Wounded Warriors of the Sexual Revolution

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, True Story, Historical, Wife Watching, Incest, Father, Daughter, Swinging, Polygamy/Polyamory, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Sex Toys, Squirting, Water Sports, Cream Pie, Spitting, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Double Penetration, Doctor/Nurse, Leg Fetish, Big Breasts, Public Sex, Workplace, Prostitution, Porn Theatre,

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Prologue - Sex heals. Sex nourishes. Think of focused thinkers interpreting Marvin Gaye's song, Sexual Healing. In Green Berets, you met people, mostly in glowing health, exploring sexuality, eroticism, and emotions in what was becoming far more than a strip club. This story adds depth and people to what is becoming more and more of a clan. No sexually transmitted infections exist in this world. Only a few germs were hurt in the making of this story.

Event in the prologue start several two months prior to the events in An Anthropologist Comes of Age in Washington.. Events in the subsequent chapters happen just after that story.

Curt Clancy is the first-person narrator.

Many of the events in this story are based on truth. While they generally happened in the mid-seventies, I haven't been compulsive about accuracy if it helped the story.

With my friends Karen and Tim, I went for a weekend on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. The water was rather unpleasant, with seaweed and jellyfish. They were swinging lifestyle friends, and, later in the evening, Karen took my mind away. When she's not being incredible in bed, and not being political, she's warm and soothing and great to be around.

She's also a somewhat militant feminist, who tended to regard being conventionally attractive as a sellout to women. Even at a swing club meeting area, she wore little or no makeup, pants that showed just a lean slimness rather than a rather fine ass, and a translucent blouse that without a bra showed large breasts, but didn't flatter them. Especially with her scars from teenage acne, it took careful examination to see the fine softness of her face, the brightness of her hazel eyes. Her hair color was mousy, and her haircut might be butch, yet her hair was delightful against my hands.

About two weeks later, I wasn't feeling well. As my temperature climbed, I was sensible enough not to drive, but to have the doorman get me a cab to Sibley Hospital. In their ER, it hit 104 degrees, even after the cooling effects of being outside, and I was admitted with no clear diagnosis, and hallucinating from the fever.

I was generally out of it for several days, vaguely aware that I had been transferred to a private room and put into moderate isolation. The fever broke, and I started being coherent although weak. With no real diagnosis, so I was in an isolation room.

At first, these were mask, gloves, and gown, but, as I became more aware, I began to appreciate the boldly made up eyes of my primary nurse, Sue. Feeling a little better, I appreciated that the gown was more of an apron, and didn't preclude a good view of her legs in a fairly tight and miniskirted white nurse's outfit.

Karen stopped by to visit. She and Sue were pleasantly surprised to see one another. Sue stopped her, explained the precaution, and put her in a mask and gown. Once gowned, they exchanged a rather intense hug. My head wasn't quite clear enough to recognize one another. In retrospect, I should have realized when Sue and Karen exchanged air kisses consistent with isolation, Sue helped Karen into the comfortable chair, and Karen, not usually one for short skirts or skirts at all, sat with her skirt rising high. I appreciated the view and told her I did; although I was too weak to do anything but watch.

After a solid night of sleep, I felt better, strength coming back. Initially, I thought it was simply a coincidence when Sue put me into a chair while she changed the bed, bending over in front of me. Under it, she wore sheer-to-the-waist white pantyhose, and rather brief panties. I made a tentative comment about a nice view, and she seemed to wiggle her butt. The next day, she repeated the positioning, but this time with no panties under the hose. "Oh, yes. That view is healing me, I think."

"Honey, I happen to think that's rather healthy. You might have been out of it, but Karen and I know each other from lifestyle parties, and a couple of dinners. She told me that you were also in the scene.

"Sorry, but it's not yet safe for others to touch you or accept your fluids. I enjoy being watched, though, by someone who appreciates me. If you want to get yourself off with me as inspiration, go for it, as long as you promise me that if you get too tired, you'll finish later."

"Damn. It's great to meet someone that thinks this way, Sue. I'll take you up on your offer, with great appreciation."

"When it's safe to do so, I promise to do more. Unless you have a wife or girlfriend that should have that privilege?"

"Unfortunately not."

She gave me a tube of lotion and a small towel. "I'm grinning under the mask, if you can't tell from my eyes. Think of my lips and tongue, all red with lipstick. Think about how they can meet yours and play, and, later, how they can wrap around your cock. Feel that little bottle of lotion -- I warmed it up. Put some on yourself and start stroking."

I did so. "You realize that this is about the first time I've thought about sex in a couple of weeks, and you're doing it. Oh yes." She lifted her skirt. Covering her gloved hand, she rubbed herself, moaning a bit. It didn't take long for my cock to stand and yell, "I'm ready!"

"Don't hold back, Curt. Cum while you have the energy." Happily, I did. As she had suggested, I promptly fell asleep. It was a deep, refreshing sleep.

A day or two later, she came in without the mask and gown.

"Did you forget something, Sue?"

"No. The infectious disease consultant is confident that whatever you have isn't in your lungs. I still have to be careful about touching you or your bodily fluids."

"In that case, just stand there in the light, and let me appreciate your face."

She grinned, and licked her very red lips. The next day, Karen visited again. Sue gave her a quick kiss, with visible tongue action. "I just used my nurse key to lock the door, and the head nurse is a friend who will keep us from being bothered." Karen opened her blouse and Sue covered the nipples with kisses and red lipstick.

"Curt honey," Karen cooed, "take advantage of the sight of us. I'm looking forward to tasting your cum, so use us to encourage you to get well!"

As I became human again, I asked Sue, a day or two later, "I don't want to presume anything unethical, but, in the nicest possible way, might I ask if you'd like to get together on a personal basis? It's been fun talking with you, as well as doing increasingly physical things."

"I'd like to as well, Curt. Did Karen tell you what's going on with her?"

That was a little puzzling. "No."

"I hate to be the one to bring it up, but she and her husband, Tim, are having what at least is a trial separation. She and I decided to take some time in Europe, for vacation and short-term study. When we get back, though, she's going to stay with me until and if she gets her own place. Why don't I ask her to contact you once we get back? I know that she wants to stay flexible, but there would be nothing wrong with the three of us getting together." She giggled. "We might have some new European techniques, certainly for sex. Maybe some artistic stuff that neither she nor I have touched in years -- I did ballet until I got too big. She painted."

Betty van Olst looked tearfully at her husband, Al, as he lay in his hospital bed at home. They loved one another very deeply. Both of them, however, had learned they needed more than one sexual partner, and made that part of their relationship. Both were fascinated with other cultures, which had been the core of Al's Army career. Betty had gone with him to his foreign assignments, also immersing herself in the local society. They had formed deep friendships all over the world, but especially in South Asia.

Once one of the fastest-rising colonels in the United States Army, over the last year, he had been struck down by neurological disease, losing the ability to walk and eventually to talk. Wondering if he was inside his shell, she bent and kissed his lips, then, in memory of old times, darted her tongue into his mouth. The government had been unwilling to try rehabilitation therapy if she moved him out of their hospital, but the lack of care there frightened her.

To her amazement, his tongue moved to meet hers. She repeated the kiss, and again felt voluntary movement. She felt guilty for not having studied more about neurology and rehabilitation. Vaguely, she remembered that the tongue was controlled by a cranial nerve, rather than one in the spine.

Was it an accident? Could Betty communicate with Al? She again kissed him. "If you can hear me, move your tongue twice." He did.

Calling his neurologist at the Veterans' Administration hospital, she was surprised to get through. When she told him that Al seemed to hear, and could respond with his tongue, he brushed her away. "We have no standard tests for that. It doesn't tell me anything."

At McCarran Airport in Las Vegas, Joni took pride in the heads she turned, even in that showgirl mecca. She liked to dress thoughtfully for travel, not in clubwear or something she'd wear on stage, but unquestionably sexy. It also needed to be comfortable.

She had had an engagement at the invitation-only erotic theater of a casino, where she was featured to those in the know. To a limited extent, she mingled with customers, but had a right of refusal. The casino also might ask her, very selectively, to escort. Her principle was that she first looked for pleasant people, with whom the sex act would be likely to be mutually pleasurable.

At the end of an appearance, she didn't consider First Class travel an indulgence, but a near-necessity unless she could find a friendly private plane. She was tall for a woman, but the problem wasn't legroom in coach. Joni liked to be admired, but there was a point where she was too tired for being hit upon.

For travel, then, she tended to go with a high fashion look that also was erotic. When she dressed for the airport, she dried off from the shower, slipped into a thong, and drew golden tan opera-length hose up her long legs. She covered them, partially, with a white flaring miniskirt with high-heeled black boots. A silver belt, with turquoise insets matching those of her necklace, emphasized her small waist.

Next, she put on a lightweight demi-bra. It gave just enough support that she didn't jiggle. Over it, she slipped on a soft black pullover, with a laced neckline that she adjusted to show just a bit of cleavage. Her necklace emphasized the valley between her dramatic breasts, revealed by the laced opening of her soft, clinging black blouse. Her natural blonde hair was in the Farah Fawcett style.

At 34, her body as tight a woman ten years or more younger. On the natural stripper circuit, she was known, among club owners, as a dancer who was unsurpassed in the sexiness of her act, right up to the maximum that local law enforcement permitted. She also mingled, certainly for the income but also often enjoying the no-strings sex. After all, with her nomadic life, and her responsibilities at home, it was unlikely she could form relationships.

Joni's cab stopped in front of her house. She was tired from the Las Vegas to DC flight.

Joni and her father had always been close. Under the stage name Joni Walker, had done a bit of stripping to put herself through school, a double major in history and archeology, but with Jim's expenses, she went onto the national featured dancer circuit. Legally, she was still proud to be Jim Kennedy's daughter. Jim was a dramatics teacher and coach, who had worked in local theater, until Parkinson's Disease had disabled him.

When she opened the front door to the Alexandria, Virginia house, where she lived with her father, the housekeeper and aide to her father, Naomi, came to the entrance, a little out of breath. She wore a long silken robe. Naomi and Joni had been friends since T.C. Williams High School.

"Did I get you out of the shower? I'm sorry if so. It did seem early for bedtime."

"No, not really. I've been taking care of Jim." Joni didn't immediately understand what that had to do with Naomi's clothing. Naomi continued, "Remember the last time we talked to his doctor, about side effects of L-DOPA, which has helped his Parkinson's Disease? He said that it might trigger impulsive behavior, but if those could be handled, the drug would help?"

"I remember. He mentioned gambling or hypersexuality."

"Given what you do, and that he knows what you do, Joni honey, I didn't think you'd mind if he got sexual with me. You never objected when he was healthy enough to date."

Naomi opened the robe to show she was wearing a red teddy, garters, and hose. The teddy was sufficiently transparent to reveal her breasts, not enlarged to showgirl size but quite adequate in which to bury one's face. Her deep brown hair fell a little below her shoulders. On her olive-skinned face, she had a sweet, friendly, expression, on which she had applied party makeup, rather than Joni's theatrical version. She was shorter than Joni, with full hips and ass.

"He'd been grabbing my ass, nicely enough. He asked me to help him watch porn videos from his bed. I watched him get frustrated if his hand tremor made it difficult to jack off, and I started to help him. When I was doing that, I discovered he had some pictures of you, not just strip act but porn.

She looked Joni in the eye. "So I started helping him. Any problems with that?"

"I suppose, Naomi, that I have an automatic reaction, but sure. We've never been all that body conscious around each other. In his case, if he did more, it would hardly be a parent exploiting a naive virgin."

"Joni, he told me that the tremor from his Parkinson's made it difficult to impossible for him to jack off, until the L-DOPA started. When it did, he wanted orgasms even more, and got a little more ability to do himself. Eventually, though, I started to help him, as he looked at porn. He turned to me and I gave him a titjob, and occasionally a blowjob.

"I've not gone further, but that's a 'yet' rather than a 'never'. I didn't want to do more until you and I had talked. How do you feel that he's jacked off to your soft- and hard-core pictures?

Joni smiled. "No, you didn't do anything wrong, and, I'm realizing, nothing that I wouldn't do if I thought about it. I'd be a total hypocrite to say people shouldn't look at me. In a way, he and I already have broken the incest barrier. You and I were jacking off guys in the car when we were 14.

"And it's not like you and I haven't been in the same room since high school, making it with a couple of guys, and even switching off." She gave Naomi an appraising look. "You and I have never made it with each other. I wonder why?"

Naomi looked back, surprised. "I know you are bi, and I've at least experimented. It's as if we never got around to it. Maybe we should give it a try. After all, if we like it, I know Jim would love to see us together."

"Funny that you mention incest, Naomi. You and I grew up together, to a point that if I worried about it, I'd worry about incest with my sister." She moved to Naomi and gave her a warm, not provocative, hug... "A sister that I love, and that my daddy probably loves too."

"I don't think I've had more incest fantasies than most sexually active women, but if he's already taking advantage of things I've done for the public, at 34 years old, I doubt I'll be traumatized if I make it with him. Let's face it, I can't count how many men I've had in clubs. It's a lot fewer when I've had friendship or real bonds."

The two women went to his bedroom. Joni hugged her dad, who was in bed, and at first gave him a warm but tame kiss. "Daddy, I've been talking with Naomi. I'd like to give you something. Wait a moment." She went out and got an 8x10 inch package from her suitcase. "I think I may be looking better in these porn studio pictures than you've seen me elsewhere. Please enjoy them. Could either or both of us help? Wait just a moment." She raised her already brief skirt, removed her thong, and put his hand on her mound. "Want a taste?"

"Me too!" Naomi laughed. "I've only tasted you second-hand on dates, Joni." Jim joined in the laughter, eyes wide as he looked at the X-rated photos.

"Dad, at our ages, and my sexual experience, if you'd like to do anything with me, it would be welcome. At times, I wonder if you're the only guy in America that hasn't seen my boobs!"

Jim smiled at both of them. "That sounds like a lovely appetizer before dinner and playtime later this evening. Naomi, would you serve, please? Get the taste on your finger and give it to me? Of course, you can be the taster first." The two women giggled, hugged, and indeed Naomi tasted Joni. Naomi pushed in a finger, and brought the juices to Jim, who moaned in appreciation.

"I might have trouble walking, but my mind and imagination remain sharp. Naomi, is dinner ready?"

"In a few minutes. I'll get it ready, and then Joni and I can help you to the dining room. Perhaps, Joni, you'd help Jim wash up?" The other two nodded.

To get to the dining room, Jim heaved himself forward on his walker, his forehead wet from sweat of the exertion and his frustration. This was a medium sort of day for him, on which he still could get around with the walker. Parkinson's Disease had made him a shell of the bold drama coach and actor that he once had been. On a good day, canes were enough, and on a bad day, he couldn't walk.

Naomi's dinner was excellent, in a modified North African style. It was intended to be eaten with the hands, but she also served it with soft Ethiopian injera, a flatbread that could be used to scoop up the stews. Jim found this much easier to do than even with his weighted tableware. Joni knew that Naomi respected, and perhaps loved, her father, whom she had also known since high school. Joni very much liked that she and Naomi could do all they could to let Jim live a normal life, and not be treated as disabled.

After dinner, the three went back to Jim's bedroom. Naomi brought trays of cheese, fruit, and wine, thinking that would be a little tranquilizing after dinner. "Jim, Joni and I have talked a bit. We both want to be explicit that we're completely OK with your having a sex life beyond my helping you with videos. I think we want to figure out how best to help you fuck." Naomi stopped, sensing movement next to her. Joni was humming some innocent tune, as she went down on a banana that she had taken out of the fruit basket.

"Why is everyone looking at me? I'm just a blonde." At that point, she knelt on the bed, on one side of Jim. Naomi slipped out of her robe, opened the top of her teddy, and put Jim's cock between her boobs.

"Joni, this is a much nicer banana. Taste it between these melons." There were many slippery sounds, and then Jim's scream of pleasure. The two women stretched out on either side.

Two months ago, Marie MacMahon was brought, on a stretcher, to the National Institutes of Health Clinical Center, where she was a research patient in several clinical trials. She had first come to NIH when she had increasing loss of muscle strength, with continued sensation. The problem seemed to be with large movements, as she could still do delicate things such as writing and typing. At NIH, a staff neurologist, Nancy Taft, directed her experimental treatment with supplements of an enzyme that was involved in muscle control.

Recently, she began experiencing a great deal of fatigue. When she was awake, however, her mind was sharp. Dr. Taft had no preconceptions about the cause of the fatigue, but did a careful workup. It indicated a very severe anemia, such that adequate oxygen wasn't getting to Marie's brain.

As was so often the case at a research hospital, Nancy had lunch with some research fellows, who split their time between neurology and infectious disease, who wondered if Marie's blood problems might be related to something they were studying. Their hunch proved to be correct: some of the antibiotic resistance and toxicity plasmids from Vibrio vulnificus had "reprogrammed" hard-to-detect Chlamydia. This interfered with her ability to metabolize iron. It was mostly a hunch, but Ellis Jarrett and Izumi Suzuki convinced Nancy that it was worth trying a combination IV therapy, with doxycycline and the new antibiotic, azithromycin.

Everyone was pleasantly surprised when Marie's body, after a few days of treatment, started producing red blood cells at a faster-than-normal rate. When the hematologists added injected iron, her anemia rapidly improved. With adequate oxygen to her brain, she perked up. Nancy was happy to see, one fine morning, that Marie had been up to applying makeup, which flattered her emerald eyes. Her bright red hair was brushed into its usual medium pixie cut with bangs.

While her body was shapely, she covered much of it. Another aspect of her disease resembled rosacea, which put bright red patches on her legs, arms, and neck.

Marie and Nancy had grown to be friends. When Nancy was checking on her one day, she asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Good to great, although my legs don't feel right. To you alone, I'm going to add to that: horny as hell. I've missed that for quite a while. I don't know how well those body parts will react."

"I'm delighted, Marie. I should avoid saying anything unprofessional. While I'd not recommend full intercourse until we have you moving much better, I can arrange for you to have your door locked if you want a suitable friend or friends to visit. Wink wink nudge nudge and all that."

"Nancy, saying that to me is wonderful on several levels. Obviously, I'd like to try. But you impress me in that few doctors consider sexuality at all, much less promote it."

"Agreed, Marie. My interest in sexuality is professional and personal. While I can't do it much in a government hospital, I am interested in techniques and treatment approaches that help people, especially those with neurological problems, have a satisfying sex life.

"On the personal note, I put myself through college by first doing go-go dances, and then stripping. Some of my medical school time did work with a free clinic that helped a lot of sex workers. My own experience helped me to help them."

Marie's eyes had grown wide. "Nancy, I share those interests, beyond my personal concerns. From the chart, you know I'm a professional librarian, and now advise a foundation. That foundation has been involved with erotic arts for some time, and is stepping up the work. Let's say that we have needs for medical services for all sorts of people involved in and near sex work. Some family members of our people have neurological problems."

They talked for quite a while, rather generally, about common interests. Nancy mentioned that she would be interested in working with sex surrogates, but wouldn't even bother to bring that up at a government hospital.

Betty realized that she needed to educate herself, and find resources. At the club where she danced, she asked a couple of work-friends about doctors and medical resources. Carol Rubio, who was both the featured dancer and directed the acts, suggested that Marie, while hospitalized, was an amazing research librarian, and had neurological problems. As a start, she introduced Betty to Marie.

Marie, in turn, introduced Betty to Nancy. "Of course, you two will come up with a blonde solution, although a smart blonde solution. Should I be afraid?"

Chapter 1 ยป