0 comments/ 16202 views/ 2 favorites In a Little While Ch. 01 By: barabajagal001 This is the first of a series of stories inspired by songs. In this case, "In a Little While" from the 2000 U2 album, "All That You Can't Leave Behind." ----- Fred paused over his arithmetic to gaze out his bedroom window. It was lightly fogged, and heavy drops of rain spattered it relentlessly. His mind was a thousand miles away - well, really, about five thousand miles away. That rainy afternoon in January of 1944, he was thinking about his childhood friends, scattered across the globe, fighting for their lives, and his. Some were in Italy, some on ships in the South Pacific, and others were in England, preparing for the next Allied offensive, wherever that would be. Some - like Bobby Derrick from down the street - had already come back to town for a short furlough before heading off to the front lines, and others - like Tommy, and Sandy, and so many more - would never return. His arithmetic homework just seemed so trivial in comparison to what those other boys were suffering, and what's more, his eighteenth birthday was mere weeks away. In March, he would have to register for the draft, and it would only be a matter of time before his number would be up - if he didn't enlist first. After all, depending on who you believed, the Allies were winning, pushing the Axis back everywhere they went. Maybe the war would even be over before he left basic training, he thought, a trifle uncomfortably. It was supposed to be a mark of honor to enlist and head off to war with your head held high, eager for a fight, but Fred wasn't exactly in a hurry to get shot at. He kept that thought to himself, though, not knowing if it was cowardice or intelligence. Could it be both? By many accounts, though, wartime was supposed to be fun and exciting for the young men who enlisted. Adventure, serving your country, becoming a hero, and the girls! Fred had heard all about the pretty girls who were constantly chasing after servicemen overseas. And although it seemed incredible at first, the reactions of the local girls to men who were on furlough or boys who announced their intention to enlist were so positive, he couldn't help but believe that all the things he had heard must be true. His thoughts turned a bit closer to home, thinking that he had already found the prettiest girl in the world - Alice Wright. She was his next-door neighbor, the only daughter of his mother's childhood friend. Alone in the room, he felt his face flush hotly. Crossing to his bed, he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, remembering the day he first saw Alice. He had been four years old, and his mother had been all aflutter at the fact that the Wrights were moving back into town with their baby girl. They had met Mrs. Wright on the sidewalk outside their house, just heading out for a walk as she was. She was pushing a pram, Alice fast asleep within it. He had peered in to see her, and her cherubic face struck him immediately. Her golden curls were splayed across her forehead, and as he looked at her, she awoke, her bright green eyes blinking up at him. He had never forgotten that first look, as her pretty lips curled into a smile. He had loved her from that very moment. Alice had never seemed to share his feelings, however. She would prattle on to him for hours as a child about her various fancies. When she grew older, those fancies mainly turned to her many beaus and other admires. About the time he entered high school, she had stopped dropping by his house afternoons. Now, they only saw each other their parents' twice-monthly bridge night. As he sat in silence, he heard the rumblings of his parents chatting downstairs. Probably his father was telling his mother about his day at work, and his mother was putting the finishing touches on the roast she had prepared for dinner. Just another day in the suburbs of Chicago, he thought morosely. But then he remembered that it was just such a bridge night, and he couldn't stop the smile from crossing his face. He wondered if Alice had returned from visiting her grandparents in Boston. His thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. He tossed a look at himself in his mirror on his way downstairs. Tall, slim but not nearly as skinny as he had been as a child, short brown hair, brown eyes. Nothing wrong with his looks, at least. He smoothed his hands down the front of his green vest with its dark green tie, hanging smartly to the waistband of his brown slacks. A fire crackled merrily in the sitting room, and he joined his parents as they were greeting the Wrights. Alice entered after her parents, slipping her fur-lined coat off to reveal a filmy pink dress underneath, frilly and feminine. It seemed almost too grown-up for the almost-15 year old wearing it. She handed him the coat, smiling demurely at him. "Good evening. My, Freddie Wright, how you've grown," she said. It was true that he'd grown a few inches, but he hadn't thought she would notice. "You're looking well yourself, Alice. How was your visit with your grandparents?" "Lovely, thank you for asking. Boston is such an exciting city, and there were so many charming young men calling," she teased. He shook his head, resigned to the fact that she regarded him with no more than sisterly affection. He hung her coat up in the front closet, noticing as he did that it smelled lightly of gardenias. Then he turned, and gallantly offered her his arm to escort her to the dining room. "Such an old-fashioned gesture," she giggled. "Well, I know I can't compete with the handsome boys you're always meeting, so I resolve to at least be entertaining." To that, she seemed to have no answer. Dinner conversation revolved mostly about the war - what else? - due in part to the fact that Paul Wright worked in an administrative capacity at nearby Fort Sheridan. He had access to some of the latest news, and always had stories about the young men entering the armed forces. Fred hung on every word, hoping to hear some clue that the war was drawing to an end, but no such assurances came tonight. Only word that more and more young men were passing through Fort Sheridan each day - many going out, and a sad few returning. After dinner, the four adults would generally retire to the parlor to play bridge over coffee. Most of the time, Alice would go with them and work on her sewing, while Fred slipped off to his bedroom to work on his homework. Sometimes, though, Fred would decide to go into the den to listen to the radio, and these times Alice would accompany him. Tonight, he knew his mind was useless for homework, so he went to the den, Alice trailing behind him. Fred found a station playing Glenn Miller, and sat back on the couch to listen and wait for news bulletins. Alice sat beside him gingerly. She pulled out her sewing, but set it aside. "Freddie," she began uncertainly, "you're going to enlist, aren't you?" "Alice, I..." "You are, I can tell! I saw you at dinner, how much attention you were paying to Daddy. You've already made up your mind, you can tell me." He glanced briefly at the door, but knew their parents couldn't hear them. "I don't see what else there is to do, Alice. Odds are good I would get called up sooner or later, and the manly thing to do is enlist before that happens. Our country needs me." "What about your parents? They need you, too." "They'll understand. They have to. I'm just glad that Dad didn't have to go, for Mom's sake. At least she'll have them while I'm away." "What about me?" she asked in a small voice. His mouth went dry. He looked at her, but she looked down at her lap. He felt hot all over, but refused to even hope. She hadn't meant it that way. "What about you?" he asked, seriously. "I, well, I..." she faltered. "I'll miss you." she finished lamely. "I'll miss you, too, Alice," he said, and ventured a friendly pat. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but shut it again. She grabbed her sewing and stabbed her needle into the cloth, trying to look very busy. The radio had moved on from Glenn Miller to Cole Porter's "You'd be Nice to Come Home To." He would have left the entire topic alone, but he noticed a tear slip from the corner of her eye. She wiped at it hastily. "Alice, I..." She looked up at him, shimmering eyes threatening to spill over. "Oh, don't cry, Alice. It won't be that bad. I'll be home before you know it. And when I am, maybe..." Alice wiped her eyes and looked at him expectantly. In the pause that followed, Alice's mother June called her from the parlor. She dashed off, and Fred was left alone with his thoughts. ----- Fred wasn't sure, in the weeks that followed, whether he was sorry or grateful that he had not bared his soul to Alice. He still didn't think that she was interested in him romantically. But more than that, he wasn't sure it was fair to saddle her with the knowledge of his affections right before he left for war. He didn't want to leave her with a false sense of hope. Even more honestly, he didn't want to leave himself with false hope that she would - could - wait for him. Perhaps his tour would only be for 12 or 18 months, but one never knew what would happen in the interim, or where he would go afterward. She hadn't spoken to him at all since that night, which wasn't exactly unusual, but filled him with trepidation. News on the war front had not been comforting, either. Allied forces had stagnated in Italy, and were pushing slowly forward in the Pacific. The first week of March had him looking dreadfully forward to his birthday on the 9th. The night before his birthday, his parents invited the Wrights out to dinner at the Bismarck Hotel - appropriately prophetic, he thought to himself - in downtown Chicago. He had dressed in his best suit, combed his hair carefully with water, and got into a cab with his parents. When they arrived at the Bismarck, Fred saw Alice and her parents already waiting in the lobby. Alice turned to meet his eyes, and his breath was stolen away from him in one great rush. She was wearing a butter-yellow chiffon dress - out of season, he supposed, but her heavy winter coat would have kept her plenty warm - that complemented her complexion and highlighted her gentle curves. He took her hand and kissed the back of it, eliciting a small smile from her otherwise too-serious face. Alice wasn't the only one; in fact, all six of them were rather subdued, especially for a celebratory occasion. It was as if they all knew what he was going to say. Perhaps they did. "Everyone, I want to say thank you for celebrating my birthday with me. There isn't another way to say this, so I'll just come straight out. Tomorrow, instead of going to school, I'm going to go up to Fort Sheridan and enlist. Mom, I know you're probably disappointed that I won't be staying to graduate, but I think our country needs me as soon as I'm able." Wiping away her tears, his mother looked at him and said, "Freddie, I could never be disappointed in you. We're both proud you're making the choice that's right for you." The other adults nodded their agreement, and only Alice refused to meet his gaze. He encouraged everyone to talk of other things, and the mood lightened a little. Still, he could see that Alice remained upset. After dinner, they called two cabs to take them back home. Fred plucked up his courage and addressed the Wrights. "I'd like to ask your permission to escort Alice back home in one of the cabs alone. Mom, Dad, is that all right with you both?" The Wrights exchanged looks, and Paul eventually said, "Well, I guess that would be all right." "Sure, Son. Come straight home though, okay?" When the cabs pulled up, Fred opened the door for Alice, and slid in beside her. He gave the address to the cab driver, and waited until they pulled away from the curb. Then he tentatively slid his arm across Alice's shoulders. He felt her stiffen, and then relax into him. He smelled gardenias. The city looked beautiful to him tonight, awash in pale moonlight and the headlights of cabs. They rode in silence for about ten minutes before either of them spoke. "Freddie?" Alice began, in a small voice. "Yes, Alice?" "I just wanted to tell you that I'm proud of you, and I think you're doing the right thing." His heart swelled and he pulled her just a bit closer to him. "I also wanted to ask if you would do me a favor." "Sure, anything." "I wondered if you would give me a kiss." He stared in surprise at her, but found that she was looking away from him. Before he could answer, she went on. "I know it's an awfully forward thing to ask, but I was always hoping that you would get around to it one day or another, and now you're going off to war, and I'm afraid that...I'm afraid." Suddenly understanding, he pulled back, and touched her cheek lightly. She turned to face him, and in that moment, he felt a dim sense of purpose. He did not want to leave her alone, to go and face his fate among the thousands of other unnamed boys in Europe or the Pacific. But he knew there was nothing else he could do. If he didn't go now, how could he ever feel that he had done everything he could to keep this sweet girl safe? At once, it seemed very important that he didn't die without at least one kiss. He leaned into her, noticing her long eyelashes glinting in the headlamp of an oncoming car. His heart was beating quickly, and he touched his lips briefly to hers before he lost his nerve. He pulled back only a fraction of an inch, and then brushed lips again, reveling in the softness of hers. Her blonde curls tickled against his cheek. Pressing their mouths firmly together for a moment, he then pulled back and was gratified to see a slight pinking of her cheeks. They didn't speak again until the cab pulled up in front of Alice's house. Fred again opened the door for her and, seeing that their parents had not yet arrived, risked pecking her on the cheek once more before she disappeared inside. ------ The second week of June, Fred spent the weekend at home with his parents before shipping out to Fort Dix, New Jersey, and then on to England. His mother kept trying not to cry, and his father expressed himself with hearty claps on the back. He wasn't able to get much time alone with Alice, but inexplicably found himself holding her tightly in the den on Sunday evening, sharing several long, tender kisses. Alice sniffed back her tears, and preceded him into the parlor, where his parents and the Wrights waited to see him off. "Promise to write," she said to him. "Every day." He strode off into the cold night, and couldn't look back. ------ By the time Fred had reached England, he had already made a few friends in his company - Terrance and Jim, both from Boston, and Isaac, from Kansas, all 18. Isaac was a soft, sensitive youth who had grown up really in between cornfields. His mother had all but begged him not to enlist, but there was no changing his mind. He loved spinning the dials on the radio to find any classical music at all, but he had a special appreciation for Handel's "Messiah," and would often be heard humming movements from it. Though he seemed the most innocent, he actually had the most experience with girls. As he put it, there wasn't much else to do back there. Terrance was the youngest son in his family of four boys, two of whom were also serving, but both in the Pacific. His mother also worried constantly, of course, but in his family it was taken as a given that he would enlist, no question about it. He was the tallest of them, always eating something in order to maintain his strength. He carried a picture of Betty Grable with him. Jim was the only one of the four who hadn't actually enlisted. He had been drafted eight months after his eighteenth birthday, and was serving not unhappily with the others. He had jet-black hair and was always cracking jokes to lighten the atmosphere. Fred felt he probably liked Jim the best. Like any typical young men, they talked of little else but girls and battles. The Allied siege on the beaches of Normandy had already begun, so there was no doubt where they were headed. His mother had written, in her recently-typical restrained fashion, that she was grateful that he had at least not been on the front lines in France. The news had not looked good, despite progress being made up the beaches. To distract themselves from their impending departure from England, the boys spent as much time chatting about the pretty girls on base as possible. "Before I die, I want to bed a girl," Jim announced as he lay back on his bunk one evening. "Haven't you?" asked Isaac in surprise. "Not me. What about you, Fred?" "I haven't either, I'm afraid. Haven't even got to second base," he said. Terrance also nodded his agreement, and Jim frowned, shaking his head. "Boys, I'm ashamed of all of us. Maybe it's time to take a trip down to the neighborhood like some of the guys do, and see if we can't fix that." "I don't know if that's such a good idea. We don't want to get sick," said Terrance, thinking of the anti-prostitution posters that were plastered up around base. They were all silent for a minute. Then Isaac sat up and snapped his fingers. "Sure, we can find some nice local girls! I overheard some of the cleaning girls talk about a party to welcome some of the new men - and that's us! She said a bunch of the base girls should be there, Peggy, and Elizabeth, and Jenny, and Karen, and Lila, and all of those girls..." Jenny. That sealed it for Fred. Jenny was a sweet, bouncy girl that worked on the base in the records office. She had a round, pretty face and always smiled the nicest smiles. The thought of bringing her to bed gave him a quick twinge in the groin. He realized Isaac was still talking. "...be in about a half hour, and we can just make it if we get ready now." They rushed to check that their uniforms were properly pressed and that they looked presentable, and then headed off to the flat that some of the girls shared. As soon as Fred walked in, he saw Jenny, giggling away next to a table with some bottles of wine and spirits. She was huddled with two other girls, and he was delighted to see that she was not in her work uniform. Rather, she wore a bubblegum pink jumper. And her hair wasn't pulled back in a bun, but in a long, bouncy ponytail! She was even wearing makeup. He scanned the rest of the room, and saw about a dozen others, men in uniform and girls in party dresses. Some were dancing to the Andrews Sisters coming over the radio, some were slouching around talking, and one indiscreet couple was making out in the corner. It was warm. When Fred finally saw the girls peel away from Jenny, she was turning to pour herself another glass of wine. He went over to the table to get a drink himself, and glanced sidewise at her. "Hi there, Jenny," he said. "Oh, hi Fred! It's good to see you!" she replied in her cute accented voice. "How are you liking London?" "Well, I haven't seen much of it, but there are some awfully pretty girls." "I'm sure you have plenty of lovely ladies back home in the States." With a twinge of guilt, Fred responded, "of course, but not like you, Jenny." She gave him a smile that melted his heart, and took his hand. "Would you like to go up to my room, Fred?" He could only nod in response, and she led him away. Jenny's bedroom was awash in the soft golden light of the lamp on her bedside table. It was a narrow room with two beds, two desks, and a washbasin. The bed Jenny led him to was small, with a metal frame and a thick pink quilted spread. There were framed pictures of Cary Grant and Gregory Peck hung on the wall, and her bedside table was littered with gum wrappers, a hairbrush, and a cross. She sat on the bed, cocked an eyebrow at him, and said, "Bottoms up!" She drained her wineglass, and he followed suit, tossing back the small glass. The whiskey burned going down, but shortly he felt more relaxed. In a Little While Ch. 01 He sat beside Jenny, took her in his arms, and began to kiss her. She surprised him by opening her mouth to invite his tongue in to slide over hers. Her lips were soft and warm, and she smelled deliciously of vanilla. After a moment, she took his hand and placed on her breast. He squeezed gently, and felt his cock harden almost painfully in his pants. He laid her back and unbuttoned her jumper, pulling it down over her shoulders. Her cotton bra came into view, followed by her girdle and a pair of short bloomers that stopped an enticing four inches below her crotch. She had sewn on some lace edging with short, uneven stitches. It was unbearably appealing. She was not wearing stockings, and he ran his hands down her bare legs. He stood to remove his uniform, folding it and placing it neatly on the chair beside her bed. He removed his shoes and socks as well, until he was standing in only his undershirt and shorts. He felt skinny and naked, but Jenny's big smile and her hand reaching toward him reassured him. He climbed back onto the bed and laid on top of her. He kissed her, and felt the heat of her body radiating into his through their undergarments. He touched her still-clothed body all over, wanting to be everywhere at once. She was soft and his fingertips sunk into her flesh so perfectly. Jenny undid the clasps on her bra, and with shaking hands, Fred removed it from her body. She had rather large, perfectly round breasts, just like pert grapefruits perched on her ribcage. They were topped with nipples about the size and color of pencil erasers, and Fred immediately covered them with his palms for another gentle squeeze. He ran his fingers down the twenty or so clasps along the front of her girdle, peeling it open to reveal her stomach, softly rounded, and her navel. He skimmed his fingertips down her stomach, and watched her writhe slightly beneath him. He licked his lips, turning his attention to the last garment she wore, her bloomers. He felt very hot. He pulled her bloomers slowly, very slowly down her legs, exposing a trimmed thatch of light brown curls and the sticky slit below that, which was the center of his attention now. He felt his heartbeat in his cock, pulsing and trembling every second. He pushed his shorts down to expose his own cock, jutting up and a darker red than he had ever seen it before. He laid down on top of Jenny again, and bumped his cock up against her pubis, rubbing the head into her curls. Then he pulled his hips back, rested his head on her breasts, and slowly pushed his cock inside of her. It was tight, slick, and so hot that he felt it had almost burned him. It was the most amazing thing he had every felt. He had masturbated more than a few times in the past, but this blew his own explorations totally out of the water. As he bottomed out in her, he had to concentrate very hard to hold back his imminent orgasm. After a tense moment or two, he began pumping in and out of her. He chanced a look at her face and saw her smiling as if it was all she had ever dreamed of, too. Before long, he felt a tingling sensation in the soles of his feet, and a wave of pleasure rushed up over him. He grunted softly as he shot into her, and then he let his breath out in a great whoosh, unaware that he had been holding it. After a moment, he realized that his cock was still hard. "You don't have to stop if you don't want to," she murmured. At that moment, he heard noises on the landing, and the door swung open. He was very aware that his bare ass was hanging out of his shorts in the direction of the door. He yelped and pulled out of Jenny, and came up to his knees, very alarmed. He realized that he must have looked ridiculous with his now-purple cock standing straight up covered in his own cum and looking very like a startled deer. It was only Karen, Jenny's roommate, a saucy blonde, obviously tipsy. She had a tall soldier with her, even more drunk than she was. Fred could only stare in amazement as Karen stripped nude, and deprived the soldier of his clothes just as quickly. The soldier lay back on her bed, and she climbed atop him, facing the bed where Fred was still kneeling, his mouth having dropped open in surprise. His cock had softened considerably in the embarrassment of having been caught, but the sight of her breasts jiggling as she bounced up and down on the soldier's cock caused it to harden again. Jenny sat up, and glanced over at Karen. "Hi, dear. Find yourself a nice one this time?" Karen moaned a little in response, then said, "Sure did. Did you see his thing? Big. Got a cute one yourself, and not so bad there." She pointed at his dick. He looked down at it, too, and shrugged a little. He hadn't really seen enough other cocks to know. Then he looked at Jenny, and the expression on his face seemed to amuse her. "Sorry, love, I didn't know she'd be bringing a man up here. Though she does do it often enough, I shouldn't be surprised," she teased to Karen. "Oh, look who's talking, you little tart!" The soldier had by this time seemed to regain some of his senses, and pushed Karen off his cock and onto her back on the bed. He got between her legs and started fucking her rapidly. Jenny curled her hand around Fred's cock and started stroking it up and down. He moaned, but his eyes were all on the action on the other bed. "Like what you see, Fred?" He started to say something, but swallowed his words as Jenny took his cock in her mouth, running her tongue over the head and shaft. After a moment of this, she resumed stroking with her hand while she licked his balls. His cock jerked at the sensation and Jenny giggled into his balls. Both Karen and the soldier were moaning fairly loudly at this point, and Fred didn't know where to turn his attention. "Would you like me to do what Karen was doing?" Fred reclined on the bed, and watched while Jenny kneeled over him, her knees on either side of him. He watched her pussy swallow his cock, inch by inch. She bounced on it, her face turning pinker by the moment. He was transfixed by her breasts, and gripped her waist. When his eyes traveled down to her pussy moving up and down on his cock, she said, "Touch it." He slid his palm down and cupped the front of her, pressing in slightly, and was rewarded with a long, low moan from Jenny. He slid two fingers down further, to where she was very wet and her flesh was impossibly soft and slippery. When he touched her there, her bouncing became more rapid and jerky, and he felt her pulsate on his cock so tightly. She was making high-pitching vocalizations over him, and he felt an immense pressure in his chest. He moved so that she was again beneath him, and he mimicked the soldier in the other bed, fucking into her as hard and fast as he felt he could. He was groaning loudly enough that he felt sure everyone downstairs could hear him, but he didn't care. His hips slid against hers and she was crying out, and her pussy tightened, and he couldn't hold back anymore. With a final shout, he felt his cum rush up and out of his cock, deep into her, over and over. His hips jerked into her with each spurt, and when he had finally finished, he could barely hold his head up for a long moment. "Well done," purred Karen, from the other bed. When they had finished, he didn't know, but he could hear the other soldier's deep snores. Karen slid off her bed and knelt behind him, running her hands over his shoulders and pressing her breasts into his back. "We'd be glad to have you back anytime you like, wouldn't we, Jenny?" From the contented sigh beneath him, he rather thought she agreed. In a Little While Ch. 02 Fred returned to Jenny's flat - or The Cat House, as he heard other boys say - a number of times in the short weeks that followed. The girls were insistent that they were not prostitutes, but they enjoyed the company of soldiers, whose passion and fear fueled some pleasurable nights. Some of the girls also felt they were doing a sort of civic duty, giving boys this experience before they left for the front lines - for some, it would be their last good time they would ever have. Jenny in particular threw herself into it, never turning down a soldier on his last night in London. She cried when word came back that a young man she'd been with had died. He knew he had fallen in love just a little with Jenny, even though he had been with most of the other girls in the flat. Each time he visited, he felt a little more guilt thinking of poor Alice and how she would feel if she knew. He did write her - not every day, but often - and cherished her return letters. He tried not to have hopes about their future, but a little voice inside told him that it wouldn't be long, and they could be together. Still, she wasn't here, and the girls were, and even to have another warm body to lie beside and hold in these lonely evenings was nice. He knew that his friends thought he was crazy for returning to Jenny's so often, especially since he often gave the girls a little of his pocket money - not in exchange for the sex, he assured them, but because times were tough, and they needed the money more than he did. By the end of July, word had been passed down that they were being shipped out to France within days. Fred made one last visit to Jenny, this time with Terrance and Jim in tow, both of whom had since lost their virginity. He held her trembling body close to him that sunny afternoon, and let himself feel the fear he kept stuffed in the back of his head. He knew that Jenny would understand. She cried a little and bid him the sweetest farewell he could have asked for. ----- As for the war, there truly wasn't much to say. Or rather, there was always too much to say. Fred's letters home became increasingly sparse on details, as he couldn't bring himself to jot down the absolute horrors he saw daily. His regiment fought all through France. In later years, he would recall this time through a haze. He would remember the beautiful countryside, ravaged by thousands of stomping boots. He would remember gunfire exploding around him, while overhead the skies were blue and clear. He would remember birds and butterflies fluttering in moments of silence right before his world would seem to end, and one of his comrades had fallen at his feet. He suffered no major injuries of the body. It was his heart and mind that were damaged by the things he saw, the boys he grew to love fallen on the battlefields without anyone to bury them. The worst day of his life, he was scrabbling along the ground with Terrance at his side, and over a small rise when they were fired upon. He watched Terrance topple over with horror, and called frantically for the medic. He wouldn't know until months later that it hadn't been a mortal wound, but it had been close, and Terrance never regained the full use of his left arm. His battalion had moved across France and he was in Paris for its liberation in August of that year. Their respite there was very brief, however. The remainder of the year they spent pushing across into Germany. Things were even more horrible than he could have imagined, but finally, finally, the war was over in Europe. Some of his company had been sent away to the Pacific to try and expedite the effort over there, but Fred was with those who had been assigned to US-occupied Germany. Initially, he was in the US quarter of Berlin, doing border patrol or walking the streets after the civilian curfew at night. One evening, he strolled the blocks near base on his way to his patrol area. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of movement. Turning to inspect, he saw a figure disappear around the corner. He dashed after them, quietly to avoid alarming them, and grabbed their arm just above the elbow. He spun them around, and found himself face to face with a beautiful woman. She wore a trench coat, so it was impossible to gauge her figure, but he was transfixed at the sight of her short, fashionably cut red hair. "Who are you doing, and what are you out in curfew?" he asked her in his fumbling German. When she answered, however, it was in English, and a heavily-French-accented English at that. "I'm very sorry, I was made late for an appointment." "What kind of an appointment so late?" "I was going to see a friend," she said evasively. "Who are you?" he repeated. She twisted her mouth into a sneer. "I suppose you would say I am a, how do you say it? A call-girl," she said disdainfully. She then thrust her chin up at him, as if to dare him to hassle her further. "I should arrest you," Fred responded. "A girl has to make money somehow, and these days it seems the only way. You can arrest me if you like, but as a soldier, I would expect you to be sympathetic to the man who hired me. Surely you've used a girl or two yourself since you left home, no?" Of course, Fred had, and it was with that knowledge that he reluctantly escorted her away from the patrol routes and let her go on her way. ----- After that night, Fred was sure he glimpsed sight of the nameless woman several more times. It wasn't always at night, and he only ever saw her after curfew once again. He considered catching up with her again and giving her tips on how to better avoid the patrols, but it was one thing to let her go once. It was another to be technically abetting a criminal. Occasionally he saw her wrapped up in her coat, heading home - he assumed - first thing in the morning. After a few weeks, he stopped seeing her altogether, and he wondered whether she had moved, or simply become more careful. Fred was approaching his sixteenth month in the service, and things had more or less become calm in Germany. It took a while to get over the constant sensation of being on guard for imminent shots in his direction. He concentrated on his work, on reading the cheap paperbacks he traded around on base, on writing to his parents, and to Alice. He hadn't forgotten her, but she no longer totally consumed his thoughts. He wondered sometimes whether his love for her would fade with time, and become to him nothing more than a childish fancy. But then he would think back to the light flush, the starry-eyed look in her eyes when he kissed her on his birthday, and a warm tingling would run down his spine. Soon, his term of service would be up, if he wished it, and he could go back home. He wasn't sure he wanted to, yet. He missed his parents, of course, but being so close to Alice without being able to have her would be such torture. Even if he were gainfully employed, it would be better to be far away. Perhaps he could go back to London? The girls there...no. After the war, they would surely have beaus of their own, be married by now, perhaps, have lives. Besides, he couldn't fool himself too much. Even Jenny didn't really love him. He was a warm body and a few shillings to her, and he knew it. ----- It was September 1946, and Fred Wright was in Paris. He had been granted a discharge, but simply could not face going home yet. He thought that he would study for awhile at a university that was opening for the first semester since before the Germans invaded. He perused the papers for boarding house ads, and saw one that looked promising. With a little difficulty, he found the place. It was six small rooms plus a communal dining room, kitchen, and the landlord's quarters, above a stationery shop. Fred peered into the shop, and at once saw a woman leaning against the doorjamb in the back of the shop. The door to the back alley was open, and the woman was gazing into it, smoking a thin cigarette. She was very slender, with wavy brown hair pulled up tightly. She wore a dusty pink dress with stockings rolled down to her knees. He noticed a run in one of her stockings, and followed it down her pretty calf with his eyes. She turned, and the dim light washed over her face, which would have been very pleasant looking if it hadn't been for the derisive glare on her face. "What do you want?" she grunted in French. Fred lifted the paper in his hands and stuttered out something in French about the ad she had placed. "You're here about the room, are you? I rent at five francs per week, included breakfast, laundry, cleaning." "I'm afraid I haven't got much money. I was hoping you could use some help running your shop," he said timidly. She stalked over to him, and gave him the once-over. "Why do you want to rent a room here, in Paris, American?" she asked, narrowing her eye suspiciously. "I wanted to go to the university." She grunted in response, and then said, "come upstairs." She disappeared up the narrow stairs in the back of the shop, and into her quarters. She shut the door behind them, and clicked the lock into place. She turned around and opened the shades on the windows. In the afternoon light, he could see the fine lines in her face that put her age between thirty and forty. He couldn't be sure, because grief and fear add age to the face as well as time. "I don't really need any help in the shop. Business is slow these days. But there is something I do need." As she said this, she unbuttoned the buttons on her dress, and it dropped to the floor. She stood right there, on the threadbare carpet, in only her rolled-down stockings. He hadn't bedded a woman since he left England, and his hormones suddenly raged to life. It didn't matter that he didn't know the woman's name, or that she could have been old enough to be his mother, or that her frame was considerably bonier than it looked in the dress, or that her breasts sagged a little, or that she smelled of cigarettes, which he did not smoke. "You give me one good fuck as a 'deposit,' and then another for every week you want to stay here, and you pay me as much as you can afford, help out when I need it, and you can stay as long as you like." So saying, she dropped her naked ass onto the couch and waited. Fred sat beside her and kissed her, moving quickly away from the smoky taste in her mouth to the soft skin of her neck. Moving down to her breasts, he kissed and licked each in turn until she was breathing heavily. She parted her thighs, and he ran his hand up to her slit, already sticky with arousal. She had the biggest bush he had ever seen, but it didn't turn him off. Rather, he leaned down and nuzzled into it as he pushed two fingers up into her. He kissed her inner thighs, her bush, and tongued her navel while he fingered her. When he placed his kisses directly onto her clit, licking up her tangy juices, she cursed softly in French. He waited until he felt her clenching around his fingers, and heard her grunts above him before withdrawing his fingers. He pulled back and she knelt on the couch cushions, thrusting her ass in his direction. She had reverted back to French, telling him to fuck her like a dog and she would howl for him, or something like that. He wasn't quite sure, but it didn't really matter. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his already-hard dick, sliding it into her without warning. He held tightly to her waist and pumped his hips against her. While he fucked her, he thought of Jenny, and then Karen, and then unbidden to his mind came the image of the red-headed prostitute he had met briefly in Germany. He imagined what she would look like naked, the things she could teach him, the pleasures she could show him. He pictured her spread out before him, head tossed back in pleasure. The imagery, and the sensation of wet flesh around his cock were too much for him. He sped his pace, reveling in the sound of their thighs slapping together. He barely registered the French woman's cursing and moaning beneath him. At last, he pulled his cock out of her and shot it all over her back and ass, sighing in satisfaction. He wiped his cock on her discarded dress and tucked it back into her pants. "I'll take the room." ----- His landlady's name was Mathilde, he found out, and she had lost her husband in the war. Her boarding house had been used by German soldiers for the past six years, and she kept house for them, grudgingly. She had all other five rooms rented, to a schoolteacher, a newspaper journalist, two elderly ladies, and another student. Fred moved his two small suitcases in straightaway. In the weeks that followed, Fred was beginning to feel rather content. He attended university classes three days per week, helped out in the shop on Saturdays, and went to bed with Mathilde on Saturday evenings. Breakfast every morning was sparsely attended, only himself and the elderly ladies, who were either senile or pretended not to notice the significant looks Mathilde sent him on Saturday mornings. He had never even met the other tenants. Only two things troubled him. The first was that Alice had been very upset when he wrote to tell her that he wouldn't be coming home - not even for a visit. She couldn't understand why he wouldn't want to see her, or his friends, or his parents. She wrote him less often in Paris. His other trouble was the red-headed woman. Since moving to Paris, he had been almost sure that he had seen her once or twice. But he couldn't imagine that in the heavily populated city it was very likely he would keep seeing a woman he had last seen in Berlin. Still, she came unbidden into his mind frequently (especially while bedding his landlady) and it made him uneasy. One night he was going up the very last flight of stairs, when a figure brushed past him. In surprise, he looked to the landing below, where a red-headed woman was staring back up at him. "What, did you follow me here?" she hissed at him. "Certainly not. For all I knew, you were still in Berlin?" "That Hell-hole? God forbid," she spat out. "What are you doing here?" "Why are you angry at me?" he asked, bewildered. She only frowned harder. "It is not something I wish to discuss with you, much less where others could hear." "You don't want them to know you are not the schoolteacher you pretend to be?" he asked, taunting her. She flushed a dark red and flounced up the stairs ahead of him. "Certainly not!" She unlocked the door across the hallway from his own, and he was flabbergasted that she had been so close all the time and yet he had never seen her. She pointed to a small wooden chair, and he obediently sat in it, while she poured two glasses of whiskey. She plunked one down in front of him and sat in a stuffed chair across the rickety table from him. She tossed back half of the whiskey in one swallow, then looked at him fiercely. "I don't even know why I'm telling you any of this. You don't seem like the kind of boy who would have the balls to tell the landlady that I'm a whore." Fred frowned, but said nothing, sipping his whiskey. "You might as well know, I worked for a very famous brothel here in Paris, had worked there since I was fourteen years old. When the Germans invaded, many of their high-ranking officials loved to spend their evenings in our company. One in particular practically fell in love with me. When they saw that they were being pushed back, many of them went back into the heart of Germany. He begged me to go with him, but I resisted. They say that Paris was liberated, but it really turned into another kind of prison for girls like me. People thought that because we were prosperous in wartime that we were traitors. Don't even prostitutes have the right to make a living? To eat?" she broke off, clearly furious. Fred waited for her to go on, and after a moment, she did. "They dragged girls naked out of their beds, shaved their heads, beat them to death. I lost many of my friends that way, some so young. I escaped and made my way into Germany, hoping that my officer would forgive me and give me a place to live. But by the time I got here, he had committed suicide like so many others. I could do nothing but offer my paltry services to other soldiers, first German, then Soviet, and then American. And some of the men were so cruel. But what else could I do? I have no family. Not long after I met you, I was beaten pretty badly by an American, and I decided to return to my native Paris. At least here I am among my countrymen. No one would remember me as a brothel girl anymore, and I'm just careful." Fred didn't know what to say. He finished the rest of his whiskey and sat in silence for several long minutes. "I know so much about you, but not your name. It's funny, isn't it?" She had to give a very small smile at that. "Marguerite is my name." "Pretty name. Mine's Fred. Listen, I don't guess anything I could say would make you feel any better, but you don't have to worry about me ratting you out to Mathilde. It's your business what you do to get along. Thanks for the whiskey, and I hope to see you around sometimes." He stood, patted her shoulder once gently, and left her to her thoughts. ----- Fred and Marguerite fell into an uneasy friendship after that. Even though he knew that Marguerite could take care of herself - had, in fact, since before she reached adulthood, Fred couldn't help but feel that he wanted to look out for her a little bit. Often now, he stayed up until after she had come home, around two or three in the morning. He took only afternoon lectures now, and used the bits of free time he had left earning a little extra money guiding the increasing number of English-speaking vacationers around Paris. He had increased the pittance that he was paying Mathilde, but he was still able to collect quite a large amount of cash, which he hid in a biscuit tin under his mattress. It would serve him well when he was ready to move back home. Although they rarely saw each other, it was more smiling than curt nodding that happened when they passed each other on the landing. Fred still lusted after her body, but took his frustration out on the unknowing Mathilde, who seemed more than happy to be the beneficiary of his stifled passion. At Christmastime, he allowed his desire to get the better of him, and purchased her a small box of chocolates as a gift. He left them just outside her door, and was pleased to see a small box outside his when he returned home from school the following day. Inside, he found a gold tie tack studded with tiny emeralds, and a note: "This was my father's. I haven't anyone else to give it to, and you've been very kind." Fred felt immensely flattered, and he waited up again to thank her when she returned home. She never came. As far as he could tell, she did not come home the following three nights either, but he stayed up anyway. Finally, just after the first day of the year, she returned after midnight. He knocked tentatively on her door, and then entered. A fire crackled merrily in her fireplace. She had just taken off her thick coat to reveal a green satin party dress, knee-length and short-sleeved. Bruises decorated most of her exposed skin. She startled when he came in. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. What happened?" Marguerite didn't answer, just moved, a bit stiffly, to the tiny kitchen, and put a kettle of water on to boil. Fred touched her arm, gently, and she jumped. "Marguerite, was it a...client?" "I have never had a Parisian treat me this way before," she finally said. "Where have you been? Did you go to the hospital?" "Certainly not," she spat out. "I do not have the money. I have been with my friend Clara." She looked at him with a funny expression on her face. "Were you...worried about me?" "Of course I was worried about you!" he retorted. "What's so funny?" he asked, irritated when she laughed softly. In a Little While Ch. 02 "I'm sorry, but, it's very sweet of you to care. It's been a long time since anyone did, I forget how it feels." She continue studying him, silently. The kettle whistled, and she turned off the heat, letting the water cool a bit. "Fred, how long have you wanted to bed me?" The question took him by surprise, but he answered truthfully, "Since the moment I met you. How did you know?" Brushing aside his question as if it was unimportant, she asked, "Why have you never tried to?" "I don't think I could afford you." "You never even asked how much I charge," she said, incredulously. "Besides, how did you know I wouldn't want to have sex with you, for free? Just as people?" "I suppose it never occurred to me that you would be interested in taking a busman's holiday," he said with a hint of amusement. She nodded, seeming to accept it, and took the kettle over to a large basin of warm water sitting on the floor. On the table next to it was a rough cloth, a bar of soap, a small knife, a white towel, and a small bottle filled with golden liquid. Marguerite picked up the bar of soap and shaved thin curls of it into a small pile at the table's edge. "Do you want to?" Fred asked quietly. Marguerite looked up at him with a dark expression in her eyes. "Perhaps." She paused. "I need to bathe, but I am still sore from the bruising. I wonder, since you are here, would you help me?" Fred cleared his throat nervously. "Of course." She beckoned to him with a crook of her finger, and then turned around to present him with her back. There were about fifteen small fabric buttons that needed to be undone, and Fred undid them carefully. He pushed the dress off her smooth shoulders, and it fell to the floor. Marguerite stepped out of it, and Fred bent down to retrieve it, and place it over the back of a chair. When she turned around, he caught his breath. "I've never seen anything like it," he gasped. "A girl in my line of work has to look her best," she said. The other girls Fred had been with had all worn the same stiff, plain cotton undergarments as a result of war rationing. Even Mathilde had nothing but plain girdles and underwear. What Marguerite was wearing was something different entirely. Instead of the usual girdle, she wore a tight, boned corset that went only from her hipbones to just beneath her bust. It was black, silk mesh that showed her navel enticingly through the fabric. Her bra was a solid black satin, and matching bloomers were far shorter than any he had seen before. They shifted loosely over her hips, but did not quite cover her in the back, an inch of lace skimming over the soft curve where her buttocks met her thighs. The attached garter clips held up sheer black stockings than ran over her long, slim legs, and down into the green pumps she wore to match her dress. He knelt behind her, grasped her hips, and nestled his face gently between her cheeks. He heard a soft laugh, and he slid his hands down to unclasp her garters. He drew one stocking down her leg, kissing along her upper thigh crease. He did the same with her other stocking, letting his fingertips touch her bare leg on the way down. He removed stockings and shoes, placing both on the chair. He stood to undo the clasps on her corset, letting it fall away from her body like a discarded second skin. Grasping her waist, he slid one hand around to cover her navel and drew her close to him. He nuzzled her neck, stroking her soft skin. She smelled lightly of roses. He was getting impatient, and removed her bra and knickers without much ado, tossing them, too, onto the chair that held her other clothes. He gazed at her pretty backside, speckled with bruises both large and small. Her ass was slim, but rounded, with two tiny dimples at the top. He stood and walked around to see her front side, and saw that she had rather small breasts that sat high on her ribcage, and complemented her frame. What was most unique about her, however, was that she was completely smooth between the legs. In fact, it was the only place that she didn't have hair, her arms, legs, back, and stomach completely dusted with extremely fine blonde hairs. At the moment, it was one of the only parts of her that didn't bear any bruising either. She was even more beautiful than he had imagined. He helped her to stand in the basin, and he took the rough cloth from the table and dipped it into the water, then rubbed it with some of the soap curls. He drew the cloth up her legs, her stomach, all the way up to her neck. He covered her body with tiny soap bubbles, and watched as gooseflesh broke out all over her skin. He drew the cloth over her breasts, and saw that her nipples puckered in the cool air. He gently scrubbed every inch of her body, paying particular attention to the soft hairless spot at her center. Then she knelt stiffly, and he brought cupped hands of warm water to rinse her off. When she was rinsed clean, Fred bundled her in the towel, and dried her off. She started for the screen that divided her bed from the rest of the room, and threw a glance behind her. "Would it be too much to ask for you to bring that bottle there to me?" Fred followed her behind the screen, the golden bottle in his hand. He was almost surprised to see that her bed was so plain. White cotton sheets with a simple white down comforter, two pillows. Marguerite lowered herself onto the bed, and motioned for the bottle. "No, let me." Fred found that the bottle contained a thin oil smelling of roses. He drizzled it over her limbs and slicked it into her skin, enjoying the way the dim light glinted off the hairs on her legs. When he dripped the oil onto her breasts and rubbed it in, he felt her trembling beneath him. He bent to kiss each of her nipples. Suddenly, he felt that he should leave. It wasn't that he didn't want to be there, because he certainly did. Somehow it seemed sad to be lusting after someone who was so obviously injured, inside and out. As if she sensed what he was feeling, Marguerite reached out and touched his jaw. She lifted her head up and kissed him, running her tongue along his lips. She pushed her lips against his hungrily, searching with her teeth and her tongue, seeking he knew not what. But his doubts had evaporated. He pressed his still-oily hand between her legs to find her already so wet. He felt his cock harden in his pants, but he knew it could wait. In a moment, he was between her legs, licking and nibbling gently on her soft skin. The scent of the rose oil was intoxicating, and her pussy tasted like sour cherries, the kind his mother baked into pies in mid-July back home. With the heat rising from her skin, and the taste of roses and cherry pie, it was like a summer's day in Chicago, and he felt so lonesome for home and yet so close to it at the same time. He heard her cry out above him once, twice, three times, and then it was a hundred times, and he felt like he'd been bringing her to orgasm after orgasm for hours, when he knew it must have only been about ten minutes. When she finally pushed him away, there were tears in her eyes. She pulled him up for a deep kiss, and undid his pants, sliding his cock into her mouth hurriedly, as if she were desperate to repay the favor. Fred groaned as he felt her tongue pressing around the head of his cock, flicking it lightly before running back up and down the shaft. She kept sucking deeper, and deeper until the head of his cock was wedged into the back of her throat, and she was swallowing, her soft flesh convulsing around him. He clenched his muscles tightly, trying to hold back his orgasm. Then he felt her hand caressing his inner thigh, gliding up to where his balls hung heavy between his legs. She grasped him there and squeezed gently, tugged even more gently, intensifying his pleasure tenfold. "Marguerite," he gasped, "I don't want to go in your mouth." She rolled her eyes upward to look at him, and he almost lost his composure entirely, but squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Almost immediately the powerful suction disappeared, and his cock popped out into the cool air. He expected her to move away from him, but instead felt her searching tongue slide over his balls, licking and sucking gently on him. The sensation was amazing, but let him pull away from the edge. He shivered, and pushed her shoulders gently back. With shaking hands, he stripped himself to the skin. Marguerite leaned back languorously, and fluttered her eyelashes in his direction. With a coquettish smile, she spread her legs, inviting him closer. He knelt between her legs and pushed his cock into her, smiling at her soft sigh of pleasure. He thrust into her a few times, and then ran one fingertip lightly around her clit, making her writhe and moan. Her toes curled, grasping the sheets as he brought her already so-sensitive skin pleasure. He pulled her upward until she was seated on his lap and brought his arms around her, cuddling her up against his chest as he rocked in and out of her. Her head fell back as he suckled on her breasts and nuzzled between them. When he kneaded the flesh of her ass, she rested her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly. He pumped his hips into her and felt the familiar waves of pleasure starting in his tailbone. "Mmm, I'm going to come, Marguerite," he murmured. With a soft, almost regretful sigh, she slid off of him, and began sucking his cock again. She slid her lips up and down only a few times before he shuddered, his cum rushing up and into her mouth. When they were both spent, she nestled down into her thick covers. "You can stay, if you like," she offered. He curled around her, stroking his fingertips lightly over her bruised flesh. His mind wandered, as it often did at times like this, to Alice.