Harvest Home

The silence came upon me in 1952, the day mum asked me to read out the telegram. I'd never seen a telegram before. What I did know was that unless you won on the premium bonds, they always brought bad news.

'Corporal Charles Cooper -- Stop. Missing -- Stop. Believed killed in action -Stop.'

Those awful words hung in the air of our small cottage, they bounced off the walls and broke our hearts.

He had said I had to be the man of the house when he left to fight, and now my words had made my mum and my sister's cry.

He was going to a place I'd never known. A place called Korea. I was sure it wasn't in Europe. Something died inside me when I knew dad would never be coming back from the forgotten war. I vowed never to speak again.

After a year, people gave up talking to me - they stopped trying to break my silence. "Poor Billy!" They'd say, "He's lost his marbles."

I turned eighteen in the June of '56', Ma said I had to stop lollygagging around the house and go help the menfolk in the fields.

That same day a man came to live in our house. He slept on dad's side of the bed - mum said we were to call him Uncle Tommy.

I liked working in the fields with the men. I was free to be myself, treated as one of their own. They were bold, brash, and muscular, and didn't care that I wouldn't talk. "Talk is for politicians and fisher-wives!" They'd boldly say, with laughter in their voices.

I worked until my muscles burned and my hands bled, but I never missed a day. The men sang and roared, and we drank rough cider that burnt my throat and made my head swim. When it wasn't raining, natures dust covered everything, including our half-naked bodies which glistened from hard labour and burning sun.

Insects buzzed amongst the hay dust that made the golden air as thick as a London smog.

House-martins flew above our heads taking flies on the wing, and Kestrels hovered on the hot air searching for homeless rodents.

It was nearly eight o'clock when our gang wearily trudged home on that last exhausting day of the harvest. As we turned into the village Tommy said I could walk in the front of the gang. "Your Dad would be so proud of you lad."

Women came out from their cottages offering glasses of ginger beer and cigarettes. There was talk of a bumper crop, the best since the old war.

When Tommy and I got home, Mum waved a tiny Union Jack; last seen on VE day. "My men have brought the harvest home." she cried, "There will be rations for us all."

The radio blasted out Glen Miller adding to the party mood. Tommy playfully smacked mum's bum and she blushed excitedly.

As always, my sisters ignored me; busy chatting and giggling with a young woman that I'd never met before.

The cascades of champagne hair curled against her soft lily-white shoulders.

She caught me staring and I blushed. She winked at me in a way no girl had ever done before.

"Hello Dad," She called, but Tommy ignored her; his attention was grabbed by my mother's tender voice. "The tin baths in the backyard filled with warm water, there's soap and clean towels." Tommy got in first. Senior man's honour.

It was almost dark by the time I stepped into the comfort of the now tepid water. I closed my eyes and poured water over my head, the dust running from my body adding to the brown soup below.

The cool air against my wet skin felt good. My mind was full of Tommy's daughter. What did that wink mean?

I hadn't noticed the wedge of house light spreading across the yard from the open kitchen door. "They've all gone to the pub!" She said nonchalantly.

I panicked - my hands instantly left my cheerful knob, then just as quickly returned trying to cover myself. My embarrassed words screamed, but nothing came out.

"I'm Sally, Tommy's daughter," Her voice never faltered, as if talking to a naked man was an everyday occurrence. "You're Silent Billy aren't-cha. You're cute."

I couldn't look at her. Sweat bubbled on my red face. "It's okay I don't bite," she added, her hand reached out and touched my muscled thigh. "Powerful legs, I like that," a tingle ran along my limbs, travelling upwards to my growing cock. "Look, we've only got ten minutes before they'll send out a search party, so let's turn up the music and sort you out, shall we?"

I stood like a statue, too scared to move. She knelt beside me, hands dipping into the water, searching amongst my feet for the soap. Lathered fingers gently loosened my protective grip. A hand tightened around my cock's base, while experienced fingers rubbed the purple head.

She slowly worked my cock into hardened ecstasy, as she sang along to the music. "One, two, three o'clock. Four o'clock rock," Her hands quickening with the beat of the song. "Five, six, seven o'clock. Eight o'clock rock...I love this song don't you Billy. Who's the singer lad?"

The sensation of soft female fingers on my tight shaft was new to me. "We're gonna rock around the clock tonight," she chorused, her hand now moving with determination. "Come on Billy boy, let's get this done before we get caught. Maybe this will help?"

She removed a hand, and as I looked down, I saw her loosen the ties on her embroidered top, releasing a perfect pair of porcelain white breasts.

I had seen photos of women's breasts in magazines, but my first sight of real titties made every muscle in my body spasm.

My balls tensed and twitched, sending a hot stream of milky juice out of my rigid cock, and rivered down her beautiful cleavage. The second squirt was more powerful, exploding on her neck - followed by a third and fourth that bathed her shocked face.

There was something strangely funny about her huge, surprised eyes. I laughed nervously and uncontrollably between breathless groans.

"You dirty bastard!" she screamed, wiping spunk from her cheek. Which made me laugh even more.

Her eyes dropped as she followed a translucent pearl of semen run down the bridge of her nose and onto her lips. A smile spread across her face -- followed by a soft sexy giggle. I passed her a towel and we laughed until tears run down our faces.

We hooked pinkie fingers as we walked to the pub. Something had changed, everything was different now.

"Bill Haley," I whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

She turned sharply towards me and frowned. "Oh my - you really are full of surprises, aren't cha' Billy boy? -- I like Bill Haley, but I like you more!"