A friend

Capt feg

It was the last year of the war. John had been away for 11 months. I
was missing him terribly.  One day his good friend from the
regiment, Richard, visited. He brought letters and a parcel from
John. Without knowing its contents I excitedly ripped it open in
front of him - this stranger. To my embarrassment silk underwear
fell out - bra, nickers and stockings - as a 19 year old, familiar
only to war shortages, they were totally unknown luxuries. Even on
my hands, their cool, smooth sensuality caught my breath. A brief
note in the parcel explained that John had been bileted with an
American unit, who had access to such items and used them as bribes
to secure the sexual favours of young women as they liberated
Europe. The articles in my hands had cost him a months supply of
cigarettes - he hoped that I appreciated the sacrifice, and he
looked forward to my repaying the sacrifice to him. 

The thought of being called on to redeem his sacrifice struck deep -
mind, heart and body. I had very little experience of sex. I had
only really experienced penetrative sex twice. Both with John on the
night before he returned to the front. Now my heart pounded, I felt
hot and moist, my mind filled with pictures of sex. 

Richard had been sitting patiently, an uncomfortable stranger. He
nervously cleared his throat and asked if I minded if he smoked.
Confused, I apologised for my neglect and offered him tea. In polite
conversation I found out that he had lost his family in the blitz.
He had nowhere to go. In the spirit of the times I asked if he would
like to stay the night. Travel and accommodation were difficult. And
my parents would be back by mid-evening. Besides I felt safe with a
friend of Johns.

We spent a couple of hours in small talk, during which I found out
something of the activities of their Regiment. Talk of John made me
think of our last night together. Eventually, having excused myself
to freshen up I found myself in my bedroom, looking whistfully at my
new silk underwear. Feeling naughty I decided to wear the stuff. I
quickly slipped out of my everyday cotton drawers and brassiere and
pulled on the cool silk, item by item. The unfamilar material seemed
to caress my skin. I felt my nipples harden as the brassiere cupped
and squeezed them. Between my legs the cool sensation encouraged my
lips to open and receive the caress. My heart rate increased, and I
felt flushed with excitement. I decided to keep the silk underwear
on and walk about with it under my clothes. Each step I took, every
movement I made, it seemed to carress me, exciting me more. 

Downstairs again Richard and I were running out of conversation.
Finding it hard to entertain a stranger I asked if he were any good
at jigsaws (a common activity in pre-TV days). I had a large, 10,000
piece puzzle that I had been slowly putting together for weeks. It
was laid out on the table in the front room. For the next hour we
pored over the puzzle. We shared the little joys and triumphs of
finding pieces, and moved around each other as we placed the pieces. 

We touched accidently a few times, but I thought nothing of it.
Eventually Richard sat back to rest and smoke a cigarette. I was
kneeling on my chair next to him, concentrating on the pieces.
Richards hand rested on my ankle. I thought little of it and
concentrated on the jigsaw. Moments later I realised that his hand
was now carressing the silk of my stocking over the back of my calf
and under the hem of my skirt. up to the back of my knee. 

I found my love of John being sorely tested by the warm, smooth
caress of this stranger. Confused, I pretended to continue to focus
on the puzzle. In truth my mind was filled with the sensations that
the warm and sensuous hand was generating as it languidly stroked
fractionally higher up my leg with each circling caress. My body,
prepared by the previous hours of the strange, whisper cool
smoothness of my silk underwear, was ripe for his attention. I kept
myself leaning over the jigsaw, wishing his hand higher and higher. 

Each stroke was an eternity. Finally, with his hand now well up my
skirt his fingers found the flesh above my stocking tops. It was a
touch that shook us both. My legs involuntarily parted, as I shifted
my weight from knee to knee. Richard's hand began to shake as it now
explored the flesh of my inner thigh. 

Higher, higher, higher, each stroke reached closer to my hole. I
willed his finger to it. Finally, as I was about to sob with
frustration, a finger brushed my lips. It made a single sweep, front
to back, then withdrew. Confused, I still stared blankly at the
jigsaw pieces on the table in front of me. I heard a rustle. Then a
cold draught on my thighs as my skirt was lifted over my back. 

I held my breath. My knickers were pulled to one side. I felt a lump
- the tip of his penis at the entrance to my hole. It paused there.
Seconds dragged on as it rested, as if asking for permission to
enter. I could not think. Images swirled through my mind - John,
pregnancy, gave me sweet dread. The urge to couple with this
stranger over-rode my fears. 

Taking my lack of response as aquiescence the penis slowly and
deliberately penetrated me. It shafted me in a similar manner. I
counted each stroke, from resting tip on my lips to nudging the door
of my womb, deep inside my belly. Strong hands under my skirt,
wrapped around my thighs pulled me onto the penis at each stroke.
Seventeen . . . . eighteen . . . . nineteen . . . . twenty . . . .
My mind counted. Each stroke brought a question - was this the last
stroke before he came? How long before my hole filled with his
sperm? My mind jolted. We had no contraception.

"Please . . . . please don't come in me . . . ." I managed to gasp. 

I was on the verge of a climax. I had not experienced this before.
The power of it wiped all else from my mind. I fell limp, shuddering
and moaning as I marvelled at the sensations which swept me.  

I was dimly aware of his hands pulling me hard onto him, fingers
digging into my tender thighs. The flesh in me stopped at the
deepest part of me. Spasm . . . spasm . . . spasm . .  . 

I realised that he was ejaculating in me. It was too much. I
collapsed foward onto the jigsaw, pieces cascading off the table. My
body shook with my orgasm. The walls of my hole pulsing and
contracting, milking the load from his penis, sucking the sperm into
me. I sobbed as my hole worked blindly to impregnate me, as my mind
screamed against that fate. 

He leaned heavily against me for several moments breathing heavily
as he spasmed. Pushing me down onto the table further he withdrew. I
heard him leave the room. I did not move. The sensations seemed to
be paraysing me - my stretched hole, the heavy weight of his semen
in me, fizzing with life. A globule that felt the size of a lake
oozed from my lips. I reached my finger between my legs and
collected it. Bringing it to my face I examined it closely. Creamy
white. Curiosity overcame me. I put it on my tongue. The taste
revolted me. It jolted me from my thoughts as I heard the front door
slam shut. 

He had left. I never saw him again. I never saw John again either.
When I found I was pregnant I felt that I could not face him. I sent
him a "Dear John" letter to which he did not reply. I wondered what
his friend Richard had told him of me.          
