Burned and Bitten

Bowman and Jack, with time on their hands, decided to hang out and wound up in Dunn, a sleepy town north of the base. Actually, this union was unusual as these two did not normally hang together. Somehow they managed to find the local juke joint. Every Southern town had at least one. Jack was his normal self, seeking only booze and only with the slightest chance of scoring sexually. Jack's encounters always coming (no pun intended) with his favorite people, his right hand, "Minnie and her four sisters". He wasn't exactly happy but with relative inexperience he had to make do.

Jack's hands were visibly shaking as Desmond returned to the table with a woman. The woman's face was worn with both age and the tortures of the world's oldest occupation. He guessed the age at fifty but she was probably much younger. Hard times had taken it's obligatory etching at the whore's body and hadn't been any kinder with her face. Bowman hadn't used top skills or good taste in choosing this beauty. It made no matter to Jack, she was alive and still breathing. That was all that was necessary for our hero and apparently for Desmond too! These guys would've f----d a snake if someone had held it still.

The whiskey and cigarettes had clouded Jack's mind and had him thinking this gruesome wench was a queen. The next moments of silence became almost deafening as Jack tried to picture himself screwing this suddenly fantastic bitch. While she and Bowman made arrangements to rent a room, Jack slowly nursed his drink to the melodic sounds in the background. With the strains of Johnny Ace's "The Clock", playing on the jukebox,

Jack's head began to clear. He reached into his pocket and fingered the two crisp twenties. "Should be enough", he thought to himself as he returned the money to his pocket . When Bowman and the woman returned to the table they had finalized the plans and sat down to have a final drink.. Jack , sobering now, studied the woman more closely. Even in the darkly lighted corner, the unmistakeable occupational hazards lined her black tortured face. Jack as horny as ever, was not going to stop now. The ride didn't take long, maybe ten minutes.

The three stood in front of Mrs. Johnson's house. She rented rooms for three or four dollars for the purpose of which they would soon be using it. As Jack stood with them he wondered how it was going to be. This was Bowman's woman so naturally he went first. In the room's dimness Jack sat, primed and ready to go. After a relatively short time, Bowman was finished. Jack removed his clothes with great haste. This was only his second piece but he felt he knew exactly what to do.

Braced above Millie, he balanced himself adroitly on his knees and left elbow. With his right hand he spread the still moist hairy labia majora. With his index finger Jack traced a line from the top of her crease to the bottom. With the curly hairs now parted, Jack pushed ever so lightly his rock-hard dick into the wet slit. As the loose skins tightened around his tool Jack sighed with passion. Now on all fours, Jack's position became less precarious and he plunged deeper into the warmth. Slowly he began the movements he had heard of in the barracks from the lover boys who nightly returned to the barracks with stories, both real or imagined. Millie moaned softly beneath him and this appealed to his passions and spurred Jack on. With the whore's legs up in invisible, imaginary examination stirrups, Jack secured a new foothold. With the expertise of an old rodeo cowboy, Jack held on. He lifted the woman's legs so that her ankles were on his shoulders. Now there was a spot where the pubic hairs of Jack and the harlot both met. As he increased his crescendo, her soft moans became painful cries. Jack didn't care because he had paid to get laid. Right now she belonged to him, body and soul. Jack's sphincter muscles caused his ass to tighten as his sped up his piston-like motions to keep up with his rapidly increasing hungers that only a volcano-like spewing could sate. The lust that had built inside had never really culminated with "Minnie's sisters". Closer and closer the peak came. There as no stopping Jack now. He had never felt this euphoric before. Certainly not the first time with Shirley . Faster and deeper he plunged into the dark pleasure. His strokes grew longer and the sperm bank opened. The stored gism burst forth in torrents and tumultuous volumes. After her cavern had it's fill, the overflow spilled out from her treasure chest and cascaded down to the crack of her over-worked butt-hole. She stopped crying and held Jack tightly.

Jack didn't return the compliment. He rolled off and lay there momentarily, spent, satisfied, and exausted. He torched a Lucky , inhaled deeply, left the room and slowly dressed, savoring the last few minutes. Jack felt exalted like never before. He had came, had seen and definitely had conquered. He waited patiently as Bowman returned for another session. Soon after the session was over, the pair flagged a passing car, but arrived too late for reveille. While changing into fatigues to get ready for work, the crisp twenty-dollar bill that should be there was not. When Jack was in the room the woman had never left the bed. The only other person in the room was Bowman. That left Jack flat broke. He would have to borrow money from Hammond or go broke for the rest of the month.

Punishment for missing roll-call consisted of work details in the company area. Menial jobs such as sweeping offices, digging ditches and the such. On the second day after Jack's conquest, he and Desmond were in the 90 degree heat working off the punishment. Meticulous as Jack was, he watched perplexed as bothersome gnats buzzed around his fly. Showering at least twice daily, he knew he shouldn't be attracting these pests. That evening when Jack started to take a leak, he had to cling to the icy cold vitreous porcelain urinal. Indescribable multi-hued prisms of pain emitted from the same shaft that on Sunday night had provided so much elation and joy.

He knew from the same barracks talk that had led him so sucessfully to his earlier acquisition. Yet he didn't like the implication. He'd been with Bowman constantly since the escapade and Bowman hadn't revealed anything. He discerned that he had been f-----d twice in less than a week, and one wasn't going to be added to his conquest list. Twenty dollars and now this.

If Jack had the price he could have gone to a private doctor and gotten a shot for his newly acquired gonorrhea. If he had, he would have made a promotional stripe. Instead, the trip to the dispensary for his peniccilin, made his case public. When promotions came down, his was denied. Contacting a sexually transmitted disease was frowned upon in the Armed Forces. This incident led directly to another, but less severe. While supposedly at attention, the terrible itch in Jack's crotch was unbearable. The urge to scratch mounted. Whenever the Drill Instructor's eyes were diverted away, Jack would attempt to touch and relieve the insatible itch. Sometime later in his moment of privacy, Jack saw what seemed to be tiny scars at the base of his balls. It didn't bother him much because he felt the scars were from the intense scratching. In fact, several days earlier, tiny insects, of unknown species were crawling on his boot tops after sitting on some pine needles. These turned out to be ticks.

Jack burned each one he saw with his Lucky Strike. He wrongly assumed that some of these buggers had gotten pass his inspection and made it to his pubic area. As usual Jack was wrong. Ticks ain't crabs. Jack wasn't about to tell anybody about his newly acquired pets. Payday wasn't close and broke as usual, Jack refused to involve the post's medical authorities. The iching torture that he endured lasted three weeks. Late at night he would arise to shower and deposit, in vengence. a crab on the toilet seat. He felt that this was where he got them and he felt some measure of atonement. After a shower one night, the demons told Jack that pouring some of his Palmolive after-shave lotion on these creatures would kill them. Poor Jack the asshole, first the startling realization that alcohol on tender membranes hurts like hell! The bugs, pissed now at being disturbed, dug in deeper, as if to say "Take that, ass-hole".

Payday came, Jack went to the animal feed store and purchased a large box of flea powder. That night in the darkened barracks, under the blanket, Jack hoped the powder he sprinkled would work. The next morning, Sunday, he rejoiced in the fact he was bug free.