Chapter 2

“Angie,” as I called her after that (in private), woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. I had my traditional treatment ready and she choked it down. She sat on the couch and wasn’t modest about it.

“Would you please keep your knees closer together,” I groaned.

“Why? You looked up my skirt half of last night.”

“Yes, and it was frustrating,” I said. “Come on, Angie. Give an old geezer a break, here.”

“Angie?”

“My new nickname for you. I’m betting you don’t want people calling you Angel.”

“You’d win that bet. My mother called me her angel my whole life. I’m pretty sure she thought the only way she’d get to heaven was if I died, became an angel, and came to get her.”

“That’s kind of grisly,” I said.

“Her life was grisly,” said Angela. “Mine would have been just as grisly if I’d stayed there.”

“If it makes you mad or uncomfortable I’ll call you Angela or Private Harris. I’m just trying to be chill.”

“You’re the first NCO I’ve met since I joined the Army who didn’t treat me like I had the plague,” she said. “I’m pretty sure you can call me anything you want and I won’t get mad about it.”

“What if I called you skank, or ho?” I asked.

“You wouldn’t,” she said, firmly. “I’ve only known you one day but I already know that.”

“Okay, you’re right,” I sighed. “Shucks. I was so looking forward to astounding you.”

“You’ve already astounded me,” she said.

“How so?” I asked.

“I may have only had sex twice, but I remember what I felt like inside afterwards. When I woke up this morning I didn’t feel that way. And when I got up I realized you could have done anything you wanted to with me last night. My mother always told me all men would want to soil me; all men. One time, when she’d been sipping the cooking sherry, she whispered that included my father and brother. And I know how men look at me. I know how you looked at me. But you didn’t take advantage of me. You didn’t soil me, and I’m astonished.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “I know at least two dozen guys who would have accorded you the same privacy and safety. We’re not all slavering satyrs, Angie.”

“So you didn’t want to have sex with me last night?”

“Oh, trust me. I wanted to a lot. On a scale of one to ten I wanted to have sex with you like an twelve or thirteen. But I knew it wouldn’t work. Yeah, sure it would be nice in the very short term, but as soon as you woke up it would be the end of my career and I only have a year and a half left before I can retire. So I just jerked off, instead.”

“Jerked off?”

“Man, you were sheltered,” I sighed. “It means when a man uses his hand to simulate a woman’s vagina. He has sex with his hand.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

I looked around the kitchen. The only thing I saw that was useful was the spatula, which had a thick handle. I got it and fisted the handle.

“On your honeymoon, when your husband had sex with you, he put his penis in your vagina and did this.” I used the spatula to “fuck” my curled fingers, sliding it in and out a few times.

“No he didn’t,” she said.

“You said you had sex.”

“Yes. We did it twice, but it wasn’t like that.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

She took the spatula from me, curled her fingers and pushed it in and stopped. Then she pulled it out and handed it back to me.

“Like that,” she said. “He didn’t move it back and forth, which I was glad for, because he really hurt me when he put it in.”

“Ahhh,” I said. “Okay. He had what’s called a premature ejaculation,” I said.

“You keep using words I don’t understand,” she complained.

I explained. It took a while because I had to teach her basic biology and anatomy, including her own. It was fun pointing at things and touching her to show her where, on her body, things were. She did not complain when I touched her boobs and mons. She knew what some of it was, such as the nipples being used for feeding babies. She’d seen that back home. She just thought a woman decided to start making milk, and that it wasn’t tied to the pregnancy.

That’s how deep her ignorance was, thanks to communal home schooling.

Eventually I got around to premature ejaculations and she listened patiently.

“So, he was too excited by me to do it right,” she said.

“It isn’t right or wrong,” I said. “It made him happy, but it didn’t make you happy. So that means it wasn’t really making love. But a couple can work on that. I just wanted you to know that it won’t always be like that. Eventually you and he will go a long time and you’ll have an orgasm, too.”

“What does that feel like?” she asked.

“I’m the wrong person to ask,” I said. “I’m a guy. You’d have to ask a woman, though I’d be careful about that. Any woman you ask that question to will think it’s a very odd question, because by the time a woman is your age, every one I ever met already knew what orgasms feel like, even if the only ones she’s ever had are the ones she gave herself.”

And that led us to an explanation of female masturbation.

Thankfully, she had arrived on Friday, so she had all weekend to wake up, sober up, and learn a bunch about the world she hadn’t even known existed. It is instructive that I thought everything was fine and dandy, and that I hadn’t done anything that the Army - especially CID - would disapprove of.

After breakfast (during which a lot of what I just described happened) she changed clothes, just because she could. The new outfit wasn’t a lot better and I realized my ex liked slinky clothes. I wondered why she’d never worn them for me. Then I decided she wore them for the guy she cheated on me with. Anyway, the new outfit consisted of a maroon, silk blouse that would have been fine if she’d put her bra back on, which she didn’t, and yellow terrycloth shorts which were smaller than what she normally wore. I could tell this because her camel toe couldn’t have been any better defined. It almost looked like you could stick something up in there, the cloth was pulled so tight. The shorts and shirt didn’t even come close to going together, but I didn’t suggest she go change.

I do not remember how it came up, but I was talking about men’s erections when she said, “So what you just described kind of looks like you right now. Something has been poking out of your shorts all morning. Do you have an erection?”

I wasn’t even going to try to deny it.

“Yes. As I’ve already told you, you’re a stone fox and, since you mentioned it, I’m going to point something out to you.” I pointed at her nipples, which looked like they were trying to tear through that maroon silk. I took a chance and pinched one, lightly, through the cloth.

“The blouse you’re wearing enhances your nipples, and stiff nipples make a man think of sex,” I said. “So that makes me think of sex. The peasant blouse did the same thing.” Since she hadn’t freaked out about having her nipple pinched, I actually touched her camel toe. That’s how frustrated I was. “And this is called a camel toe. I’ll explain why later, but it is almost like looking at a woman’s naked vulva and that makes a man think of sex even more. So I’ve been thinking about sex all morning.”

“With me,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “Normally, I would not admit that, but we seem to be on a rather remarkable level of honesty and I don’t want to try to snow you.”

“I saw Peter’s erection just before he turned the lights out,” she said. “Do they all look the same?”

“I’m told no,” I said.

“Can I see yours to compare it to his?”

Her parents hadn’t taught her anything about sex, which meant they also hadn’t taught her any boundaries.

“And that makes me want to have sex even more!” I groaned. “You can’t just ask a guy to see his erection. He’ll think you want to have sex with him.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to have sex with you.”

“Of course not,” I said.

“Though, from what I’ve learned today Peter short-changed me. It would be nice to know what it’s supposed to be like.”

“Okay, and when you say things like that, it might encourage the male to volunteer to show you what it’s supposed to be like,” I said.

“And that would be bad,” she said.

“If you’re married, then yes,” I said. “If you were single it would be entirely different. If you were single you could have sex with any guy you wanted to, assuming he wasn’t married,” I said.

“Or your NCOIC,” she said.

“Correct.” I had explained one of the reasons I hadn’t molested her while she was unconscious.

“Okay, so let’s talk about this orgasm thing some more,” she said. “You said a woman can give herself one.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Maybe I was just worn down. I don’t know.

“I could teach you,” I said.

“Ohhh goody!” she squealed.

I felt myself leak in my shorts.

“I didn’t know I’d need to be naked to learn this,” she said, doubtfully. I had (hopefully) suggested she get undressed.

“I guess, technically, you don’t have to be,” I said. “It would just be easier.”

“You’re not just being a bad daddy, are you?” she suggested.

“Actually, I’m being a very bad daddy,” I said. “Good fathers do not, by and large, teach their daughters how to masturbate.”

“But you’re teaching me,” she said.

“I’m teaching you so you can stand being away from your hubby without being tempted to have sex with other men. When you get horny you can masturbate and you won’t be horny anymore.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been horny to start with,” she said. “What does that feel like?”

“If you’ll let me touch you I’ll show you what horny feels like,” I said.

“Touch me where?” she asked.

“All over,” I said.

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