Allen had been gone six months when they came.
Gwen had tried everything, from bowling leagues with the Officers' Wives Club to college night courses.
She was nervous and irritable, clinging to the door and watching for the postman every day, hoping he had a letter from Allen.
But the letters came, three and four at a time, only once a month. Allen had written he was on reconnaissance patrol most of the time and could only write when they came in to headquarters. His letters were short and choppy, mostly asking questions and saying he loved her and would be home soon.
What little she knew about what he was doing came in the form of news stories from the Camp Pendleton Scout, when occasionally his name would be mentioned and the reporter told about a night attack or the blowing up of a bridge deep in enemy territory.
The Vietnamese medal had come first. The commanding officer of the reconnaissance company from the camp had sent her a letter with a copy of the citation explaining why Allen had received the medal. The letter had praised Allen's work and stated that he was also recommended for the Silver Star.
But the glory had only salved her loneliness for a while, and then she sank back into the morose climate of the war-widow existence, always doing things with other women, never being seen alone with a man, avoiding going out too often at night for fear someone in the neighborhood might get the wrong idea.
It was frustrating and she often cried herself to sleep, beating her small fists into the pillow and wishing for Allen to appear in the doorway, to take her roughly in his arms and cover her body with kisses, to rape her, and then caress and comfort her in his strong, hirsute arms.
But her dream never came true and she ended up sobbing herself into the darkness of sleep, to awake to another empty day.
That was all before she met them. They had come on a Saturday afternoon.
The doorbell rang and Gwen peered through the split in the curtains before answering it.
"Yes?" she said through the locked screen door.
"Mrs. Gwen Farrow?"
"Yes?"
"We're Bob and Sybil McCusker. A friend of mine in Vietnam knows your husband, Allen, and we thought we'd drop in and say hello."
"Allen?"
"Yes, may we?"
"Certainly. Yes, please, come in." She nervously unlatched the door and stepped aside as the couple entered.
"Sorry about the locked doors and everything, but you know how it is these days. Can't trust anyone." Her voice was excited as she ushered them into the front room.
"Care for something to drink? It's a hot day."
"No, thank you," the woman said, smiling up at Gwen.
"You sure? Only take a see to fix something. How about you, Mister…"
"Bob. Call me, Bob, Gwen. Yes, I'd like something. Glass of water will be fine."
"We have some beer…" Gwen blushed and wiped her hands on her apron. "I mean… I have some beer or gin if you'd like a drink."
"Well… sure, how about a Collins?" Bob asked, smiling at her. "Sybil?" he asked, addressing his wife.
"Fine. But don't go to any trouble."
"No trouble. No trouble at all," Gwen called over her shoulder as she scurried to the kitchen to make the drinks.
"Prime," Bob whispered to his wife. Sybil smiled, a haughty, nonchalant air about her as she tapped a cigarette on her gold case and waited for Bob to light it for her.
"Very prime," she replied, tilting her head back and exposing her creamy neck as she blew a hazy shaft of smoke up toward the dropped ceiling.
Gwen balanced the tinkling glasses into the room and bent, offering them to the couple. Bob hesitated as he reached for his glass, peering down the low-cut neckline of Gwen's sundress.
"Very attractive apartment," Sybil said throatily, taking Gwen's attention from Bob's prying eyes.
"Thank you. I don't have much else to keep me busy."
"Too bad Allen's away. Such a lovely woman you are," Bob said, raising his glass and smiling.
"Thanks again," Gwen said innocently, settling on the edge of the large ottoman. "I don't get many male compliments these days."
"Reclusing?" Sybil asked, her long, false eyelashes lifting and falling over her hazel eyes.
"War widow. Suppose you know what that's like. Were you in the service, Bob? Marines?"
"Army," Bob said setting his drink down.
"Ohhh," Gwen sighed, disappointed.
"Oh, I know how you Marine wives are. Your men are the toughest, meanest, best-trained in the world. And I agree. I made a mistake. Should have walked across the hall to the Marines instead of the Army."
"Gwen, tell us about what you've been doing," Sybil interjected, tilting her head and looking at Gwen from the corners of her eyes.
"Loafing. Trying to keep busy. Allen doesn't want me to work. I read a lot. Write a lot of letters. Swim in the pool. Bowl. Play bridge sometimes." She read the list off in a bored voice.
"But tell me about Allen. Who sent you? Do you have a message? Is Allen all right?" The sudden thought of harm raced through her mind.
"He's fine. Fine," Bob said reaching out and patting Gwen's leg. Sybil looked sharply at him and he retracted the lingering hand. Gwen appeared to pay no attention to the contact.
"But what about the message. You said a friend…"
"Yes." Sybil smiled, her sensuous red lips stretching into a thin smile. "A good friend of ours in the Army, George Hinman, just got back and mentioned your husband's name. He's a helicopter pilot, and said he lifted your husband's team. I think he called it…"
"Yes… yes…" Gwen scooted closer to Sybil, her firm, round buttocks barely glued to the edge of the ottoman.
"And he said he talked to him briefly. He mentioned he had a wife in Oceanside, told him about you…" Sybil paused and pressed her finger to her lips. Gwen blushed. "And he said he'd send a message back. Your husband said, to quote, keep a stiff upper lip, unquote."
"Ohhh," Gwen said, her excited tone melting to disappointment. "Anything else?"
"No, Sybil had the four-word message right," Bob chimed in, tinkling his empty glass. "Say, I'll have another one of those delicious drinks, if they're handy."
"Ah, yes. Sure," Gwen said, rising and taking his glass from him. She moved toward the kitchen, her left index finger hooked in her lower lip like a pouting child.
"You did a beautiful job of bombing the poor kid," Bob hissed, baring his gleaming white teeth in a phony smile.
"You got your feelie, dearie," Sybil recoiled, baring her teeth into an equally false grin.
"You're quite a bitch, Sybil," Bob replied, widening his crescent-shaped smile.
"Careful, or I'll blow the whole thing and you'll be out of fresh meat for a while, Bob baby." Sybil forced her grin to widen.
"Don't kid me. All you want is your face between her tender thighs, my dear, vicious wife," Bob hissed, reaching across and squeezing her knee painfully.
From the kitchen, Gwen saw the smiling couple. Her heart sank as she though how loving and happy they looked, smiling and touching each other, giving support, being there in the critical times. For a moment she wished she were Sybil and that Bob's hand was squeezing her knee, and that he was whispering sweet things to her. She forced herself to turn away and purposely dropped a spoon on the floor to alert the lovebirds she was coming.
"Clumsy me," she smiled, trying to recapture her gay mood. She had been disappointed nothing more was sent to her than "keep a stiff upper". It might mean something to a boxer, she thought, but it didn't do a damn thing for her.
There was no more talk of Allen or Vietnam.
Bob asked interesting questions about Gwen's background, where she went to school, what she did, where she had worked. They were both surprised when Gwen told them Allen didn't want her to work.
"Why, that's criminal," Sybil said pursing her lips and shaking her head. "What's a poor thing like you to do? Sit around and go crazy looking at four walls?"
"I keep busy," Gwen lied.
"Come on, now," Sybil said, puffing her cheeks and fluttering her inch-long eyelids, "tell me the truth? You're bored stiff. And you cry yourself to sleep every night."
"No. No, really, I'm quite content." Gwen felt embarrassed. Sybil knew so much, she was so mature, graceful.
Since a teen-ager, Gwen had admired women like Sybil. Sybil was tall and strong-looking. She had a long, statuesque face and slender, tapered legs. Her breasts were very large, jutting out against the front of her suit jacket. Her waist nipped in and her wide, curving hips flared out and swept in around her parenthesis-shaped buttocks. Her lips were thick and together formed a matching pair of gull's wings, one on top of the other. Her nose was bold, sloping down from her mascara-lined eyes and curving under sharply at the tip to make two small ovals.
Her complexion was dark, ripened by the warm sun, and a faint patch of freckles under each eye offset her hazel eyes and dark, mahogany-colored hair. Left alone, Gwen was sure that Sybil could live a boisterous, complete life. She was a commending woman, yet a sensual one. Gwen felt meek and underscored just looking at her.
"I tell you what," Sybil said after staring into Gwen's searching eyes. "I'm going to demand that you come to our house for dinner. Just the three of us. We can talk, have a few drinks, eat, watch television. Have a good, pleasant time and get to know one another."
"Well… I'd like to, but…"
"Not another word. Now, we went out of our way to come see you, why don't you do the same for us?"
"Thanks, but…"
"I won't take no for an answer, Gwen," Sybil said sternly, lifting one eyebrow haughtily.
"Well… I suppose… gee, we just met…"
"I think it would do you a world of good to get out, Gwen," Bob said fatherly. "We don't want to force you into anything you don't want to do. If you'd rather not…"
"No. You're not forcing me. I'd like to come. Yes, I'll come."
"Fine," Sybil said, rising. "Why don't you bring your overnight things with you and plan on spending the weekend. We live in Santa Monica, it's quite a drive from here."
Gwen's face soured.
"All weekend?"
"Well, certainly. You'll be exhausted when you get up there and you certainly couldn't drive back that night. Besides, we wouldn't think of letting you rent a motel. So bring your undies and things and plan on a little vacation with us."
"I don't know."
"Think about it. I'm sure you're a big enough girl to decide what to do," Sybil said leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek. "Any time Friday. Any time," she said stepping to the door.
"Oh, how do I get there?" Gwen asked, feeling foolish.
"How stupid of me. Here." She handed her the envelope she'd been holding. "The directions are inside. If you get lost, call us. Good-bye, Gwen. See you Friday."
"Yes, good-bye, Gwen," Bob said as they stepped out the door. "See you."
"Yummy," Bob said, wheeling the car into the nearest motel. "We have to celebrate over this one." He licked his lips and squeezed Sybil's leg. "Be back in a jif."
The room was cool and a window overlooked the ocean lapping up against the tar-blackened beach. Surfers dotted the rally blue waters and cormorants swooped low across the surface as Bob pressed his wife against the wall and kissed her neck.
"I'm going to eat you alive, baby," he whispered huskily, his hand pressing between her legs and cupping her vagina.
"While you think of that sweet little bitch we just left, right lover?"
"Right."
They laughed and he swung her up in the air and over to the bed, laying her gently on the freshly made linen.
"I'm going to come all over their fresh sheets," he laughed, pulling his shirt off as she poked playfully at his balls.
"How would you like to come in that little bird's mouth?" Sybil raised her hips and pulled her nylons off, revealing the dark, shiny tanned legs that had drawn Bob to her the first time they met at the beach in Monterey.
"Anywhere on her will do. Her nose. Her ear. Her ass. All virgin holes, I bet."
Naked, he rolled over and humped Sybil's leg as she struggled to pull her dress over her head.
"Whoa, horse. Give me a minute."
"I can't wait, Gwen, baby. I need your box in my mouth. I need your come to dribble down my jaw."
"Oh, want to play the change-identity game," Sybil said, tossing her head and laughing. "Okay. I'll be you're little cherry, Gwen. You be my big Marine, what's-his-name."
"Allen," he said sitting up and saluting with his left hand. "I be, big, brave Ma-line, named Allen Farrow I have little, doll-like wife. She squaw in America. She need good screw by friendly neighbor to be happy."
He laughed and pulled her panties off as she unsnapped her bra and shrugged her shoulders, letting her ripe, full-blown breasts spill out and sway as Bob rocked the bed.
"One serious thing before we start, eager hubby," Sybil said, the jest erased from her voice.
"Shoot."
"Don't ever get handy with a prospect again like today."
"Handy?"
"You know damn well what I mean," she scolded. "I saw your grubby hand sneak out and touch her leg. One wrong move with the wrong chick and the whole thing could bust open."
Bob decided not to play innocent. "All right. All right. I just couldn't resist."
"Well, just don't rush things this weekend. Let me give the cues."
"You're the boss, baby. You're the boss."
"All right." She licked her lips and smiled at him. "Game time. I'm you're married virgin, Gwen. And you're Allen. Come to me, Allen."
She stretched out her long, tapered arms and caught him by the ears.
"Gwen. Gwen," Bob said, blinking his eyes and making his lip tremble. "I've wanted you so long. I've thought of you every night since I left."
"You're a bad actor," Sybil said, wrinkling her nose and squeezing his ears.
"Come on, play the game," he bitched, placing his hands on her thighs and pushing them apart.
"Gwen. Gwen. I need you, baby. I need your box in my mouth."
He bent down and nuzzled his head between Sybil's thighs until his hair touched her cant. Slowly, he raised his head, letting his nose drag across her dry slit. He began rubbing the bridge of his nose up and down her slot until he felt her fluids wetting his face and smelled the hircine odor of her snatch.
"Oh, Allen, Allen," Sybil moaned in a high-pitched, faint voice that tried to ape Gwen's. "Stick your tongue in me. Lick me inside and out."
"I'm coming, baby. The Marines have landed."
He spread the lips of her pussy apart and studied the folded creases of her box. He saw the red fang of her clitoris dangling like a uvula, and licked at it gently, teasing its blood-engorged tip with the sharp edge of his stiff tongue.
"Good, good. Be nice. Suck it." Sybil squeezed his ears, digging her fingers into the soft flesh as he flicked his lizard-like tongue again and again at the exposed flesh-tooth.
It twitched and quivered as he banged it gently from side to side, drawing his head back to watch it harden and wag out at him like a blind man's cane seeking the curb of a busy street. He licked around its trembling, blunt end and felt its soft, cotton-like texture as his lips puckered around it and he sucked it tenderly into his mouth, pulling on it with his curled, tight lips.
Sybil pulled madly at his ears, nagging him to penetrate her deeply with his tongue. He knew she liked that. She liked it with a man or a woman. She didn't care so long as the mouth satisfied her and was gentle at first and then rougher as her passions mounted.
She was thrashing her hips now, banging her pubis against his face, trying to break his sucking grip on her clitoris.
He spit the nub out as she whimpered and speared his tongue deep into her hole, feeling her body quiver like Jello as he wagged the tip back and forth against the walls of her cunny.
"Allen. Gwen. Bob." She bit her lip and ran her hands down to her own breasts, squeezing them and rolling the nipples between her fingers as she sank into the sybaritic pleasure of her husband's practiced tongue.
Her hips lifted off the bed and she pulled her jutting tits hard as Bob cupped her buttocks and shook his head madly between her legs, making his tongue thrash her frothy cavern like a propeller. He twisted the organ this way and that, curving it into a U-shape and dragging it out across her sensitive clit.
She panted breathlessly, her stomach heaved, sweat popped out over her body. Bob was caught in the bizarre sensation of satisfying her and rocked his head rapidly, driving his stiff, probing tongue against every inch of her soft, squishy cunt.
"Now," she cried, mashing her thighs against his ears and making his jaw ache. "Deep, Allen. Deep. Until it comes out my ass."
Bob drove his tongue in and out like a saw. She stiffened. Her fingers squeezed brutally around her breasts. Her tongue danced out of her mouth and licked at the air.
She bucked, nearly dazing Bob as her pubis smashed against his nose. She shook, her body shimmying as she cried out.
"Harder. Harder. Oh, God, harder!"
He made a final jab and she shook violently, then relaxed, her legs falling away from his ears, her hands slipping away from her breasts, her tongue sliding back into her mouth.
Bob grinned. He rolled over on his side and wiped the wet, pungent juices and pubic hairs from his mouth. He'd wait a few minutes and then get his.
"Tell me when you're ready, Gwen," he said, rubbing his long, stiff pecker.