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Old 08-04-2013, 10:04 PM   #1
HYMENBUSTER
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Default New York, New York a helluva town

The Sailor walked with that swagger that his kind was famous for, the burn running up his right leg was a scar and a faded memory. *The hazy painful months at Pearl and Balboa had given way to confidence at Treasure Island where even his officers had treated him with deference, even awe. *He was a tin can sailor, and not just any sailor but a FireControlman, and his Tin Can had been THE Tin Can, the USS Johnston. *The ship that had like an overconfident David stood toe to toe with the Japs mightiest goliath, The Yamato. *After the training at treasure island, where he learned the skills to control with precision the fire of an Iowa class Battleships 16" guns, he traveled across the country, meeting the families of the men who had manned Johnston's 5" guns alongside him, his lost friends who had made that little destroyer fight like a battleship. *

* *The Nation at war so man young men gone, the dress whites were catnip, and as he honored his lost shipmates, he enjoyed the pleasures lost to them. *All too often the pretty young waitresses, school girls and small town beauties he met on the trip would hesitate waiting for love, or just to get to know him better. *But he didn't have the time to wait to waste, and he had learned in port calls in San Fran, Pearl, and Australia that women weren't to be treated gently they wanted, no they needed to be domineered. *So he crossed the country leaving in his wake rough kisses, and stolen cherries, promises never to be fulfilled, and wombs filled with his seed, and more than a couple torn dresses and crying coeds, but he knew it every last one loved it, after all everyone knows sailors live fast and love hard. *


* *But at last New York, while the war hadn't yet come to it's devastating crescendo, it stood unrivaled by it's one time competitors, Paris, Berlin, London and Moscow, had all felt war's touch. *Sure her socialites had to go with a few less stockings, but the bars were open til 1 and the Jap and the Hun were world's away, across seas made into American lakes. *The cultural, culinary jem of the world glittering alone, in her splendor. *And the women had an apettite for young men in uniform, It was paradise a place where high culture and the seedy side melded seamlessly and the war was like a half forgotten nightmare.


* *But, tonight he walked, no swaggered with the arrogance of a blooded warrior, *into that towering monument to American mass media, the nerve center of the NBC radio empire, Rockefeller Center. *His white stood out in a sea of brooks brothers, and dresses, the handshakes of men with familiar voices, the phenominal but defaced mural by Rivera. *But, there was something he had to see, The Rockettes, that cheesy yet, endearing institution that screamed New York, to non-manhattanites the world over.


* * The show was truly a spectacle, the music the way the girls moved in unison their height, and that magic of a dancers body. *But there was one girl in that line that he couldn't keep his eyes off of, a girl that excited his...my imagination.
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Old 09-22-2013, 08:29 PM   #2
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She was a heartbreaker, always had been. She loved to be the center of attention, loved to have all eyes on her. With her looks, it was easy. On their own, her features were sweet, innocent even- those wide blue eyes and full, pouty lips, the milky white skin peppered with freckles like fairy kisses. But add a swipe of red lipstick, a heavy smoke to bring out the feline in those eyes, and she was deadly- a sexy, sinful little thing.

She prowled the streets with practiced ease, turning heads wherever she went. It was hard to imagine her as the Kentucky girl she'd once been, so sweet and unassuming. Now not even the most powerful man could resist her; she teased and toyed with whomever she met for the sheer pleasure of feeling the power so few women got to feel. Sex was a tool, a weapon that she and she alone could wield.

She'd left Kentucky when she was eighteen. It had been easy to leave, easy to say goodbye to a town where no one ever amounted to anything. So she'd blown a kiss to a line of lovesick boys and caught the first bus to New York, leaving a trail of broken hearts in her wake. The people in her hometown knew her by face, but here, here she was going to make a name for herself; she was going to be unstoppable. And oh, what a name she'd made. Rosalyn: a name whispered with jealously, adoration, desire...lust.

Rosalyn: The Performer; Rosalyn: The Showgirl; Rosalyn: The Rockette. She stepped out on stage each night dressed to kill, that pretty red hair done up in curls and those legs, those famous legs, long and lovely in the bright stage light. She kicked and she twirled and she smiled that brilliant smile, and every night they loved her more. And she loved being loved.

She loved to flirt. It was like a drug, the rush it gave her. She liked to be doted on, liked to be adored. Every night they rushed to greet her, pushed and shoved to tell her how wonderful she was. And she, SHE had the power to bring them closer or push them away; she alone was in control.

...At least she...I...was. I thought I had it all figured out; I thought I had all the power. Until one night when my whole world was turned upside down...
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Old 10-03-2013, 12:09 PM   #3
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What it was that made her stand out, was impossible to say, yet she did, her costume twinned to all the high kicking beauties of the chorus, but there was something about her, the way she just came together, her freckles promising innocence, but her mouth perfect and pouty a hunger for life and it's pleasures, her blue eyes an ingenue's curiosity, but her hair blazed with a sophisticated sensuality, the allure of an aloof Helen in the flower of her youth. *But, it was the way she moved her legs kicking, though synchronized, there was something more, about her than all the other beauties on the stage lacked, that the all the women on my trip had lacked, that I had not seen in all the ports of the pacific. *


* *Flipping open my program I found her, That ravishing beauty staring from the page, her smile as inviting as a siren's luring a sailor to his doom, Rosalyn, the face matched the name. *I hunted the major domo with a determination I normally reserved for Jap cruisers, when I said the name he smiled, like a hundred other men had sent roses to to her dressing room, but along with the bouquet I sent my Dixie Cup, that sailor's hat goofy though it seems, has opened a thousand legs. *

* * *Leaning against the ballustrade I smugly grinned as he returned, and unmistakably my gambit had worked, the imprint of a kiss, of her lips were crimson against the white of the hat. *And the major domo smiled as he ushered me back stage, the smell of perfume was in the air, and the giggle of rockettes filled the air at my intrusion heading to their dressing rooms in various states of undress, blondes and brunettes, blue, green, hazel and brown eyes glimmered in perfect faces, dancers bodies in a sensual classy parody of the uniform I wore. *It was a scene that would pause even the wealthiest sheik, yet the flirtation and giggles of her peers did not slow me. *The door said "Rosalyn" in cursive script and I knocked, standing jaunty, with a smug grin on my face, and an involuntary hardness striking in my pants.
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