin I'd grown up with, back in Dorchester.
She cleaned us both, tossed the washcloth on top of the pile, and lay down next to me, smiling as she explained my spectacularly sexy wake-up.
"An hour ago, I woke up to see you on your back, deep asleep, hard, and
huge
. I wondered just
what
you were dreaming of, and got a
major
lady-boner.... betting you were dreaming of
me
."
"I was dreaming about my cousin Wendy sucking me off one night, the summer she graduated from college."
"You dirtbag.... you should be dreaming of
me
, your fiancée, sucking you off in your dreams. So how
was
it?"
"
You
Do It Better, honey."
"Excellent answer.... corrected to 100 percent. Anyway,
you
were hard, and dribbling, and just watching you dream made me
so
damn horny. I lay next to you and teased my clit for a while, imagining that big thing thrusting inside me. In my pussy, in my mouth.... in my
butt
. Wondering all the while, what was getting you so
hot
. Hoping to maybe watch you come in your sleep.... I've seen Jamie do that,
twice
."
"You horny little thing! And you just
watched
me and diddled yourself, until—"
"Until I decided it would be nice for us both if I—wait for it!—woke you with a
blowjob
. After all, you woke me up by going down on me once. I still get wet just thinking about that."
"I aim to please."
"When you came in my mouth
fireworks
went off in my pussy, Dave.... Boston Pops, Fourth of July, 1812 Overture....
all
that!"
I felt pleasantly drained, basking in the Esplanade-caliber moment we'd had. "Maybe we should do that more often."
*************
Jenna had beaten me home that morning, as evidenced by her leaving the little blue plastic Hawaiian lei looped over the garage-door handle. It meant that when I pulled up to the garage door, her beloved Blue Beetle was inside, so it was my turn to park in the driveway.
When I got inside, she was still in uniform, pouring boiling water into the two mugs with our names on them that we'd gifted ourselves our first Christmas together. "Hi, sweetie," she said, "tea's on."
"Sleepytime, I hope," I said, sliding behind her, kissing her neck and palming her cute little boobs through her BDU top. She giggled, and then we yawned, in unison; we were tired.... crispy fried to a crackly crunch. Tired as
fuck
.
It was eight-twenty in the morning, and we'd had a
busy
midnight tour on both sides of the house.... her Law Enforcement flight spent most of the shift shuttling between two different dorms, quieting down drunken airmen fighting over the same rotating cast of dorm whores.
My Missile Security guys kept the missiles in the Ground-Launched Cruise Missile Alert and Maintenance Area (GAMA) quite secure behind three separate fences, a shitload of sensors and barbed wire. It was, however, the Wankham Common Women's Peace Camp's favorite day of the week; British law being what it was, the peace women who were permanent residents in the five camps ringing the base got weekly "Social Security"(welfare/unemployment) checks delivered to them.
They could actually claim the camp as a permanent address to get "on the Dole," and when they got their checks, they found their way to the bank in Melbury to cash them. Then they went to the only bottle-shop in town that would still serve them, and bought cheap wine.
After those purchases, they went to the Black Tower pub in Melbury, off-limits to us Yanks because it was the local source of "Cannabis," Brit-speak for "weed." There, they bought enough cannabis to stay baked through their vandalistic orgies.
Back at their camps, they smoked their weed, drank their wine, built bonfires and danced around them, getting high; it was a sure sign that after sundown, they'd be cutting holes in the perimeter fence and coming in to vandalize or sabotage our equipment.
I liked to compare it to John Wayne's character in
Fort Apache
, Capt. Kirby Yorke, interpreting the Indian drums.
My Security Response teams assisted the LE side in chasing them down, and The Cops as a whole thwarted their attempts
all
fucking night; when you can't be in a
real
John Ford Cavalry Western, you make do with the Injuns on hand.
Now, the two of us had three days off, and as we dried off after our shower, my frisky fiancée of two months had an idea. I
always
listen to her ideas.
"Dave, we've got enough food and drink that we don't have to leave this house
at all
unless World War Three happens, Mars attacks, or our commanders really
need
us. If we really
want
something, like Peking Duck, we can have Kerrikabs deliver it."
"Your point?"
"Let's stay inside, and have a
naked
day!"
"Huh?"
"Butt-naked, sweetie. Wearing
no
clothes, only sneakers in the house....
nothing
else. Do everything
naked,
not just what we
usually
do naked. All day, all night."
"Okay then, Naked Day it is!"
Kind of a nudist camp for two. Wow. Could be
hot
.
I splashed on some Chaz, she spritzed some Charlie, both of us laced into our black low-top P-F Flyers; off we went downstairs to scare up a meal, and we apparently had the same thing in mind.
"American Chop Suey for dinner tonight!" Jenna crowed.
"Works for me!" I watched as she pulled the canned ingredients out, cute little boobs jiggling as she bounced around between the cupboards. She actually got me halfway hard as I pulled out our Dutch oven, some onions, peppers, ground beef and, of course, a box of elbow macaroni.
In no time at all, working together, we had the Dutch oven full of the simmering staple of our Boston childhoods. As it cooked, we stood at our kitchen counter sipping beers as we studied each other's broad-daylight nudity.
"It feels really
naughty
, doesn't it?" she giggled, reaching to play with my nipples. I bent to give both of hers a playful lick.
"I think we're gonna
enjoy
Naked Day."
*************
Jenna grew up in Roslindale, a couple of neighborhoods over from me; we both graduated from Boston Technical High School (GO TIGERS!) me in 1971, she in 1976. Her Tech windbreaker with the letter for varsity soccer caught my eye, and so did the woman inside it, the night we met in the Military Terminal at JFK, in January of 1985.
We were enroute to England, and we discovered in conversation that we were assigned to the same base. The conversation as we flew across went on, interrupted only by a snooze or two, for the whole seven-hour flight.
We'd endured the first four months at RAF Wankham Common helping our respective units prepare for the week-long NATO Tactical Evaluation, and we'd been kept apart by work and circumstances. We were so exhausted that our only off-duty contact was phone conversations before bed.
The night the TacEval ended, the pressure was off, and we finally got together the way we both had
wanted
to.
I took her home with me, and after we took turns showering off a week's worth of high-stakes war-games, we ate a nice Indian Tandoori meal, delivered by the local taxi company.
