Chapter 9: Cougar Mating Season

Fighting soldiers from the sky
Fearless men who jump and die
Men who mean just what they say
The brave men of the Green Beret

Chorus

Silver wings upon their chest

These are men, America’s best
One hundred men will test today
But only three win the Green Beret

Trained to live off nature’s land

Trained in combat, hand-to-hand
Men who fight by night and day
Courage peak from the Green Berets

Chorus

Back at home a young wife waits

Her Green Beret has met his fate
He has died for those oppressed
Leaving her his last request

Chorus

Put silver wings on my son’s chest

Make him one of America’s best
He’ll be a man they’ll test one day
Have him win the Green Beret.

Chorus

Barry Sadler, 1966

Terry and Arlene wandered through our floors, a cougar and a cougar cub, looking for prey, prey likely to be extremely cooperative. They found me discussing electronics with George, who was reconsidering his interest in mechanical engineering and reorienting on electronic engineering and the newfangled computers.

“Gentlemen.” Mother Cougar -- Terry -- tapped me on the shoulder. “It is cougar feeding time.”

I turned, to find Terry looking her most devastating. She was one of the few women here who moved comfortably in six-inch heels, a skill at which she was taking full advantage. Complementing her black patent heels was a black leather microskirt and a leather vest flapping over her jutting breasts. She wore opera-length black hose.

“May I assume, Terry, that you are in your version of a nun’s habit?”

She suppressed a snicker. Arlene laughed outright. “ I told you that I might wear something other than my coatdress, although I haven’t yet put on whatever I’ll wear outside for the evening.”

“Yes, I am Mother Superior ... um ... something of the Order of ... something. We have a ritual to carry out.

Novice Arlene was comparably provocative, but with a demonic red look, carefully of a shade to set off her dark red hair. Rather than a skirt and top, she wore an abbreviated tube dress. Her breasts were larger than her mother’s, completely natural, and almost falling out of her top. I regarded her carefully, and asked “is that the habit of a postulant or a novice?”

“Postulant, I think. We have a transitional ritual at hand: Mother Superior and I need to experience sexual acts with one another and with partners with us involved.”

“In that case, I shall be happy to be your prey.”

George, as my English friends would say, was gobsmacked. Thinking for a moment of the response of my own 14-year-old body, I glanced over, and saw he was at full alert. Terry took his hand, Arlene took mine, and they led us to Terry’s suite. “Guys, I think we need things hard rather than gentle. Let’s sit you on the bed for step one. For this -- well, actually anytime -- no matter what you want, no matter how kinky you think it may be, just ask for it.”

Sensing Terry’s mood, I walked up to her, and realized I needed to pull her face down to mine given that her adult height, plus heels, made her several inches taller than me. “Open your mouth, hon.” Without words, we knew that an exchange of saliva, as spit, would heat us even farther. I reached under her skirt, finding, as I expected, an absence of panties. “George, do as I do.” I slid one, two, three, four fingers into her wetness.

Withdrawing my fingers, I sniffed the pleasant must, and then turned to Arlene, with George’s fingers still in her. “Lick my fingers, honey.” Arlene moaned, and did so. George offered his hand to Terry. We changed partners, and both women savored one another.

I moved to the edge of the bed. Arlene helped me rip off my clothing. After that, she reached up and pulled her top down to well down on her belly, and then raised her skirt to her hips. “I like that, Arlene. I really like that. Keep your dress in that nasty position. It makes you more naked than no clothes.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Terry opening her dress for George. I stopped looking at him, however, when Arlene took my penis into my mouth, eventually, to my surprise, seeming to deep throat me. George’s moans matched mine.

Terry lifted her head. “Everyone change, but Arlene, kiss me so the guys can see. Please, don’t hold back, gentlemen. Arlene and I need cum to swap.”

Soon, I found myself deep in Terry’s experienced mouth. When I touched the back of her head, she grunted “Mm uh huh!“ It was a signal to force her head down, enough to excite but not choke her.

I wasn’t keeping track of time. Soon, I heard George scream as he spurted into Arlene. I was just a little later. The two women lunged at one another, and, so we could see, displayed glazed lips and tongues. They went into a savage hug, cumswapping as they fondled breasts and humped legs. If there was any question that this mother and daughter might be impeded by incest taboos, it was gone.

Terry and Arlene put their clothes back together. Luckily, they had come off before they could be soiled. Makeup and hair, however, were a disaster, and they went off to Vox, who increasingly was helped by Elaine, to repair their lovely looks. The makeup artists took them to a point just short of theatrical, merely dramatic evening looks.
Terry did want to tone down her micro-leather for a first meeting in a restaurant. She did, however, stay with black leather, but in a very fashionable suit. Its slim skirt was only slightly above the knee, but had a discreet slit with a hidden zipper to the waist. With the suggested black look, her hose was of that color. While more often than not, Terry went without panties, she chose black ones because leather otherwise would stick to her skin.

Edie and Frankie were ready. The crew waited for the discreet White House car, and went off to dinner.

At the restaurant, the maître d’ took them up to the private room, where Dave was standing and smiling. The table, a lazy susan in the center, was flanked by four loveseats. He introduced his companions. “First, this is Major Ted McCann, U.S. Marines. While he does some formal aide things, he’s more of a military assistant between the White House and Pentagon.

“This is R. B. Jones. He’s a good Southern boy. R. B. is his entire first name, but he makes up for that with skills. Now, the Secret Service does tend to be secret, but I’ll just say that he’s not formally on a protection detail. He does technical support and training for the details.

“Next, this is Lieutenant Commander Sam Dekalb. Technical guy from the White House Communications Agency. Ship driver at home from being the communications officer on a destroyer. He’s one of those people that make sure that the President and designees have instant access to communications, wherever they are and whatever they are doing.

“Last, here’s Major Andy Danvers, Air Force. He’s a military assistant, but also the White House end of the 89th Airlift Wing, which flies the President.

“While a gentleman does not tell things, at least without the explicit permission of all, I can mention that these gentlemen are extremely trustworthy. Frankie and Edie, in turn, have demonstrated both their discretion, and, in the appropriate context, lack of silly inhibition. Their friends, I am confident, are the same.”

In some wordless ritual, the group paired off, beginning with Edie and Dave, who shared a passionate kiss. Terry and R.B.’s eyes met, and then their bodies. Frankie and Andy paired. Arlene and Sam slid to the remaining seat.

All four women, especially Terry, extended their telempathy to reinforce genuine sexual arousal and trust. Dave blew a kiss to Frankie and whispered, with Edie joining, “Later.” When Frankie sat, she let her pink skirt rise high, and made sure that Dave got a good look at the revealed black hose. Andy’s gaze appreciated her legs as well, and, at an empathetic level, took joy in her exhibitionism.

After exchanging meaningful glances, Terry put R.B.’s hand firmly on her thigh. Just before she sat, she wiggled slightly and opened the slit in her skirt, for comfort and for display.

Waiters brought the first course of jiaozuo, also known as pot stickers. It was an impressive presentation, with the dumplings and sauces on the Lazy Susan. Terry immediately trumped Dave’s presumed savoir faire with the food by using chopsticks to pick up a slithery dumpling and put it into R.B.’s mouth. Dave, with much more effort, did manage to feed Edie. Frankie and Andy looked into one another’s eyes and softly whispered, simultaneously, “forks”. While Sam tried hard to hold on to the wet dough he offered to Arlene, it sailed out of his chopsticks and into her cleavage.

Arlene giggled “Eat it out of there, honey. Be sure to lick.” That set a certain mood, aided by her pulling his free hand to her legs. When the waiters brought the next course of shrimp with crispy rice on a hot metal dish, over which they poured a light tomato sauce raising clouds of fragrant steam, the steam may actually have been cooler than Arlene’s skin.

Food and sex were not the only activities. While when at the White House, sex was the focus, this evening did show a broader side of Dave Powers. After Sam successfully retrieved the errant dumpling, Dave inquired, “Is that like retrieving a lost anchor, Commander? I did that on a sailboat once.”

“Ah, Dave. You describe a sailor’s task of moderate complexity, but one for which I’ve trained, rather than the immediate problem ... ulp!” Arlene had groped him, surprisingly but pleasantly. “Seriously, this food reminds me of a port visit to Hong Kong. The Navy showed me lots of places and cultures. While I was there, we took a couple of trips on junks, the crews of which were amazing sailors. They taught me lessons on what could be done without power equipment, much less electronics.”

Dave offered the hospitality of his home for the eight people. After dinner, they indeed headed there, not for an all-out orgy, but making full use of four bedrooms. Even in the cars going there, Arlene continued to commit happy Assault with a Mammary Weapon on Sam.
With Edie’s amused tolerance, Dave kept glancing at Frankie and Andy. She whispered to Dave, “Find out how Andy feels about groups. I know you’d like to have Frankie and I together, and I know that we wouldn’t at all mind doing that with two men.”

When Terry mentioned her contact, I was elated. “Terry, I can’t tell you the precise reason, but we want to do everything we can to support R.B. Do whatever you can to pay attention to their defensive driving. I’ll get back to you about that.”

25 February

At a daily meeting, I realized that I hadn’t given everyone some background on the military side. “You’re all aware that we have advisers with ARVN units, various combat support units such as helicopters and signal intelligence, logisticians, and high command. In theory, we don’t have Americans in combat, but that’s breaking down.

“The Rules of Engagement are relaxing, so, for example, an armed helicopter can shoot at troops on the ground, without waiting for them to shoot at it. But one military group is almost certainly going to be firing early in an engagement: Army Special Forces soldiers, who have various roles, especially leading, not just advising, Civilian Irregular Defense Groups (CIDG) of Montagnard tribesmen.”

Greg called me on Friday, at the beginning of March. “Harold, my friend, Micki Melamed, is going to be in town today. She’s flying up from Rucker with meetings on Friday, Monday, and Tuesday.” He chuckled. “No, really, she didn’t set things up just to have a weekend in DC. So far, in fact, she doesn’t have plans for the weekend. How about meeting her?”

“Sure. Should I meet her at the airport? What airline?”

He laughed. “U.S. Army airlines. She’s personally flying a Caribou transport. The airport is Davison Army Airfield at Fort Belvoir. I’ll bring her tomorrow, so she can rest from the flight, and then we won’t have any time constraints.”

2 March

Greg brought her. As they presumably intended, one look at the pair threw us into hysterics, starting with a 6’4” Greg with a 5’2” Micki. She had enhanced the impact by wearing a World War I flying helmet and leather bomber jacket. The two snapped off a synchronized salute: “Aviation detachment, arriving, SIR!”

When she removed the jacket, it was over a black sweater that established, as they say in Noo Yawk, that she was quite zaftig. “I’m originally a New Yorker. I’ve kept the calm, undemanding, quiet culture of New York City ... yeah, right.

“Here’s my problem. I am as good an aeronautical engineer and test pilot as anyone in the command, and I’m quite knowledgeable in combat helicopter operations and weaponry. But as a woman, I can’t be a member of a combat unit, and thus cannot advance.

“I’m looking for a place to use my knowledge and skills. Greg tells me that it might be here. What about it?”

“Simple answer: yes.”

“In that case, while I have excellent fitness reports, I suspect my current employers would be happy to have me out of their hair. I have more than enough vacation on the books to call it terminal leave and start with you immediately.

“What I think you can use from me is an analysis of the ongoing development of air mobility, and how it applies in the short term in Vietnam. There’s a belief that a fairly small number of helicopters, without a huge support base, will be decisive.

“That’s the belief in the field. The Howze Board reported to the Secretary of Defense that airmobility should be scaled up to division size, which obviously can’t happen overnight.”

Terry reached out with her awareness, and discovered that Greg and Micki were very close -- but as brother and sister. Where Greg was on the shy side, Micki might not qualify for the cougar pack, because she was more aggressive, in a controlled way, than a feline apex predator.

She did have a happily sexy reputation in the military. Terry captured a memory of a lieutenant colonel warning a captain, “From everything I’ve heard, she’s great in the sack and is a great person both professionally and just for having fun. Fuck her the wrong way, and she’ll feed your balls through a propeller.”

From Micki’s deeper thoughts, Terry picked up that she enjoyed bisexuality, but kept that much more discreet given military taboos. If she was to mingle tonight, it would be with Paul, Harold, or George on the male side. Bringing in a woman would definitely help her bond. Greta might be the right person, just as aggressive or more than Micki.

Micki caught Paul’s eye and licked her lips. Glancing over to Greg, she was reassured to see him exchanging heated looks with Frankie and Arlene. She whispered “Good. At your size, you probably need two girls.”