Jack had looked forward to the end of his ITW posting, not just to escape from the physical training routine but because he knew Elementary Flying Training which was the next step would be his first real taste of flying. Breaking his leg put his pilot training into limbo; he had passed ITW but knew he would not be allowed to move on to flying training until his leg had healed.
After a two week wait, during which the RAF decided what to do with him, followed by a two week leave, he was transferred, in late September 1941, to RAF Fulnetby, a bomber command station located some ten miles east of Lincoln, as a 'spare bod'.
As a recruit with no trade, no post-secondary education and a broken leg, he proved difficult to place. In the end he was seconded to assist in the accounting section, although for the life of him he couldn't understand why as he had only just scraped a pass in his final maths exams. His accounting career lasted seven month and, by the end of his stay, he was bored stiff, had recovered from his broken leg and had finally managed to understand the difference between debits and credits, although he was still confused when applying the concepts to asset and liability accounts.
At the end May, 1942, he got the news he was waiting for; he was being transferred to air crew training but, rather than receiving it in England, he was to be posted to Canada under the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan; accompanying the posting was a seven day, embarkation-leave pass.
When he arrived home late on the Friday evening, Jane was waiting at his parent's house. As usual his mother fussed around him offering tea and food but, what he really wanted, was Jane. They sat and talked for almost two hours waiting for his mother to go to bed. When, at just after midnight, she finally said goodnight, she hadn't reached the top of the stairs before he had his hands on Jane's tits. Ten minutes later they were fucking; the first time they'd done it with a parent in the house. They tried to be quiet but, in spite of his best efforts to suppress her usual scream as she came, he was certain, unless his mother was asleep, she must have heard her. Nothing was said the next morning at breakfast, but he had had the impression his mother had heard and didn't know whether to challenge him about it.
In the final seven days they made love every time and everywhere they could and almost oblivious to the risk they would be caught.
They made love in the shed among the geraniums. He sat her on the edge of the potting bench with her skirt on but minus her knickers, knelt down before her and drank in the smell of her cunt, played with her clit, licked her to a climax and followed it by taking her; bent over, with her elbows on the bench. When they'd finished she ran to the house waving her knickers at him and laughing.
At her suggestion they made love in the conservatory. The shrubs along the north wall offered some protection from prying eyes, but he was sure they could be seen from the next-door neighbours' bedroom. When she had suggested it, he had wondered whether she had a streak of exhibitionism in her; a suspicion which was confirmed when, after they'd finished fucking, she stood up, turned and faced the neighbours' house, posed like a showgirl from the Follies Begère, with legs slightly crossed, one arm in the air and the other on her thigh and then ambled back, naked, into the kitchen.
They made love at her house, in her parent's bed. Her parents had gone out on the Sunday evening and, almost as soon as they'd left, she had disappeared upstairs. A minute later she called to him,
"Jack, come upstairs will you." He had gone up, suspecting she was planning something. "I'm in here." Her voice came from her parent's bedroom. He opened the door to see her naked lying on the bed; fondling her tits and playing with her cunt.
"Come on Jack, fuck me." It was an invitation he couldn't refuse and he fucked her. He had enjoyed it, but, from her reaction; the way she had scraped his back with her nails and screamed as she came she had obviously enjoyed it more than him; fucking in her parent's bed had excited her.
Their final fuck was bare-back. She had been apprehensive but there was no alternative. They had run out of protection and, in the end, she had finally agreed. It turned Jack on; he loved the feel of her slick cunt on his cock and, when he started to come, he felt the urge to leave it in her; to fill her with his spunk; to spray her womb. Just as he came he pulled out; spraying his spunk over the entrance to her cunt and across her bum. She hadn't come and, when she felt him pull out, she reached down, inserted two fingers into her cunt and finger-fucked herself until she came.
When they said goodbye at the railway station, they said nothing about the future. She knew he would be gone for at least six months, but had no worries. Over the previous fifteen months she had made him hers; she had taught him how to satisfy most of her fantasies and couldn't imagine anyone taking him from her. She would miss his cock - the sheer size of it most of all -- but she knew how to please herself and, if her hairbrush wasn't the size of Jack's cock, it was a reasonable short-term substitute.
He was only looking forward. He loved Jane, but Canada and flying were his future and, at this moment, Jane and sex occupied only a small part of his world.
Chapter 5
The troopship left Gourock two hours before sun-down, ensuring it was dark for most of the time it was close to Scottish Coast and, theoretically, improving its chances of avoiding the German submarines lurking off the Clyde. The S.S. Aquitania was a converted passenger liner, capable of twenty-four knots and far faster than any U-boat, either above or below the surface. She sailed alone, using her speed to avoid German torpedoes.
They were at sea five days; five days during which Jack realised why he hadn't volunteered for the navy. The sea was rough almost all of the way across and, for early summer, the weather was abysmal; starting with heavy rain, followed by cool weather as they sailed close to Iceland and, as they approached Newfoundland, by more heavy rain. The accommodation and food were terrible, even for the officers. He had shared a cabin which, in peacetime, had accommodated two people with five other, like him, very junior, RAF officers; all of them in cramped bunk beds. The food was barely edible, nowhere near as good as the food in the officer's mess at Fulnetby; which was a surprise, since the ship must have had access in Canada to supplies which were not available in Britain. Perhaps, he thought, all the best cooks had volunteered for the RAF.
The ship docked in Halifax, just as a convoy was waiting to set sail for Britain. The difference in size and the variety of the ships was amazing. Some were rust-buckets of just a few thousand tons, while others, particularly the oil tankers, were relatively large and well maintained. He knew, whatever their pedigree and ownership, they were a vital cog in the allied war machine, without which the war could not be won.
Disembarkation was a slow process. The ship held over 4,000 forces personnel which on this occasion were mainly airmen. Officers were allowed off first and directed to a NAAFI where they were fed and watered by mostly older, motherly women. Once fed, they were directed to a platform to await the arrival of the trains which were to take them to the RAF's No. 31 personnel depot in Moncton, New Brunswick; a reception centre for members of the RAF moving to and from Canada and the USA. Most were going west to the Prairies, but Jack and a few others were going to locations in Ontario and the USA.
The wait was interminable. It took four hours for his train to arrive, during which he wondered if being allowed to disembark first was an advantage. There was nothing to do on the platform; at least the men who were still on the ship could use the ship's facilities, while he was forced to stare at the walls or read a six-day old copy of the Manchester Guardian.
