Call Me Beth - Version A
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2018 by George Foxx

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - At the close of the Vietnam War I was one of those people who officially didn't exist. It's a little disconcerting to realize even your birth records were erased. I get a new identity and a whole lot more out of the whole thing.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Sharing   Incest   Father   Daughter   BDSM   Spanking   Group Sex   Polygamy/Polyamory   Interracial   White Male   Oriental Female   Anal Sex   Cream Pie   Enema   Exhibitionism   First   Petting   Pregnancy   Safe Sex   Small Breasts  

These are the reminiscences of a cranky old man, born in the Twentieth Century. There is an old curse, “May you live in interesting times.” Some demigod decided they didn’t like me and turned it into, “May you live an interesting life.”

I’m ninety years old today. I expect to live at least ten more years, but the trend that’s been going on in my body for the last year or two makes me think not much that might be “interesting” to other people is going to happen, so I’m ending my story today.

Here’s my story:

At the end of the Vietnam War there were a few people like me who didn’t exist, at least on paper my birth name didn’t exist. I wasn’t in the Social Security records, the IRS files, or even the live birth records of the Great State of Iowa. My mom told me I was born early one frosty morning in Mercy Hospital, and I don’t think mom would have any reason to lie about it.

On the other hand, one part of my life was built on lies. Lies were my life blood and the tools of my trade. As far as the normal paper and computer records were concerned, Mike Mitchell didn’t exist.

The Vietnam War ended and I was suddenly unemployed due to circumstances beyond my control. Now my Uncle Sam wanted to make sure I was on file, could be gainfully employed, and start paying taxes as the price for all those rights and privileges and freedoms they kept telling me were mine as an American Citizen.

Before they brought me in from the cold and gave me one last mission. One last job. It was a particularly nasty piece of wet work to rid the world of a Chinese agent who had sent hundreds of American soldiers to their graves by keeping the Viet Cong and the NVA supplied with weapons. True the war was winding down, but those eighteen-year-old kids who got holes blown through their guts deserved more than just a gravestone and a crying momma. We finally knew where the bastard was, and I was going to eliminate him, someplace in the jungle, on the other side of nowhere.

Normally I’d drop in, take out the target from a thousand yards, crawl through the mud, swim a river or two, and get myself to somewhere safe. I guess even Generals and Directors and Secretaries of Something Important can have feelings. They wanted this to be up close and personal. There wasn’t going to be anything neat or clean about this kill.

I flew into the grass strip as an Air America pilot. My ride was an ancient C-119 Flying Boxcar. Wrestling that hunk of junk solo should have qualified me for a handful of medals, but of course the Agency doesn’t give medals. After all, I didn’t exist, so there was no one to give the medals to.

Now I’ve operated with some stupid covers, but this one was so thin, you could practically see through it in a dark room. Supposedly I was delivering a case of the dirt bag’s favorite scotch as a wedding present. The present was supposedly the Agency’s attempt to recruit the guy as a double agent. After all, why would I try to recruit Mr. Slime Ball and then blow his brains out?

Are you buying it? I know I wasn’t and I was pretty sure the comrades in Beijing wouldn’t either.

I flew in, touched down in the POS, and lugged the case of Chivas to the wedding venue. I got Comrade Porky alone in the john and put two .45 slugs into his evil brain. I made sure he was good and dead. He’d pissed and shit himself and everything. Just to make absolutely sure there would be no miraculous recovery, I put two rounds through his heart. Then to make sure the displeasure of the United Fucking States of Fucking America was crystal clear, I put one in his portly belly. To show what I thought of him personally, I put a bullet through each testicle.

I ejected the empty magazine and slid a full one in place. I stuffed the 1911 Colt in the waist band of my slacks and headed for the door.

On my way out, I stopped dead in my tracks. The bride to be, now sort of a widow, was the loveliest female I’d ever seen. It was obvious she was not even close to legal age most anyplace in the world.

She had to be Chinese. She was tall, and comic book skinny. She was flat as a board, but her nipples were big, pointy, dark brown, and they were very hard. I can’t believe I noticed that little detail, but then details and observation were the difference between life and death in my business.

She fastened her big black eyes on me and said, “You aren’t leaving me here are you?” in an Oxford accent.

I didn’t think, I just grabbed her slender hand and we ran for the plane. I did mentally chastise myself for having a boner for an obviously under-age girl.

I made it off the field in a cloud of dust and oily black smoke. The JATO bottles added their own cloud, and the Boxcar had flying speed. Before I could climb high enough someone opened up with an AK-47 and put both of the ancient radial engines out of their misery.

I dead-sticked the burning Boxcar into a paddy. I got the cargo door open. We jumped out the back and ran for it. We weren’t around when the C-119 blew up.

Then I was in a ditch with a barely teenage girl. She was wearing a traditional Chinese silk wedding dress that was now soaking wet and transparent except where there were mud stains. Through the wet silk I could see the girl had a perfectly shaped pair of small teenage tits, big pointy nipples, slender hips, and a black bush. I kicked myself again for looking, but we had too many problems for me to spend much time on chastising myself.

The girl looked at me and whispered, “Call me Beth.”

I pulled a Ka-Bar knife out of the sheath strapped to my leg. She operated on her dress and hacked off the extraneous parts so she could move. I was going to bury the silk in the muck but Beth wrapped it around herself, mummy style. I gave her a questioning look. Beth gave me a shy smile and whispered, “I might need it later. That was thinking I understood, so I didn’t say anything more about it.”

I sheathed the knife and pulled a compass out of my pocket. We started crawling toward the last operational Agency Station in that part of SEA (South East Asia.) It was in the most god-forsaken, inhospitable hunk of jungle there ever was.

Beth stayed right on my heels. She kept her mouth shut and she never cried or complained. Incredibly, she didn’t slow me down.

I normally travel at night and hide during the day, but where we were was too nasty. Even crawling on my belly like a reptile, there were too many land mines not to mention undetonated bomblets, courtesy of U.S. Air Farce cluster bombs to travel at night.

Beth let me get the leeches off the parts she couldn’t reach and she didn’t give me any modesty shit. She returned the favor and didn’t seem grossed out by my hairy ass.

We cuddled up to keep warm at night. Beth whispered her story in my ear as we shivered in some thicket.

Beth was the daughter of a Chinese Communist Party Boss. He was a big shot in a big city, but he backed the wrong side in a power play and was sent out to the smallest, poorest village in the most remote province there was. Beth said it was such a shithole that exile was worse punishment than liquidating him.

When daddy was a big shot, Beth was educated in the best schools in Hong Kong. Shortly after his demotion, her dad was given the honor of donating his daughter to the party. They sent her to marry the agent I killed. She was his reward for keeping the Viet Cong and NVA armed so they could kill “running dog capitalist American pigs.”

“Are you married Mike?” Beth asked me one night.

“Why would I do a dumb thing like that?” I replied.

Beth punched my shoulder and said, “You’ll get used to having me around. Before you know it, you won’t be able to live without me.”

I was worried because I knew Beth wasn’t going to be honest about her age and I was more and more attracted to her. I always did prefer slim girls, and I liked itty bitty titties. She was flirty and sometimes a little aggressive. I hoped I could resist because we were covered with mosquito bites, we were filthy and caked with stinking mud. I didn’t want her first time to be so nasty. I definitely didn’t want to give her a UTI.

The next night Beth said, “You saved me. I owe you. My family always pays our debts. I will pay my debt to you. I will do all the work of a wife for you. I won’t be like an American woman. I will keep quiet and never give you any shit. I definitely won’t give you any trouble.”

I should have just accepted the inevitable, but I said, “I’ll give you a freebie. Just think of it as one last present from Uncle Sugar to the eternally grateful nation of South Vietnam, or to you, as their proxy.”

Beth nearly choked from laughing so hard. I put a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle the noise. When she got herself under control I pulled my hand away from her lips. Before I knew what was happening, Beth kissed me hard on the mouth. I was a goner from our first kiss.

I thought for about ten seconds and then asked, “Can you cook?”

Beth said, “I can cook Chinese starving peasant food. Teach me what you like. I’m reasonably intelligent, and I learn quickly. If you have a tiny bit of patience, I think you’ll be pleased.”

“I promise not to yell at you or hit you,” I said.

“You kill bad guys so I’m not worried. It’s a little unorthodox, but what you just said works as wedding vows for me.

“Just promise me you won’t be sarcastic or mean or call me stuff like ‘stick’ or ‘board’ to tease me because I’m so flat chested,” Beth said.

“Why would I do something stupid like that?” I asked.

“That’s what the white boys at school did,” Beth replied.

“I happen to be much smarter than school boys. I like your shape. I suppose that makes me a bad man and a nasty pervert, but I’d rather have you than some stacked but empty-headed American chick with a fat ass and a bad attitude,” I said.

“So, you have a thing for skinny little girls Mike?” Beth asked.

“No, I have a thing for you.

“What have you got in mind to do to pay me this huge debt you say you owe me?” I said.

“Oh, you know, the typical stuff American wives won’t give their husbands after they are married. The stuff he goes and buys from a hooker or he gets a mistress who will give it to him in exchange for jewelry.

“I happen to have an insatiable curiosity about all that physical stuff, and I can’t wait for our honeymoon so we can try EVERYTHING at least once. I plan to like a lot of sex stuff and I plan to do all the stuff I like a whole bunch as well as all the stuff you like even more often,” Beth said.

“How did you get that viewpoint on sex?” I asked.

“My mom gave me a detailed lecture on how to keep from having the groom get rid of me after the wedding night. She emphasized what can happen to a girl who refuses her husband.

“A girl’s life isn’t worth much in China. Once her parents decide to sell her, a girl’s worth drops to as near zero as it can get. If she pleases her husband exceptionally well she has a better chance of surviving.

“I am fully prepared to do everything you like with such a big smile you will never know if I like something or not,” Beth said.

“How do you feel about the fact that anyplace in the USA it would be illegal for me to touch you for four years or so?” I asked.

“You’re guessing I’m around fourteen. Pretty good guess. Make sure we live someplace where the Age of Consent is sixteen. When they make up my new ID, have them put my age as fifteen and one half, and then you won’t have to wait hardly at all,” Beth said.

“Can a doctor tell if you are lying?” I asked.

“They won’t find anything that will get you in trouble, and since I’m perfectly willing, your conscience shouldn’t feel any pain. I’ve been having regular periods for long enough they couldn’t trip me up with any question they could ask. I still have my hymen, so they can’t accuse you of raping me. Besides, we already exchanged vows, and I consider us married,” Beth said.

“I’ll think about it,” I told her, as we crawled through the jungle. The truth was, I’d stopped fighting falling for Beth about day three of crawling through the jungle, right after she kissed me.

Beth knew she had me. She always seemed to have a calm, confident grin on her face. At night, she cuddled closer than before. Beth always played it cool and never rubbed my face in it. Our breath was so nasty we didn’t repeat the kiss, but I wanted to and I could tell Beth wanted an encore too.

Two weeks later I crawled into the Agency Station. Beth was right behind me.

After we got cleaned up I asked Beth why she kept the extra silk. She giggled and said, “You don’t know much about girls, do you Mike? I didn’t know how long it would take to crawl here, so I wanted to have something to use in case I had to make a sanitary napkin for myself.”

All I could say was, “Ohhhhh.”

Right then I knew Beth was a really bright girl about practical shit. She might never have a degree, but she would always be brighter than all but 0.01% of the girls in the world.

The “mission” had worked even better than anticipated and the Agency rewarded me. The Agency still had a lot of power, so they could make my new life a lot easier for me. First, I got a new identity. The ID specialist told me it was easier to create a new identity than to try to reclaim my birth name, and the ID that I’d been using was bogus so it couldn’t be used. I became Mike McMillan.

The ID people decided to make Beth sixteen and they married us, just to keep us safe from any over-zealous law enforcement person back in The States.

I had eight years of back pay coming but that went in the bank. Beth negotiated a deal for us. In exchange for making myself available to the Agency on demand, we got a heated hanger and a new Cessna 185 to operate an air service out of Nome City Field.

We had what amounted to a small house behind the little office that was attached to our hanger in Nome.

We didn’t get a chance to consummate our newly legal marriage at the Station. Beth wanted to as soon as we had a shower, but I told her every room in the Station was probably bugged.

When we were finally alone in our Nome cottage I took a shower to get the travel and airplane stink off of me. People are constantly shedding dead skin cells. On an airplane these cells accumulate and when a plane is old enough, it reeks. I dried off and climbed into bed.

Beth went to take a shower. When she finished drying herself, she threw the towel on the floor and treated me to a view of my bride, totally naked, for the first time.

Beth was five feet, seven inches tall. She was skinny, but her body looked sexy to me, not like those starving people in the commercials trying to get you to donate. Her breasts had to be AA Cup at the largest, but for some reason they looked big enough to me. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on her.

“Sorry Mike. Wish I had more of a figure to give you,” Beth said.

I chuckled and replied, “You look just like the girl I fell in love with while we were crawling through the jungle to a highly classified location.”

“Damned if you aren’t serious! I knew there must be a reason I fell for you so hard and so fast,” Beth said.

“Can you tell me how old you really are for the sake of my conscience?” I asked.

Beth snickered and said, “According to the United States Government I’m a very, very sweet sixteen, and very, very married to you. Being married trumps the age of consent in every state, you know.

“If we have to dredge up unpleasant memories of my being sold as a sex slave to a fat, sadistic Chinese spy, I’m nearly fifteen. We are legally married though, so my age is just a number and totally irrelevant.”

“Oh good! I figure by fourteen a girl knows her own mind and can make decisions for herself about whether or not she wants to have sex with someone. I guess Asian girls just look younger or your slim, pretty figure fooled me.

“I’ve been fantasizing about what I’m going to do with your long, lovely legs. I’m relieved to know I won’t have to say ‘no’ when you shamelessly throw your gorgeous teenage body at me,” I said.

Beth cracked up. “I have a monopoly on perversion in our family. You’ll have to settle for being the sex addict. Now what were you imagining doing to me?”

“I’d rather show you than tell you,” I said.

I put Beth on her back, bent her in two and put her legs over my shoulders. I ate my wife’s pussy for the first time.

I have to admit I was short on experience. It seemed to me that available girls in SEA either wanted to give me some disease penicillin couldn’t cure or worked for the other side and wanted to kill me. Since survival was my top priority, I left all of the local girls alone.

My only sex experience had been in the back seat of a 1959 Ford, right after Prom. I must not have been too terrible because Betty Lou wanted to try it again to see if we could get the part where she had more than one orgasm to work better so she got a whole bunch of big “Os.”

Betty Lou wasn’t a prude, and she would read the sex advice and the sections in Playboy that talked about Masters and Johnson’s research with me. We explored her pussy and she let me look at her labia and inside her, to see if the color really changed when I rubbed her clitoris. She just didn’t let me put anything inside her until after Prom.

I was an idiot, and I didn’t have a rubber for Prom night. We were both worked up and decided to chance it bareback. In the morning I decided Betty Lou wasn’t my “Venus” and not worth the risk so I enlisted and left for Basic Training that day.

I guess that was the first time I told a big lie or did something sneaky. It was the first event in my career as a sneaky asshole, although the only one that involved a woman on a personal level.

Beth seemed to think my pussy eating was satisfactory. She came twice and made some sexy noises. She pulled me on top of her and kissed me. She smiled and said, “Oh, people lie. I taste pretty damn good, not a bit like spoiled tuna fish!”

“I agree. I couldn’t quit licking while I found out what it was like to have your lovely legs where I’d imagined them,” I said.

“Did you start imagining eating my pussy while we were crawling through the jungle and you were afraid I was twelve or something?” Beth asked.

“I had a hardon as soon as I saw you, and it pretty much never went away,” I said.

“Did I live up to your fantasies?” Beth asked.

“You exceeded them all darling,” I said.

“That’s good! I’ve always imagined I’d be really good at sex, so I’m relieved to know I don’t fall short,” Beth said.

“How do you feel about having children?” I asked her.

“As romantic as getting knocked up the first time we do it might be, I’d really rather wait a few years. I don’t want to die getting your basketball headed kid through my teenage pelvis. Is that OK with you, my mighty lord and master?” Beth said.

“Yes, I’ve gotten to like having you around, so let’s not risk your smart ass. I have condoms,” I said.

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