12

Chapter 10

He completed EFT at the top of his class, which was an outcome he hadn't expected as there were several pilots with reserve training and far more flying hours. While the honour was welcome -- it was an independent vindication of his flying ability -- a far more important issue was his posting to a Service Flying Training School. Most British pilots were posted to schools in one of the prairie Provinces and he was concerned he would be posted 'out west' as the locals described it or 'Timbuktu', which was the preferred description in RAF circles at Mount Hope. He knew the statistics; from Hamilton the schools were a two to four day journey by road or rail while, by air, the flight was between six hours and twelve hours, and that was without allowing for refuelling stops. If he was posted out west, his chances of ever seeing Sophie again ranged from little to none.

His posting when it came was better than he had hoped for and was delivered by an unusual source. On the first day of his last week he was called into the C.O.'s office and given, what in the war-time RAF amounted to a performance appraisal.

"Well done..er.. Lindsey. Top of the class I see. Well, keep it up. Mmm; I see you're going to Brantford. It's a good station - bit out of the way compared to Mount Hope. You'll find twin-engines are bit more difficult than the old Tiger Moth, but you shouldn't have any problems." He turned the page. "Mmm .. I see your father's at High Wickham - thinking of joining the Bomber Boys?"

"I don't know Sir. I suppose I will."

"That's good.. er .. Lindsey. Send the next man in will you?"

The official news of his posting was delivered the next day but, by then, he had telephoned Sophie and given her the good news. They weren't to be separated; at least not just yet.

No. 5 Service Flying Training School, RCAF Brantford, the closest training school to Hamilton, was located on the western outskirts of Brantford, an industrial town located among the farmland of southern Ontario and some twenty-five miles west of Hamilton. He knew nothing about the town, the airfield or even the type of planes they flew but he was aware it was less than an hour by train to Hamilton and Sophie

The officers' quarters at Brantford weren't as good as Mount Hope, but still better than he had enjoyed in Britain. His first flight, in a twin-engined Anson, was a different experience. He had always flown in small, relatively slow, planes, most of which, including the Tiger Moth, were open cockpit. In comparison, the Anson had a closed cockpit, was almost twice as fast, twice the size and five times the weight of the affectionately named, 'Tiggie'.

By the end of his second week he had flown for the first time as second pilot. The Ansons used for training were safe, but had handling characteristics which were significantly different to both the Tiger Month and the Havard. Although faster, the Anson was much less responsive, more difficult to manoeuvre and suffered from a noticeable reduction in visibility when compared with the two trainers. By the end of the third week he had taken off and landed the plane, each time under the careful eye of the instructor. As the C.O. had said, twin-engined planes were more difficult to fly, but the principle was the same.

As was usual for the RAF - although the logic escaped him - as a new entrant at the school he had to wait for until the third week before qualifying for a forty-eight hour pass. During the three weeks he twice went into Brantford in the evening with some of his fellow trainees, but there was little to do other than drink and while it was tempting, he needed to save his money. RAF pay, even officer's pay, didn't go far in Canada and he had better things on which to spend it. On the third weekend he was given a forty-eight hour pass and went up to Hamilton on the train.

By the time he arrived at her house it was seven-thirty in the evening, starting to get dark and starting to become chilly. The summer weather had been good but the start of fall had brought cooler weather and earlier sunsets. Sophie opened the door to him dressed in her silk robe and with tears running down her cheeks. As far as Jack could tell she had nothing on underneath the robe; the same state of undress she had adopted when they had first made love.

"Jack, I love you."

He hadn't expected it and couldn't understand why she was crying; but, even through the tears, he thought she looked beautiful.

"I know you do; and I love you. Sophie, you're beautiful."

Sophie grabbed his arm, pulled him towards her and closed the door.

"Jack, hold me."

He put his arms around her back, pulled her to him and held her, waiting for her to stop crying. When she stopped he tilted her head upwards, kissed her and asked why she was crying.

"I don't know. I was all right until I saw you walking down the path and then, for some inexplicable reason, I wanted to cry."

"You're all right now?"

"I am. I was being silly."

Satisfied there was no problem, he kissed her again. She returned the kiss almost fervently, pressed her body against his and then opened her robe and rubbed her naked mound against trouser-clad cock. She wanted him and wanted to make it known to him. He reached for and found her cunt and stuck his index figure in. It slipped in easily. She was wet; almost soaking. She gasped in surprise and laughed.

"You're really wet."

"That's not surprising. I'll give you one guess as to what I've been doing for the last three quarters of an hour. I promised myself I would wait for you to arrive; but, I have to admit, I was weak and succumbed to temptation -- but only because I was thinking of you."

Jack laughed and asked, "Did you come?"

"Twice, and if you hadn't turned up when you did, it would have been three times."

The thought of her masturbating excited Jack. He unbuttoned his fly and took out his cock.

"Is this what you were thinking of when you were pleasuring yourself? It had better be."

"That puny thing? Not a chance. I was thinking about the milkman. I have it on good authority his cock is as round as a baseball bat and at least twelve inches long. On top of that he's good looking and very experienced -- if you know what I mean."

She laughed and then gasped as Jack picked her up, turned her over and laid her across his knee.

"Don't trifle with me, young lady. My cock doesn't like it when it's compared to other male appendages and particularly when they are hanging from males my lover considers to be good looking."

He slapped her bum -- hard. She yelped and, then, yelped again as he hit her six or seven times, turning her bum a vivid red. He leant down and stroked her nether cheeks and blew on them

"Let's go to bed. If you're good, I'll kiss your cheeks better

On the way to the bedroom Jack followed her up the stairs, watching her red-tinged bum sway slightly from side-to-side and thinking how exciting slapping her had been. Sophie could feel a stinging sensation, but was surprised how much his slaps had excited her, even through the pain.

On the bed Jack rolled her over and as he had promised, kissed her and then blew on her cheeks.

"You liked it when I slapped you, didn't you?"

Sophie nodded.

"Did it excite you?"

Sophie nodded again. It had excited her; but why pain had excited her, she didn't know and it made her uneasy.

Jack turned her over and kissed her, first on the lips and then on her breasts. She gasped and pulled him upwards until his cock was poised at the entrance of her cunt.

"Fuck me, Jack. Make it up to me for the last three weeks."

"You seem to have been doing all right on your own."

They both laughed; at ease with each other. Sophie opened her legs and let him in; happy to feel the enormity of his cock. Jack drove his cock to the base of her cunt; happy to feel the familiar warmth and wetness of her cunt around his cock.

They fucked in almost complete silence, both enjoying the sensations and both driven by the pent-up desire of the three week separation. The silence was broken by Sophie who, as she started to come, let forth a torrent of vulgarity; urging him on; telling him what to do and where to do it. When they had finished and his cock had slipped from her come-soaked cunt, she started to cry again and continued, in spite of his attempts to kiss away her tears.

"Jack, you don't know how much I missed you. I had given up hope that I would ever love anyone again and you've given that hope back to me."

The next four and a half months were, in Sophie's words, 'blissful' for both of them. For Sophie it was being able to see to see Jack more often than she had when he was at Mount Hope. For Jack it was seeing Sophie and enjoying his flight training. He had expected some problems with night flying, which was to be a new experience for him, but apart from the occasional blip, he had no problems with the course.

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.