The Sgt. Purple Hearts Club Band

A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

In honor and memory of Oggbashan.

****

Never in a million years would Sally Saugenwelt ever have thought she could be considered a "groupie."

And she wasn't really, except on the most narrow, strict-constructionist, interpretation of the term. It had been only for one band, and only for one week, and even that wasn't that big a deal when you took everything into account.

It had been a hot July Monday night in Austin, Texas. Sally had taken ten days off work to visit her troublesome sister, a deed she deeply dreaded but couldn't effectively or ethically avoid.

Sixth Street seemed a hopping place in the early evening slanted light. Every block seemed to have two or three music venues, some with brick facades, small noisy joints with soaring chords vibrating out open front doors, happy couples emerging or entering, smiles on faces. A town that took their music serious. Sally could not imagine why Judi didn't take advantage of the riches right here in her own backyard.

She paused in front of one dark but bustling venue, "The Brontosaurus." An artful drawing of the giant dinosaur had included the placement of a harmonica in the lizard's mouth. The "Austin Waybacks" were listed on top of the marquee but the name of the second band caught her eye, "The Sgt. Purple Hearts Club Band."

Part of Sally's key to sanity for the week involved taking every other evening off from Judi, after dinner, for whatever entertainments she could find in town. Judi had taken her to various local sights like the O'Henry house downtown and the Museum of the Weird on the weekend, but Judi wasn't the type for clubs or a night out, so Sally had taken the bull by the horns to brave downtown Austin's vibrant nightlife on her own.

There are only two ways to take time off work: pleasure jaunts, just for yourself, or obligation ones, usually for family. This trip, involving aggravating airplane travel and all that that entailed, was number two. At least with Sally's marriage a good way in the rearview mirror, it didn't involve an obligation tangle with her former husbands miserable clan. Her ordeal this week would be strictly in-house, but she was determined to find her enjoyments wherever possible.

Sally paused in front of the place, weighing her options. It appeared there was a five dollar cover, which seemed a bargain at twice the price, so she inhaled, made her way inside, gathered a local craft brew, and sat down at one of the smaller corner tables while a band and the house soundcrew went through their preparations.

Dark with wooden panels and old wainscoting in an older building, at least it was no smoking. She was never good at estimating crowd capacity, but it appeared the place could accommodate sixty or a hundred folks, judging by the number of tables.

Sally sipped her beer and ruminated. Judi, given name Judith, but who had insisted in high school that she preferred 'Judi' not 'Judy' as the family had always had it, was insecure, empty-headed, talkative, and quick to find fault with everyone but herself. Yet she was Sally's only sister after all, and just because she had moved to Texas shouldn't have been enough to make her an outcast.

Even after Judi's own marriage with that beastly Texan Robbie went belly-up, she stayed in the state, if not the same city. None of the other Oregon Boyd clan would make a trip out ("But it's Austin!" Judi would say, "not like the rest of the state!") everyone always found reasons not to visit. Sally had felt obliged, every other year, to make the trip.

The band who finally assembled on stage and launched into their first tune seemed an unusual mix. The lead singer was handsome enough, with dark hair, vaguely Hispanic, with a dimple on his right side, despite sporting only one truly functional arm, the one he cradled the microphone with. The other arm was missing the parts that normally went below an elbow, and it waved around a bit erratically as the singer went through his dramatic flourishes. The bass fellow was medium sized, bearded, frizzy dark hair and silver spectacles, almost a Jerry Garcia type, and it turned out he would do the keyboards when the song called for it.

The lead guitarist was a tall, fairly obnoxious-looking surfer dude type. His movements were a bit erratic, almost like he was trying to be cool but couldn't quite pull it off. Facial expressions during a solo were extreme, even given the often outlandish standards of lead guitar histrionics.

The place slowly filled up, maybe twenty large tables and some smaller, benches on the side, and folks at the bar. Interest was muted. In Portland this sort of place would have been a big deal, but folks here seemed to take live music as a given.

The dark haired drummer had nice shoulders and an appealing moon face but played in a fairly laid back fashion. The band mostly did classic rock stuff: some Allman Brothers, Tom Petty, even mumbled through some Nirvana bits, and of course, songs from the original Beatles iconic album. She especially enjoyed their take on the Beatles song at the end of their set, "Day in the Life."

She hadn't realized, until the boys made their way off the stage after their set, that the drummer used a wheelchair. Of course, unlike the rest of the band, he'd been seated the whole time, partially screened by his drum kit and Sally couldn't have known. She watched, more intently than she wanted, as he smoothly rolled across the stage and behind the curtains and disappeared. No legs that she could discern. What an odd collection of rockers!

After their set the place regrouped, folks getting seconds at the bar, and it began to fill up for the Austin Waybacks. It wasn't even that late, ten in the evening on a midweek Austin night, this town that seemed to have music coming out of its ears.

She fended off a couple advances from some of the guys who'd sauntered by her table, she was used to this sort of thing, even at mid-thirties, and settled down to the last set with her second IPA.

She was a bit surprised when the lead singer from the Hearts Club Band approached her table.

"Haven't seen you here before, first time?"

His voice sounded different than when singing. A lower register, and it seemed in this case, more earnest.

He was shorter in person when pulling up a chair than he had appeared on stage. Lean, a bit awkward even, not what she expected from a lead singer in even a middle-of-the-road band. A bit forward, but Sally reckoned that went with the role.

They exchanged a couple pleasantries, Sally trying to get a sense of the guy's interest, his character.

"Your band's name is what pulled me in. I gotta give you credit for that."

The fellow, who had introduced himself as Russell Slackmeyer, waved his beer and snorted.

"It is indeed a name with a certain history. And resonance."

She was intrigued by how he used the last word.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Tell me more."

"Well, you clearly know the allusion to the Beatles album part."

She nodded.

"How about the Purple Heart?" His eyebrows went up, a testing query.

"Well enough. My father was in the military."

The Purple Heart was a medal. Not necessarily a medal of valor, although plenty recipients qualified for that too, but recognition for being wounded in action. Like seriously wounded.

He cocked an eyebrow, the unspoken question..

"Vietnam." She always felt a sadness course through her when she uttered that word. That place of immense suffering and tragedy.

"Ah, okay. You know the background well enough then. Infantry?"

"Air Force."

Russell waved his beer bottle. Already defying statewide expectations, it wasn't a Bud Lite. Or even a Dixie, but some odd brand she didn't recognize.

"So, it turns out there is already a 'Purple Hearts Club' band, they beat us to the name. Timing is everything. So we knew we couldn't use that. So what you see is what you get. Wanna guess why our band has that name?"

She looked around for the others. The drummer was nowhere to be seen, but the other two band members were at a table downing beers and chatting with a couple girls.

"You all have Purple Hearts. You all were in the same unit."

"Yep and nope. Wanna guess where and why?"

"I can only give a try." She tried not to look at his stump of an arm. First of all, you're not the same ages and nobody is anywhere near Vietnam age. So I am guessing either Iraq or Afghanistan."

"Very good. Both."

She couldn't quite tell if he was being ironic or patronizing..

"You can see well enough what happened to me." He waved his stump of an arm. "An explosion near Mosul. Pile of us injured. I'll let the other guys tell you their stories when you meet them."

He waited while this bit of news sunk in. Sally was silent. A band composed of war veterans. All with injuries done in the line of duty.

"Who's got it worse off? Your drummer?" Sally felt obliged to make some sort of follow-up query.

"It all depends on how you reckon things. I'll let you decide but it's not as easy as first glance, just by appearances."

He told her about how the crew had assembled, the bassist Saul and Carson on guitar, the band's founders not happy with their first singer.

"So they got stuck with me!" Russell crowed. And then Alvin became their drummer, they'd been together four years. Basic requirement for band membership was owning the medal. On special occasions, like playing on the Fourth of July, they even wore them as emblems.

"The key to our longevity is the overwhelming mediocrity of our music."

Sally had not expected this analysis from the band's front man.

"We don't squabble, or not much anyway, and each of us, for our own reasons, is pretty much just happy to have the chance to get out and play our stuff. Nothing spectacular, but we like doing it.

We all got day jobs, of one sort or another. And this beats sitting around and thinking too much."

He told them about how they went about their business, what sorts of gigs they got.

"We'll go as far as San Antonio and Dallas, but hell no, not down to Houston. Hate that damn rathole."

Their talk was easy and non-threatening. Sally found the vibe of the club far more welcoming than the initial impression, and the band itself had been unusually satisfying.

Russell sat with her through the entirety of the Wayback's set, Sally didn't find them nearly as interesting, more bland fifties and early sixties rock, not her style, a little stab at blues.

As the place started to close up, and Sally pulled out her phone to page a Lyft, Russell tried a half-hearted gambit.

"Any chance you'd come home with me?"

His eyebrows wagged a bit too eagerly.

She had thought this might be an offer she'd have to deal with.

"You seem sweet, and I thank you, but I am staying with my sister. It would not do to sleep elsewhere but her house."

As she worked her phone, Russell continued.

"You know this is an open-carry state." He said this off-handedly.

She looked alarmed. Oregon regarded Texans as gun-crazed zealots.

"I don't need a concealed condom license, its all above board and I'm prepared." He patted his back pocket.

She laughed, he had a sense of humor at least. "Okay, I appreciate your honesty up front. Thanks but no thanks."

Russell tried not to look disappointed. "I understand."

"Can I at least give you a ride home? Where's your sister live?"

"East of the university."

"On my way, anyway."

Sally thought for just a moment and gauged possible complications.

"And I give you scouts honor I won't abduct you."

The way he said this, with a flourish of his stump, made her laugh.

"All right, thank you."

Russell's car was a largish Toyota pickup. The license plate was one of those vanity style deals, the Purple Heart logo positioned on the left side of the plate followed by the clearly customized "SCLUB" letters, which all made sense, if you knew the context. Sally wondered out loud if owning a non-American car was trouble here in Texas.

"Nah. If its a truck, you're okay. Yeah, okay, Japanese company, but they got a factory in the US, pretty sure this was put together in Georgia or North Carolina or something."

They piled into the cab of his white Toyota truck. She noted the steering wheel had a round knob or spinner or something attached to the rim. Of course, driving one handed would mean you might have to do things differently.

This realization made her inhale.

He sized up her mental gear-turnings. "I got my legs to work the pedals. Still easier than for our drummer Alvin."

"He drives?" She tried to imagine legless driving.

"Sure. Where do you think you are? Everyone drives here. His rig is just a different setup than the rest of us."

They talked on the way. She got more details on his injury.

"You were infantry?"

He wagged his head. "Drove a troop carrier."

"An IUD?" The second she posed the questions she knew she had gotten it wrong.

He laughed. "Wouldn't have minded that. An IED, Improvised Explosive Device by the side of the road. Never spotted it."

Her face reddened. "Yes, I knew that, just misspoke."

His voice went flat. He must have told the story hundreds of times, since the rest seemed almost rehearsed.

"Outside of Mosul. An IED. We were on our way to a skirmish at the outskirts of the city, reported activity."

She raised an eyebrow. "How many were you transporting?"

"Half dozen. All but one of us lived."

Sally was impressed with his poise, he asked her questions that weren't nosy, just friendly and non-intrusive. His war stories were extraordinary, and Sally felt a range of emotions, not all of them identifiable.

Most of all she was struck with his matter-of-fact approach. Bad luck on the body front, for the whole band, all in the name of duty, and yet they were, just carrying on, and at least on the surface not weighed down with what would be considered major disaster just about anywhere in the world.

She felt an empathy of some aspect seep into her. Her own profession was public health, her MPH from the University of Oregon, and her policy work back in Portland sometimes touched on the kinds of lives these veterans represented, but never closely, all was in the abstract there.

Here was this guy, pushing ahead with his life, doing a band even, although he said, like the rest of the crew, that everyone else had more regular jobs, the band was more than a hobby, but less than an occupation that paid the bills.

A little quiver ran up her spine. A sudden notion.

"Judi's house is a few doors away," she said, as they were getting close, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe pull up under this tree, and give me a chance to get in without a big deal?"

As in, not smack in front of her place, she didn't know why she was this nervous.

He pulled over. The tree was a large, broad leafed one that was out of the streetlight.

Sally found herself saying things she hadn't planned on. Spoke of her admiration for the band, their personal sacrifices for the honor of the country.

She did not remove his right arm when it came to rest around her.

"Russell, this isn't normally how I do things, but I would like to thank you, both for your military service, and the ride home."

She reached over to his groin, and was unsurprised at its condition.

Taking a deep breath, she looked him in the eyes. Her hands, almost on autopilot, went to his belt buckle, and then his fly.

He was nearly hard, his penis fairly firm in her hand, but of course she had no idea what fully inflated would be like.

He leaned over to kiss her but she dodged, didn't want that, and lowered her lips down to what beckoned below.

He was salty, uncircumcised, and she felt him both tense and at the same time lean back in his seat, as her lips did the first exploration bit. Nothing like this had happened in months, but the first actions of arousal are always so alike.

The pointed end of her tongue found his slit, poked a bit. Lips over the head, pausing at the ridge. Most men liked this. The intake of breath from Russell was evidence that he was no different.

The whole event, although it occupied her thoughts for far longer afterwards, did not consume more than five minutes.

Russell's penis grew hard, serious hard, quickly, and Sally both enjoyed the growth in her mouth as well as his taste, and his own excitement. Men were so simple sometimes.

Her right hand groped his balls, and the touch there seemed to pull Russell to further enjoyments.

He climaxed hard, bucking into her mouth, and while she knew he was close, the first spurt took her by surprise. Five times he shot, each discharge slightly lesser than the one before.

It had been months since sperm had entered her in any fashion, and she continued to nurse him, making him feel good. Her feel good. Special almost. That her own actions had caused such a sweet event.

But his movements let her know that she had reached a point where further contact was not just uncomfortable, but verging on the painful. She left off.

Russell was momentarily undone, unsure whether to try to kiss her again, she knew the reluctance some guys had over this, their own sperm taste and so on. She shook her head, placed a soft hand on his chest and spoke.

"Thank you. A slight repayment. An acknowledgment, with my respects." She kissed his hand.

She didn't want anything further to go on, gathered her purse and made her way out the door. She was aware of being watched as she walked the thirty steps to Judi's house, then up the stairs to the front door. Key in her hand, she turned and waved. Russell gave a dark and distant return wave, and started up the truck engine.

Sally let herself in, glad to know that Judi had already retired, and made her way to the guest bed, a visit to the bathroom beforehand.

Her head whirled as she settled into bed. Russell's cock. How nice it had felt. His own history, the band, the fact that life went on after difficult circumstances. It was then that she vowed to catch the band again, at least once this week, before leaving town on Sunday.

****

Judi was up first the next morning, as usual, already in her nurse's uniform, the peculiar shade of brown that Sally knew matched the color that the University of Texas football team wore on their own battle uniforms.

"Coffee's ready."

Judi, nervous and already in a hurry for work, waved a hand at the pot next to the stove in her small but functional kitchen. Her home was a small mid-century bungalow, still furnished like time forgot, with Formica counters and vinyl upholstered stainless steel chairs.

"You know I don't do coffee, Judi."

How had this fact escaped her dimwit sister's brain for twenty years now?

Judi shrugged. "Maybe you'll change your mind someday? I cannot imagine a morning without it."

"Nope, tea for me, I'll handle." While she put on the tea kettle, Sally went to work preparing Judi's lunch. She'd found a nice German Jewish deli on a neighborhood walk on Saturday while Judi was running an errand. David's Deli had been stocked with an unusually wide range of high quality foodstuffs, dark rye breads, good bagels, sharp German mustard and good cheeses. She had decided to provide lunches for Judi this week just as a minor acknowledgment for Judi's hospitality and a gesture of sisterly support.

"You're going to spoil me you know." Judi watched as Sally sliced open a pretzel roll.

"And I appreciate you leaving out the onions in the potato salad yesterday. My patients at the hospital appreciate the thought."

Sally, to match the German theme of deli foodstuffs, had made German style potato salad. Normally she'd have included bits of onions but Judi had begged off. Instead she used celery for some crunch.

"Beats the cafeteria food by a country mile."

"So you have a good wild time last night? Paint the town red?"

"Figured as this is a red state anyway that that'd be redundant."

"Austin's not Texas. You damn well know that, Sally." Judi's voice had its usual sharp tone. "This town is closer to Berkeley or Ann Arbor than the rest of the state. You guys always act like I live in Waco or San Antonio or something, that I got a gun rack on my truck when it just so happens I drive a Subaru. That I go out and shoot rattlesnakes in my back yard." She shook her head.

"Only request I have is to use a little less mustard," she commented while Sally went to work on her lunch. "Whatever special stuff you got there has a mighty kick to it."

Sally laughed. "The Germans don't do spicy with one exception, and their mustard is it. Okay, fair enough."

"That's Dieter's main legacy, he taught me the best parts of German food." Her former husband's grandparents had come over from the old country, the whole family still infused with ancient habits and traditions, some of which Sally had picked up.

"Is that why you kept his name then too? And not reverted to our family name? That was the first thing I ditched when Robbie and I split."

"No fondness for our name. You remember how daddy got hit with his nickname in 'Nam?"

Judi laughed. "Well, you really cannot win when your given name is 'Phineas Boyd.' The real question is why no one came up with 'Finny Boy' before he went into the army."

"Daddy hated that. Remember that time when I got whupped when he heard me say it? We didn't think he'd heard us from the next room, not even sure why we were repeating it, he musta done something that had bugged us. You even whispered it first. I repeated it but I was the one who got the beating."

"Yep. Not the only beating we got."

"And you, the older one, didn't even take responsibility, just let me have it."

Judi shrugged. "I whispered, you said it louder. You think you should be rewarded for being the dumb one?"

"I'm gonna get some scrambled eggs going. You want some?" Judi maybe trying to shift the tone, was in rare generous host mode.

"Do you have Tabasco? I didn't see any in the fridge when I looked yesterday."

Judi rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you pollute eggs with that shit, do you? I got ketchup if you really want to do that sort of thing."

"Thanks. I'll pass. Eggs to me are too bland unless you give them a kick. I like a good cheese jalapeno omelet but when it's eggs there's gotta be some bite."

They circled around the narrow kitchen with its shallow shelves, Sally doing her best to stay out of the way.

"So, you still haven't told me about your night out. How'd it go?"

Sally told her that Austin felt fine at night as a single woman, appreciative of the varied music options, and a little about the band.

"They all have Purple Heart medals, Judi, amazing. Do you remember Daddy talking about the war much? He must have known folks who got injured."

"Daddy talked to me almost nothing about the war. The impression I got was that he hated it, hated the tropics, never got a drink cold enough, and couldn't wait to get home. And a chance to 'raise' us, like he ever did much in that department."

"Same here. I guess we learned early on not to ask much about Vietnam. He didn't even really want much to do with his few war buddies. Certainly never heard war tales, of any sort."

"But this Purple Hearts Club crew? Sounds like a screwy theme to build a band around. This town is crazy about the music scene," sniffed Judi. "Not for me."

"Anybody try to hit on you last night?"

"Couple times, no big deal. Did get a ride home from the lead singer of the band though."

Judi raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"And I sucked him off in his truck." Sally was not entirely sure why she blurted this out, except that she knew she'd get a rise out of Judi. She underestimated.

Coffee splattered out of Judi's mouth. "You what?"

Her glare was intense. "What a slut. What a fucking slut. You've always been one. No wonder your marriage didn't last."

Sally felt her bile rise. "Nonsense. That had nothing to do with the breakup and you know that. We don't need to rehash marriage breakups."

They stared at each other. Sally couldn't resist another comment. "And my Dieter beat your Robbie hands down in the character department. At least I didn't marry a putz."

Icy looks all around.

"You're right on that score, Robbie was a royal prick." Judi's face crinkled into a wry smile. "Look at us, a couple of losers on the marriage front." She leveled a look at Sally. "But at least I'm not out blowing a rock band for my kicks."

"What kicks do you have, Judi? Pretty small life here, far as I can tell. I don't know why you haven't pulled up stakes are started up somewhere new. Or back home even."

Judi snorted. "Right. Come back to Portland with my tail between my legs? No thanks. I got my nursing degree, I'm paid pretty well at the hospital with benefits and everything. Self sufficient. I have everything set up just the way I like it. Just fine here." She was more defensive even than Sally expected.

The air calmed a bit in the kitchen and Judi made her way off to the university hospital for her early shift.

****

Sally had found it best to spend her solo time during the weekdays on long walks downtown or in the neighborhood before it got too hot, then after lunch would read out on the back porch of Judi's place, nicely shaded by a couple spreading trees. Judi would join her for drinks around four after her shift was over, and between the two of them they found ways to cook different meals each night.

Wednesday after dinner Sally took the bus downtown and went back to the "Bronto," as she had heard Russell call it.

The Purple Hearts did a slightly different set, maybe thirty percent different tunes. They were fine, nothing special, but she enjoyed watching the boys go through their paces. And it beat watching TV with Judy back at her home.

After finishing up, the lead guitarist sidled over to her table, waved a hand casually.

"I'm C-carson," he said. "Do you mind c-company from a musician? Sort-of one anyway." He looked ready for a refusal.

She gestured to her side, so he pulled up a chair, fairly awkwardly, and plopped himself down.

His fingers held his beer a little too tightly.

"I'm not very good at this," he said, more gravely than the statement deserved.

She laughed. "At what? Making music? You guys are fine. I wouldn't be her for a second night this week if you weren't."

"He means he's not very good at trying to get his dick sucked." Russell's voice came from behind Sally.

Russell snickered and addressed Carson. "She's a sweetheart, just see if you can treat her good. I know it goes against yer principles."

Carson's face reddened but Russell laughed and headed off to the bar. She wondered if he would try to join them after, throw his weight around to displace Carson.

"Th-that guy's a real asshole sometimes."

His stutter was an awkward surprise. He seemed to sing fine on stage.

"What's your story?" Sally shifted the conversation.

Sally wasn't exactly wary, but caution had never been an unwelcome arrow in her quiver.

He looked at her. "L-let's not go there right away, all right?"

"T-tell me why you came to our fair city?" He gestured vaguely in the air.

His stutter that evening was always overcome, he always managed to complete his sentence, but it did not always make conversation easy.

Sally told him about her sister, and under awkward but sincere questioning, found herself revealing more about her family's various rivalries and conflicts than she wanted. She stopped after one story about how her sister and a high school friend had contrived to ruin one of Sally's dates.

"Sorry. I've been going on too much." She looked at him, he was examining her face far too intently.

"I would like to hear your story."

He looked away. The Austin Waybacks were just about to begin their set.

"Y-you know, if y-you don't mind, I'd rather talk someplace quieter. M-my place is only a few blocks away."

His expression was almost a pleading one, a mixed bag of unease and hope. Sally gave in.

They walked mostly in silence down Sixth Street with its vibrant venues and turned off to the east. Carson's place was a unit in a three story apartment building, not run down but fairly well used.

Sally hadn't quite imagined what she would find, but the place didn't exactly surprise her. Trees lined the street, there were single houses as well as small apartment complexes. It was one of the latter that Carson led her to, and she followed him up the stairs to the second floor.

It was not as messy as she might have imagined, but well lived in. No clothes on the floor anyway.

Carson turned on a couple lights, queried her on drink preferences, and brought her a bottle of Dixie.

He clinked his bottle against her's and with a vaguely hopeful "cheers!" settled back onto the large living room couch. He had left room next to him and Sally weighed her options.

Sitting right next to him felt too forward, although Carson wouldn't have minded in the slightest. But that was too much, even for the uncertain potential outcome of the evening.

She chose an overstuffed, well worn armchair slightly across from him.

Talk was desultory, nothing special. Finally she asked the question.

"So what happened?"

Carson looked at her carefully. "You want the short version or the long?"

She perched herself on the edge of the chair and leaned forward.

"I want to know fully, so the latter."

"I enlisted for Iraq. I was unlucky, although not as unlucky as some. End of story." He sat back.

Sally felt a flash of anger. "Oh come on. I'm serious. Tell me what happened. I know about your band's name and what that means. You got hurt. How?"

Carson rubbed his forehead. And looked away.

"All right. Sorry, t-that was rude of me, I do that sometimes. Part of what goes on with my injury."

He took a deep breath.

"It was early 2003 in the action south of Baghdad. I'd barely been in operation, my second week. We were an outpost, camped for the night. I didn't know shit about being a soldier. Being in a war. I wasn't on watch duty but trying to get some sleep. We were all jumpy and nervous. Somehow they found us. One of their rockets came in, blasted our group to pieces. I remember being thrown to the side, a huge explosion and not much after that. Surfaced to a medic's face, asking me some questions."

"I will make it very simple. H-head injury. Why I stutter sometimes."

He looked at her. What emotions were in there? Defiance. Wanting sympathy? Ashamed of his actions? She couldn't tell.

"I notice you sing clearly on stage."

Carson's grin was sideways, wry. "I know. I don't know why it works that way, but it doesn't always hold up in regular speech. Especially when I'm nervous. I forget things. I get lost easily. Mostly the reason I don't drive, but Austin's not a hard place to get around. I don't sleep all that good. My emotions tend to leak about more than others."

"And life is not normal for you." She had to say this.

Wry smile. "Nope. I guess not. I'm just glad to be alive. I almost just don't remember what 'normal' is like."

He looked nervous now.

"I'm not very good at this." He looked carefully at Sally.

"Can I put my arm around you? Like if you were sitting here?" He patted the seat next to him on the couch.

Sally's body went still. What were these guys' lives like? Sally realized she had no idea if they had any sort of pension or supplemental income from the army. The band surely couldn't provide a whole lot. She wanted to ask, but felt both that such a query would be prying, and even trivial.

She put her beer down and carefully made her way across the living room floor.

His face was so open, almost pleading, that she could not refuse. She made her way over and he awkwardly put an arm her and gripped her shoulder.

They looked at each other for the longest time. Sally's thoughts went all over the place. What was to happen next, as it might. Whether she wanted it or not. What he hoped for, maybe expected.

He leaned in for a kiss, a hand touching her shoulder.

She gave in, although kissing, especially a new guy, usually wasn't her favorite.

But her hands ran over his chest through his shirt. Firm, lean. He smelled good anyway.

Things escalated quickly. Sally found hands rubbing her chest, her own fingers fumbling with a belt buckle. She had once been better at this.

Pulling his jeans off, but boots came first. Briefs with a bulge. She knelt in front of him on the couch, all the lower clothes off, just a penis right in front of her face. Half erect, desire unmistakable.

Number two of the band, she thought.

With a quick glance up at him, slow smile on his face, anticipation obvious, she leaned forward and touched the tip of his erection with the sharp end of her tongue. He quivered.

It was nice. She went slow.

He was uncircumcised, and she always liked how it was possible to move foreskin over a prick-head, playing peekaboo with the serpent's head.

She licked. She sucked. She rummaged his balls and pulled each testicle into her mouth for a suckle. Nice meaty, well-scented balls. She didn't want the sperm to emerge too quickly, but that would pose a challenge since he was excited.

She withdrew for a moment, eyes going from his cock to his face. He looked pleased.

It almost looked like he was going to say something, but instead he reached forward and began to unbutton her top.

She let him, leaning forward to make it easier, pleased to see the care he took with her buttons, then gliding each of her arms out of the sleeves. His cock, damp and erect, bobbed while he performed his task.

She was braless, he must have known that, and he stared hard at her chest now exposed to the still apartment air. Her nipples had hardened with the exposure, and earlier in her sexual life, maybe when she was twenty, she would have felt her face redden.

But this felt good, just what was needed.

"Y-you're gorgeous."

She knew it was just his arousal talking, there was nothing special about her chest except that it was exposed, but the comment still felt good.

She leaned forward again, closed her eyes, and went back to work.

Lovely work. Slow work. Tongue up and down, lips like a noose.

Once he put a hand on the back of her head, forcing her onto his cock.

She pulled back indignantly. "Don't you dare do that. Let me work my own way." Her eyes flashed.

"S-sorry, s-stupid of me." His face was abject apology.

She went back to his erection, trying to regain enthusiasm. She hated when guys did this sort of thing, like they'd watched too much porn. But his penis still felt good in her mouth, lips over that excited ridge, and she settled back into a nice rhythm.

Aware that his legs were tensing, that the sounds coming from his mouth were getting to the lovely whimpering phase that always pleased her so, they were both so completely in the moment that the sound of keys in the lock of the front door pulled them into a panic-filled startle and Sally abruptly pulled off.

She whirled to see Saul enter the flat, backpack in hand.

Deadly silence ensued. Saul's eyes went to Carson, then took in Sally, who suddenly was keenly aware that she was on her knees, topless, and exposed in all senses of the word. Carson was the first to break the silence.

"I-I thought you were at Melanie's!"

Sally eyed Carson. "I thought you lived alone!"

Saul threw his head back and laughed. "Nope, we share the place. Hey look, I'm sorry. Melanie and I had an, ah, disagreement. Nothing serious but it was clear I was not welcome to spend the night."

"Sorry okay? I know you weren't planning for me to be here. And I didn't know you'd both be here. Give me a minute to put a couple things away and I can retire to the bedroom and you guys can keep up the good work."

Addressing Sally, he said, "Not like I've never seen the lug get blown before, you know? He's gotten his share of 'mercy sucks' over the years."

The shock to the system, and maybe Saul's taunt, seemed to have altered the altitude of Carson's erection, as it had drooped seriously. He looked more than a little undone.

A little thrill rippled through Sally's now over-heated mind, a notion of unusual proportions.

She caught the eye of Saul, and said words she never could have imagined.

"I've come close to getting caught before, but always managed to dodge trouble. No one has ever seen me do the naughty before." She was acutely aware of her nipples, which seemed to have gotten a little jolt of their own with the surprise.

She turned to Carson. "I don't mind if we have an audience. Do you?"

The mouth on Carson opened and closed, and then it was his turn to laugh.

"No, I suppose not. And it wouldn't hurt the big lug to see me cream your sweet little face either now, would it?" Eyes on Saul now.

"B-but let's take a break first. You fancy another beer as a palate cleanser?" Carson was speaking to Sally.

Her turn to laugh.

"Okay. I bet both you need one too, after all that lovely music tonight, hot up there on the stage under lights."

They sat and talked. Despite the heat in the apartment, even with the windows open, and the earlier arousal, Sally felt comfortable with these guys, once they relaxed a little, did a little friendly jabbing at each other, talking about their music that night.

Sally was cross-legged on the carpet, Carson's pants off, his cock lying there fairly limp. She was wondering how the rest of the evening was going to go, surely not what she had planned on. And these two guys were roommates even!

Banter went back and forth, the two had both an easy familiarity but also an edge. A pile of military jargon that went over Sally's head. At one point Carson, in a fit of irritation called Saul "scrotum face."

"Scrotum face?" Sally's face contorted. "Huh?"

Carson picked up a promotional poster of the band off a nearby table, showing the four faces of the crew. Saul was there with his glasses and beard.

"So," Carson said, holding the poster dramatically, "S-see what happens when I hold it upside down?"

Of course it looked silly that way, but Carson continued.

"Look at the face on the doofus. The beard up above like a mess of crotch hair, that long schnoz of his like a tiny prick, and those eyes with the testicular shape underneath. Doesn't that just look like a scrotum face? Huh? Doesn't it?"

It really didn't, but Sally could see how it was possible enough to make it a taunt. And these guys seemed to have a knack for insulting each other.

Sitting on the floor, her back was against the couch. She was aware that two sets of eyes would stray to her breasts, hardly noteworthy except for being bare. Maybe the erectness of her nipples, as well.

She turned to Saul. "I haven't heard your story. Might as well get another origin out of the way. Same war as him?" She gestured to Carson..

"Yep. But nowhere connected. I'm the only Marine in the crew. Near Nasiriyah. Early on, too. We were trying to take the bridge over the Euphrates in an AAV. I was in the back and we got hit with a shell, all of us blown off to the sides. Left shoulder for me plus shrapnel elsewhere, I got picked up and shipped off to medic fairly quick, although at the time it felt like it took forever, air full of bullets and exploding mortar shells. I give full marks to the guys in the field who hauled me off, and the folks at the medical tents."

"All the shrapnel's gone from me now, but I took it bad enough they shipped me out, told me I was done. I am not afraid to say that I didn't mind that piece of info. Honorable discharge, a purple heart later, like the rest of us. I 'spect someones told you the Sgt. Purple Hearts Club story."

"I have scars from the exploding metal pieces in my torso."

He paused. "Want to see?"

Sally shook her head. "Not yet anyway."

She looked at him carefully, his eyes meeting hers, a challenge. She changed her mind. "All right. Are they ugly? And where?"

Saul smiled slowly. "I can't tell you whether they're ugly or not. They don't stop me from going to the pool for some swimming."

He pulled up his shirt. They weren't ugly, but not pleasant looking either.

"Any below your waist?" Sally had to ask.

Saul smiled again. "Sure."

Slowly he made a show of removing his boots, then jeans and briefs. His cock hung loose and low. circumcised, Sally couldn't help noticing.

"On my right thigh." Saul turned to show her. A long ragged line of healed over flesh. It must have been a sight at some point.

There were now two naked penises in the room. And Sally's shirt was off.

Saul had stretched back in his chair, the one that Sally had first taken herself. He gazed at Sally with some hunger and his penis began a slow stiffening, all by itself.

Saul pretended to sing, in a low voice.

"Will you still fuck me, will you still suck me, when I'm sixty-four?"

They all laughed, that old Beatles line, repurposed.

"Maybe the first?" Saul's eyes went to Sally, sharp and focused, his arousal deep.

Sally shook her head. She had her own reasons not for that particular business, but these guys didn't need to know them.

There really was only one option. She went back to Carson, he was first after all, whose eyes opened wide. She spread his legs and took his soft cock-head into her mouth. It did not stay soft for long.

His previous arousal had been great enough that it took little mouth attention before his hips began their frantic sperm-discharge dance. After he had bucked his semen into her, Sally nursed as long as she could, until Carson was clearly uncomfortable with the touch.

She shared a look at him, his eyes soft and grateful looking, then turned to Saul.

"Can't we do something for you?" he said. "Maybe get the rest of your clothes off?" His eyes latched onto her chest.

She shook her head again. No. Her thighs were no longer handsome, at least to her, and she didn't want to go any further anyway.

She looked at Carson, whose eyes were a bit glazed, then back at Saul.

"I've done one thank-you for you boys. I'll make it a double."

She crept on hands and knees over to Saul, just a couple yards away, carpet soft under her joints.

After the loose playful foreskin on Carson, Saul's bare cock-head looked open, vulnerable. Also round and red-looking. Almost dangerous.

She closed her eyes and took it in her mouth. She sensed Saul settling back in his chair.

It did not last long.

His sperm was thick and substantial. Took her by surprise when he spurted, even though she had felt his legs tense, his hips squirm. More than one swallow, warm and vital.

She looked up while the nursed at his rapidly deflating penis. Saul's eyes were closed, his head back.

"There's a reward for you guys. You deserve much much more, so please take this as a token. Of my respect. Gratitude."

They talked. Sally felt more comfortable than she might have imagined. Alvin's name came up and she wanted his story, but they said she'd have to ask him herself.

Saul had a smirk. "You know what he won't tell you though? Which I am happy to relate?"

"What's that?

"He's the real hero among us. All of us got our deal, we took our beatings, bad luck whatever, but Alvin's the only one of us who actually saved another man's life."

Sally's eyebrows went up. "Oh?"

"He was in Afghanistan. The corporal in his platoon, they were off in some desiccated god-forsaken part of that cursed land, Taliban territory."

"Not an ambush exactly, but he said the small arms firing came out of no where, and a guy in his platoon goes down. Leg. Can crawl, almost, but no walk. Alvin, after diving to the ground, manages to find his way to the ravine the guy fell into, and manages to haul him out. I think the guy had to hold onto Alvin's neck while he crawled his way to a safer sheltered spot behind some rocks. Fifty yards? A hundred? Alvin doesn't say but you can tell by the way he talks about it that it took a frightful long time. I cannot imagine what was going through his head, but I imagine he was determined to get the guy to safety one way or another."

"He and another guy bandaged the guy up and got him dusted off, after all the firing died down, into a helicopter that they'd summoned. Alvin said the guy survived."

Carson spoke softly. "T-that's the kind of thing we all lived through, one way or another. Hoping not to be the fellow who didn't make it out."

They paused.

"You're welcome to spend the night." Saul's expression wasn't quite a leer. "You should get your own reward too, you know."

She shook her head. "No I got to get back to my sister's place. I'll call a Lyft."

Saul offered to give her a ride. She hesitated. He'd had a couple beers, but probably was okay. Seemed that way anyway.

So she got delivered again back to Cherrywood Road. Saul tried to give her a kiss, but she turned away, just patted his thigh before getting out of the car.

"Thanks. You guys are something."

****

Friday's night dinner with Judi was distinctly unpleasant. Maybe it was the fact that the week was coming to an end, too much close family for too long without a break, or just plain orneriness on Judi's part. Sally had indicated she was going to catch the band again after dessert.

"Oh? gonna blow the last one too? You got everyone else."

"Hey, lay off Judi. This is my own entertainment and I'll take it any way I want. I'd invite you along but I know you'd ruin it. And you wouldn't come anyway."

"I got better things to do than satisfy a bandful of overheated, overconfident entitled male erections."

"Like what? It's Friday night. You can't even get 'Saturday Night Live' on TV for another whole day."

Sally's words came out with more heat than she intended. "Look, at least I am making contact with real humans. Not holed up in my bunker at home. Why live in a city you don't even appreciate?"

"I get plenty of drama at work, people drama, every day. Home is quiet time, thank you very much. You ever have a doctor yell at you 'cause you didn't follow his explicit, although, misguided orders? Argue with him against giving serious bad treatment to a patient? One of them tried to blame me last week for not giving someone a Heparine injection, and I had to point out to him his own orders had canceled them last Thursday. We both got pretty worked up over that and he still tried to pin the blame on me."

"Tonight I just want to put some quiet C&W tunes on and rest up."

"For a weekend I'd put aside for you," Judi added.

"You were a stick-at-home kid even back in Portland. Never even wanted to come to the movies with the rest of us, go bowling, nothing. Well, you can have your quiet house but since I'm here, I'm going to get my entertainment."

"Yep. I bet you will. I'll leave the mouthwash out on the bathroom counter so's you can get the sperm taste out of your mouth before bed. Or the next morning, anyway."

****

The Heart Club's Band set had finished and Sally drained the last of her IPA and was about to brave the line at the bar for another when she saw Alvin coming her way, zig zagging between tables, obvious that she was in his cross hairs.

She waited.

He rolled up smoothly, extended his arm for a handshake and said, "I'm Alvin. I hear you want to talk to me?"

"Sally, pleased to meet you." His hand was strong and firm. His shoulders looked disproportionately large.

"I do. I've heard everyone else's stories, and asked about yours. But there seems to be some sort of secret rule that no one will tell somebody's story for them, it has to come from the source."

"Good reason for that." He paused, examining her empty glass.

"Can I get you a refill?

"Will you have one too?".

"Yes, I'd like to talk. You in experiment mode? Some local beer color? They've got St. Elmo's on tap this week, you might like it."

"Sure." She was about to accompany him but he'd taken her glass and zigzagged across the room, what should have been awkward movements with a pint glass in hand but he made it look graceful.

The bar guy took him first and she saw Alvin hold up two fingers, then return.

All of this was odd and normal at the same time.

"One of our few perks here is free drinks for us and our friends." One of the waitress folks arrived with two frothy glasses. "And even free delivery. Thanks Tracy." She gave him a familiar smile.

So they clanked glasses and took a first sip. Strong grapefruity hops taste at first, but by the second sip it had calmed down.

"So what happened?" Sally's voice was soft but insistent.

His expression was a mixture. Resigned? Mildly annoyed? Wary?

"If you don't mind, I'd rather wait for that. Maybe we can talk about other things first? Like your visit to Austin? Saul tells me you're not from here."

Sally spoke eagerly, happy to have a receptive ear. About family and her sister, even about their unpleasant dinner that night. Every time she tried to steer the conversation towards Alvin, unless it was about Austin or local Texas trivia, topics got deflected. She was beginning to get annoyed.

"Alvin. You've got a story. Everyone else does." Alvin winced at this. "What is it?"

He looked off to the side.

They were quiet for longer than was comfortable.

In the interval Sally noticed the condiment try on the table. She hadn't ordered any food at The Brontosaurus, the beers had been all she wanted, and the menu was standard bar fare, nothing to tempt her. But among the ketchup and mustard collection was a small vial of Tabasco. At least they did that right here.

Finally Alvin looked her straight in the face.

"Not much to tell really. Stories are deceptive and everyone digests them differently. But I'd rather do it privately, not here. If you'd like to come back to my place, I will fill you in."

All right then. Here was the dilemma. If she said yes, there would be an expectation. The guys had clearly talked. But his face didn't reflect that.

"I'm a twenty minute drive away," he said, anticipating her question. "Happy to get you home later whenever you like." She appreciated this.

So she found herself heading down the street to a blue parking zone with a small black Honda Fit. Alvin opened the passenger door for her, and went around to the driver' side. She stood for a moment, wondering how he was going to manage things.

"Can I help?" She finally asked, gesturing to his wheelchair, not sure how this was going to work.

"Maybe. If I was just giving you a ride I'd say no, it's easier just for me to handle things, but since you'll be a the end of the trip, maybe yes." He tried to size up her dexterity.

He opened his door, and Sally watched while he carefully aligned his chair, set some sort of brake and using arms alone swung his torso onto the driver's seat.

He showed her how to pop off the wheels, fold up the back so it was a tidy package, and it wasn't hard for her how to figure out best to store it in the back of the car.

Off they went, she couldn't keep her eyes off him as he worked some hand levers on the steering column which ran the brake and gas pedals, operating the rig like it was second nature.

They drove south into leafy suburbs, across what Alvin described as the "Bat Bridge" where hundreds of bats slept underneath during the day, emerging at dusk to delight tourists and locals alike.

He had a small cottage, a ramp up the side to his porch. Inside was curiously spacious, all the furniture moved to the side, a good deal of open space for manuvering, of course.

"Something to drink? I've got good beer, but I can also offer you whiskey or cognac."

The latter sounded appealing.

Alvin sat across from her in his living room, window facing the street.

Sally took a sip, a long time since she'd had cognac, usually only on special occasions. Maybe this was one.

"So?" she arched an eyebrow.

Alvin laughed. "Okay finally. You don't give up easy. Thank you for waiting."

He gestured at his missing legs.

"Trauma is rarely all that exciting in the telling. I was in a province in the north of Afghanistan, Taliban country, doesn't even much matter which one. Out on a mission, I was just a grunt with an M16 in hand. We were spotted, took fire from three directions, mortars as well as AKs. About half of my unit were not lucky and I was one of them. But at least they got me out and there is not a single day that goes by that I am not grateful for that."

He paused. "I still don't know how I got dusted off, I was unconscious for most of the time, knowing only that my legs weren't going to be doing anything to help me. When I was conscious the pain was frightful."

He sipped.

"It was a mortar shell. The medics were great. I needed a whole pile of blood, they told me how much later but I don't remember. I woke up with legs gone."

"I went into the war with legs, left without them. But I'm alive and mighty glad of it."

He talked, prodded by her questions, about his time in rehab, how he got home, adjustment back to life in the States.

"I tell you, the short version for anyone in my condition is that the whole thing is one giant pain in the ass. Literally and figuratively."

"Oh?"

"My butt hurts. All day long, since I am constantly sitting. And it is just a royal aggravation to have to deal with everything else, barriers everywhere, having to ask people to get the pickles off the top shelf in the grocery store. All the good books at the bookstore are up high, away from kids. And people treat you strange. It is not possible to have a normal life, but it is very hard to give up trying."

He talked about rehab life, the hierarchy of trauma.

"I'm feeling pretty bad at first, those first weeks in hospital, legs blown off, trying the first bits of learning how to maneuver in a wheelchair, get in and out of bed, all of that, and then you see a paraplegic. Yeah, he's got legs but they're worse than useless. And what he's lost is worse off than me. Can't even piss by himself. Can't feel nothing. And then you see someone with a higher spinal injury. Can't use his hands. Has to be fed. Oh lord, you get grateful fast, in the most twisted ways. I am lucky to be here."

Sally sat and thought.

They looked at each other for a long time.

"Can I get you home? You've heard enough by now to keep you for a bit."

Sally swallowed hard. Her request was sincere and offered up in a soft and urgent manner.

"Can I stay the night?"

Alvin face grew grave. "So you can complete your bucket list? Check off something else?" Not quite sardonic.

"No," she shook her head. "I don't keep lists like that. And yes, I'm sure your buddies have told you what has happened with them."

His expression indicated this was true, which had made his offer to get her home even more striking.

"But I haven't wanted to sleep with any of them. And I do with you."

"If that's okay," she added.

Their eyes stayed locked for some time, gears turning inside.

"That's okay. But your sister?"

"I'll text her. No problem. We have plans tomorrow but not early."

Sally had all manner of questions, wanted to see how Alvin handled the bathroom business, but concluded that anything she said or did would be far too intrusive.

She did the awkward first-time dance of disrobing in front of him, his eyes on her while top and jeans came off, acutely aware of her breasts, her bottom, then handling the bathroom before him and settling into his bed. Alvin's bedside table placement suggested which side he preferred.

Already in bed, covers pulled up around her, her nakedness a bit disorienting. None of the other fellows had seen her completely bare skin. She decided Alvin would get her A-1 attention.

She watched as he pulled up his chair, set the brake, and haul himself into bed, scrunching over under the covers to get close to her. Such a strange way to have to move around. What was this going to be like?

He was unexpectedly sweet. Kissed her lips, then her cheeks and ears, nibbled an earlobe, even sent a little tongue tip into her ear, an endearing exploration she couldn't remember happening ever before.

But her hands had drifted, almost involuntarily, down to his cock, which was pleasingly firm. Arousal was not a problem for him, she had not been sure if it would be.

She moved down his body and the act of nestling down between the stumps which were not his legs, she found disorienting.

Here in front of her was an erect penis, not in itself unusual, certainly this week anyway, but there were no legs to stroke, inner thighs to tease.

Instead she let her hands drift along his flanks, up into his armpit tangles, while she inhaled his humid groinal scent.

Easy enough to tongue him, lick his balls, and the sounds he made and the tenseness of his torso indicted extreme pleasure. When had been his last climax? Didn't matter. She tried to exist only in the moment, an erect penis in front of her and in need of attention.

His penis worked the same as the others. A nice pleasing eruption of frantic semen, lovely noises from his throat as he was fetched.

Sally was not unhappy that Alvin dropped off almost immediately to sleep. Lots of males tended to do this, and she knew herself how drained one could be after a climax.

Lying next to his half body, she tried, and failed to comprehend various parts of his life. Wheelchair. Stairs and rocky hills were obvious no-go zones, but probably the least of his difficulties. Folks were going to stare at him in public, he was surely in for far more attention than he wanted. But he'd also earned his wounds honorably.

In the morning, she found out how he urinated. She'd awakened first, and couldn't resist playing with his penis, which hardened with just the barest touch. She had missed the pleasure of an early morning erection, it must be so nice as a guy to start the day with such an example of obvious arousal.

"Hmm. That feels good." Alvin murmured his way into awakening.

She kept rubbing.

"Ah Sally? We got a problem here. I gotta piss something fierce and well, you're doing things that may cause some unintended consequences."

"Oh, but I intend those consequences alright." Sally smiled in the morning air, a slight pre-heat of the day breeze coming through the open window.

"Would you do me a great favor? Save me trip out of bed and back? I keep an old Gatorade bottle under the sink in the bathroom. If you'd bring that and maybe a damp washcloth, that would be splendid."

She smiled again. "Fair enough." That's how he did it, didn't try to aim a urine stream into the toilet while in his chair, or perform what must be an awkward shift from his chair.

She complied and watched while his erection subsided in bed, the he leaned to the side to pee in the bottle and mopped himself off with the damp towel. This was more considerate than many of the guys she had ever spent the night with. Capped the bottle and put it to the side.

Feeling his cock grow erect in her mouth was certainly arousing in and of itself. She had settled in underneath his crotch, and found herself pressing her own groin into the mattress as his interest increased.

Gently he guided her mouth off his erection.

"Think it's your turn for a bit, my dear."

He positioned herself on her back then scooted down and began to lick her. It was so sweet.

She laid back, feeling his tongue do its magic, along increasingly damp lips, snaking up inside her, his hands on her legs, then stroking flanks.

Only one thing would make it more perfect.

She eased him off, a puzzled look on his face, like maybe he wasn't attending to her properly, then invited him on top, in the ever arousing soixante-neuf.

Without legs he was far lighter than most guys, the reason she usually preferred to be on top, but this variation felt both extravagant and elegant.

He went back to licking, coming at her in a different angle from on top while she tongued his prick in her mouth.

Her own pleasure at one end of her torso, the secondary happiness of having a cock in her mouth, this was a double treat.

Towards the end he humped furiously. She held his ass, puny and thin without legs to provide them any real meat, while he pumped his sperm into her. God that was nice, and she luxuriated with the lingering nursing opportunity she had.

He had left off her cunt, but after a rest, went back to work. She was so aroused it took little time before she was bucking into his face this time. A little slow ripple of pleasure that grew, her stifled yelps of pleasure filling the bedroom, and then all was still.

They lay together for some time. His weight was comfortable. His smell sweet, and she liked the way he ran his hands along the inside of her legs, almost tickling but in a caress.

It was eight. Judi slept in on the weekends, but this would be about as late as she would go. Alvin wanted to do breakfast for her, but she felt the need to get back and gratefully accepted a ride.

"Any chance of a good bakery on the way?" Alvin nodded and stopped at an English style place, confided that the apple turnovers were "special" and Sally went in, returning with four, so Alvin didn't need to leave the car.

As he dropped her off, she gave him one.

"Alvin. This was sweet."

"More than that." He smiled shyly. "Please Sally, come back again? Maybe we can stay in touch?" He reached over into the glovebox and retrieved a card with his contact info and the band's logo.

"I'd be thrilled to hear from you."

"I'll do that." She wasn't sure she was making a promise that would keep.

She kissed him. The only one of the band who received this voluntary evidence of intimacy.

She felt his eyes on her as she went up the steps to Judi's place. She didn't want to turn around, a little lump in her insides.

Judi was in the kitchen, coffee pot going.

"Here's a contribution for breakfast," Sally said, passing on the turnovers.

Judi gave her a sideways look. "Didn't feed you, huh."

"Oh, he did just fine in that department, thanks for asking. This is his offering to our own start of the day."

The turnovers were perfect, especially after a couple minutes in the toaster over, cinnamon and apple aromas filling the kitchen.

They had a fairly decent day together on Saturday, which involved a picnic under some shade trees at a swimming hole Judi would occasionally frequent (not Hippie Hollow, to Sally's regret, maybe she would have to do that next time) and quiet time on the back porch before dinner. Sally was grateful that her visit hadn't ended with a sour note, but was still relieved when Judi dropped her off a the Austin airport early Sunday morning.

But the memories Sally carried back with her on the plane flight home were not of time spent with her sister. Rather how legless Alvin's skinny little ass had so violently humped his penis into her mouth in the throes of his pleasure. Four very different guys. Four different excited sperm delivery vehicles. Four, no, five gullets full of semen in total. Nasty and sweet all at the same time.

Her father was there to meet her at the airport.

"How's your sister?" He couldn't even say "my daughter."

"She ream you out over some thing or another?" What a greeting.

"She's okay."

"You learn anything special?"

She couldn't bring herself to answer neither fully nor honestly. "A little bit about sacrifice."

"Hers or yours?"

She just smiled. Neither. Sacrifice to country. Of limbs in war.

"It's all about give back, Daddy. Return." he wouldn't know what she really meant. "Judi's fine, I had a good visit," she said, leaving it at that, happy to redirect her meaning for her father's consumption.