Chapter 4

For some reason I still don’t know even to this day, I decided to visit the USO club on a night that my sister was not going to be present. I suspect my reason was that I was surprisingly jealous of the other guys pawing her goodies like she was some “B” girl out for a good time. I knew she was far too serious a person and much too religious to be in that category but she certainly had the proper feminine assets to carry it off if she was so inclined.

The place was really jumping with lots of new hostesses from the Bronx sent down as some sort of “home front” project for extra credit thought up by some goody two-shoes totally unaware of the dangers packed into pushing love-starved young lads into close contact with fresh young female bodies with soft tails and the inability to say no to anything.

There were a lot of sailors there that night.

I suspected that one or more ships had tied up to one of the piers and at least half the crew given shore leave to blow off some steam before a long hard tour of duty. In these days of uncertainty, things could go south in a hurry and the newspapers had a hard time keeping up with the fast changing politics of a world in transition.

Allies that were your friends one day were your enemies the next.

Several of the sailors were smalt zing the new girl’s right out on the dance floor like they were up in Roseland hitting on the dime-a-dance floozies with non-existent undies. Of course, these girls were mostly immature BICs (Bronx Irish Catholics) with no concept of the deceptiveness of males with only one thing on their minds. Lots of chaperones were fluttering on the fringes but they were fairly much a “hands off” crowd with little desire to impede young people just having a good time. I spotted one of the teachers from the all girl’s academy that always made my sister and I feel welcome in any conversation despite the generational challenges of a couple of decades. I could tell she was sort of a Heinz 57 slice of petite sweet stuff and she was sporting a genuine wedding band on her finger that put her a bit off bounds to the horny masses of uniformed Don Juan’s flitting from blondes to brunettes.

If I remembered correctly, her name was Josie and she was a music teacher in the high school. I did know she played a mean jazz piano from listening to her pound the ivories on the specimen in the corner that had seen better days and needed a tuning real bad.

She was a real chatterbox and in a place like this, that was a great asset because the name of the game was cordiality and staying positive about everything from soup to doughnuts.

Josie smiled at me with that look that promised everything but still had a trace of common sense that warned you it would be wise to remember your “P’s and Q’s”.

“Well, if it isn’t “Danny boy” Donovan in the flesh and bright as a new penny. Where is your delightful sister Claire? Did you lock her up to keep her away from all these sailors?”

It was easy for me to tell that Josie was a little hooked on Claire and I didn’t blame her at all.

“This is not one of her nights, Miss Josie. She is still working on her degree and, all things considered, I guess studying is something she just does naturally.”

The short brunette grabbed my elbow and led me out on the dance floor.

They were playing a slow tune on the juke box. It was one of those old songs from way back before Claire and I were even born. I figured it was one of Josie’s favorites because she was humming it low and sugary in her throat as she plastered her pleasingly curved body up tight into my groin like she was the jam and I was the toast fresh out of the toaster and ready to fill her mouth with what she obviously needed desperately.

That thought was not very nice about the still attractive and well-dressed young woman in her late thirties. She was vibrant and even though she only used a little cherry shaded lipstick, her face was classic beauty all the way. I wanted to ask her if she would be interested in letting me “bury the salami” but it seemed far too gross for her delicate nature. I realized much too late that it would have saved us both a lot of time because that was uppermost on her mind and she wanted it so bad that she was almost ready to beg me to do the honors.

As we danced and she generously rubbed her secret place all over my eager body, I found out that she was actually a widow but hated to part with her ring because it reminded her of her sweet Hank buried at sea in a ceremony of necessity due to the pressures of time and danger. She changed the subject almost immediately and I knew she wanted to talk about something light and happy and not tinged with sadness and regret. Her hot body was all over me and I foolishly let my overly-enthusiastic hand wander down to that special curve of her buttocks that I thought of as “the sweet spot” and pressed my greedy palm against her playful flesh. She allowed me to leave it there for almost a full minute and then with a visual show of physical restraint she reached back and pulled my fingers up to the small of her back like she was re-adjusting her nylons to get the seams straight. I was certain her action satisfied the other chaperones about her “good intentions” of simply relieving the tensions of a deserving fighting man.

My only recourse was to press my now raging erection deep between her legs and rub it lengthwise along her feminine folds. I knew it was getting to her because I could feel her shudder from her scalp to her pretty little toes and she sighed in a way that informed me I had definitely hit the “mother lode” of her basic instinct.

We clung to each other like pieces of an unsolved puzzle and I took the opportunity to let my fingers brush up against her feminine softness whenever possible and she leaned into me like a vine seeking nourishment for satisfied growth. When we were on the dance floor, my educated finger tips had already determined she not only was one of those females that refused to wear a girdle or corset, but she neglected to don a pair of bloomers like any self-respecting Catholic girl was expected to do at all times. I knew immediately that she was fully aware of my “undies” scouting mission and the twinkle in her pretty hazel eyes informed me that she hoped I might entertain thoughts of taking advantage of her risqué undergarment brevity and make her feel like one of the hostesses ready to do her bit to back up the troops in their hour of need.