Magpie # 32

Phil and I, 17 year old virgins, 6 foot tall and bullet proof, joined the Corps after high school and took our places in 'Nam with India Co. 3rd Marines.

In our first battle, Phil took a gunshot to his leg; severing his achilles tendon. While not a go home wound it did land him in the naval hospital in Japan. We knew he'd be back with us in a couple months.

Getting shot brought Phil face to face with his mortality and he resolved that if he was going to die in this war, he wasn't going to die a virgin. So during his convalescence,in Japan, he made a visit to a local whore house just outside the compound.

Inside the brothel he handed the madame 200 yen and a young Japanese woman appeared and led him upstairs to a bedroom. He didn't speak Japanese and she spoke no English so conversation was through hand gestures only. On a bedside table was a lamp which the girl switched on and a dim light bathed the room. Next to the lamp stood an hourglass. She flipped the hourglass upside down. As the sand funneled through the narrow waist she took off her kimono and, naked, lay down on top of the bed.

Phil stood still as a statue, staring at the hourglass until the girl cleared her throat and giving Phil a puzzled look mimed to him to take off his clothes. Looking now at the whore, he stripped naked. His limp dick stared at the floor. She motioned to him to get on the bed and she used her hands to stimulate his peter. He glanced at the hourglass. Next she put his penis in her mouth and began a forceful sucking. He found the sensation uncomfortable; like being stuck in a vacuum cleaner. He pushed her head away from his groin, and looked again at the sand pouring through the glass. Now she was laying atop of him grinding her mons against his willy, trying to entice a cock like erection from him. She kissed him on the mouth and slipped her tongue between his lips, but his dong wasn't stiff enough to slip through her nether lips.

When the last grain of sand dropped on to the pile, the girl got up, donned her kimono and left the room.

I stand today, 27 August 2010, staring at Phil's head stone for the 45th year in a row. The engraving is simple enough:

Philip Benoit

Born: Portland, Maine, September 19th, 1945
Died: Viet Nam, August 27th, 1964

This is a work of fiction.

Cinnamon stopped living today.
August 1990 - September 14th, 2008

We said our goodbyes Friday before I left for NJ. We looked into each others eyes and we each knew that this was good bye. Bonnie and Dick said they'd keep an eye on him while we were gone and they did indeed. In fact Bonnie called us in the morning to tell us that he'd died because Dick had found him collapsed in the litter box. But when Dick picked him up Cinnamon moved, so Bonnie called us right back to say he was still alive.. Dick put him in his chair and when we arrived this afternoon he was dead. I believe he waited to die until just before we got home so that we could take care of the final act by doing the burying ourselves.

We buried him at home under the apple trees. He used to stare out the window at the birds and other critters that would frequent the bird bath, and feeders there.

One of Cinnamon's favorite sayings was a quote of Kurt Vonnegut:

"So it goes."

One of the things I learned from this feisty cat was that you live 'til you're dead. Then you can get old.

Goodbye friend.