The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 11byPAUL C©
The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 11: An Hour Before Mass
(Copyright 2000 by Paul. All rights reserved).
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Click Here to listen to Chapter 2.
I walked along the path, between the gravestones in the Catholic cemetery. Recognising a name here and there. People I'd known and liked. I stopped and looked down at the stone to his memory.
Eight o'clock on a Sunday morning The early bell tolled for Mass.
It had been nearly ten years since I had left the village on a music scholarship to study under the great virtuosos of my time Vienna. Ten years since I had last seen her.
Born within a few months of each other. Our three lives had become linked. Playmates from an early age. We'd explored our world together and I'd explored her.
There was a bench seat. Nettles growing up through the slats. I sat down. I felt the familiar pins and needles in the fingers of my right hand.
I remembered the last time I had seen her. It had been the autumn of 1906.
I'd remembered how she had stood by my side as I had played the piano after dinner. Both of us eighteen years of age. Not realising that we were in love. Turning the pages of the music. Standing back as the assembled guests had applauded my efforts.
How she had taken my hand on the terrace of her parents house as I tried to explain that I had to go. It was a great honour.
I'd had to leave. I'd been convinced by others to go. There wasn't any room in my life at that time for a woman. I had a course of study to complete. A career to pursue. It was wonderful opportunity.
She had looked into my eyes. Hers were lost in the glow of the setting sun behind her. I'd pulled her to me and we had kissed. Urgently, mouths open. I had never kissed her like that before.
She had pushed me away, breathing heavily.
"Are you alright? Natasha." Her mother had called.
She coughed gently.
"Yes, Mother." She took my hand. "Alistair and I are just going for a little walk."
"Don't be long. It will be dark soon. Has he told you his wonderful news?"
"Yes, Mother. Wonderful."
We walked to the stable block.
The horses were bedded down and the staff at liberty for the evening.
One groom would remain on duty to see to our horse when it was time to return home. He would have sneaked into the kitchen hoping for a share of the remains of our meal.
She led me into the tack room. The smell of soap and leather striking you as you walked through the door.
He had married her on his return from University to start as a junior in a firm of Solicitors in the near-by town. They'd had two children.
She'd turned to me and wrapped her arms around my neck.
We kissed again.
I looked into her eyes.
"Yes." I replied.
She kissed me again.
My hand ran down her side to her hip.
She breathed in sharply.
Nobody had ever been this familiar with her body.
"What?" She asked.
I kissed her.
I fumbled with the hooks and eyes that secured the back of her dress.
"Alistair, you mustn't." She protested but didn't move away or try to stop me.
I slipped the stiff material over her shoulders, exposing her foundation garments.
I kissed her again. Stifling her half-formed protests.
"Don't." She breathed as I kissed her throat.
Her voice said no but her hands and sighs said yes.
As my lips touched the top of a breast, I pulled undone the bow at the top of her bodice. Her breasts tumbled free like a waterfall. Her nipples were hard. The surrounds were dark brown in colour. I sucked one into my mouth. She ran her fingers through my hair.
"I don't want to leave you." I gasped.
I could feel my cock straining inside my trousers.
I stood back and helped her step from her dress. Her white undergarment were tied at the waist and reached to just above the knee where they were secured with tiny bows in strips of ribbon.
I pulled undone the bow around her waist and slipped my fingers inside the top and touched the firm flesh of her buttocks.
"You know I love you."
"I do." She replied. Breathing heavily.
I pushed them down, over her hips to mid thigh. I looked down at her mass of dark curly hairs that guarded whilst pointing the way to her love hole.
I'd heard, when I'd been away at boarding school, some of the other lads describe placing their mouths against the opening of various maids and kitchen staff at their parents houses. How they had licked and sucked at the orifice presented, bringing squeals of pleasure from the recipient of their ministrations. I knelt before Natasha and pulled her mons Venus towards my mouth.
"What? What are you doing?" She gasped.
"Something for you." I replied between lapping at the little bud that appeared as if by magic from under a fold of skin.
She ran her fingers through my hair and pulled me closer to her. The muscles at the tops of her thighs twitched uncontrollably. I felt her buttocks. Squeezing each orb, pulling them apart then pushing them together.
She cried out and her legs seemed to give way beneath her. I caught her and helped her to the floor. Laying her back on top of her pile of clothing.
My cock was straining to be released from the confines of my trousers so I unhooked the waistband and unbuttoned the flies.
I leant over her and clamped my lips to hers as I fumbled inside my underwear finally freeing myself and presented the tip of my cock to her orifice.
I pushed into her.
Her muscles clamped tight around me. I pushed again. Then again. I felt her open. I was inside. She cried out. I pushed hard into her and our mounds touched. She cried out again. I felt a pain in my cock as my foreskin was stretched as never before.
I looked down onto her face as I moved slowly in and out.
Her bottom lip was held between her front teeth.
There was a tear in one eye.
She released her lip and smiled up at me.
"Oh Alistair." She helped me take my arms from my jacket as I continued moving in and out of her, and ran her hands up and down my back, underneath my shirt.
I could feel the pressure building inside my balls. Recognised from the many times I had found relief by means of my hand. Almost involuntarily I quickened my strokes. My breathing changed, I was almost panting. I could feel my seed shot from the end of my cock filling her inside.
I had never married, always too busy. There was always another train to catch to another concert venue.
Never making real friends. Surviving on snatched affairs with others on the circuit when the opportunity allowed.
He'd left three people who would grieve.
No, many more than that. A pillar of his community. Always involved in this. Always involved in that.
I watched old David, the Sexton, as he left the bell tower. I went to school with his son. He opened his shed and took out his spade and cord.
He would be marking out a new grave.
Whose? I had been away too long. There had been a time when I'd known everybody. I was related to some on the Catholic side of my family. A time when I could predicted most things about most people.
Who would be next to go in the natural order of things?
I saw a woman walking between the gravestones. She stopped and passed a few words with David. He nodded towards me. She stopped and looked in my direction then turned and walked back to the Church.
She stopped in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder towards me.
My mind travelled back a few months to the trenches in Flanders.
My manager had arranged a comprehensive tour of the United States that would have kept me from this. But I had to be there. Confident that we were right to stand up against the aggression of the strong towards the weak. It would all be over by Christmas anyway.
We knew there was to be a push. His battalion had joined with my own in the forward and communication trenches as we awaited the order to go over the top.
We had met at a briefing given by our two Commanding Officers.
We had shaken hands. So many questions I had wanted to ask. About him. About Natasha.
I had been instructed to return to the Army Headquarters where the Commanding General was giving a lavish dinner party and I was to play for the entertainment of the guests. He was to carry the Battalion war diaries to the headquarters for safekeeping.
We would both be returning in the morning.
I had played for over an hour before being granted my leave.
We had hitched a lift on a Crossly tender to the nearest town and entered a café.
We had sat in a corner and talked over first one, then a second bottle, of wine.
The singer was young. With training she could have developed a half decent voice but night after night in the smoke from a hundred cigarettes combined with numerous glasses of wine had already imparted a gravily tone to it.
He invited her to sit with us when she had finished and poured for her a large glass of red wine. We talked in French. Drank more wine and both followed her upstairs to her room.
Inside, our hands were all over her. Fumbling with her bows and buttons. Drinking more wine from the neck of a bottle. Throwing our side arms and clothing over the back of a chair we had both joined her, naked, on her bed.
She had knelt between my legs and taken my cock into her mouth. I watched as it disappeared then re-appeared as her head moved up and down upon me. He knelt behind her. His cock inside her. Taking his tempo from the movements of her head.
He orgasamed inside her then she had lain on her back to receive me on top. I thrust in and out with vigour. Coming. Coming.
Afterwards the three of us had lain together until the Café owner had banged upon the door to tell her to hurry up and finish with us as he had others waiting for their turn with her.
We had both dressed; giving her whatever money we had upon us and made our way down the stairs.
The patron passed us leading three French Officers upstairs each carrying a bottle of wine.
I thought I heard somebody cry out above the low rumbling of the guns at the front as we walked slowly back towards the Headquarters.
We found our driver asleep in the back of the staff car he had been sent to pick us up in and had him drive us straight back to our units.
I kept remembering the single cry. Like an animal in pain.
At sixteen minutes after five the following afternoon the whistles started to blow and we made our way up the steps, through the sandbag defences and into no mans land.
The shelling would have destroyed their ability to resist us we were told. The Germans hadn't been told and during the next three days nearly one hundred thousand British, Empire and Commonwealth soldiers fell dead or wounded.
As his adjutant, I followed closely behind my Commanding Officer as he led our Battalion forward. The ground trembled under foot from the impact of the shelling from the Germans guns. I could hear the rat, tat, tat, from their machine gun posts. My Commanding Officer spun around to face me and for a second I saw the look of surprise upon his face as his life's blood spurted from the holes in his chest. Then something hit my shoulder and pulled at my wrist and I tumbled head over heels into a deep shell hole.
My revolver lay across my thighs attached to my lanyard. It was covered in mud. Automatically I picked it up and put it back into its holster.
I struggled into a sitting position out of the foot or so of mud in the bottom of the hole. I couldn't move my right arm. I looked down at my shattered wrist. Funny I could feel no pain.
I looked around me as if in a dream.
He was in my shell hole lying on his back in the mud and water. I caught his collar with my good hand and pulled him to me.
I put my arm around his shoulder and held him close as he told me about Natasha and their children. Their plans for when he returned. I held him until he didn't speak anymore.
I stood up from the bench and walked towards the doors of the Church. It was starting to rain so I kept my overcoat fastened and my hands in my pockets.
Natasha knelt on a prayer cushion arranging flowers in the two vases at the foot of the lectern. He backside was towards me. I imagined the sight that would have greeted his eye's as he pulled the girl in France's buttocks apart before entering her that night.
She stood up and looked at me, dressed in my suit, overcoat and holding my bowler hat. I might have just returned home from a job in the city.
"Hallo, Natasha." I spoke first, breaking the silence that hung heavily between us.
"Hallo, Alistair." She replied and smiled faintly.
Something inside of me leapt.
"The last we heard was that you were in the United States." She sounded bitter. "That would help our war effort."
"That tour was cancelled."
"You heard." She nodded towards the graveyard. "First day of the battle of the Somme."
"I knew." Automatically glancing over my shoulder even though I knew he wasn't out there.
"Where do you live now?" She asked, fussing with some flowers on a stand near the lectern.
"I have a flat in Vienna." Her face looked strained. Had he left her well provided for? "Mostly I live in Hotels."
"With a Soprano, if the gossip rags are correct."
Elsbeth. Her body, warm, inviting. Her breasts large. We had learnt so much about our bodies together. The way she would smile down upon me as she rode on my cock.
She had left to work in Australia then to travel across the Pacific for a series of concerts in North America. I was just breaking in to the top flight of concert pianist's. To take a year away from the main concert circuit when my one chance to finally establish myself had arrived would have been madness. So my manager told me. Anyway the war would be over by Christmas. Better to go straight to the United States.
It didn't matter anymore.
"That was a couple of years back now."
"Alistair? Is that you?"
"It has been a long time, my son." He held my left hand between his two. "We thought you must have forgotten us."
"I could never do that."
I looked into Natasha's eyes.
"Is your Mother well?" The Father asked looking me up and down.
"She has her first cold of the winter." I replied.
"I'm sure the Reverend Pearson wouldn't object to my visiting her."
"He never has in the past." Natasha said, lowering her eyes from mine. "I do not think he has any concerns that you may be trying to convert one of his flock."
No, not much chance of that with my mother.
"Will you play for us today?" The Father asked then suddenly turned his head away.
The pins and needles in my fingers returned.
"I'm sorry." I stared at the air between them. "I cannot."
"Why not?" Natasha looked angry. "You would have, once. Before you went away."
"You said you'd heard. Why didn't you write?"
She dropped her flowers and ran down the isle towards the doors.
"Natasha." I called after her. "Come back. Let me explain."
"Wait a minute, Alistair."
He looked at my right arm, still in my overcoat pocket.
My fingers, the pins and needles again. I'd been told to expect it. At least I no longer tried to massage them. There was no point when my hand been removed by a surgeon's blade in a first aid station behind our lines the day after I had been shot.
We sat together in the first row of seats and I told him everything.
Of how I'd been with him when he had died. How his last thoughts and words had been for and about Natasha.
I heard a gasp behind me and I turned in my seat, then stood up to face her. My right arm hung limply by my side and the white bandage covered the stump where my hand had been.
Tears were streaming down her face.
She buried her face in my chest and I wrapped my arm around her.
She lifted her face and I kissed her tears.
She stepped back quickly and shook her head.
"No." She said and turned and walked back towards the doorway. Her head bowed, her shoulders shaking.
I thought of him kneeling behind the girl in France.
"I think it will take some time." The Father said. "For both of you."