Archive-name: Working/victgirl.mf Archive-author: Anonymous, 1991 Archive-title: Victory Girl, The March, 1943, somewhere in the U.S.A. Ensign Harold Peck, USN, opened his wallet to pay the cabby. "Here ya go, sir; this here's a fine USO club, you'll see. You're gonna have a fine time. Ah, that's seventy-five cents." Peck handed him a dollar, and the cabby reached for his change clip. "Keep it," said Peck, opening the door. "Thanks, sir. Maybe I can give you a lift back to the field later." "Yeah, maybe." Peck crossed the sidewalk quickly, feeling the Winter night bite immediately at his face. The USO club occupied a local gymnasium. It was warm inside, and a middle-aged woman at the door was hanging coats. Peck gave her his overcoat and peaked cap, and paused at the inner door to look around. The basketball court had been converted into a dance hall, with a dozen tables clustered at one end, and a refreshments stand at the rear. Red, white, and blue bunting and official posters decorated the walls. Some of the overhead lamps were out--whether broken or turned off, he could not be sure--and those that remained cast the big room in an indistinct light. A half-dozen couples were dancing to big band tunes piped through a rather tinny-sounding amp system. About a dozen young women clustered along one wall, watching the dancers and whispering to each other. A few others sat with men in various service uniforms at the tables. Nice odds, thought Peck, strolling toward the refreshments. A matronly woman was ladling punch from a chipped bowl. "Evening," he said. "Got any coffee?" "Why sure," she smiled. "Just you wait one moment." She turned to the counter behind her, and poured him a cup. "There you are." He thanked her. "Say, those look like aviator's wings," she noted. "Yes, ma'am." "Well, it happens there's another aviator in here tonight, and I'll bet you boys would have a lot to talk about." She pointed to a man in Army green sitting alone at a table with his back towards them. He seemed to be slouching very low in his chair. Peck felt no particular urge to strike up a conversation. "Well, I don't know, ma'am," he told the woman by way of excuse. "I'm just killing some time, and I can't stay long." "Oh, don't be silly," she said brightly. Coming out from behind the counter, she took him by the elbow and propelled him toward the table. "Here we are," she said before he could argue further. "Now, what was your name, son?" she asked as the Army flier looked up. Peck noted bloodshot and bleary eyes, a distinct odor of gin, and three empty coffee cups on the table around a half-crumpled pack of Camels. The soldier grinned lopsidedly. "Harris, William, Second Lieutenant, U.S. Army Air Forces, at yer service. You s'pose I could have a little more coffee?" "You sure bet you can, Lieutenant. This here's, ah . . ." "Harold Peck," he admitted, seeing that the introduction was now inevitable. They shook hands, and the matron hurried back to her counter. "Navy, eh? Well, have a seat, Navy. You waitin' fer a plane outa here? Yep, I thought so. Same here. S'posed ta been outa here yesterday, but what a SNAFU." "Rough weather," Peck observed. "Yeah, sure. Picked a fine place to wait, though, I can tell you. A fine place." "Here's your coffee, Lieutenant," said a red-headed girl who had come up from behind. "Thanks, honey," he said. "I won't need any sugar with that, either--not with you around." She giggled, and hurried back toward the others along the wall. Peck guessed she was still in high school. "A fine place," said Harris once more. "So, you just get here?" Peck nodded. "Well," the soldier continued, "Lemme give you just a little advice before I go. If you like brunettes, see about that one over there, on the right. If you like blondes, I recommend the one right next to her. And if you like redheads, well, I ain't tried her yet, but the one with the sugar looks mighty sweet." Peck just sipped his coffee, trying to think of nothing. But Carla's image rose relentlessly in his mind's eye, her smile seeming to mock him. Involuntarily he clenched his jaw, and set down his cup just a little too hard, so that it clinked and spilled a bit into the saucer. Harris eyed him closely, as though trying to focus through a haze. "Headed out to the fleet, I'll bet," he said. Peck nodded slightly. "Yeah, I thought so. Me, I'm goin' ta Europe. Ya got a girl at home?" Peck said nothing, but Harris was undeterred. "I'll bet ya do, some little sweetheart," he continued. "Well, I got one thing to tell ya, an' that's this: forget her. Ya think she's gonna wait while you're out there killin' Japs? Fat chance. No, she's gonna find some pretty little momma's boy with some kinda' loophole 4-F certificate, and pretty soon she'll forget you ever existed." Peck felt hot anger rising, and told himself to ignore it. Harris was drunk, and this was no place for a scene. But he could still see Carla's handsome face; her dark, cascading hair and striking eyebrows, her full lips, her provocative gaze. In his mind, her smile seemed to become a leer, and he willed her to disappear. Drunk or no, Harris had guessed the score. Carla hadn't even waited for Peck to ship out. Bitch, he thought, but without really feeling it. He was still too much in love with her to feel vindictive. But whoever the other guy was, he was damned lucky Peck hadn't been able to find out. Probably some sonofabitch in a zoot suit. Harris didn't seem to notice the depth of Peck's reverie. "Tell you what," he said with a slightly surreptitious glance to either side as he reached into his pocket. "I gotta get the hell outta here; gotta get back to the field. I wish I could stay for another round, but I'm too drunk. All fucked out, anyway. So I won't need these, but you . . . you just might." He grabbed Peck's hand under the table and pressed something into it. Peck realized at once that it was a fist full of rubbers. He started to object, but shut his mouth quickly as he realized that arguing would only be counter-productive. If this slob was about to leave, he could get rid of the rubbers later. "I got a feeling about you, sailor," said Harris, standing up from the table and swaying dangerously. "Stick around here, and mark my words, you won't regret it." After giving him an exaggerated, knowing wink, the Army pilot made off unsteadily toward the door. The old woman helped him into his coat and cap, and in a moment he had disappeared into the cold night. Peck caught a glimpse before the door swung shut, and saw that it was snowing again. He rolled his eyes and thrust the condoms unobtrusively into his own pocket. Peck had just accepted a second cup of coffee when he began to notice that he was receiving attention. Several of the girls along the wall were sneaking glances at him when they thought he wasn't looking. Neither dancing nor chatter appealed to him at the moment, so he decided to ignore them. He pulled out one of the Camels Harris had forgotten, and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. Unfortunately the Lieutenant had neglected to leave any matches. Peck was fumbling in his pockets, trying not to scatter condoms on the floor, when a smooth, feminine voice spoke close beside him. "Need a light, sailor?" Peck was slightly startled, but caught himself in time to avoid appearing so. Instead, he looked up casually, and then the whole room seemed to wobble for a moment as he focused on her. She was radiantly beautiful, with long, wavy golden hair and a face like sunshine; surely not yet twenty. He saw blue eyes and long lashes; a white blouse buttoned up to her slender throat, and over that a light blue sweater. He arched an eyebrow. "Sure," he said after an appreciative pause. She held out a match in her cupped hands and confidently lit his cigarette. As he inhaled, Peck dropped his eyes and took in the sight of her small, saddle-shoed feet; grey socks; slim, well-shaped ankles and calves; a plaid, plaited skirt that ended just below her knees; and gently curving hips. He straightened up quickly, then, taking the cigarette in his fingers and hoping she hadn't noticed his appraisal. "Thanks," he said. "Care to join me?" He thought belatedly that perhaps he ought to stand up, but it would have seemed too theatrical now. "Maybe," said the girl with a sly expression. She put the matches in her sweater pocket and clasped her hands behind her. "Whom would I be joining?" "Harold Peck," he said, deciding to stand up after all. "They call me Woody." "Susan Carlson. Pleased to meet you, Woody." She sat down across from him, with her hands on her lap. "Are you sure you don't mind when people call you that?" "Aw, no, not a bit. 'Wood pecker' is so obvious, there'd be no use getting sore about it." She smiled again. "I see you're a flier." "That's right. Just out of training, actually, but they tell me I'm a natural." "Really? You have a lot of talent?" "Yep. That's why they put me in fighters. I'll be out there in a Hellcat pretty soon." "What's a Hellcat?" "Oh, sorry. New fighter plane, and a really sweet ship, too. They're already running wild on the Japs; I just hope they'll save a few for me." "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Woody. So you're heading for the war zone, huh?" "Yeah. Keep an eye on the papers. You'll be reading about me before long." He said it with a smile, so that it didn't sound like a boast, but Susan knew that he wasn't entirely just kidding, either. It crossed her mind that people read obituaries in the paper as well as headlines about heroes, but of course she didn't say anything like that. A song was just ending. "Do you like to dance, Woody?" "Yeah, I do," he said almost too quickly. He stood up, stubbing out his cigarette, and took the slender hand she offered. The song was "In the Mood," which Woody realized was now much more appropriate than it would have been a few minutes ago. He was a good dancer, and so was she. The girls along the wall watched intently, a few of them with obvious envy. Susan paid them no attention. The next song was "Moonlight Serenade," and Woody slipped his left hand around her narrow waist to the small of her back, drawing her closer. They swayed easily to the familiar melody. "Just passing through?" she asked casually. "Yeah. Not going anyplace tonight, though, the way it's snowing." "Mmm," she agreed. "Ever been here before?" "Nope. I'm from Florida." "Maybe I should have guessed that from your tan." "Ah. Well, I would have gotten that at Pensacola, anyway." She, in contrast, was not tanned; but as he held her, Peck felt that she gave off a healthy sort of glow just the same. She stood about six inches shorter than his 6'1", and as she turned her head closer to his shoulder, his nose and lips brushed her hair. She smelled fresh, as though she had just stepped out of a warm bath and somehow gotten her hair dry already. At that same moment, she was thinking about how wonderfully strong and confident he seemed, and she wondered what sort of vigorous physical training they must all have to do in the Navy. They danced several more songs before returning to the table, and he brought them some punch. "You're a wonderful dancer," he told her. "I was just going to say that to you," she smiled, looking bashful. Yeah, Woody thought to himself; she looked shy, but she also seemed to have a certain knack for getting what she wanted. "You in school?" he asked. She seemed caught off-guard for just an instant. "Well, yes and no. Temporarily I'm just working, but I will be back at the University pretty soon." "Thought so. I had you figured for a thinker from the way you said 'whom' at the beginning. What subject interests you?" "Oh, a lot of things, really," she sighed, looking thoughtful. "Literature and psychology, mostly. I'm still deciding." "That's great," Woody said. "I want to go back to school, too, when this is all over. You'll probably have it all in the bag by then." They drank their punch and danced some more, making intermittent smalltalk. But as they left the floor a second time, Susan glanced the clock on the wall. "It's getting a little late, Woody. Could you help me find a cab?" "You bet," he said, feeling a bit disappointed that it would end already, but of course trying not to show it. He helped her into her coat, and she also pulled on a pair of rubber boots-- obviously a pre-war purchase. In a moment they were standing outside, where the snow now stood ankle deep. Peck looked up and down the empty street, finding no sign of a cab. "Well, I guess I'll have to call one," he said. "Yes," she sighed; "They always do this. The driver's probably having his coffee now, and we'll have to wait a hour. Unless . . ." "Well? Got an idea?" "I don't know about you, Woody, but I like to walk, and I don't mind the snow. Of course, I'm the one with the boots, but . . . would you mind too awfully much walking with me? It's not far, and there's a main corner right nearby. I'm sure it will be easy for you to find a ride there." "Sounds good to me," Woody grinned, and he ducked briefly back inside to get his cap and coat. They continued to talk lightly along the way, but presently Woody began to wonder precisely what would happen when they arrived. He suddenly seemed to run out of casual banter. "Do you live with your folks?" he asked, perhaps a little too innocently. "No," she said. "I'm sharing an apartment with a friend who works, too." "Sounds practical." "Yes, it works out nicely." Without comment, she slipped her arm around his waist, and seemed to shiver a little bit. Pleasantly surprised, Woody answered promptly by placing his around her shoulders, and she glanced up with another sort of sly smile. They continued on in silence, except for the soft squish of snow underfoot and the sigh of their breathing. A cab cruised past, but if either of them noticed it, neither let on. "Well, here it is," Susan said finally, at the door of a four-story apartment building. Peck realized he had no idea how long they had been walking. He turned to face her, letting go her shoulder. "Can I get you something before you go?" she asked. "Coffee . . . or maybe a nightcap?" "You don't look old enough to be offering people nightcaps, Susie," he said. "I'll bet I'm as old as you are," she answered without hesitation, again looking sly. "Come on." She turned to unlock the door, and he followed her inside. The apartment was on the fourth floor: #403. Peck looked around as she hung up their coats and his cap on the back of the door and pulled off her galoshes. "Where's your chum?" he asked, seeing that there was only one bedroom and it was empty. "Working an all-night diner. She gets off at eight." Woody automatically glanced at his watch, and was glad that she didn't see him do it. It was only just past eleven. He began fiddling with the big wooden radio which stood next to the door to the small kitchen, where Susan was preparing something. "Not too loud, please," she cautioned. "Touchy neighbors." "Right, I understand." Woody found a program with some more slow dance music, adjusted it to a soft level, and turned off the overhead light in favor of a smaller lamp beside the door. Sitting down on the short sofa, he loosened his tie a bit and ran his eye along the row of books on a shelf above the radio. There was one by Sigmund Freud, and another by Jane Austen; but Woody had never heard of them. He closed his eyes until he heard her reenter the room a few moments later. Susan carried a cup and saucer in either hand, and Woody noticed that her sweater was unbuttoned. She handed one cup to him, sat down alongside him, and slipped off her shoes using only her feet. Woody took a sip and tasted coffee, with a generous dollop of brandy. He realized that for the first time in a long while, he felt very good, very relaxed. It was a small couch, and Woody could feel Susan's hip and thigh against his own. Unfortunately, he began to feel an awkward silence, and he groped for something to say. Possibilities ticked through his mind, but nothing sounded right. Helpless, he set down his coffee on the endtable beside him and hesitantly turned to look at her. Susan, too, had put down her coffee and was leaning close beside him, gazing deeply into his eyes. He could see the rise and fall of her modest bosom with each breath, and her lips parted slightly. At last, Woody's conscious mind just seemed to give up, and without thinking about it any further he grasped her shoulder again, pulled her the remaining few inches to him, and kissed her. Her lips were soft, her mouth warm and wet, tasting of the brandy. With his other hand he caressed the side of her head, running his fingers gently through her soft, streaming hair. Susan sighed, and kissed him back, pulling him even closer to her. Her back arched slightly, pressing her breasts against his chest through their clothing. Again he noticed how fresh and clean she smelled, and he felt his pulse quicken. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met," he breathed in her ear, conscious of no deception. "And you're the most beautiful man I've ever met," Susan answered softly. She began lightly licking along the edge of his left ear. Woody sucked in a shallow breath involuntarily as her tongue probed farther, and he suddenly felt a powerful stiffening in his crotch. Would she notice? Did it matter? He gasped as he heard and felt her hot, moist breath in his ear, and she began to unbutton his shirt. "I want to see your tan," she whispered, drawing her legs up onto the couch beside her and tugging at the knot of his tie. He helped her with that, and shrugged of his shirt. Then he raised his arms, and she drew back from his ear long enough to slip the T-shirt over his head. Now it was Susan's turn to catch her breath as she ran her hands over his bronzed, well-muscled torso. "Fair's fair," Woody said impishly, reaching inside Susan's unbuttoned sweater with both hands to grasp her breasts through her cotton blouse. She made no objection. He caressed them gently, feeling them restrained behind her brassiere as she continued to stroke his back and chest. Suddenly she bent forward and kissed one of his nipples, sucking gently and running her tongue in small circles around its edge. God, he thought, is she ever full of ideas. What would she do next? He felt a further surge of hardness between his legs. "What kind of stuff are they teaching you at college these days, anyway?" he asked. She just smiled. "Aren't you feeling hot?" he suggested, easing the sweater down over her shoulders. "Mmm-h'm," Susan mumbled, still licking his chest but stretching her arms back for a moment so he could remove the sweater completely. Her woolen skirt had ridden up well above the knee, exposing a generous length of her smooth, bare leg. God, Woody thought suddenly, what if she's only teasing me, like Carla did? But the thought was cut short when Susan pushed him gently backward by the shoulders, so that he lay back against the cushions at the end of the sofa, with his right leg stretched out on it and his left foot flat on the floor. She sat on the couch between his knees, and began unfastening the slide-buckle of his belt. Woody felt a flash of anxiety, but she proceeded unbuttoning the waist of his trousers without hesitation, giving him no opportunity to object. She smartly unzipped his fly, and there was the big, bulbous head of his swollen cock, pushing its way insistently over the waistband of his boxer shorts. In another instant she had pulled down the shorts as well, and ran her hand delicately along the length of his member. "Gosh, it's big," she said, looking at him with wide eyes. "I've never seen one like this before." He wasn't quite sure how she meant that, but it didn't really matter. As she tentatively fondled his harness, he reached up and began undoing her blouse from the neck down, pausing after each button to squeeze her breasts. When he reached the waist of her skirt, he tugged the hem of the blouse free and undid the remaining buttons. He then began to grapple with the clasp of her brassiere, but with no result. She let go of his penis for a moment to help. "It is tricky, isn't it? You're lucky you don't have to wear one." "You're lucky you don't have to wear a parachute and a life preserver," Woody grinned. Suddenly free of the brassiere, Susan's breasts sprang forth and turned out to be larger than he had expected. He ran his hands hungrily over them, feeling her nipples stiffening and poking against his palms. She sighed, ran her fingers over his chest to stroke his nipples, and then resumed tugging gently at his penis. It had begun to wilt slightly, but that trend immediately was reversed. He grasped her hips, and encouraged her to rise up briefly so that he could swing his other leg onto the sofa as well. Then she settled back down, now straddling his thighs, their crotches only inches apart. She still wore her skirt, but it was bunched up about her waist, and he could see the white cotton panties she wore beneath it. He felt her dampness as she brushed against his leg. Slipping his hands once more across Susan's now taut nipples, Woody then ran his hands gradually down her sides and over her hips. Reaching farther down, he grasped her ankles, which were curled back beside his knees. From there, he slid his hot, horny palms slowly up along the length of her smooth, firm young legs. She was tugging insistently at his penis now, and he felt himself careening toward the edge of release. "Wait," he hissed urgently. She didn't seem to understand at first, and he gently grabbed her wrists. "Oh, no, I didn't hurt you, did I?" "Hah! No, baby, not a bit. I just don't want this to end too soon." He raised her right leg again, and swung both of his out in order to kick off his shoes and trousers, which were still halfway on. "Can we go in there?" He nodded toward the bedroom. "Sure," she grinned. "As long as we don't rumple up my friend's bed by mistake." She stood up and took him by the hand. At the last moment, it occurred to Woody to grab his trousers, which still had Harris's rubbers in the pocket. It was beginning to look like that goon had been right about tonight after all. Woody shut the bedroom door behind them. Susan did not turn on the lamp, but there was a window, and it seemed to have stopped snowing outside. Pale, silvery moonlight shone in a shaft through the top pane, where the curtains were open. Susan gestured toward one of the beds, and he sat down on it. She immediately knelt down in front of him and reached for his penis. Woody realized with a twinge of anxiety that it had gone soft again already, but the feeling of her fingers tugging gently at it quickly reassured him that his hardness would soon return. Suddenly he felt her warm breath on his groin as well, and his cock stiffened with a mighty surge. Even as it did so, Susan ran her tongue along its underside, lapping playfully at the tip as she completed the stroke. She paused a moment and looked up at him with mischievous smile. Then she lowered her head again, placed the end of his penis completely inside her mouth, and began to suck hard on it. "Oh, Jesus," Woody groaned involuntarily, feeling his juice rising rapidly to the bursting point. His face contorted as though in pain, he looked down and could see her blond head rising and falling over his crotch in a rapid rhythm. He was only seconds from the point of no return when he managed to reassert himself. Taking her head gently in his hands, he raised her face up just in time, and then placed her fingers around the base of his penis. "Hold on for another second," he grunted, groping for the trousers. In a moment he found the pocket, and retrieved one of the condoms. "Put this on it," he asked her. "I have to have you." "Yes," she sighed. The rubber didn't seem to present any mystery to her, and in a moment she was rolling it down over the length of his straining shaft. The squeezing pressure drove Woody close to the edge of eruption, but he closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and managed to push the moment back again. Susan climbed up to sit astride his lap, arms encircling his neck. As she kissed him, he felt his cock jutting up under her skirt. The head brushed against her pubic hair, and he realized that she already had removed her panties, although he hadn't noticed her do it. It was almost time. He unhooked her arms and broke their kiss just long enough to slip the blouse and dangling brassiere off her smooth shoulders. As they moved, one of her nipples touched one of his, producing an erotic jolt which made his cock twitch and poke at her abdomen. She kissed him again, breathing deeply, and returned one arm around his neck as he fondled her breasts. With her other hand she alternately stroked his cock and her own wetness. Even in his state of rising passion, it occurred to Woody that she was doing most of the work; but he decided to let it go. Things were going just fine the way they were. "I want you," Susan breathed finally. "I'm ready." He rolled over on the bed to his right, placing her on her back, and propped himself up on his elbows above her. She kept a grasp on his penis, and as soon as they were steady, she placed the head at her opening. "Now," she gasped. "Do it now." But instead of obeying her, Woody balanced himself on one arm and reached down between them with his other hand. "What's wrong?" Susan said, letting go of him. Woody just smiled. Grabbing hold of himself, he began to stroke the head along her furrow, occasionally probing the opening slightly but not pushing inside. She was breathing more quickly now, almost panting. "Oh, come on," Susan moaned. "Do it! Put it inside me." As Woody stroked her again, her eyes rolled back, and she groaned deeply. Suddenly he could wait not another moment, and he leaned forward with a quick motion, sliding his quivering, swollen cock smoothly into her hot, slippery opening. Despite Susan's state of dripping excitement, her vagina gripped him tightly, immediately driving him to the edge of ejaculation. "Oh, jesus christ!" Woody groaned, straining to hold himself motionless. Susan looked up through half-closed eyes at his face, contorted in desperate concentration. His eyes were shut tightly, his jaw clenched. She, too, felt poised at the brink of something momentous, something almost frighteningly powerful. His penis seemed to be lodged so deeply within her abdomen, she felt unbelievably full. At last, Woody felt safe enough to begin a tentative outward stroke. As he did so, Susan uttered an involuntary little squeak; and when he began to push back inside, the feeling of his penetration plunged her into a frenzied incoherence. "Oh! uh- uh- Ugh! Aaaaaahhh!" She was almost screaming, and despite the onrush of his own explosive orgasm, Woody had the presence of mind to wonder what her neighbors would think. He gently but firmly covered her mouth with his hand, muffling her continued cries. She bit his palm, jerking against him powerfully, her legs clamped tightly around his waist. Suddenly the moment was upon him, and Woody could bear no more. Feeling his penis growing even further as it prepared to spew, he flung his head back sharply and arched his back. "God bless America!!!" Woody bellowed, blasting out his gigantic load of cum with enough force to rupture a poorly made condom. Fortunately, Harris had given him Trojans. Woody left early the next morning, and they never met again. A few months later he was dead, and he never quite fulfilled his boast of making headlines as an ace. But he thought of Susan in that last moment before his Hellcat slammed vertically into the sea at 500 knots, because the night with her had been the best of his life. --