I like to give and receive. I'm not one of those women who shies away from a nice sized cock when it is presented to me. I take it in my mouth with a certain aplomb and go to work on it. They writhe and moan and wrap their fingers in my hair. That's one of the reasons I'm growing it out. I like the feel of hands and fingers flowing across and through my hair. Just as long as they don't pull my head toward them, forcing me in closer to what they want. I consider what I'm doing an art form not to be handled by outsiders. If they want to jerk the head of anyone around, they need to find some young, inexperienced female who doesn't know better. But as far as I can tell, in today's society, most girls learn to do this before their seventeenth birthday. God knows Harmon Rabb in all his goodness wouldn't touch a nubile, teenage girl. Hell, even Clayton Webb would have to think twice about it.

But giving is not where you learn the true character of the man. They all moan in sort of the same fashion and then thrust into your mouth. Some are polite enough (and I'm sure you all can guess *who* that is) to tell you they are about to come so you can decide whether you want to take it all in or move your mouth and let them catch it in their hands instead. Others take charge and don't give you a choice. Sometimes I like that more than the polite ones. It's okay for men to take charge . . . occasionally.

I sit at my desk and muse about them individually as they walk by my windows during the day. Not about what they look like or exactly how they smell when I have my nose snuggled up against them and my mouth wrapped around them. No, I prefer to muse about their character as they have their head between my thighs and their tongue is going to work. That's when you learn the true character of a man.

I suppose out of my own own politeness, I should begin with the most recent. Mic Brumby. The problem with Mic, who I *do* really, really like a lot, is he gets chatty. I don't need a man talking to me from down there. I thought that was one of the advantages of cunnilingus. They should be too busy to speak. Instead, with Mic, I'm always hearing, "Is that good, luv?" and "You taste incredible, Sarah." I don't care how I taste, personally, and would rather not be told right then and there because I start to think of ways I could change the taste to make it more incredible. I know, lay off red meat. That changes the 'atmosphere' of that area entirely. Or at least that's what they say in Cosmo. Harm would like it if I stopped eating red meat. Maybe Mic would, too.

Mic isn't bad at it. He just talks too much. But then again, that's pretty much his problem in life in general.

Looking up, I see the Admiral walk through the office, and everybody stiffens up in his presence. Something melts down to my core just thinking about my evenings with my ass on his desk and his head dipping between my thighs. Oh, he commands attention wherever he goes and this place was no different. He pulled me forward so I was at just the right angle and he pulled my knees apart, taking charge of the whole situation. He would say things like, "This is what I'm going to do to you now, Major (yes, it's been a long while) so be ready." And then without any pomp and circumstance, he'd delve right in, his tongue doing marvelous things to me. Undescribable things. Perhaps this skill comes with age. Hell, I didn't care where it came from. My hands would come off the desk and feel that fabulously bald head of his. Somehow that made it all the more erotic. I would come and he would lean back in that big chair of his and not say much. He never said much. But who the hell needed to say anything at that point? One just follows him, they don't question it.

Yes, the Admiral is good. I just hate the look of 'we shouldn't be doing this,' that crosses his still damp face afterwards. I hate it because I know it is true.

The best thing to happen to the work place since the invention of an automatic drip coffee maker walks by. He looks all serious right now, the ever-in-charge Marine, but I've seen a different side of him. Victor can be so sweet and caring that when I think about it, I sometimes want to go 'awww,' instead of writhing around in passion on my chair. But not only is he considerate while he's doing it, he's so damn hot it is unbelievable. Usually, unless I'm in bed with them already (a la Mic Brumby) I don't have them take their clothes off. Victor was the exception to the rule. I had to see what was under that stiff and pressed uniform shirt. I needed to see it while he was doing this to me. Sure, I had seen it before. I have even gone down on him, my tongue traveling down that caramel flan skin before coming to that thick cock of his. But I even liked to see that skin while he was treating me to a little Marine attention. Us Marines do have to stick together, and I can't imagine any better way to be stuck together than that. He didn't say much. Just lapped away like a newborn kitten with its mama. Then when he'd bring me to orgasm, he would just look up at me with the devilish grin and ask, "Was that good for you, ma'am?" Like he had to ask. Is he insane?

The problem with Victor was the guilt he felt later. Not the same guilt as the Admiral. I'm sure Victor's guilt had more to do with his extremely good and strong Catholic background then where his career could end up if anyone found out. His background is one I'm simply lacking.

Shit, what's he doing here? Clayton Webb breezes through the office with singular determination: getting to the Admiral's office without having to talk to any of the people 'beneath' him. And here comes Harm for the interception. Got to love Harm. His nose is always getting in the way. They say a few words and Webb probably told Harm off three different ways in that amount of time but Harm would never know it. He's a Boy Scout and he thinks everybody else is, too. Or maybe he's just fooling us all with some 'good guys always wear white' act. Which one of them should I examine first?

I'm sure Webb would want to go first and Harm, naturally, would let him. Webb would just want to get into my mind and out of my mind as fast and as discreetly as possible. He's like that in everything he does. And occasionally he messes up whatever it is he's doing, but he covers up well and keeps right on going. Everybody is always satisfied in the end in one way or another. In typical 'spook' style he is very silent while he's doing anything. Sometimes he's even more silent afterwards. Not out of guilt. I can't imagine Clayton Webb every feeling guilty. Maybe it is loneliness . . . that this can't go on forever because of what he is? I almost prefer guilt. But while he's doing it, he goes at it with the same determination that he does with everything. As a Company man, he's been taught to focus on the objective and focus he does. We would always meet in some clandestine place and get busy right away. No time for small talk when you can't discuss your life anyway. That was always his theory. Sometimes we never even made it to the car. Instead, we'd end up in some backroom with his head between my thighs after my quick debriefing. When I was done, he'd be there leering up at me with a smirk on his face as if he just broke up the biggest spy ring in the world.

He liked to do this, but then again, I think Webb likes to do anything with his mouth, whether it be talking his way out of something or appreciating the finer parts of a woman. I just wish he wasn't so determined to keep other people out of his life. I could really learn to like him.

I'm about to get to 'Harmon Rabb, Jr., Everything Extraordinaire,' when Tiner pokes his head into my office and informs me that the Admiral wants to see me in about fifteen minutes. Crap, what did Webb get us involved in now? I think he does this stuff just so he can dress me up for the night. And as Tiner is speaking, I recall one of my worst experiences with the men around here. Jason Tiner, so innocent looking in his sailor suit, really does know a lot about oral satisfaction. Actually, he knows *too* much. He's the only man I know who ever actually wanted to instruct me as I was giving him a blow job. How in the hell did he know so much, anyway? Too bad I couldn't ask. Too bad he can't tell. But when it came to me being on the receiving side, it was great. His tongue could swirl around in ways I've never felt before. Too bad he was a little uptight about who I am. Like when a man has his tongue dancing across my clit, rank matters much? I would tell him to relax, but he always looked like he'd rather be filing something. Maybe it was me. I just don't think he wanted to be with me.

Yes, that's our Petty Officer Tiner. Good at what he does even if it might be a crappy job he doesn't want to be doing.

Harm walks by again and looks my way, nodding in the general direction of the Admiral's office. I nod and motion for him to give me another minute and he smiles at me before going on his way.

I wish I could motion for another minute with Harm in other areas of our lives, too. They say it really is different with someone you love, and they weren't lying. It didn't happen often and it has been a long time, but I would love to be back there. If only for a minute. He would do everything so slowly and with such skill, I thought I would die under his tongue. But I always felt the most alive right there, with him loving me and loving my body. That's Harm. Always caring and concerned. Always respectful. Even when I was completely opened up to him, he'd still ask if it was okay. He never just took anything. He always had to ask first. Yes, occasionally he'd have his bad boy moments, but he always came out on top and smelling like a rose through it all. Back then, Harm could do no wrong. Harm's big problem is commitment. He couldn't ever commit to what he was doing with me. Hell, Harm couldn't even commit himself to being a JAG lawyer. He had to go find out if he could do something else . . . better. That's always how I felt when he was with me. I was the best he was ever going to find, but he had to keep looking for that one thing better. I would writhe and moan under his tongue, practically begging for him to stay with me forever, but I always knew he'd be gone. He liked where he was, but he was too scared to stay there.

Harmon Rabb, who was in the perfect place but he just didn't know it. It is the one mouth I can't have back on me at anytime and maybe that's what I miss the most. But I don't miss his Boy Scout attitude that this is for the best. I know what's best for me, and he was the best. Or the best that I could ever hope to hold on to.

I stand up from my chair and leave my office, trying to chase all those thoughts out of my head. I now have to go sit through a meeting with most of these men. I know about them, but they don't know about each other. Well, maybe Webb knows about everything I've ever done, but Harm would never suspect it. The Admiral wouldn't want to know. Victor's eyes follow me as I cross the room, always alert as to what it going on around here, even with me. And Tiner greets me enthusiastically just like he greets everybody.

Walking into the office, I discover Webb standing there with his hands on his hips already, talking a mile a minute now that he has a captive audience and a story to tell. He stops and looks at me, drawing the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip before he continues. The Admiral looks like he has a headache the size of the Grand Canyon just from listening to him and he is leaning forward on my favorite spot on his desk. He must notice where my eyes go, because he leans back in his chair. Harm is sitting there facing the Admiral and he doesn't even turn around when I enter the room. I can tell it is going to be another long, and more than likely, stupid meeting where I end up in a spangly ball gown.

At least when they are discussing whatever nonsense this might be about, I can focus on their mouths. That's my favorite part.

**************

The End