When he returned on the Sunday evening he took her car back to the airfield. There was no provision for parking at the airfield for trainee airmen, but he was able to leave it near to the field in a farm-yard owned by a friendly farmer. On the weekends when he couldn't get a pass, Sophie came to Brantford by train and stayed downtown in a somewhat seedy hotel, meeting him in the evening. In the penultimate week before he left for England, she stayed for the whole week, sharing the landing and bathroom with a travelling salesman, a middle-aged Polish factory worker and two, no longer young, ladies of the night. Apart from the difficulty in getting into the bathroom in the morning, Sophie had no problems with the accommodation. She had even talked to the two ladies over breakfast in the hotel restaurant and as she told him later, she realised, basically, there wasn't much difference between them, other than they were better businesswomen; they were getting paid for it and she was giving it away.
They made love at every opportunity, almost as though every day was their last. As they had grown to know each other Jack had come to realise Sophie wasn't another Jane. He had fucked Jane, he made love to Sophie. When Jane had told him he had to think about her when they were fucking, it was basically selfish; designed to ensure she got the maximum enjoyment for herself from their coupling. Sophie didn't make the same overt demand but he became aware, she also wanted him to show her he was thinking about her; the difference being she wanted him to show her he was making love to her because he loved her. In spite of the difference, the end the result was the same.
In bed Jane was more accomplished than Sophie. She was more adventurous, had no hang-ups and climaxed more quickly and more often; but it was Sophie he loved and whose body he enjoyed most.
Their love-making on their last night was desperate. As an offering for the man she loved, she had let him shave all the hair from her cunt and then, she had made the greatest offering of all, kneeling before him with her bum in the air and offering to let him take her in her bum. He had refused her offer, but had been moved by the sacrifice she was prepared to make for him. She knew he was going and wouldn't be back. He knew he was going and it was quite probable, he would die.
They fucked for the last time just before three in the morning. It was a slow, gentle, tender love-making of the type neither had experienced. He played with her body for what seemed like hours, trying to memorise every mound and depression. He put his hands under her tits and lifted them, as if to restore them to their former glory. He licked her body from her neck to her tits and then down her body to her cunt and then to her other hole. She reciprocated; licking his nipples and then playing with his balls; first licking them and then taking each one individually into her mouth and sucking. She took his cock and starting at his balls, traced a line of saliva along the underside and when she reached the top she rimmed the end; he was sensitive there and she knew it. She laughed as his cock flicked upwards every time she licked the frenulum, the spot at which his foreskin attached to the rest of his cock.
When the time came for him to mount her, without him saying anything, she turned onto her stomach and presented herself, doggy fashion, in a position of supplication. She knew he preferred it this way and she knew it was because it made him feel powerful and in command. But this was also the position she enjoyed the most. When her husband had taken her this way she had felt only revulsion, but Jack had taken her back to the days of Jenny and Tom when Tom had often taken her in this position as it had given Jenny the chance to play with her clit and tits. It had been her favourite position then and it was once again, only now it was better and it was because of Jack. Tom had made her come but Jack satisfied her. His spunk filled her cunt, his cock drove into her as though it as on a mission, if she had been younger she would have thought he was trying to impregnate her, and when she came, she had a feeling Tom had never been able to provide; a feeling of total fulfillment.
This time as they fucked, she felt as if he was going to break through her cervix and into her womb. As she started to come, she started to cry and then, as she came, she cried out to him,
"Fuck me Jack....... please Jack ....make me pregnant."
She knew it was impossible but at that moment she was telling him, in the only way she had left, how much she loved him. She wanted his baby; to have a part of him she would have until she died.
He heard her and thrust as hard as he could; his balls contracted and then he came; his spunk firing out in a hot stream and mixing with her juices. At the mouth of her womb her cervix moved in a sucking motion as if trying to suck his spunk into her womb; trying to create a baby.
Chapter 11
Jack returned on The Countess of Athlone, the same ship on which he had sailed to Canada, just over seven months previously. The voyage back had been terrible. The weather had been cold, with high winds, driving rain and snow, bad visibility and rough seas. There had, however, been a silver-lining; the very conditions which made it difficult for surface ships to operate had the same effect on the U-boat wolf-packs. The liner had completed the journey to Gourock unscathed and he was looking forward to going home on leave for the seven days covered by his pass.
As he waited to dis-embark, he stood against the rail and cast his mind back to all that had transpired over the last seven months. He had enjoyed the training courses and was now a much better flyer. He had enjoyed Canada and the Canadians - well not quite everything, the beer left a lot to be desired - but these were merely fleeting recollections, what he remembered, most vividly, was his time with Sophie.
He remembered the fun they'd had on their visits to Toronto and Niagara Falls and dancing at the Royal Alexander but most of all, he remembered their love-making. By the end of his stay their love-making was to him, perfect. He knew everything that excited her and she knew everything that excited him. He could play her body like a violin; starting with pizzicato - little shudders as he bit her nipples or flicked her clit - and finishing with crescendo as they exploded together; his cock battering the base of her cunt. She had played to his wants, offering her body in supplication and not in fear as she had done with her husband, but out of a desire to please.
He remembered their last night together. They had fucked - and it had been fucking - twice before they'd reached her bedroom; once in the living room in front of the fire, the second time in the bathroom after they had shaved her cunt, but it was the last time they had made love he remembered most; the tender, gentle, lovemaking. He remembered what they had said to each other as they had lain in bed after they had come. Sophie had cried, her tears streaming down her cheeks, holding him tightly and not wanting to let go. She knew he had to go, but didn't want to accept it.
They'd slept for three hours only. In the morning light nothing had changed, other than a final acceptance that he had to leave. They told each other they understood this was the last time they would see each other; but still didn't want to believe it. They agreed not to write, that they needed to forget and get on with their lives and, once again, they didn't believe it.
When he kissed her for the last time, Jack knew he would always compare his future lovers to her and hoped, someday, he would find someone who would be like her. As she kissed him, Sophie could think only of the past, of how he had come into her life and given her love and hope. As he walked down the path to the cab her thoughts turned to the future; she would be a widow with no lover and she thought, no hope for the future.
As the train edged out of the station on its way to Manchester, he thought about Jane. In the seven months he had been in Canada she had written eight times and he had dutifully replied to each letter, but she hadn't written in the last six weeks. Her letters had been warm, but not the letters of a lover, more those of a good friend. On the other hand, she knew they were going to be read by a censor and perhaps she didn't want to share her intimate thoughts with a stranger.
The train pulled into Manchester at twenty-two minutes past six in the evening. Jane had arranged to meet him at the station and then accompany him on the forty-five minute bus ride home. The platform was crowded with men in uniform and it was a few seconds before he saw her waiting underneath the clock. She was looking for him, and then, as he emerged from behind a group of airmen, who looked like a crew going on leave together - probably a booze filled weekend in London - she saw him. She waved and although he had seen her already, he feigned surprise when they made eye contact. As she ran to him, Jack started to compare her to Sophie, but stopped. It didn't make any difference; she was the here and now; Sophie was the past.
She kissed him.
"Jack, I've missed you. You don't know how much I missed you."
He didn't and couldn't, but he did know he didn't feel the same about her as he had done when he left. That wasn't surprising as he had been away, in a foreign land, for seven months and he had seen and done things he couldn't have dreamed of when he'd left England but most importantly, he had met Sophie and whatever they'd said to each other when he left, he was still in love with her. He kissed her back and as she hugged him, he felt her tits against his chest. He remembered her body and almost against his will, he started to compare her to Sophie. Jane had a younger, tighter body with no hint of droop in her tits and no suspicion of the slight bulge in the belly which middle-age brought to most women. There were no creases around the eyes and mouth and no flecks of grey in the hair and yet, in spite of her imperfections, he knew it was Sophie he loved.
"I've missed you too."
They walked arm-in-arm out of the station and waited for the bus. When it came they sat on the top-deck at the back. Jane wanted to talk but Jack wanted to look at the scenery, to compare it with Canada. In Canada he had seen no slums of the type found in the industrial towns in the north of England. The cities he had seen were new in comparison to those in Britain, with straight and wide roads and with public buildings which were clean and bore none of the grime of the industrial revolution. If the cities of Canada were better, then the countryside paled in comparison with England. Canada, or at least the parts Jack had seen, had been flat and uninteresting, with a landscape comprising a mixture of browns and pale greens. England had mountains and fells, its landscape a deep green, dotted here and there with wild flowers and blossom. He had felt welcome in Canada, but this was home.
