Indian Girl's Arse (& Boobs) - 32 (Part 1)
I'll be there around six. Want me to grab something for dinner?" Chinese would be good." Okay. I'll see you, then. Bill?" Yes?" I love you." I love you, too, Kitten."In the glow coming from the two candles in the center of my cedar kitchen table, I watched as Melody took a bite of sweet and sour chicken. When she had arrived she had been wearing jeans, black ankle boots, and a black blouse. I had discovered the silky smoothness of the blouse when we kissed, and I ran the fingers of my left hand up and down her back. My right hand had been busy with her hair.Thanks to a game of strip Yahtzee, played by throwing the dice and seeing who had the most dots on each turn, she was down to her black lacy camisole, matching black panties, and black socks, and I was down to my socks and boxers.She wasn't wearing a bra, and I could see her nipples pressing against the silk of her top. I wanted to feel her in my arms, her tongue playing with mine; I was barely touching my share of the sweet and. Pendleton. California. I had just taken command of the team. Not really the full team, you understand, just my part of the team. A squad really. But it was developing into a team to us – nobody called it a squad. I was proud of what we'd accomplished during our training.One day we were rousted from our beds at zero-dark-thirty and told to get on the chopper. Six of us. Me. M.C. Martinez, who was my second in command, but really ran the show, 'cause he knew what the fuck to do in lots of strange situations, whereas I was still learning. Hollerith, third in line. '42' – Jackie Robinson, a black guy from the same town as the 'other' Jackie Robinson. 42 was the 'other' Jackie Robinson's uniform number. Lou Trezciewicz – 'Trez' to us – a wiry guy who was our main radio and comms expert. And Bob Bumeral, the guy who could make anything go 'boom' if you gave him about ten minutes to rig explosives. We never called him 'Boomer' or anything like it, despite his name; for some reason, we.
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