To those who want to get to the hot parts go for it. To those who have more patience, bear with me because they will come.
Before I go on with this story I have to say a few words about the barmaids who worked in the bars on East Main St.
First, they were no different then the barmaids who worked in whatever strip of bars that existed outside of any military base anywhere in the world in the 40's. 50's, & 60's.
Most of them were there to work, put a roof over their heads, cloths on their back, and food on their plate.
Some were working to support themselves and their families. Oddly enough because of the poor wages paid to women in those days, and perhaps their poor educational background, they usually made more money then they could have made as filing clerks or sales clerks.
A lot of the older ones were our mother-in-absentia. They listened, counseled, and consoled us.
I've even seen them act as chaperones to younger ladies who only wanted to earn a living and to be let alone.
I've seen these ladies stop a fight before it started with a look only. A look that our mothers would have envied.
Yes there were those that were there for the excitement and wild life, and not a few of them took delight in pitting one sailor against another just to stir things up.
I even had a couple of the older dear ladies warn me about Pat, when we started going together, because she was truly a wild child, but like any 19 year old male, no old broad was going to tell me what to do, poor fool I.
I gave a copy of The Barmaid and this story to an old friend who is also retired Navy and who'd also spent a large portion of his career in Destroyers (Tin Cans to us) and had spent his fair share of time on Easy Main. He wanted to know why we were headed back into the yards since we had just gotten through with an overhaul and normally wouldn't be back in the yards for another 3 years at the earliest.
Several thoughts ran through my mind. The first is that you and he need a little information:
Every Navy ship has a hull number. Until 9/11 they were painted in large white numbers on the bow except on carriers and subs. They are still there after 9/11 but they are not white, are smaller, and because of their color are difficult to see. On the back-end (Stern) is the name of the vessel.
Next; In official correspondence the hull number is preceded by a series of letters to identify the class of vessel. Carriers are CV_, Subs are SS_, and Destroyers were DD. Except that my tin can was an EDD because we were an experimental Destroyer in that we would go into the yards, get new equipment installed, and then we would get underway to test it to see if the Navy wanted it or not.
My ship specialized in electronics, communications and fire control systems.
Fire control systems are the radars, computers, and peripheral equipment used to hit a target with projectiles or missiles. That was my job. I was in the fire control gang.
Now my friend understood . . .
Now on with the story:
Jean (Read The Barmaid) had disappeared during the ships underway training in Guantanamo Bay (Gitmo), Cuba, so on our return to Norfolk I was essentially back to playing sailor on East Main St. in Norfolk, Virginia. To all sailors who've trod the sidewalks of that street it will always be Easy Main.
Back in those bad old days of segregation the black version of Easy Main was Church St.
The sailoring went on until January when we headed North to the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard. . . .
We entered Philly Shipyard, had our new Fire Control equipment installed, replenished, re-armed, and headed back down to Gitmo and in particular Culebra Island where we proceeded to blow about 2,000 rounds of 5-inch projectiles out of the gun barrels to test out the new equipment.
While in the shipyard I'd re-enlisted from US Naval Reserve to Regular Navy for 6 years, took my re-enlistment money, and headed up to New York on leave. While there I met a fair young maid and before we left the yards I found myself engaged.
Upon our return to Norfolk there was a Naval truck on the pier stacked full of mail bags. In one of the bags was a "Dear John" letter and my ring back from my intended as I soon learned at mail call.
My shipmates were most supportive and sympathetic, snickering and generally having fun at my expense. My leading Petty Officer went so far as to remind me that at the time of my engagement he'd pointed out that I was thinking with my little head instead of my big one and that he'd tried to tell me it was lust, not love that I was experiencing.
In a testosterone filled world sympathy lies somewhere between shit and syphilis in the dictionary, or as the saying was at the time, go see the chaplain and get your TS (Tough Shit) Card punched.
The other part of this was that in a time honored tradition I was now expected to go drown my sorrows, so those of us who had liberty drew our liberty cards and headed down to Easy Main and the Krazy Kat Bar.
Every ship had its own bar and ours was the Krazy Kat, known to one and all as the Insane Pussy.
We got off the bus in downtown Norfolk, walked the several blocks to Easy Main, entered the bar where I was about to meet a 100% genuine Tasmanian Devil named Pat.
There were enough of us that we filled three booths and our pokes were full because we'd not had any time or place to spend our money while in Gitmo and off Culebra so we fed the kitty and bought our beer by the pitchers, and there were a lot of them brought to the booths that night.
I remember I was sitting in the center booth so I was getting it literally from both sides. My shipmates were still on my case over my "Dear John" letter. It was coming to the point where under normal circumstances I'd be for kicking ass, but these were my shipmates so I just had to suck it up and be a good sport about it.
The Queen Bee of the bar was new to me as she hadn't been there when we'd headed South. She was sitting in the booth in front of me drinking a "house drink" and talking quietly with one of my shipmates.
The next thing I knew she had me by the hand, pulled me out of my seat, and dragged me to the back booth. After sitting me down she asked if I'd buy her a drink to which I agreed. She soon came back with a pitcher of beer and her drink. I gave her some money which she had one of the other barmaids give to the bartender as she scooted me over to sit down and join me and introduced herself as Pat.
Pat was really short, about 5 ft or 5'1," short blonde hair, pleasingly plump, a sexy butt, huge heavy breasts which bounced and wobbled when she walked, and dammed good looking.
As we sat there she got a lot of questions answered about who I was, about the ship, and about my now ex-fiance. All of the time we sat there she didn't touch her drink, but looking around she'd take a hearty sip from my glass, which is strictly ver boten.
She in turn told me she was 27 and she'd left her husband and three kids in Pennsylvania when she got tired of his bullshit. Looking at her a little closer in the dim light of the back booth, I doubted the 27 years old part because she had some lines around her eyes which should put her in her mid-to-late thirties unless she was burning the candle at both ends every night.
Every once in awhile Pat would take a trip to the ladies room and I'd take advantage of it by making a bee line for the men's head.
After several hours she was in a yahoo mood and asked me point blank if I wanted to sleep with her that night. Is Bugs Bunny a rabbit? You betcha!
She told me to take off and she'd meet me at a restaurant around the corner right after closing time. The thought flashed through my mind, ya right. She sheepishly explained that she'd sorta promised a couple of other sailors the same treat and she would have to sneak out the back door or there'd be one a hell of a fight at the front door when she left, especially if she was being escorted by yet a different sailor.
Thinking, what the hell, why not, I took off for the restaurant, not really expecting Pat to show up.
I sat in a booth drinking beer for an hour or so when Pat walked in. She sat down and split my beer with me. She asked me if I had enough money for a motel room, to which I replied yes.
Norfolk had some very tight vice laws back then about shacking up. If you got caught there was a $37.00 fine for each of the two parties. In addition, for the lady if she was a repeat offender, she'd get 30 days on the "Pea Farm" where she helped grow and pick what she ate.
The boss of "The Vice Squad" which was responsible for enforcing the laws was a fellow by the name of Captain Robinette. The squad was extremely active and virulent in their enforcement. Breaking doors down like old time boot leg busters, roughing up anyone who got in their way and generally spreading fear and bruises upon all at the slightest provocation.
The only place you were absolutely safe was a motel just outside of town named Thalias. It was common knowledge the motel was owned by Robinette. That is where Pat and I headed in a taxicab.
By now I was pretty drunk so the next several hours are still a blank.
I woke up the next morning to the delightful feeling of a soft warm body pushed up against me as I tried to clear the cobwebs.
Parts of last night were coming back to me, I wasn't AWOL as I had a 72 hour liberty, and I wasn't hung over. Thank You Lord!
My eyes dropped to the sexy sweet body lying next to me and I decided I had probably been too drunk last night to take advantage of a golden opportunity and now seemed like a good time to repair that mistake as my peter was telling me it was lonely and it needed to be properly parked in a soft, warm, wet, garage.
Scooting up close to Pat I pushed my hard peter between her thighs. She spread her legs slightly so that my peter was safely encapsulated. I reached my right arm over her so that my hand and fingers could play with a breast and nipple or two.
Big surprise! Those breasts were huge and pendulous, my favorite kind. No wonder they wobbled and bounced. There wasn't an industrial strength bra in the world that would tame those two beauties. I murmured a Thank You Jesus as I began to play with the uppermost one.
The next sound was a THACK!! Pat was smacking my hand with hers.
She sweetly informed me in a voice that a Bosun's Mate would envy. "Gaaw Damn You leave Me Alone. I'm Tired. We'll Fuck After I've Gotten My Sleep!"
All I could muster was a mental, My God why has thou forsaken me?
Having nothing better to do and noticing she had not removed my hand from her breast, she'd only discouraged me from playing with it, I closed my eyes and went back to sleep, still copping a feel of that humungus lump of flesh.
Some time later I slowly woke to an almost familiar smell and a delightful warm feeling around my peter.
As I opened my eyes I saw in front of me a pussy waiting to be loved and as I looked down I could see Pat's breasts wrapped around my peter with only the head of it showing. She was busy rubbing my peter with her breasts and kissing the head.
The kitty was awake and it was playtime. Thank you Lord and let us be truly grateful for that which we are about to receive.
Because we were laying in a side by side 69 position and Pat was so short it didn't take much repositioning for me to get my mouth and tongue on that pussy and Pat was most cooperative by throwing a leg over my head.
She smelled and tasted a little differently then Jean had, as I remembered. Not bad just different. So I guessed that it was true that each woman has a slightly different taste and smell. Wonder if that holds true for men? I assure you I have no intention of trying to personally find out. Ladies help me out with this one.
I licked Pat's slit for a second or two before I put the palm of my hand on it and started to gently rub it. It wasn't too long before the outer lips started to spread and the scent of her pussy began to intensify. Now I could really get my tongue and lips into the action.
I spread her labia with my fingers and inserted my tongue so that I could slide it up and down the two lips. Her inner lips were now beginning to push out to the point that I was now able to push my tongue into her pussy and really get down and dirty.
It was having an effect on Pat because her pussy was wet and her breathing was getting heavy, although it was hard to tell as she now had my peter halfway down her throat.
My God that woman could draw a suction like a bilge pump and I knew that I was about to come right now. As I stiffened up Pat went for the kill and really started to suck and to run her fingernails across my testicles. That was it, Pat won and I came.
I looked down to a really weird sight. My peter was still buried in her mouth, cum was leaking out around it and she had a grin like a damn old cheshire cat on her lips.
She looked up to me and told me that that was to make sure that I didn't cum too quickly when we fucked and once she got my peter hard she was going to bust my poor sailor ass. She had every intention of riding me hard, and putting me away wet. She finished it off by telling me to get back to munching her pussy.
I figured that pay-backs are a mother fucker and I had every intention of paying her back. Most young men are not into eating pussy all that much but Jean had taught me well and so I started into getting Pat's jollies off.
I used my tongue and fingers on every inch of her pussy. When she again started to breath heavy I started to blow soft breaths of air into her pussy and that raised her to the next level. Now that I had her attention I headed for her clitoris and really went to work.
I had two fingers as deep into her pussy as I could get them and just started running them in circles around the walls of her pussy as I began to suck, tongue and breath air on her clit.
That was about the time I learned some things about Pat, one of them not very pleasant. As she approached her climax she started to scream just as Jean had done but not quite as loud. She, unlike Jean, was also a total smut mouth. She God Dammed me, mother fuckered me, and a whole lot of other phrases that would have made a Bosun's Mate blush.
Just before she came I found the unpleasant part. True to the nickname of the bar she worked in, she was an insane pussy while in the throes of her climax. Pat was a ripper. She dug those damn nails into my skin wherever she could reach and proceeded to put furrows on me that took two weeks to heal, much to the delight of my shipmates.
As she came she stiffened up. like a statue, only problem was that she had my head between her thighs and I thought she was going to crush it she was so stiff. Her pussy had also clamped onto my fingers but not nearly as tight as those damn thighs were against my ears.
As she came back down to earth and her breathing returned to normal I told her if she ever raked me like that again I was going to blister her ass and so help me she grinned and laughed. I never went to bed with her that she didn't scratch me somewhere. I swear to God she was marking her turf.
I started in on her again and between the fingers, breaths of air, lips, and tongue I soon had her back to wailing and cursing, but at least not scratching too deep. When she came down from her next series of orgasms it was my turn to grin. Jean you taught me well.
I don't remember whether there was a restaurant next to Thalias or not but I do remember that after showering we dressed and went somewhere to eat.
Since Pat didn't have to be back to work for several hours we returned to the room. When I opened the door the smell of sex hung like a cloud, which was fine with me as I had every intention of parking my peter in Pat's pussy. The smell even got to Pat as I saw a sheepish grin on her face.
Shucking our cloths we headed for the bed and dived in.
Pat and I kissed and necked for a little bit until I figured it was time to get to work, as I proceeded to give her a "Round the World" with lips tongue and hands. I used everything Jean taught me but Pat had a surprise or two for me.
She liked rough sex, When I began to play with those huge breasts it wouldn't do to squeeze, kiss, and suck. I had to squeeze, and twist them as hard as I could. When I sucked the nipples it wasn't enough, I had to pull the nipples and bite them with my teeth.
What really got her going was when I grabbed the nipples of those big pendulous beauties and pulled her breasts off her chest and I lifted them straight up in the air until I could feel her back coming off the bed. That got her going because she was now in the smut mouth mode.
Before she got all four boilers on the line and superheaters lit off (if you don't understand what I just said, don't worry about, it means we were getting ready to take a damn fast and hard ride). I'd left hickeys and teeth marks all over her body.
As I was biting her thighs she figured she was ready. That little demon tossed me on the bed like a rag doll flat on my back, mounted me with a rush and a roar, jammed my peter as deep into her pussy as she could, and got underway with a full head of steam.
I knew that I wasn't going to last too long if I didn't do something real quick, so I tried to distract my mind, ya right, you try that when a wet pussy is sliding up and down your peter like a piston in a Nascar race car engine during the Daytona 500.
I looked at the face above me and knew she wasn't far from losing it. Her eyes were shut her mouth distorted in a familiar grimace, and her breaths, screams, and curses were now in the supersonic range.
Suddenly Pat Jammed a big tit in my mouth screaming for me to bite the God damn nipple off and to spank her God damn ass.
I proceeded to do her bidding and for good measure I grabbed the breast that I wasn't sucking and pulled on the nipple until it was rubbing against the blanket underneath me.
That did it!
She stiffened up as if someone had rammed a steel rod up her ass, gave one last scream and her body began to shudder. Her pussy muscles clamped down on my peter and I was done. I exploded into her every bit of cum I had, which set her off on a series of minor climaxes.
It had been a damn close thing. The way she pounded my peter I knew I was going to embarrass myself by coming too soon, but I'd staved off a disaster, somehow.
As Pat lay on my chest in a post coital stupor I thought about the experience I'd just been put through. She was right. She'd busted this sailor's ass and I had definitely been rode hard and put away wet.
With Jean I'd experienced the whole range of sex from romance to the wild. With Pat there would only be FUCKING! That was the way she was and would I accept it? Hey, I was 19 years old and testosterone impaired. What would your decision have been?
It was time for Pat to get to work so we called a cab to head back to the Insane Pussy. On the way Pat broached several subjects, the first was the expense of taking the cab out to Thalias and back all the time (All the time? Oh joy!). She thought she had a solution but she had to check it out first so she'd meet me at the restaurant after closing time and hopefully tomorrow would be the last time we'd be using Thalias.
The next was that she was a working girl and it would be distracting if I was there all day, not to mention that I'd be drunker then a shit-house rat and of no use so I was to lay low until about an hour before closing time, have a beer or two and leave for the restaurant.
In all of this she'd never asked me what I thought about us shacking up, she just assumed, correctly of course, but still and all . .
I played pool, most of the day and evening until I picked Pat up and we headed back to Thalias.
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