Like Father Like Son Ch. 02

Phillip had noticed how physically haggard Peter had become but had been blissfully unaware of the same depredations that had assaulted him. The break at St Omer relaxed them both even though the awareness of an imminent return to the war was never far below the surface of conscious thought and a frequent visitor to their dreams.

Number One Aircraft Depot was a constant hive of activity. Here, planes brought from England were assembled, engines rebuilt, severely damaged aeroplanes repaired or cannibalised for spares. Here also pilots and observers arrived en route to a squadron posting. Their days were busy and their nights became increasingly riotous following the arrival of a small contingent of Australians. Like Phillip and Peter, they had volunteered for a transfer from the Infantry and were intent on making the most of their short-lived reprieve from the fighting. One of them managed to ‘borrow’ a truck on the last evening of their stay and Phillip and Peter were invited to join them on a foray into the town of St Omer itself.

St Omer was neither particularly large nor distinguished. Before the war, it had existed as market town for the surrounding district and was consequently reasonably prosperous. Now it had changed and its citizens had turned from commerce of a more mundane nature to meeting the appetites of the khaki-clad hordes that descended upon it from the war. Bars, restaurants and ‘salles privée’ abounded. So it was that the group rattled into the town bellowing out a Flying Corps song, sung the tune of ‘The Dying Lancer.’

“Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,

The connecting rod out of my brain;

From out of my arse take the camshaft

And assemble the motor again.”

The Aussies were imbued with a fierce determination to enjoy themselves and such spirits were highly infectious.

“First we’re going to have a little drink. Then we’ll get a bite or two to eat and have another little drink. After that we’ll have a bloody great big drink and go and scare some Sheilas at Madame Rose’s. How’s that for a plan?”

“Sounds good to me, Sport. How about you Poms?”

“Sounds pretty good to me, how about you, Phillip?”

“Well, apart from the bit about the Sheilas, sounds fine to me.”

What’s wrong with your mate, don’t he like women?”

“Oh he likes ‘em all right. It’s just that the boy’s been smitten and fancies himself spoken for.”

“Streuth! Is she here then?”

“No, she’s back home.”

“Then she can’t do ‘im any bloody good then, can she?’

Phillip started to protest further but was howled down. He decided to let things ride. After all, he could always leave the party before they got to Madame Rose’s, couldn’t he?

The evening swam by on a sea of wine and brandy. They ate steaks in one of the little restaurants near the square. Phillip had been horrified when the Aussies started jeering a group of Staff Officers, conspicuous by the red tabs on their lapels. They had bombarded the unfortunate Officers with insults and followed this up with a volley of well-aimed hunks of bread. For a little while, it looked as if the Staff Officers were going to get ugly but they obviously thought better of it and ate their meal hurriedly and left to a chorus of catcalls.

After crawling their way around a number of bars, at each of which the Australians spread their own particular brand of mirth and mayhem, the little group found themselves outside an imposing town house. Phillip would have never guessed the nature of the establishment from the outside. It appeared like any of the others in the street: a typical residence of a well-to-do merchant, doctor or lawyer. There was a neat little garden and even window boxes that sprouted a profusion of spring flowers.

One of the others hammered on the door and after a brief muttered exchange, the group were admitted. Phillip found himself swept along by the tide. The drink he’d consumed had left him feeling mellow and somewhat disembodied. He wasn’t drunk, he told himself, merely pleasantly relaxed. And what was the harm of going in? It wasn’t as if he was going to do anything, was it?

They were shown into a large room with over-stuffed sofas and chairs that hunched in the velvety light of oil lamps. Mother-of-pearl lampshades gave the room a diffuse pinkish glow of welcome. They sat down at an unoccupied table, pulled up extra chairs and ordered champagne. Before long, Madame Rose herself sidled over to the group. She was a large woman and had poured her ample frame into a black cocktail dress whose seams were being severely tested. She wore her dyed black hair piled high and her face was caked in thick make-up that gave her skin an unnatural matte pallor. Such a creature could surely only exist by night.

Madame Rose clapped her hands and soon they were surrounded by a group of giggling young women whose clothing and deportment left no one in any doubt as to their profession. The champagne flowed and one by one the Aussies paired off with the girls. Dresses were unlaced, garters removed, nipples tweaked and shrieks of glee and feigned outrage filled the night.

It wasn’t long before Phillip found himself alone at the table. The others had made their way upstairs in mutually supporting couples. He sipped the remains of his champagne. He wasn’t that fond of the drink; somehow it seemed to sour his stomach so he called for a brandy to settle his rebellious gut. A pretty young girl in a pale silk dress brought his drink to him. She sat beside him and smiled shyly. Phillip spoke above average French and he saw the relief in her face when he addressed her in that language.

“What’s your name?”

“Yvette, Monsieur. Why do you not go with your friends?”

“I, uh, I have a girl at home.”

“So? My man is at the front. It does not mean that life must stop.”

“You wouldn’t understand. I wish to keep myself for her.”

He covered his embarrassment with a large mouthful of brandy that made him almost choke and caused his eyes to water. Yvette laughed joyously and clapped her hands.

“You are a virgin! Mother of God, you must be the only one left in France!”

Phillip flushed scarlet as Yvette announced his status to the entire salon. Madame Rose bore down on him like a man-o’-war. She instantly saw his discomfort and rounded on Yvette, scolding her and slapping her face. Yvette fled in tears and Phillip felt even more wretched. Madame Rose told him not to fret; that Yvette was an empty-head and that she had just the girl for him. He tried to protest but she brushed aside his arguments with a supreme disdain.

“It is good for the bride to be virgin, monsieur, but for both – incredible! Impossible! If neither of you knows how to do it – what a disaster! Quel horreur!“

“I really don’t know what you mean, Madame. “

“I can see that, mon petit, but it is simple! If you have no experience and she has no experience, who will know what to do? You English, you think love is for the pleasure of men only. Let me tell you, there is an old French rhyme:

If the pleasure of the act of love were divided into ten,

Nine parts would go to women – and only one to men!

There! You see? If you love this woman then you must give her the greatest joy that is within your gift, n’est pas?”

“Well, certainly, I would wish to give her every joy I could.”

“Then you must first learn how. And not with one of these!”

She gestured dismissively at the girls in the room. Phillip thought his trial was over when Madame rose turned her back and stalked away. He was mentally heaving a sigh of relief when she returned with another young girl in tow. This new girl was dressed demurely and kept her eyes on the floor as she approached.

“This is Anne Marie. She does not work here but is the friend of a Colonel des Chasseurs. He is out of town tonight. When she leaves here you must follow her, but be discreet, monsieur.”

Madame Rose waved away any further protestations and ushered the girl towards the door. Anne Marie gave a shy smile as she glanced back at Phillip and then she was gone into the cool of the night. He found himself propelled through the door after her. His fuddled brain was in turmoil. Incipient lust mingled with curiosity drove his feet to follow the girl while some still sober part of him recoiled.

It all seemed unreal, like a dream sequence from which he expected to wake at any moment. He felt he was watching the little drama play out: as if he were a spectator rather than a participant. Anne Marie led him through the dimly lit streets with never a backward glance. The brandy and the cold night air combined to undermine his resistance. Phillip giggled as he suddenly thought it was like a parody of Orpheus and Persephone with him cast as the reluctant hero. The laughter liberated him somehow; it was as if that single giggle had finally overpowered the censorious element within and he gave himself up to the game.

Anne Marie turned up into a small courtyard and he followed. He heard a door open and, as he turned in, he saw a chink of light from one doorway in the yard where the door had been left ever so slightly ajar. He slipped inside and the door closed beside him. The next thing he knew, Anne Marie had her arms about his neck and was kissing him passionately. He struggled briefly, unable to breathe, as she crammed her tongue into his mouth but soon found himself responding to her and his head swam. She broke off and shot him another shy smile but this one seemed to hold a promise of something else; he felt a surge of desire stabbing in his groin.

She took his hand and led him upstairs into a large, airy bedchamber. She paused to light an oil lamp and turned back to him, pushing him gently backwards into a chair. She slipped behind a Chinese screen and he heard the susurration of silk and the quick snap of hooks and fasteners. When she re-emerged she was wearing some sort of satin wrap that had an oriental look about it. She unpinned her thick, dark hair and it tumbled about her shoulders in a shining bacchanal. Phillip was entranced. She seemed to float towards him. The only sound was his own blood pounding in his ears. Her face held a dreamy expression; it was as if she was both there and not there at the same time.

He stared at her unfocussed eyes and saw tigers crouching, waiting to spring; saw the terrified fawn and the wide night sky. All the while his heart hammered and his breathing grew more rapid. She leaned over and pulled lightly at his jacket. He leant forward and slipped his arms from the sleeves. She knelt and tugged off his boots. The kimono-like garment bellied open as she stooped and Phillip stared at her breasts. Anne Marie became aware of his gaze and, instead of covering herself, eased the robe off her shoulders and let if fall to her slender waist. Phillip goggled. He had never seen the glory of a naked woman. The smudged and blurry postcards that the soldiers bought were a travesty when compared with the reality he now beheld.

His face was set somewhere between fear and wonder as she removed the remainder of his clothes. Then she stood, still silent, still, somehow, elsewhere, and shook the robe from her hips to pool in a swirl of black and crimson about her feet. Phillip felt faint. His pulse raced and pounded and he gasped in air like a drowning sailor. Anne Marie stood in front of him and swept her hair up in both hands, striking an attitude, one leg thrust forward, back slightly arched to emphasise the jut of her carmine-tipped breasts. Still neither of them spoke. Phillip’s mouth was dry and he was suddenly conscious of an unbearable tightness in his groin. She moved to the bed, stretched herself out and beckoned to him. He moved like a sleepwalker towards her. All his senses seemed heightened to unbearable intensity. He could feel each individual tuft of carpet against the soles of his feet. The air against his naked body seemed to caress him and the scent of her filled the night.

She reached with arching arms and drew him down beside her. She raised one knee and let it fall to the side, exposing her sex. Phillip stared at her in awe and amazement. That which had appeared in the smudged photographs as a thick tangled bush was now revealed to him. He saw a deep mystery revealed; a fleshy pink orchid glistened in the lamplight. Anne Marie raised a languid arm and her breast lifted and flattened slightly. Her nipple crinkled and grew under his gaze and the pale silky skin took on a rosy blush. She drew his head down to her breast and arched her back to press the alluring nipple between his lips and he suckled gently. A dreamy sigh escaped her lips, the first sound he had heard her make. Her hand came up to stroke his head and he opened his mouth wide, trying to capture as much of that soft marvel in his mouth as he could. She wriggled slightly and gently directed his attention to the other breast.

Phillip was overwhelmed. He felt a sweet pressure rising in his groin and then he was lost, pumping his milky seed across the girl’s stomach and thighs as ecstasy seized him. She stiffened monetarily and then pushed him onto his back. He gasped as he felt her soft lips upon him and he almost blacked-out as her warm mouth engulfed him, licking and sucking while she made throaty mewling noises.

He felt himself stiffen again and cried out in wonder at the sensations that invaded his body. She rose above him, a picture of wild-haired abandon, and, seizing his now rigid member in one hand, drove her hips down upon it to impale herself. Phillip groaned at the intensity of the sensations that flowed through him. Anne Marie, her eyes still glazed and unseeing, began a slow undulation of her hips, grinding herself against his pubic bone. He reached up to cup her breasts and instinctively thumbed her nipples with a slow rotating motion that seemed to urge her on. She was crazy now, hissing like a feral cat and her face was drawn into a rictus. She rose and fell above him with a damp slapping noise. He caught the scent of her arousal and it drove him to greater efforts, thrusting up to meet her downward plunges. Her breathing was harsh and her motions became more frenzied. Phillip tried to match her, thrust for thrust, but she was too wild for him. She flung herself down one final time and then, with a harsh cry, she reached her climax, hips shuddering and twitching as she forced herself against him and he felt the rhythmic pulse of her orgasm as she continued to shiver and moan above him. Then she collapsed forward and buried her face at the junction of his neck and shoulder and gave a long, soft sigh.

They lay together, interlocked for a while, then Anne Marie raised herself and looked at him properly for the first time.

“Now we have each had our pleasure; I must teach how you how to please,” she said.

She rolled off him and gazed at his hardness.

“Ah, poor soldier, still standing to attention!”

She reached down for him and stroked him gently.

“Be patient, mon ami, your turn will come again.”

She rolled onto her back and spread her legs.

“Now, you are the pupil and I am the schoolmistress. I require diligence from my students so now, look here!”

Anne Marie pushed Phillip down until his head was level with her crotch. She gently parted the fleshy lips and spoke in a low, husky voice.

“Look well! This little button here is the heart of a woman’s pleasure. No, don’t touch, not yet. It is very, very sensitive. You must approach with caution, like you are stalking a boche aeroplane. You must creep up on her. The frontal attack will not work until you have broken down her defences. Everything must be done slowly, doucement, tres doucement, yes?”

Phillip put out a hand and began to trace the swirls and folds that surrounded the target.

“Yes, that is good.”

He marvelled as he watched the little pink button slowly peep out from its protective hood. The smell of her sex was ripe and heady and he saw a pale moisture coating the engorged lips. He slipped a finger between them and was amazed by the slick smoothness he encountered. She lifted her hips slightly and his finger slipped into her and she gave a little gasp.

“Gently, monsieur, always gently. Ah yes, there, rub there, oh, that’s good. You are a willing student, for sure!”

He leant forward and kissed her stomach and she giggled.

“That’s nice.”

His curiosity was aroused and he bent his head to kiss her again, but lower this time, burying his face in the profusion of brown curls. He blew gently on her clitoris and was rewarded with another gasp and a twitch. He reached out his tongue and tasted her. It was slightly salty but held a hint of sweetness and he stabbed his tongue into her and she bucked against him, seizing his head with her hands and directing his kisses. Again her breathing grew ragged and again she cried out. She forced her sex against his mouth and bucked and twisted as her orgasm transported her. She stilled him with her hands then drew him up, over her body.

Her legs parted as he entered again and he began to pump furiously. She caught him.

“No, no, little student, that is too harsh, too fast. You must go slowly. Do not withdraw so far. Keep close, let it build.”

He stopped and began again, a slow gentle rhythm that she matched with her upthrust hips. She raised her arms above her head and offered him her breasts and he hunched over her, taking first one and then the other into his willing mouth, sucking and nibbling at the delicious tips. She increased the pace and he matched her. He looked into her eyes and saw the joy that was shining in her. It tipped him over the edge and he began again to pump wildly. This time she didn’t stop him but rather rose to meet his thrusts and her fingers grabbed at his buttocks, pulling him in deeper on each downward plunge.

Phillip felt white-hot bolts of pleasure rising like a tide within him. Electricity surged from the base of his spine and then he was past the point of no return. She arched her back and forced herself up with a great push from her thighs then pulled away quickly and grabbed his throbbing prick, pumping the seed from him with her hand so it spurted and spattered over her stomach and breasts. Phillip’s eyes rolled back in his head and he lapsed into semi-consciousness as she continued to milk him with one hand, the other kneading his balls until he collapsed on top of her.

When he came to himself she was smiling at him.

“Was it true, I was the first?”

He nodded, too light headed to speak.

“And it was good, yes?”

“Yes. It was good; better than good, it was amazing.”

Anne Marie smiled. She gave a little self-satisfied nod.

“And you will remember your lesson? Remember to stalk the little button, to go slowly?”

“Yes, thank you, I will. I mean, I never knew it was good for women too.”

She laughed out loud.

“Then your woman has much to thank me for, I think.”

Phillip wished she hadn’t mentioned his woman. It brought guilt and pain and longing back to him and she saw it in his face.

“Ah, don’t fret, mon ami. We will not meet again and I want nothing from you that is not already given. You love this woman, yes?”

“I don’t know, really, we’ve scarcely met but yes, I think so.”

“And she loves you?”

“I don’t know. Her letters are very affectionate but, well, we’re not that intimate yet.”

“And yet you feel guilty because you have been with a French whore.”

“No! I mean you’re not a whore. You’re beautiful and it was beautiful. It couldn’t have been like that with a whore!”

“Ah, monsieur, you are too kind but you still think me a whore. All men do. For soldiers, the world is divided into wives and whores. It is the way of things; it is the war. But pay no attention; I am always a little sad after making love. Go now, your friends will be waiting.”