Green Berets for the Sexual Revolution

Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, Fa/Fa, ft/ft, Fa/ft, Mult, Consensual, Romantic, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Fiction, True Story, Historical, Humor, Mother, Son, Sister, Swinging, Group Sex, Polygamy/Polyamory, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Sex Toys, Squirting, Water Sports, Cream Pie, Spitting, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Leg Fetish, Teacher/Student, Big Breasts, Prostitution, Porn Theatre,

Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Prologue - Two people who learn to love one another along with swinging, polyamory, prostitution, humor, and the political science of screwing entire peoples and nations.

It was in the days when miniskirts were just entering fashion, but were banned from my high school. Nevertheless, the fashion trends made hormone-crazed teenagers focus on legs. In my history class, I had a distracting cheerleader siting next to me and my eyes would wander to check if Carol's skirts were riding high. She also liked to wear wraparound skirts, which, on a lucky day, would fall open.

In the best possible way, Carol was a big girl, tall and athletic but utterly feminine. Her hair, auburn with distinctly red highlights, gleamed, in a short cut, over enormous green eyes. There was no question that she had good-sized, beautifully formed breasts, but they weren't oversized. I had the sense that she kept her bodyfat at the ideal level of soft strength, a challenge since we were all growing teenagers.

I was a nerd, but not an outstanding student, with lots of trouble at home. In my senior year, though, I had managed to get away from home the previous year, and got some valuable physical skills as well as emotional peace. Somehow, I had convinced my mother to let me have some weight training equipment in the basement, although there was no place to keep up my martial arts training. Still, early in the year, after three jocks tried to bully me in the locker room and I put them on the floor, the school was much better. I didn't have the right clothes, but I was no longer a bullying target.

Next to our high school, there was a very good reference library. It wasn't part of the school itself, and had much later hours and more privacy. The reference librarian, Miss McMahon, was really encouraging, and was available for tutoring in pre-Internet library methods and research library skills. She was also damned sexy--small but very intense. With her help, I had been both ordering reference materials on World War II history, but also some obscure things about the evolving conflict in Southeast Asia. I didn't expect to be able to read things in Vietnamese, but I was frustrated that I had studied German and couldn't read relevant things in French.

One day, I noticed a book in the interlibrary loan box. It was in French, but I did recognize the author, Jean Larteguy, and the title, The Centurions. It had gotten impressive reviews about giving insight into guerillas. Miss McMahon came in, and I asked, "have you been reading this? I've heard a great deal about it."

"No, Curt, it's another student. French colonial things interest you too, don't they?"

"Yes. I recognize this title, and, while it's more about Algeria, it is supposed to give insight into the French colonial war in Vietnam. Could I ask who is reading it?"

"Curt, I believe in reader confidentiality. Nevertheless, I'll ask the person if I can share the information. It just might be great if the two of you could work together. You're both very, very smart, and beyond your years. Maybe I can help your studies. Did you know that my family is French?"

"Interesting, Ma'am. I thought your name was Scots, or Scots-Irish."

"Good insight. But have you heard of the Duke of Magenta?"

"Oh yes! A marshal under Napoleon III of France? Thinking for a moment ... was he also a McMahon?"

"You really remember things, Curt. Yes. Patrice de McMahon."

I admired her brilliant red hair and emerald eyes, and smiled. "So that's why you look so Irish." I hesitated, before daring to flirt with a favorite teacher. "Might I say deliciously Irish?"

When she broke out in a silvery laugh, I let out my breath in relief. Knowing intuitively that she would enjoy being admired, I frankly examined her. She was tall, perhaps 5'8" or 5'9". Her hair was a shining cap rather than a longer cut. It was complemented by her dress, which was electric blue rather than the green or warm colors that I tended to associate with redheads. Its color and stretchy material worked superbly. While her bust was distinct, it was not especially large, and her body was generally slim. Her hips did widen a bit out of proportion, but charmingly.

I realized that she was speaking. "Oh yes, Curt. I do know Irish culture well, but I'm more French personally." She sat on the edge of her desk. I became aware she was dressed a bit more provocatively than the classroom teachers were, in a dark green, tight, rather short knit dress. "In France, we have a tradition of mentorship, sometimes among people of different ages. I'd like to guide you in several things. When we are alone, would you call me Marie? Also, you must treat this as secret among us. You are 17, and in our state, the age of consent is 16. Nevertheless, there are special rules for teachers."

In a really awful parody of a French accent, I responded, "I am charmed, Marie."

"Mon Dieu, that accent is horrible! I shall distract you." She smiled differently, and crossed her legs. The hem of her skirt rose higher, revealing the bands of her black stockings. I felt my face flush, but didn't look away. "Ah yes." She crossed them in the other direction, revealing a lacy garter, and then pale, freckled skin above her hose. "Do the freckles make me Irish enough for you?"

My voice was weak when I said "Oh yes. Very beautifully so."

"Come here, Curt. I may teach you many things. "She reached out, and brought me into a soft hug, kissing my cheek, and then lightly on my lips. This was the first time that I had been kissed by an attractive woman or girl who wasn't a relative.

"Oh wow! I mean, enchanting ... isn't that what I'm supposed to say?" Just then, the warning bell, before end of the class period, rang. We had 10 minutes. She tossed her hair and rearranged her dress.

"Don't worry; we will continue this part of your learning. I do have an English version of an outstanding book for you, Bernard Fall's Street without Joy. It's my personal copy, so take your time with it." As I caught my breath, she reviewed the table of contents. "Let's meet again, in the same free period, tomorrow. I have an appointment after school today."

Miss McMahon, after school, waited a while for an athletic practice to end, before her student showed up. She packaged the Larteguy book along with that of Roger Trinquier, Modern Warfare: A French View of Counterinsurgency, and looked through the student's evolving research proposal -- was it to be French counterinsurgency in general, which, if so, would encompass both Indochina and Algeria, which both books addressed? Alternatively, would it focus on Algeria or Indochina alone? "Come in," she replied, to a knock.

Still in her cheerleader outfit, Carol greeted her mentor, speaking fluent but accented French. They hugged one another and exchanged cheek kisses, but stayed in an embrace. Marie broke the embrace briefly to lock her office door. The office, which was also used to preview audiovisual material, had light-tight drapes, which Marie and Carol closed. Carol was a head taller than Marie was, and, while utterly feminine, was also visibly athletic. She swept Marie into another embrace, slipping her bare thigh between those of her teacher. As Carol's teacher n a very special curriculum, Marie moaned as she rubbed her crotch against Carol's strong thigh, with Carol pushing back as she grasped Marie's buttocks in both hands, and kissed her roughly but passionately. Carol had been taught to dominate erotically, yet return, in due time, to the role of student. Carol's study with Marie was more advanced than mine.

"Move your legs together, little one," Carol whispered; as she reached down to remove Marie's panties. She turned Marie around, so Carol could brace herself against the desk, and rub Marie against her. Marie actively cooperated in rubbing back, as they frantically and deeply kissed. Marie shuddered in a climax, and the two, now in a practiced dance, shifted again. Carol lay on the desk, her amazing legs spread, as Marie's mouth descended to her core. Soon, Carol stifled a scream of ecstasy, glad that the audiovisual preparations for the room had included soundproofing.

They rested, as Marie served iced tea. "Ah, Carol, I so hope we can someday get away for more time. I know your schedule is busy, and I may need to share you with boys. Do they still lust after you?"

"Oh yes. It's funny, though. As a cheerleader captain, it's traditional that I be at least somewhat sexually available to the varsity. I'm a bit wistful when I notice admiring glances from nerds, who are probably very fine people."

"Oh? Any in particular?"

"In my honors history class, there's a guy named Curt, who is great in discussion. I think he's one of the few boys that respects my intelligence, yet he gets embarrassed if I catch him checking out my legs. If I don't change out of cheerleader uniform before class, it may be because I don't have time, but it also may be because I like being checked out. "you bastards, you left us here to die. The least you could have done is sent us ammunition so that we could die fighting as men.

"Other times, I've watched him really get steamy if I'm wearing a wrap skirt with stockings, and the skirt unintentionally falls open. There have been times where I realize that's happened and suddenly pull it closed, and I may look embarrassed -- I guess I am, but it's really not fair to expect someone to admire the view. If the school dress code expands to the new miniskirts, I don't know how some of these guys will survive!

"The varsity at least gets opportunities to feel me up at parties. That can be fun, but I don't trust them to have self-control. To be honest, I've had gangbang fantasies, but with these guys, I'm scared I could get seriously hurt. It would be so great to have a guy with your discretion, and acceptance I'm a very sexual woman."

Marie sighed. "Is your Curt named Curt Clancy?"

"Why, yes. Do you know him?"

"He's doing some independent research related to yours--and I'm also getting close to him. With you, my dear, I've never assumed either exclusivity, or even that once of us is only attracted to women. That's a very mature attitude."

"Dammit, Marie, I'd like to explore that -- but I also feel trapped in the school cliques and don't want to jeopardize my status. In an ideal world, I could have every kind of relationship and be honest about it, but senior high school isn't ideal. You know it's a close race for valedictorian, between a boy and girl -- I'm not sure they have time even to be nerds rather than grinds. I don't know of them being involved in hobbies that aren't part of their push for status and scholarships."

"Well, it's well into your senior year, and if you haven't done final college applications, you need to do so soon."

"I've got a couple of months, even with schools where I've made preliminary applications."

"Depending on where you are applying, some would look favorably at independent research, maybe in a small team that isn't part of a class. Obviously, you know to keep our relationship confidential. I trust you to do that as well, with what else I say. Curt, it turns out, is also interested in French colonialism and anticolonialism. I think he's more deeply into Indochina, now Vietnam, than you are, while you know more about Algeria and the French soldiers that went there after 1954. Wouldn't it be great if the two of you could team up, with most people thinking it's just nerd work?"

"Are you suggesting that he and I could work together on a real project, but maybe also have some private time together in your offices?"

"Exactly -- although I might invite myself, if everyone's willing". They hugged. "Let yourself feel lusty about it. The cheerleader outfit might be a bit much for a first meeting."

Carol grinned. "Yes, I'll change. Maybe, though, we can set up a couple of chairs, so if it feels right, I can show off. In the meantime, could you recommend some readings about ethics in war?"

"Carol, you might indeed be able to relax more if you overtly showed off, in a private place where no clique is aware of it. We are thinking, you realize, of the ethics of flirtation. Our culture demands women act as virgins unaware of sexuality, while presenting themselves in a rather sexual way. It confuses boys especially, and the less sensitive of men. In privacy, you can really act on the teaching that no means no, but that you can also be saying a very nice yes.

"Going back to the ethics of war, there is much wisdom. I have to be careful to use certain references as philosophical, not religious." She turned to her personal bookcase. "Here's a copy of St. Thomas Aquinas' Summa Theologica. Let me look up something ... yes, Part 2, question 40, on War. Read the section and we will discuss it tomorrow."

The next day, I arrived first at Marie's office. When I knocked, she moved quickly to climb a stepladder, and then called for me to come in. Today, she was in suntanned stockings, and, when she lifted a foot to the higher step, her skirt rose, on that side, well above her stocking tops. She had selected red panties. I sucked in my breath.

Marie laughed. "I thought I'd give you a nice view. It's the end of the day, and perhaps you are a bit tired, eh? This should encourage you. While I'm not part of the school, the law may treat me as a teacher. Yes, teachers do know when they are admired, although they cannot reveal that other than to the most trusted students. I trust you." I smiled briefly, and looked happy -- and then my face changed as I pulled out a book.

"Thank you! I'm not so much tired, as somewhat shook up by my reading. Do you remember the French GCMA, the behind-the-lines guerillas?"

"Yes, I believe"

"Trinquier mentioned training and commanding them. Fall, however, quoted their last radio messages, after they apparently were abandoned by the cease-fire:

"you bastards, you left us here to die. The least you could have done is sent us ammunition so that we could die fighting as men."

"I can't get that out of my head."

Marie looked softly at me. "Yes, Curt, that is war fought to the extremes. It is incredibly depressing, but if you are to be a student of real war, you need to recognize that things like that will happen." She had a thought. "Might we review a couple of things first, and then go back to your feelings there? Actually, you are getting into the ethics of war. Have you studied that?"

"Not really. I know there is a thing called just war theory."

"That comes, especially, from St. Augustine of Hippo. I find it more readable to start with St. Thomas Aquinas. While both are Catholic saints, the discussions of ethics are not especially theological. I really believe in keeping religion out of school, but I'm comfortable with these points. While he speaks of God, the matter would make sense without it. Right now, though, I'd like you to study kissing me, and I have plans for other ways to learn later in the day." They were sitting at a table, side by side. Marie turned his face to hers, licked her lips, and then pressed them to his.

I was a sufficiently instinctive lover to wrap an arm around Marie, and then pull her onto my lap, without breaking the kiss. He stroked her back, and she issued a soft moan, and darted her tongue between his lips. He gasped, and reciprocated, his hand sliding to her bottom.

"Squeeze my butt gently, dear ... and you may want to pull up my skirt if it hinders you." Carl was no fool, and his fingers soon were sliding under her panties. Marie shivered, and pulled her mouth free. "Let us rest for a few minutes. I promise not to leave you teased. For reasons you will soon understand, I want to make tea for us."

Curt was slightly puzzled. "Tea?"

"If for no other reason, think of it as a Vietnamese custom to go with our discussion." She stood, and turned on an electric teakettle. When the water boiled, she rinsed a clear glass teapot to warm it, and then refilled with loose tea and boiling water. The scent of a fine oolong wafted, peach-like, from the spout. "Tea has a meditative quality. Look at the rising steam, and clear your mind." I was a little dubious, but took deep breaths and relaxed.

She poured tea, and carried the cups to a table in a corner, shielded from the door. They sat and sipped their tea in silence, until there was a knock on the door. I jerked in alarm. "Relax, dear Curt. This will be a good thing."

Marie unlocked and opened the door, admitting Carol. "Welcome! Today, I have someone for sharing ideas." I had risen and was looking towards the door. "Do you two know one another? If not, know that you are two of my favorite people. Carol, we are just sitting down to have tea. Will you join us?"

"Of course, Miss McMahon."

"Carol, Curt -- let me share just that both of you speak confidentially to me. From that, I think the two of you have much more in common than you realize. Carol, it's quite all right to call me Marie in front of Curt, and, Curt, the same is true for you. Might I discuss your academic interests?"

Carol nodded, but spoke. "Curt, since Marie always makes me feel honest, I may owe you an apology, and, at the very least, a hug. In our honors history class, you're the only boy that I think really listens to what I'm saying. Sure, I'm aware that you sometimes check out my body, but the jocks in the class don't do anything else. I am worried I make you feel uncomfortable, when, in fact, you make me feel more comfortable, not just a sexy body. Marie, feel free to share my interests."

I was dumfounded, even as both women smiled at me. "Ummm ... sure. I'm interested in French colonialism, especially in Indochina. Miss ... I mean Marie, has been getting materials for me. I'm somewhat limited because I don't read French, but I might make up for that with my military background." He sighed. "I don't have a very good home life, but my mother is an Army reservist, and has made lots of Army study materials available to me."

Marie said, "Haven't you been interested in the Jean Larteguy novels, Curt?"

"Yes, but there's no translation."

Carol spoke up. "Marie got me a copy, and I am reading it. I can understand most of it. Marie, is this the sort of thing you were thinking of us sharing?"

"Exactly, dear Carol, at least in the academic realm. I think the two of you have a general common interest but complement one another in detail. My intuition is that you also might connect at a personal, emotional, level."

"Carol, I'd be delighted to hear what you think of Larteguy's writing. Perhaps I might share some military detail, including something that I was telling Marie that shook me to the core." I told her of the last GCMA messages, and barely suppressed a sob. "Such brave men."

Instinctively, Carol reached out to someone who was connecting spiritually to her. She gave Curt a warm hug. "Let it out. I was shaken as well by some of the torture in Algeria, which the French officers thought was the least of several evils." They embraced, feeling a flow of shared emotion. It was intensity about intellectual rather than personal challenges, which they intuitively realized. Carol whispered "So much cruelty, yet not meant sadistically -- yet futile." She sobbed, and Curt stroked her hair.

Eventually, the two relaxed and sat upright. Marie softly whispered, "sip your tea." Both savored it. While their hugs had seemed infinitely long, they actually hadn't been long enough for the tea to cool.

"I feel relieved, Curt, because I think you realize how I've appreciated you in class, even if I wasn't public about it. I hate to admit it, but I have reasons for needing to stay involved with some of the cliques -- the cheerleading helps my college applications. But dammit, I respect you more than anyone else in that class, and want to make it up to you." Carol was wearing a wraparound kilt, with a decorative safety pin at the slit. She reached down and opened the pin. "I know you were tempted when my skirt fell open and you got an accidental glimpse. I probably freaked just because it was an accident.

"Well, I don't want there to be any accident now." She reached down and pulled the skirt open. "Please look as long as you want. You can touch my legs ... but will you kiss me first?"

If someone had told me that I would be hesitant to kiss an eager Carol, I would have laughed. That, however, would have been theory, and, when I her body heat near me, I felt awkward. It took Marie's gentle hands to guide and calm us, for Carol also was not fully relaxed. We rushed together, our kiss growing in intensity. Carol reached for my hands and pulled one onto her thigh, sliding it up and down. Giving in to an urge, she straddled my leg and began to pump against it, as I breathed hard.

I couldn't hold it, and soon groaned and jerked. Marie laughed sympathetically, but said, "Curt, I don't want to push you too fast ... but did you just get very wet? If so, let me help." He blushed and agreed. "Carol, I also don't want to rush you, so you can turn away, or not."

"It's all right, Marie. I'm not a virgin, but losing my virginity was a lot less playful and pleasant than this. Let me join you, if Curt doesn't mind, in cleaning up."

I laughed. "I am a virgin, but that's a correctible disability of which I am not ashamed."

Marie was opening my belt and sliding off my pants. She pulled at my undershorts, which had been loose enough not to have been immediately soaked in my cum. She knelt, and began to lick it up. Carol quickly joined her, and giggled, "you taste SO much better than the jocks!" I was happily beyond words.

Marie had licked up most of my spurt, but Carol touched her shoulder and asked "Share?" Laughing happily, the women exchanged my cum. Marie hugged me from behind until I caught my breath, and then asked, "Shall we get back to ethics?"

Carol laughed, agreeing. "I'd like to have a serious discussion, but Curt, if you don't mind a bit of penance from me, I'd like to drape my legs over you, for your to fondle." She looked sad. "I can't show my affection for you in public, but if we meet like this with Marie, there's no reason why, if she agrees, we can't mix it with pleasure."

Marie smiled, "Of course. But I'd also like to share pleasure with both of you." Carol and Curt nodded happily. "Than shall we discuss ethics, or what is called just war theory? It has three parts, jus ad bellum, or the justification of going to war; jus in bello, or the conduct of war, and jus post bellum, the proper ending to a war. Curt, the third is probably addressed least often, but it does cover the GCMA matter that concerned you. Perhaps one or both of you could write about the ethics of leaving them behind after the cease-fire."

The three of us began to discuss the matter. Carol mentioned that she had read that the North Vietnamese especially hated the GCMA, and most specifically, the tribes -- Hmong and Tai -- from which they were drawn. For all the Communist emphasis on equality, the lowland Vietnamese felt superior to the mountain peoples. She looked through her notes, and found a Viet Minh directive from before the 1954 Geneva Accords:

"We need to exterminate at all cost the pirates (GCMA/GMI and commandos), their works can be considered as the biggest machination destined to undermined the Viet Minh movement. Their work will necessitate our reeducation of affected populations and the reconstruction of our bases."

"Marie, I read that as the Viet Minh might not have been willing to sign the cease-fire if the GCMA and their troops were let go. Was it, then, a question of saving more lives by sacrificing them and getting the cease-fire?"

"Carol," I responded, "I don't think it was that honorable. I think the French wanted to get out at all costs, and were willing to sacrifice a few French soldiers and many more of what they called locals to do that. It disgusts me, but I think that's what happened." The three went into ever-increasing discussion. I also mentioned that French officers leaving Indochina seemed even more jaded and brutal when they went to Algeria. The three of us agreed on an article addressing the ethics of ending the French role in Indochina, and how it affected the Algerian War, which would be France's next major conflict.

We three met often after that wonderful day. One of their next meetings was after cheerleading practice, from which Carol didn't take the time to change. "I hope the two of you don't mind that I'm sweaty -- but I get sweaty anyway from playing with you. Curt, I keep wanting to apologize for my ignoring you in public, and that I need to continue doing so. So let me be absolutely honest in here. So, let me be explicit: I want you to touch and excite me, and afterwards, I will touch and excite you.

She sat on the table, raised her skirt to her hips, and asked, "would anyone like to slip off my panties and then taste essence of cheerleader?" Marie and Curt laughed and moved to her. I stopped briefly.

"I've felt your legs in stockings; I want to feel them bare." He knelt, and stroked and kissed his way up her long legs. As his head passed her knees, she rubbed his head with one leg, giggling. "So soft, so warm."

When he reached her crotch, Curt deferred to Marie, thinking she was more familiar with removing panties, but Marie then gestured for Curt to use his mouth on Carol's pussy. She had neatly trimmed pubic hair, which would let her wear other than the most extreme of bikinis. Carol reached down and began to finger her clit in anticipation. Her lips were mildly swollen. "Curt, have you done this before?"

"No, Carol dear."

"I am honored to instruct. Start by running your tongue back and forth between my lips, to get the taste. MMmmmm. Oh yes. Marie, reach down and expose my clit for him." Marie knelt, using one hand to expose Carol, but lifting her own skirt and using the other hand under her panties. Marie bent her head.

"Do you see, Curt, where I kissed her? Lick, suck, and kiss there." I thought about my readings in anatomy, and moved from the theoretical to the practical. Taking a deep breath and savoring Carol's musk, I moved my lips to her clit hood, and extended his tongue into its core. She gasped as it touched her. "Oh yes! More!" She wrapped her legs around my head.

While Carol clearly was in ecstasy, I also found the act incredibly exciting, through taste and touch and aroma and sound. My sense of touch engaged on so many levels: the pressure and heat of her strong thighs, the slippery movements of his tongue chasing her clit, the tickle of pubic hair against his face.

Carol groaned and suppressed a scream, as she raised her hips in climax. She fell back. "Oh, Curt. That was magnificent. If this is your first time, you sooner or later will kill me with pleasure, a fine way to go."

Marie laughed, and we looked at her. She was a bit embarrassed that they found her slouched in a chair, skirt to her hips, panties to the side, and hands still near her crotch. "It was wonderful to watch. I am so wet, if either of you would like to taste me." Carol and I looked at one another, and nodded. We moved to Marie.

Spreading Marie's legs widely, we wiggled until they each had a working position. I kissed and licked above Marie's stocking tops, tasting the nectar that had dripped there. Carol's tongue laved up and down Marie's slit, and then flicked rapidly at her clit. Marie had been close to orgasm from her own fingering, and quickly exploded in pleasure.

Again, everyone caught their breath. Carol looked at Marie and asked, with a giggle, "what about him?"

Marie observed, "I think he deserves our mouths in return."

"Yes, I think so, Marie. But I want to do something first. Curt, I am realizing how much of a sexual exhibitionist I am. I've been suppressing the feelings of erotic pleasure that being the center of cheerleader attention. When I find myself exposed in class, though, except when it's you, Curt, I find the stares to be creepy.

"So I will always be there to be admired by you. Always feel free to signal me, and to tell me what most excites you." She raised her cheerleading skirt, already without panties. "Do my legs give you pleasure? You have earned oral attention from both of us. Would you like first to rub your cock on my warm thighs? Both would delight me."

Carol leaned back on the table. After a couple of minutes of close inspection, I straddled her and rubbed my penis against her deliciously smooth thighs. Marie, licking her lips, was just to the side, watching closely.

Marie knew the rubbing would excite me, but soon realized that Carol was panting, and fingering her own clit. Marie moaned lightly, and put her cheek against Carol's thigh, her mouth wide. Carol and I two became aware of Marie's position, and Carol reached down and aimed my cock at Marie's mouth. Just before I thrust, Marie called to wait ... and encouraged me to lie flat on the table. Marie pushed Carol to sit on my face, and then addressed herself to giving me intense pleasure as she sucked me in, her tongue swirling around my frenulum.

It did not take long to have my hips thrusting as he exploded into her mouth, as I slurped at Carol. All three of us leaned back. The table was hard, but welcoming.

"Curt, my dear," whispered Marie, "Nice guys do finish last."

We rested for a few minutes, and then reassembled their clothing. "We should get some non-erotic discussion. I was thinking about how both of you had been upset by some of the French officers, and I'd like to share another observation from Bernard Fall. He was speaking to a lieutenant colonel, a noted French combat commander, about why the French fought in Indochina.

There is a difference between us French and Don Quixote. Don Quixote rode against windmills because he thought they were giants, but we ride against windmills knowing they are windmills but doing it all the same because we think that in this materialistic world, there ought to be someone who rides against windmills.

Carol giggled at that, and then joined me in all-out laughter. Marie advised, "when you read of French behavior, remember that it's not always rational, and a sense of national honor can overwhelm good judgment. Of course, the priority was usually France.

"That's one reason I don't worry about our sexual play. We will eventually fuck one another, but France could fuck entire tribes and countries."

"Oh! I forgot. I have something for you both, which perhaps we should wear when we discuss." She reached into a package and removed three berets, two green. "These are authentic berets from the French Foreign Legion. You may know that the American Army guerilla experts wear green berets as well. These can be the emblem of our team. Mine is the maroon of the regular French paratroopers"

When I calmed down, I agreed about there being time both for research and for sex. "I think Carol and I are moving toward a paper that addresses honor and colonialism, although we're going to have to limit the time period for a specific paper. I don't know if we can make it work from the end of World War II to the revolt in Algiers." Carol nodded.

As graduation approached, I became more and more concerned about my friendship with Carol. The only way I could get away from my crazy mother was to go to summer school. Carol didn't have plans to go away, but to take a last relaxing summer. In any event, she planned to start locally, and then transfer to a specialty school. I was heading directly to Washington DC and a special program that included engineering, history, and international relations. We hoped to stay in touch, but knew that wouldn't be easy. She was still bothered by the idea of having me linked to her among her friends. While I wasn't happy about that, I understood it.

I wanted to find time to get away with her, and give her my virginity, but that somehow never worked out. I last saw her at graduation.

Chapter 1 ยป