tagNovels and NovellasThe Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 15d

The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 15d

byPAUL C©

The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 15d: Another June Wedding Part 4

A Paul and Jenny story.

(Copyright 2001 by Paul. All rights reserved).

All events and characters are fictitious.


* * * * *

June 1972.

Paul.

I walked down to the village pub with Steve and Len at seven in the evening. Jenny's warning about only to have a couple and not to get into trouble when I'd last seen her the previous afternoon still rang in my ears.

I'd been very good the night before. I'd stayed with my grandfather and drank some very fine Brandy. He'd taken some photographs from a drawer and spread them out on the kitchen table, where we were sitting after eating the fish and chips I'd driven into Taunton to buy for supper while he was taking Millie, my old black Labrador for a walk.

In the afternoon I'd gone with Steve to collect our morning dress and top hats from the outfitters and we had both had haircuts at the barbers.

It certainly made you feel special to wear clothes like that. Long tails to the jacket, a high buttoned waistcoat and a matching grey top hat. We both had a pair of soft white leather gloves to carry. Crisp white shirts hung in my wardrobe above the shiny new patent leather shoes. Two new white ties lay flat in my sock drawer.

Steve had then left to help Len with the transport arrangements. We had given Len that job. I suppose I could have had two best men like Royalty sometimes does. But then Len was the son of a Haulage Company owner. It was the best use of his talents to get him to arrange the transport. He did know all the right people in that area.

Steve was to be best man. I'd asked him how his speech was going hoping to get an idea of what he was going to say but all he replied was that he'd knock something up on the day. I was going to keep mine formal. Just thank everybody and their dog. Steer clear of the jokes and make everyone go 'Ah' by telling Jenny I loved her in front of them. That could be the difficult part. I had trouble saying to her when we were alone. To do it in front of two hundred people. I might leave that bit out after all.

The photographs my grandfather had spread out were mostly discoloured with age. Some of the images were indistinct but he saw them as if they had been taken the day before. I'd carefully picked up one of a young man standing beside a First World War bi-plane. He had still been a teenager when he'd flown and that was after a year in the trenches. My great Uncle Alistair would have come back from the front before this photo had been taken, minus a hand and a career. I'd wish I'd known him. Eight photographs. That was all that remained. One picture showed him holding a young boy of eighteen months of age. Both staring wide eyed into the camera lens. The same family features were strong in both of us. He didn't look well and had died within nine months.

One with Natasha, his wife, in a smart two piece suit. She carried a bouquet and he wore a white flower in his buttonhole. She'd lost her first husband in the First World War and had married Uncle Alistair in 1922. They had married in the Old Catholic chapel that stood at the far end of the village after Alistair had converted to Catholicism. Natasha had always expressed a wish to be buried with the children of her first marriage who had both died in the great flu epidemic of 1919.

The Chapel and graveyard had been closed before the start of the Second World War and it had taken special permissions to have it re-opened to bury first Alistair in 1952 and Natasha when she had died in 1967. I remembered her funeral. They had lain her between Alistair and her children. It was the first time I could remember meeting Great Aunt Matilda and her daughter and granddaughters. My grandfather never mentioned his sister. She certainly never visited. They lived up near Bath, apparently. I got on well with my second cousins. One was my age and one a year younger. Strange how I was never encouraged too keep in contact.

The Wagstaffe's had lived in this area since the 1700's. Some had married into the Catholic faith and some out of it. I was sure I hadn't met all the relatives I had in the area even now. I had a feeling I was going to meet a lot more in the near future if my mother had anything to do with it.

I picked up a photo of Alistair, my Grandfather and my father standing with Roddrego beside an open boat. They all carried rifles and bandoleers of ammunition around their necks except Alistair who had a revolver in the waistband of his trousers.

"That would have been taken in Spain. Wouldn't it?" I'd asked.

"Yes." He'd confirmed. "In 1937. Your grandmother took it."

"Nobody will ever tell me what happened when you went there." I complained.

"Which time?" He'd asked.

"Either."

He'd picked up his of Brandy glass and swilled the contents around, warming it with the heat from his hand to release the spirits bouquet.

"I cannot tell you everything." He said placing the glass on the table and, taking a cigar from the box in front of us, cut the end and struck a match to light it. "It should be your father really."

He drew on his cigar and let a steady stream of smoke slowly escape from between his lips. I found it fascinating to watch. Perhaps it was the Brandy I had drunk. I felt very peaceful.

Suddenly my grandfather was speaking.

"Roddrego was visiting with your grandmother and myself here when he received a letter. It was addressed in Spanish and I could see it had been posted in Gibraltar." He paused, looking out through the open kitchen door at the late afternoon shadows stealing across the terrace patio. "The letter had taken two weeks to reach him. It was from his Mother. She was concerned that the unrest that had started the trouble around Madrid was spreading down to where they were living in Grenada. It was still early in the Civil War. His father was steadfastly refusing to leave saying they had been forced out of one Country, and he had been the President, and he was not being forced out of a second.

"There had been riots in support of the various factions fighting in the north and centre of the country and it would only be a matter of time before it changed to all out fighting. She had heard of some horrible things happening, especially to the young girls in the remoter villages, as they passed from Army to Army in the fighting and she worried for their own staff. Would Roddrego please ask Senor Wagstaffe to write to his father and urge him to leave? He was one of the few people he would listen to."

"Of course I agreed to write. I knew Alistair had contacts in Government circles and I managed to get a phone call through to him and asked if he could have the letter taken at least as far as Gibraltar in a diplomatic bag. I had to wait for twenty-four hour to hear from him that our Ambassador in Madrid had been withdrawn and we now had no official representative within Spain. Alistair thought that the best plan would be to have Roddrego taken to Gibraltar and then see if there was some way he could then be safely taken into Spain and convince his father to leave. In fact, the Government thought it was a good idea that his father should leave Spain. We were to find out two years later why."

I thought of interrupting but now I had him opening up I didn't want to stop him.

"Alistair also said that if Roddrego were to come up to London then there was a plane that could be made available if he could get a pilot. There could be no official Government involvement as we hadn't yet chosen which side to officially support. We seldom did until we knew who was going to win. Anyway, they would have to fly through France and along Spain's Mediterranean coast to land at Gibraltar. It would be best if Roddrego left England un-noticed."

"When I told Roddrego what Alistair had said he had asked me to be his pilot. I had flown his father and himself out of their country during the rebellion in the early 1920's. I'd looked at Margaret. She'd been pregnant with your father when we had all flown out. He had only come back from school for the Easter break three days before."

'Of course we must go.' Margaret had said. 'But what to do about David.'

'What about me?' Your father had said, entering the sitting room at that moment. I think he must have overheard some of what we had been saying. 'Why do you have to do anything with me?'

"I certainly hadn't intended to take them both with me. I hadn't even thought of Margaret going let alone David. I did know the response I would be likely to get from your grandmother if I had suggested that that she remain behind with him. Besides I had only been a year older then your father when I had first gone to France in the Great War. They could come to Gibraltar. At that momment, as far as we knew, only Roddrego would actually be going into Spain."

"The telephone had rung. It was Alistair wanting to know our plans. I told him the whole family wanted to go so I hoped it was a sizeable aeroplane. He was silent for a moment then said that was fine as he was coming with us."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Roland Wagstaffe

Gibraltar 1937.

I landed the aeroplane on Gibraltar air field at seven thirty in the evening five days after Roddrego had received the letter from his mother and taxied to the collection of buildings which housed the immigration and arrival lounge.

As we climbed out of the plane a man in RAF Officers uniform climbed in and took my place in the pilot's seat.

A man in a dark grey lightweight suit greeted Alistair and we were whisked through the lounge and out into two waiting cars with no more than a glance by the officials at our travel documents.

We were driven a short distance up onto the Rock and I looked out over the harbour at the lights on the rows of Warships at anchor. I yawned and stretched.

"Tired dear?" Margaret asked, resting her head on my shoulder.

I felt the familiar tingle that I had everytime she touched me. Nearly twenty years since we had first met. I placed my arm around her shoulders. She kissed my cheek. David looked back over his shoulder at us from where he was sitting in the front next to the driver then quickly turned away. He was still at an age where signs of affection between adults, especially his own parents, embarrassed him.

I looked past David at the rear window of the car in front as Margaret took my hand in hers. I could see the outline of Alistair's head and Roddrego's. Alistair's head was moving from side to front, as he talked to Roddrego in the back seat and the man in the grey suit, George Mandell, in the front seat next to the driver.

We pulled into the Artillery Barracks and the cars drew up beside a side entrance to the Officers mess. Two British Army mess stewards in white jackets with red badges of rank ushered us inside and into an anteroom. The sounds of conversation and the smell of freshly cooked food came to us. I suddenly felt very hungry.

The Bombardier mess steward asked us to take a seat and assured us that dinner would be served shortly. We all sat down in the comfortable chairs and waited. I tried to draw Alistair into conversation, hoping to hear what had been discussed in the other car on the journey from the airport but he was tight-lipped.

Finally we were lead into the main dining room. It looked as if the previous occupants had had a very hurried meal, as some of the staff were still clearing away plates and half full serving dishes. A man wearing the uniform of a Lieutenant Colonel of Artillery, who introduced himself the Commanding officer, Mike Roberts greeted us.

We all ate heartily from the dishes that suddenly appeared as if by magic from the mess kitchens. Flying in an un-pressurised cabin at eight thousand feet for four hours certainly gives you an appetite. Not once during the meal was the purpose of our visit mentioned.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Paul.

In the pub I tried to organise a kitty but was told, in no un-certain terms that my money was no good. Stephanie, the landlords daughter came out from behind the bar and kissed me on each cheek then pecked Steve on his before pulling Len's head down to her own and locking their lips together. I was sure I could hear the slurping of their tongues inside each other's mouths.

We broke them up when Len's hands cupped her ass cheeks then started to lift her skirt up at the back. It raised a cheer in the bar. Stephanie went bright red and scampered into the lounge bar out of sight.

A glass of beer was placed in my hand. A second appeared before I was half way through it.

"Don't forget what Jenny said." I said to Steve and Len.

"I didn't hear her say anything." Steve replied, looking at the ceiling. "What about you? Len."

"Did she say something?" He was looking at Stephanie in the lounge bar. "Bastards." I said, taking a gulp of beer. Why hadn't I had my stag night on Thursday night like Jenny did her Hen night?

It was these two. I thought for a moment of sneaking out but where could I go? Only back to Grandfather's. He and my father were dropping in for a drink later. I think on my mother's orders to make sure I was going to be all right. Well, if I was going to get into trouble I might as well enjoy it.

Steve called for silence.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." He shouted so that all could hear over the jukebox.

The Landlord turned a knob behind the bar and the music faded.

"In case anybody didn't know Paul is getting married tomorrow." He started.

More beer. Then more. I was sitting at the piano playing my medley of Beatles songs when my father and Grandfather joined us with my Mother's Brother. The clock behind the bar swam momentarily into focus. It was nine-thirty already. Only an hour to closing time. I felt great. No I didn't. I needed piss.

I brought my playing to an abrupt end with a flourish then stood up. Oh. Slower next time, as I held the top of the piano to stop the room from swaying.

"You alright?" Somebody asked.

It was my Grandfather. He had a glass of whisky in his hand. No, two. Two hands and two glasses. I thought.

"I'm fine." I replied. "Just need the toilet."

"Go with him Steve." I heard my Father say.

Steve would have to do what he was told now. He worked for my Father's firm of accountants.

We stood shoulder to shoulder in the urinals pointing Percy at the porcelain. Steve finished first and my eyes automatically went to his hands and prick as he shook off the drips. Fascinating things, are cocks. My own stream ended and I shook it off without taking my eyes from Steve's prick. We stood still for a few seconds. Then I lifted my eyes to his face. His own eyes were on my prick. He seemed to be miles away. I wondered if he was thinking back to when we were in Northern Ireland together on that camping trip. (Paul and Jenny. The First Time). Was he thinking back to when he had pushed his prick up my ass or to when he had sucked me off after Shirley had given him a blow job? Or to when he'd had to watch as Tommy had fucked me?

I heard somebody in the corridor outside and hurriedly stuffed my prick back inside my trousers. We both pulled up our zips as one. Then we both rinsed our hands under the cold water tap and used the roller towel together then stepped out into the short corridor that lead back to the bars and to the door down to the cellar. The cellar door. It clicked shut as we looked. Strange. I looked at Steve and he looked at me. Who would be going down there this time of night? If they were going for stock surely they would leave the door open to make it easier to carry it up.

"Something funny going on." I said.

Steve nodded his agreement.

"Yeah. What shall we do?"

We both thought for a few seconds then both walked to the door and listened for perhaps another twenty seconds. I couldn't hear anything. I tried the handle. It was unlocked. I opened it and we slipped inside.

"Oh. Oh."

It sounded like a woman's voice. We crept slowly down the stairs and looked into the first room.

"Ah."

Another sound, not from this room.

We went to the second door to the room that held the bottled beers. The inside light wasn't switched on and we only had the light from the bulb at the top of the stairs to see by but it was enough. She was on her knees straddling a man's hips. Leant forward we could see her ass cheeks opening and closing as she slid her pussy up and the length of somebody's prick. It was quite a big prick.

"Big prick." I whispered into Steve's ear.

"Bigger than yours." He agreed.

I didn't think that was very fair. My prick was at least as big as his was. Never mind now. The girl was moving faster and the man's hands reached behind her to hold her ass cheeks, squeezing them and pulling them apart as he started to lift his hips from the ground to get more of his prick inside her. It was a nice pussy, very moist looking and the ass hole was tight and round.

"Do you recognise her." I whispered.

Steve had fucked just about every girl in the area so I thought it was a fairly safe bet that he would know her, even from this angle.

"No..." He started to whisper back to me when Len lifted his head from behind Stephanie's naked shoulder as she gave a loud sigh and panted.

"Will you two fuck off."

Stephanie shrieked. I felt certain I heard a slurp as she pulled herself off Len's prick and, pulling her knees up to her tits, tried to cover her whole body with her blouse.

Well, really. We were only trying to safeguard the Landlords property after all. You'd think his daughter would have been pleased we were so public spirited. Women have very high pitched voices, especially when they scream.

"Go away. Go away."

She sounded hysterical.

We left.

Back in the bar two Whiskies were sitting next to my beer on top of the piano.

"We were about to send out a search party for you." My father said as we joined the group at the bar.

I noticed my old Scout Master, John, had joined us. This whisky tasted particularly smooth. I handed one of the glasses to Steve and watched as he drank, then I finished my glass and he handed the two glasses behind the bar for a re-fill.

"Go easy on that." My Father warned.

"Getting married tomorrow." I told him.

"I know." He re-assured me.

I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. It was Len. I looked up at his face. He didn't appear very pleased. Stephanie was glowering at me from the entrance to the lounge bar. What had I done?

"Have a drink, Len." I said.

"I'll get them," he replied. "What are you on? Whisky? Two doubles, please." He called to Ginny, the barmaid.

"We're leaving now." My Father said. "You'll look after them alright, won't you Len?"

"I'll see to them. Don't you worry." Len replied.

To Be Continued...

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