Of Love and War (Exerpt)
July 4, 1943
John Jameson was distinctly hot and sticky, even in his
tropical-weight khaki uniform. The breeze coming off the ocean
should have kept him cool, but the press of bodies slathered in
suntan oil denied him even a breath of air.
He didn't know why he had let his parents talk him into coming down
to the boardwalk on a holiday. It was fun when he was a kid and he
could run around with his buddies. Fondly he remembered those days.
When John was little, Mom held tight to Cal's hand, while Dad kept a
firm grip on his shoulder. He could still feel the warm strength of
Dad's hand. There was so much to see and do, then. Rides to be
ridden, dripping ice cream cones and sticky cotton candy to be
They couldn't go on the beach because that's where the fireworks
were set up, but John loved to watch them get ready. Swarthy Italian
men dripped sweat and cursed loudly. Mothers covered their
children's ears and young girls squealed in delight at the sight of
well-muscled arms and chests arrogantly displayed by the men.
As he grew older, John and Cal with a group of boys, went to the
boardwalk on their own. Mom and Dad stayed home, preferring to climb
onto their roof to watch the fireworks. That left the boys free to
indulge in their favorite pastime; harassing girls.
By then, the bathing suits the girls wore left a lot
less to the imagination. Budding breasts and slightly swelling hips
barely concealed by the brief costumes were too much temptation to
resist. The boys slithered through the crowds like eels, one
knocking a girl into the arms of another, ready to keep her from
falling by grabbing whatever came handy … tits, ass, it was all the
same. And one glorious time, John managed to slip his hand right
between Sally Henderson's legs.
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