✨✨✨ "Warning: this post occasionally contains strong language (which may be unsuitable for children who shouldn’t be here in the first place), unusual humor (which may be unsuitable for adults who don’t have a sense of humor or thinks that their shit doesn’t stink), and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is going to happen, so suck it up snowflake. This is my first time with fiction for crying out loud.” ✨✨✨
✨✨✨ She had been and was, the gold standard for every girl or woman he would meet from that point forward. He was all of 18 when he got out of boot camp and cherry-as-fuck. He had maybe copped a feel from a girl or two in high school, but he was clueless and too afraid to go all of the way because he believed the stories about getting a girl pregnant. Nice guys didn’t do that. He had plans with his life and goals. He wasn’t going to be detoured or deterred from reaching those goals by causing a life to be brought into the world. Nice guys didn’t do that. It was the right thing to do.
Out of his class of seven boys and nine girls, three of the girls were pregnant. So, some of the warnings he had heard were true. He didn’t fall for that trap. He could continue with his plans of joining the Marines after graduation and serve his country. His Dad had been a Marine in Korea and wounded twice. His uncle had been a Marine in Viet Nam and made a name for himself. He would go and serve just like they did and make everyone proud. The Marines would be lucky to have a guy like him in the Corps. He came from a family of Marines and he could actually read and write and had some math skills.
Boot camp was a bitch. He made it. Even picked up meritorious PFC. Oh, yeah. He was destined for glory.
Home on leave and none of his old classmates recognized him because he had changed so much physically. Mentally, too. His sister didn’t like what had happened to him and how he had changed. She still loved him, he just wasn’t himself.
He found himself in a flower shop for some reason. The owner, a tall ginger-haired woman who was 1.6 times his age, not twice his age like she thought, was the stuff that dreams were made of, wet dreams. She seemed to like him and let him know that she did. She knew a lot about the Corps. Too much, in some ways. It was like she was a psychic or something, or a fortune teller, who could see the future for that dumb cherry Boot that he was oblivious to because “they” had blown red, white, and blue smoke up his ass and he believed in God, Corps, and Country. Ooo-fucking-rah!
The florist lady, the tall ginger-haired one, locked onto his eyes and saw something he had no clue what it was she saw in him. It impressed him or made him think, when he looked back, that she was scared for him but there was nothing she could do and knew he wouldn’t listen even if she could put it in words.
Instead, this ginger-haired goddess with the eyes, smile, figure, skin, intelligence, voice, and purpose made it her mission to give herself to him so he would know love or lust at least once before he did what he had to do. It was an experience of a life-time for that Boot. There was no way he would ever forget her, and not just her naked body, the sex, her voice, and her accent, and those haunting eyes. She became his gold-standard of what he would want in his life when he was ready to settle down. He was so fucking goal-oriented then.
He thought about her almost every day after his first and only time with her. She wrote to him and he wrote to her. Her letter was something he always looked forward to when it was mail-call. Especially when he had to go to the World of Shit. Thoughts of her kept him from thinking too much about the empty rack with his buddy’s gear being surveyed to be sent back home to his grieving parents, or sisters or brothers. Boot would just watch the NCO’s survey the dead guy’s gear and make sure that Mom and Pop didn’t open up his personal effects and find a condom or snap shots of him with Rhonda Rotten Crotch or Sally Sue Suckemsilly. After all, their hero, dead-as-fuck son, was wholesome and worthy of being remembered for the choirboy angel that he was when he was alive.
Boot would be out on patrol, at an OP, or LP, or jumping off at a hot LZ, and if he had 10 seconds to himself, Ginger would be on his mind. He would trudge through a fucking shit hole jungle where every fucking thing tried to eat his ass. The bugs were 40 times bigger than the ones back home, the mud stunk like shit, the jungle floor smelled like mold, and was soft to walk on and Zip would plant little surprises to step on or trip.
Boot was follow-on to Dipstick who lost the roll of the dice and had to take point. Dipstick was stupid and always looking up into the trees and not where he was putting his feet. The rule of ground, step, THEN up scan, wasn’t fully in his head. Dipstick tripped a Bouncing Betty that popped up face high and blew his fucking head off, while Boot got some of Dipsticks brains in his mouth and had to spit them out. When it was secured, Boot had to brush the bugs, worms, and ants, off of Dipsticks headless corpse that were trying to eat his guts and shit strung out all over everywhere. Boot was hoping that it was Dipstick’s brains that had landed on his face and mouth and not the shit that was there.
While waiting to be chopped out, Boot would skylark about Ginger and his epic first ever fuck with her. When he was back in his little piece of heaven in hell, he would write to her and tell her how much what she did with him meant so much. He wanted her to know. She was always on his mind and he wanted her to know. He didn’t say shit about the suck. Mail call was that little piece of the world that made it bearable. He always wrote back to her.
That is, until, Lard Ass, got his; another mine. Bash Face wasn’t too long after, tiger pit with punji sticks, one right through is eye and out the back of his skull. Fuck Nuts lost a leg, another mine, but he was going home. Weasel Dick ate a grenade. Boot wasn’t writing as much to Ginger any more. She still wrote. Nothing mushy, just best wishes and tales of back in the world.
Then Piss Breath and Ass Eyes were zapped when Zip was out playing fuck-fuck at night. Zip and his buddies ate it, too, in spades.
Boot wasn’t writing any more. Ginger did, but eventually, well, she had a life of her own.
Fourteen years later, Boot finally went back to his hometown. The first time he had ever been back and he didn’t have a fucking thing in common with any of the kids he had graduated with from a whole life in the ancient past. He had graduated college. Kept to some self-imposed five-year plan and told that to any woman or girl, he had dated, but not fucked, so that they wouldn’t try to derail his life’s plans. Later, much later, he would realize that he was one dumb motherfucker and wondered how many good chances at being happy had slipped through his fingers. The problem with self-realizing like that is, you have to have feelings. Boot only had goals.
He wondered if that flower shop was still there. Was that Ginger Goddess still there? Would she remember him? He had always wondered why she fucked him in the first place? What the fuck did she know that he didn’t? What was she like now?
He screwed up the courage to walk into the flower shop and there she was. He only thought she was a Ginger Goddess back then, but now, she was even more beautiful than he ever thought possible. Back when she fucked him for his first time, he had never seen a woman so beautiful. EVER!
She was busy with customers and it was nearing closing time. She hadn’t seen him come in but the bell on the door told her that another late customer had walked into her shop. She had a long day and wanted to go home, and yet, Boot’s tired ass walked in and she would get to him when she was done with the other customers. He was the background noise of her life and she hadn’t glanced his way, yet.
She was more beautiful than ever, but he told himself that he already said that. Graceful. Tall. Sure of herself. Confident and determined. She wasn’t someone you took lightly or tried to take advantage of in any way. She would kill you. No shit no sugar, she had that look and manner of being nice and cordial, but she had a plan to kill you if you fucked up and pissed her off. She could do it. She made you believe she could do it and not really feel bad about it.
She waited on the last customer and walked them to the door and saw them off before closing the door and locking it behind them. This confused the fuck out of Boot. Didn’t she see him there in her shop or had he turned invisible? What the fuck, over?
She had locked the door and turned and nailed Boot in his eyes with her piercing look right straight into whatever soul he had left. Boot cleared his throat and was asking himself if she even remembered him. He got ready to say something, or ask her what he was thinking.
Her eyes were like laser beams and she burned through his skull and preemptively and decisively cut him off at the pass when she flatly, but deeply-felt told him, “Don’t you dare ask me if I remember you, love. It had better not come out of that cake-hole in your face. I mean it, don’t ask me if I remember you.”
Boot was fucking toast as she strode over to where he was standing like a cougar going in for the kill on some hapless lamb. She took him by his shirt and made a lot of assumptions, all of them true, that he wanted to be kissed by her as much as she wanted to kiss him. The feel of her mouth pressed against his and their tongues tasting each other, and breathing deeply of any breath she was exhaling. Boot gave in to her and everything blasted into his heart and mind as she reached him like no other woman had ever done since she had done it that very first time fourteen years ago.
Boot would not be able to tell you honestly, at all, what happened when they started that kiss, to his getting his brain-housing-group wired back together with both of them stark naked in the upstairs bedroom with his dick buried balls-deep in her pussy. It was a total-fucking-blur. No shit no sugar, he could only feel and be felt and no real clue as to what had happened up until he realized that they had fucked and fucked and fucked. Both of them totally naked, in bed, and he had given up years of wondering inside of this Ginger Goddess.
Her eyes. Not only was he naked to her, he was totally naked to her and not feeling the least little bit of shame or guilt and there had been no time between that first and only time with her. She felt, smelled, tasted, exactly as she had that first time she took him and his cherry fourteen years ago. He wanted to melt into her and shooting his wad up into her pussy was as close to getting that wish as anything.
Then, however long it had been since they kissed down in the shop, he finally locked on to the real time world that this beautiful Ginger Goddess was in his arms. He was inside of her and they were naked in bed, and it seemed like no time had passed at all.
They looked long and deeply into the others eyes. Then her tears dropped into his eyes as she straddled him with their nakedness. She was so naked. Her ginger hair brushed against his face and she managed to say, as she was crying, “You’re alive, love. You’re alive.” Ginger Goddess then kissed Boot again and they held each other.
Boot was alive.
He didn’t know that until she told him.
In his defense, Boot hadn’t felt truly alive until she told him he was alive. The way she said, “… You’re alive, love. You’re alive. …” sounded more like she was telling him, gently, reassuringly, that he didn’t really die. That there was hope for him. That he could wake up and feel and live.
They stayed in bed, naked, and held each other and talked. When Boot got hard, they would fuck and they would cum together. Then they would keep holding each other, touching, kissing, and feeling their bodies until they made love again and felt their warmth.
Boot told Ginger or maybe, thanked her, for her being his first. It had meant a lot to him and he always thinks of her and thoughts of her kept the abyss at bay. She kissed his chest, or cheek, or shoulder, and touched his face with her fingers as he would tell her about how much her being his first meant to him and that she would always be his gold standard for women that may or may not be in the future.
Then Ginger said something to Boot that touched him, “Love, you were my first also.”
He was about to ask or tell her that she was married when they did it the first time, but surprised himself when he understood what she had said. She told him that he was the first man since she had been married her husband. She said that Boot was her first virgin, ever, and helped her to realize that she was or had so much to give. She said that it helped her become a better woman, a better wife, to her husband, but also a better woman for her own self. She told Boot she could understand so much more and be so much more because of what she had also discovered for the first time with Boot.
Boot felt himself stir inside of her where she kept him ever since they went to bed with each other that night. Ginger wanted Boot. They gave each other more of themselves.
After that, Boot really did feel alive. It sometimes hurt like 10,000 mother fuckers being alive again and feeling the memories from the world of shit. Boot didn’t always like feeling alive again, but, Ginger also felt the same way. Boot understood, or guessed, at part of the reason that Ginger took him to bed that first time. Ginger, in the days, weeks, and months, after Boot was alive again, told him about her brother taking his own life after having been in the same World of Shit that Boot had been in all those years ago.
They only spoke about the World of Shit or the abyss or their first time, when they were naked and in bed with each other. They were the others “first” and any other before them or after them, would not have what they shared with each other. Ginger was Boot’s first. Boot was Ginger’s first. There was a bond between them that formed a long-lasting friendship that threatened no one else they held dear in their lives.
They gave much to each other and took even more from each other only to share that with their chosen loves. There was never any sense that what they had, that “first” bond, would become or exclude their real loves or threaten those relationships.
Ginger would find herself “guiding” other virgins, young men and young women, through their first times. Boot would form friendships with other women during his life.
Their bond of being “firsts” with each other and becoming friends, also proved to be another first for both of them and made them “equal” with each other. Boot and Ginger would experience what it was like to be intimate “friends” for the first time with each other, and open up the possibility for having other friends just as intimate.
It is just that, Boot and Ginger would always be the others first. ✨✨✨