Dulce et Decorum Est

So, he and I spent the morning ransacking Marks and Spenser with his mother trailing behind looking humiliated. Most little boys would have spent their time trying to talk me into buying toys and other things for themselves. It was only a month to Christmas. Instead, Peter marched from department to department looking for just the right clothing and other essentials for his mother.

He clearly took his role as man of the house and protector of his mother very seriously indeed. It said a lot about the boy's bedrock sense of responsibility.

I finally said sternly, "You need things too Peter." He said in an "awe-shucks" tone, or as close as a well-brought-up little English boy can get, "What I'm wearing is acceptable. I might need a few pants, but my shirt and trousers will hold up."

It took me a second to translate that into American. Pants are underwear to the Brits. I gave his mother a couple of bob and told her to take him to the bakery and that I would meet them after I bought some briefs for the boy.

Of course I also loaded up on shirts, sweaters, and a little English longbow with suction cup arrows. If Peter was going to be Robin Hood he needed to start practicing.

When I showed up with the loot Peter tried to NOT look overjoyed. But the bow was too much. It was only a simple cheap wooden thing with a string. But it was like I'd handed him six feet of well-hewn English yew, along with a sheaf of bodkin arrows.

Peter's innate dignity finally cracked, and the little boy emerged. It was like the sun breaking through the clouds on a rainy day. He impulsively hugged me and started to say, "Thank you...." Then he trailed off. The stark over-familiarity of what he'd done overwhelmed him and he sat there blushing furiously.

I gave him an affectionate chuckle, hugged him back and said, "That's the nicest thing anybody's done for me. Every guy needs a little boy to hug. It makes it all worthwhile."

The potential significance of what I'd just said wasn't lost on Jane. She sputtered and said, "You will NEVER replace Nigel."

I laughed lightly and said, "I wouldn't think of it. Peter knows the difference between me and his dad. But I would be honored to serve as his protector and guardian. If you haven't noticed I've grown quite fond of both of you in the lengthy time that we've been together."

I said that with considerable irony since it had been just eighteen hours. Nevertheless, I meant every word of it. I was already beginning to wonder what life would be like without the two of them.

Peter was a joy to be around. He was a classically beautiful little English boy with an outrageous intelligence and an inquisitive spirit. Coupled with an old soul's commitment to politeness and civility it was like talking to a miniature adult.

Of course his mother's innate strength and courage and her exceptional beauty might also have had something to do with my interest in them. Any man would be proud to be Jane's partner. She was the complete package of fantastic looks, gracious comportment, and style.

Jane was radiating steadfast camaraderie standing next to me while the Underground rattled along, even though she was loudly complaining that I was, "Doing too much for them."

What the heck. There was a war going on and the Nazis were bombing the shit out of everybody. You never knew from day-to-day whether you would be around to greet the sunrise. So, I decided, "In for a penny, in for a pound." I looked into Jane's beautiful golden eyes and told her exactly what I thought. It was a decision I never regretted.

Crammed in a noisy and crowded car on the Piccadilly line I said, "Did it ever occur to you that I'm doing this because I feel a deep attachment to both of you. I don't know why that's the case. I've been footloose and fancy free my entire life. But your happiness and well-being matter to me. Peter is the finest little boy I've ever known, and you are the best friend and companion a man could ever ask for."

I could see what she was thinking. So, I quickly added, "It's not romance, and I have no designs on your body. It's something else. I don't know what to call it. But I already can't imagine my life without you two in it. You fill it with happiness and contentment."

I was watching my words disappear down a rabbit hole in her mind. She stood there for quite a while just staring at me intently like a cat, studying my face. I had the totally irrelevant thought that Jane Ashworth actually looked like a cat with her huge eyes and immaculately proportioned face.

Finally, she said, "Ever since Nigel died, I have reconciled myself to being alone. Peter might give the appearance of a strong and well-adjusted child. But he is just a noble little boy putting on a brave front because he doesn't want people to see the grief he is experiencing."

She added, "Nigel instilled the importance of self-discipline into his son and what you are seeing is Peter honoring his father. Peter also knows how much I miss my husband and he is trying to protect my feelings by not openly grieving. He was born self-sacrificing. That is the sort of person he is."

That last comment was extremely insightful. Most women couldn't see past their own loss, to appreciate their child's deepest feelings. Jane finished with a tear in her eye, "My dear little boy is hurting. But he is carrying on like a brave little soldier."

Then she added with affection in her voice, "However, I have seen a change in him in the short time that you have been in our lives. He seems almost hopeful now, like he can see the way forward. You've done that to him by being so relentlessly optimistic."

Jane added earnestly, "Maybe it's because you're a Yank. But there's no doubt in your mind that there is a future for all of us. We just have to get through the present bother. So for that reason alone I can assure you that Peter and I have the same feelings about you."

That was as much as I was going to get. I looked a little disappointed, so she hastily added, "I'm not in love with you." I looked even more disappointed. She laughed and said, "Give me some time. We've only known each other for a day."

Then she stopped and gazed at me with her uncanny cat eyes and said, "But you are handsome and strong, and you make me feel safe. So, I can see myself staying with you and sharing the burden of life together." Then she added with a puckish smile, "Give it two more days and I might even decide you're Prince Charming."

That was how Jane, and I became a couple... and Peter made three. We spent a happy holiday season in my little flat. There was no Christmas tree. But I found a potted fern lying in the middle of a bombed-out street and Jane decorated it with popcorn on a string. On Christmas morning, there were two good waterproof winter coats lying under that "tree" for both Jane and Peter and we even went to St Brides for the service.

The flat was way too cozy for three people. It was tight for one. So, in the new year I went hunting for something more appropriate to my new family. That led me to a nice little semidetached off Kensington High Street.

It took everything I'd saved. But who cares about money in a time of war. I was getting a basic Associated Press stipend and hazard pay from the Post. So money was not a problem. And I could afford a place as nice as the one we'd found because Herr Hitler had done a good job of depressing the real estate market in 1941's cash-strapped London.

The Huns were bombing the London docks, not the West End. And when they DID show up it was probably by accident because the bombing was strictly hit and miss. Moreover, after Christmas, the RAF looked to have bled the Luftwaffe enough that those raids were becoming much less intense. The important difference was that Peter now had a bedroom. So, Jane and I had one too.

Life in the city was more-or-less proceeding along the same lines as it had pre-war, and people were seeking the reassurance of human contact. The pubs were open, the nightclubs were in full swing and attitudes about sex had come a long way since Victoria's day. So, there were a lot of casual hook ups during that time.

Jane and I were the exception, and it was because our reason for being together was more domestic than romantic. Alone is not a natural condition. Humans are pack animals. It was our ability to cooperate that ensured our survival. Which is why the need for other people is part of our DNA. And as a result, humans naturally form family groups.

That was what was happening to Jane, Peter, and me. The problem was that Jane, and I hadn't fallen in love and had the child together. Instead, we met in an Underground bomb shelter well after that fact. So, all of our bridges had to be built on the fly.

Over time, the day-to-day intimacies and accommodations that underlie a couple's life together were slowly beginning to jell. But the last thing we needed was the added volatility of a sexual relationship. We had to discover who we were as a couple in order to trust each other enough to safely commit to that.

Hence, even though it had been almost six months since I'd stumbled on them, Jane and I were sharing the same bed out of necessity, not romance. In fact, although we had slept together for almost two hundred nights, I had never as much as seen Jane in a state of undress. We would lay next to each other, and I could sense her yearning. Even so, Jane was still grieving the loss of her husband.

The Blitz petered out by the middle of May, and I had to work to hunt up stories. I filed the usual human-interest stuff, just to meet my deadlines. But the Brits were being chased around North Africa by a guy named Rommel. So, that venue was where all of the action was.

I could have gotten posted to Egypt. But I simply didn't want to leave Jane and Peter. Then the situation changed dramatically. The German battleship Bismarck broke out into the North Atlantic and for six days in late May it was the story everybody wanted to hear.

I had been hanging around outside the Admiralty trolling for story lines when I ran into Rupert Perrin-Smythe. He was on the Admiralty staff. Success in reporting lies in your ability to develop sources and I'd been carefully cultivating Perrin-Smythe over the past four months. All the pints that I'd bought at the Clarence paid off in one slip of the tongue.

There had been a buzz going around Trafalgar all day and I wanted to find out what was causing it. So, I snared him at Admiralty Arch and said, "What's happening buddy? Why so much hush-hush?"

It was raining hard. But Perrin-Smythe stopped for a minute distracted and said, "Got to rush Mate. The Bismarck is loose in the Atlantic. It sank the Hood last night and Winnie's beside himself."

That piece of information was all it took to promote me from ink-stained wretch toiling in anonymity, all the way up to Ace Scheffler WAR CORRESPONDENT. I broke the story on the AP wire later that day and stayed on top of it right up to the point where HMS Rodney and the King George V caught that steel monster and beat it to death 400 miles west of Cherbourg.

My byline was attached to a historic moment for all the readers in the States. Hence, like the other lucky news hounds who'd broken big stories, including Churchill who got his early fame reporting about the Boer War, I was promoted to a new class of reporter and the Post immediately shifted my assignment from human interest to covering all the major events of the war.

Meanwhile, I was sure that Jane and I would have tied the knot if it weren't for Peter. And let me stop you right there!! Peter clearly wanted me as his step-father. That wasn't the problem. But his mere presence lowered the romantic ambiance to a point where we couldn't initiate anything.

Of course his presence was also a joyful experience. Prior to getting to know Peter, I thought that kids were a pain in the ass. But Peter was such a polite and loving little boy that I cherished him as much as his mother, which at that point was saying a lot.

Every guy needs a small person who wants to be just like him. And Peter clearly worshipped the ground that I walked on, right down to developing a bit of an American accent. Things like that just made my heart do flip-flops.

The news from the battlefront died down after the Bismarck episode and I was able to be around the house a lot more. Jane was an excellent homemaker, and she kept our little place neat and tidy while, I popped back and forth on the Circle Line between Kensington and Whitehall, looking for stories.

Our relationship had blossomed to a point where we were like an old married couple now, except for two things. We had not gotten the official certificate, and we had still not had sex.

I realize that sounds incredible. You would have to know Jane to understand why it was the case and why I put up with it. Physically, Jane was sex on a stick, an exquisite little body, and all of the sensual energy of a film noir femme fatale. But she was constrained by her upbringing and her principles.

Promises meant the world to Jane. Her entire value system was built around staying the course, being steadfast and loyal. The problem was that she had made a commitment to a dead man.

Now, some of you might say, "There has to be more to it than that. The woman couldn't still be trying to be faithful to a man who was no longer with us. But Jane had made a vow and she was dedicated to honoring it... since her promises didn't come with exceptions or an expiration date.

Realistically, Jane's obligations ended when the Army buried her husband. But in her mind a pledge was a pledge and although it was clear that she loved me at least as much, or perhaps even more than her dead husband, she was still wrestling with the "Forsaking all others," aspect. That was the case even though "Until Death do us part" had already been fulfilled. That was the sort of person Jane was.

The other problem was that Jane and Nigel had been childhood sweethearts and so, she was never close to any other man as she grew into womanhood. Therefore, even though Jane had plenty of experience with sex. She had never had the opportunity to share her sexual feelings with anybody other than her dearly departed husband.

So in some respects, Jane was still a virgin when it came to intimacy with another man. And she struggled with self-consciousness whenever we started to get close. I sensed her conflict, and I was more than willing to wait. She was a perfect partner and helpmate in every other aspect of our life together.

I accepted that he woman was still wrestling with intimacy issues. It spoke volumes about her values and personal integrity. Likewise, from the little cozy touches and longing looks I could tell that she was starting to come around. I just had to be patient.

We'd enrolled Peter in the local council school where he was its best pupil. In fact he was so exceptional that the people who ran his school told us that we should think about getting him into a public school where his obvious intellectual capabilities could be developed to their true potential.

I was as proud of Peter as any father could be, even if he weren't strictly mine. Then, one Monday morning Jane and I were talking about what to do about him when the telephone rang. It was Wechsler on an international call from New York. The call had arrived early on a Monday morning. Which meant that he was calling from New York at 3AM Sunday night.

Wechsler was more manic than usual, and Jim Wechsler was a man who was always in a state of extreme agitation, Germany had invaded Russia and he needed somebody who spoke German in Berlin forthwith. He told me that the arrangements for my getting there were being put together as we spoke, and I was to get my ass down to Fleet Street to pick them up pronto.

I was about to argue when he abruptly hung up. Of course, there was no turning down the assignment. I cursed those old Wisconsin farmers whose clannishness had made me fluent in Deutsch. By the afternoon I had ridden the District line down to Chancery Lane and returned with all the necessary travel paraphernalia. It was going to be a long and complicated process.

I obviously couldn't just hop a flight to Berlin. That would have gotten me shot down, since the only British aircraft flying to that particular location were loaded with bombs. Instead, I was to take an American freighter from London to Bilbao, Spain.

Spain was neutral because Franco had had the sense to stay out of the big one. From there, I was to hop a train across Vichy France to Geneva, and I could take the express to Berlin from Switzerland. The journey would take me a week and Wechsler was chomping at the bit.

I was leaving on the tide the next evening. I think Jane must have had flashbacks to Nigel going off to war because that was the night that the wall finally came tumbling down. She had been acting oddly all afternoon. I thought it was because she was worried about how she would live now. Boy was I wrong!!!

I had told her that the Post wired my pay directly to our bank and she was on all of our accounts, so she and Peter's welfare wasn't going to be a problem. I hadn't told her that I'd also left her all of my worldly possessions. Telling her that I'd made a Will would have introduced too many bad memories.

Jane and I slept in the front bedroom upstairs and Peter in the back, overlooking our little garden. We also had a room downstairs in the front that I used as an office. It was late at night, and I was working on the last of my travel arrangements.

I was just putting my Royal Quiet Deluxe portable in its carrying case when Jane suddenly appeared. She was wearing her ratty old robe. She quietly closed the door and made a shushing gesture as she walked over to me, her golden eyes radiated fire. I stood to meet her, puzzled. She grabbed the back of my head and pulled my face down to hers for a scorching open-mouthed kiss.

I held her hard little body to mine and we kissed like we had never kissed before. Jane's lips were alive working frantically, not just pressed against mine. It was an incredibly simulating sensation. I broke the kiss and looked into her deep intelligent eyes. She was looking back with an intense stare that told me that she'd made her decision.

I dove back in for another incredible kiss. Her mouth, tongue and lips were constantly moving, pulling, and probing even nipping. I remember thinking that if the rest of her performance was as animated as her kisses, I was in for a very wild ride indeed.

As we kissed, I began to caress her from her tiny nipped in waist down to her rock-hard flank. Every part of her was moving in little erotic flexes and quivers. It was like she was vibrating with carnal energy. My stroking of Jane's little round buns set off a series of full-throated moans.

I knew why she had ambushed me in the office rather than upstairs next to Peter's bedroom. This was going to be noisy. Jane's entire body was like a live-wire now, fizzing with sexual electricity. Her reactions to being touched were both spontaneous and extreme.

It was clear that she really FELT it and I hadn't actually explored a single erogenous zone. I finally understood why Jane had been struggling. Her wild reaction to stimulation told me that there was a very sensual woman underneath all of that English reserve.

She parted the robe, and she was naked underneath. I broke the kiss and looked at her au-natural for the first time. Standing there in the dim glow from the blackout light, Jane had perfect feminine proportions. She had very firm and round boobs. With pronounced upturned nipples a flat stomach, over full and fruitful hips. In short, she was an absolutely exquisite little doll of a woman.

I squeezed a nipple. It was red hot as I took it between my fingertips. I tweaked it and that set her off like a skyrocket. She let out a loud guttural groan. Her eyes rolled up in her head. And in a strangled tone of voice she said, "Make love to me!!! You have to do it NOW!!!