Ken's Wartime Valentine

As Ken stood behind her and tried to keep his face out of her damp hair, she pushed his hands up onto her breasts. "What do you think of those then, more of a handful than our Vera, eh?"

He couldn't disagree, Vera had nothing to compare with these mammoth lumps of female flesh, heavy and wobbling in his hands. He felt uncomfortable, the only female whom he had ever fondled was Vera.

Suddenly the woman was turning to face him, keeping his hands firmly on her bosom. She had large flat areolae which almost filled his palms by themselves.

"So, let's see what you've got then". Edith was grabbing his crotch, feeling his erection which had developed despite himself. "Ooh, who's a big boy then?" She cackled and stepped back so that she could unfasten his pants. Soon all his lower clothing was around his ankles and she was fondling his cock in a way that no-one had ever done, not even Vera.

He was worried now. This woman was as old as his mother, clearly experienced and sex appeared to be imminent. The army had lectured him, like all recruits about the dangers of unprotected contact. They had issued him with condoms for such encounters however Pete, always the clown of the barracks had blown his up like balloons and Ken had followed suit. Consequently his pockets were now empty of these essential military supplies.

"Come on, there's no-one here, now's our chance." Edith was pushing him down onto a rug on the stone floor in front of the fireplace. She swiftly unfastened her own pants and removed them, together with a rather large pair of pink panties.

As Ken sat on the floor looking up at her dark triangle of thick pubic hair which seemed to reach almost up to her belly button, she knelt down unceremoniously and straddled him. She took hold of his stiff cock and aimed it at her groin. Suddenly he was inside her, feeling the warmth of her body around him.

He was concerned; was he to catch a disease from this female? The lecturers had emphasised that just about every female in Europe was riddled with infections and he could be put on a charge if he was careless and unfit for duty as a result. However instincts took over with a rush. He was not about to decline this opportunity.

Edith started bouncing up and down, causing her mammaries to flop wildly about above him, quickly and efficiently bringing him to orgasm. All too soon it was over and he collapsed while she stood, replaced her panties and then the rest of her clothing.

And just like that, he had lost his virginity. An encounter that he would remember for the rest of his life but left him feeling used and thinking that it had been more for her needs than anything else.

Drained and aching, he dressed and left the farm.

* * * *

Ken was busy every day now, the amount of military equipment being stockpiled grew as if it were going out of fashion. But he had most evenings free and was visiting Vera so often that soon he went into the town to buy his own bicycle. No longer did he need to scrounge a lend from anyone else.

Each time he fondled her, whether it was up on the hillside near the RAF gunnery range, down by the river bank where there was an army rifle range, or in the sand dunes where the soldiers ran wearily to get fit, she became more and more eager to be touched. She would suggest a convenient location, loosen her clothes and lie down for a cuddle; or a 'cwtch' as she called it.

At first he thought that she said 'cutch' but she corrected his pronunciation; it rhymed with 'soot'. Why the people couldn't just stick with English he just couldn't work out. Soon he found that there were a variety of words that he had to learn; daps were gym shoes, baps were breasts - or bread rolls.

Ken felt guilty. He had been with Edith, cheating on this girl who was so determined to remain pure. On the other hand, he had proved to himself that he was capable of achieving an orgasm with a vagina. Until that fact had been confirmed he had always been worried that perhaps his hand would be the only thing that would get him off.

One day they were nestled in a grassy space amongst some bramble bushes, listening to bird song and the distant waves with their hands down each other's pants, when she had a suggestion. She wanted to go further than she had ever been, yet stay intact. She had been stroking his cock and fondling his balls when she removed her panties completely and bent over to present her ass.

It was a fine ass, as asses went. Pale skin that had never been exposed to the sun, wide hips yet muscular buttocks that flowed seamlessly into long thighs. A tuft of dark hair failed to conceal the soft slit. Her beaver beckoned.

She spoke, but her meaning was initially lost. "There's more than one way to skin a cat."

Ken did not make a move. He was essentially a small-town boy from the mid-west and the reference to cats was beyond him. She made herself clearer by pulling the cheeks of her ass apart to show him her 'ginger sheriff's badge'. This he could understand. She squatted over him, much as Edith had, but stayed still. He tentatively pushed up at her anus. It relaxed slightly to allow him partially inside, then gripped tight.

She took a deep breath and allowed all of her considerable weight to bear on his cock, forcing it into her body.

Ken yelped as his foreskin was pushed violently back, but then he was inside, feeling her warmth. The contrast with Edith was striking. While the older woman was an open, slick haven, Vera had a grip like a headmaster's handshake.

She rose slightly, releasing some of the strain and allowing Ken to thrust. Vera gave a scream as he pushed but within a few seconds he was done and shrinking inside her. His penis fell free, leaving a drool of semen hanging from her.

He pulled his pants back up, but she was already hobbling down the hill and back to the farmhouse.

* * * *

Ken was unsure whether he would be welcomed by Vera again, but he returned the next day as normal and she suggested a hiding place where she lay down and allowed him to stroke her fanny while they talked. She fell silent as he did this and almost purred with pleasure. She reciprocated by stroking his balls and then giving him a slow wank.

The following day she was up-beat and when they sat down in the dunes, she produced a wrap of paper that contained a knob of butter. A precious lump of real butter; not the margarine which was all that people could buy in the shops any more.

Curious as to how she had come across it, he asked her the source. She had made it herself, endlessly shaking a bottle of milk and then strapping it to the wheel of a cart so that it churned through the day.

He waited for the bread, but none was forthcoming; instead she wanted him to rub it on her bottom. After that she wanted him to slide his finger in and out of that orifice while she knelt over. Soon she had relaxed and he could insert his finger deeply, then two fingers.

Ken wondered how many fingers he could get in there, or maybe she would be ready to take his entire hand. However she told him that she wanted to be fucked there, so he obliged. It would have been rude not to, after all.

After, she stayed kneeling as his fluids trickled from her. He looked around for some vegetation to wipe the mess away but could only find the long plumes from the coarse grass that grew in the sand. On an impulse he slid a bunch of the plumes into her gaping anus, so that they stuck out.

She laughed as they stood and it appeared as if she had acquired a tail hanging behind her. Soon though she pulled the grasses out of her ass and threw them like arrows as rain began to fall. They returned quickly to where they had stashed the bike but before she clambered onto the crossbar, he found himself holding her panties. She called them his 'lucky charm' and told him to keep them with him wherever he went.

The rain fell, more heavily than the misty drizzle that he had experienced before and by the time he had taken Vera back to the farm they were drenched.

* * * *

When Ken arrived back at the camp, it was as if all hell had broken out.

Everything was in a state of activity, all the trucks were being loaded and started up, officers were shouting orders and the men were running about carrying gear.

He quietly abandoned the bicycle in a hedge and joined in with the activity as if he had never been absent. There were some strange looks at his soaking wet clothes, but in the heat of the action they dried out soon enough. Within a few hours all the equipment was packed and they were on the road, driving through the night. His war was starting.

* * * *

Ken was back in Britain. This part was different and he asked three different people to make sure that he was actually in England.

The countryside was flat like the prairies of the Mid West. Vast airfields for the bombers had been constructed throughout this area, but now the war was over in Europe they were largely peaceful. No thunderous roars of dozens of Liberators or Flying Fortresses taxiing and taking off, merely the occasional transport carrying staff or freight.

Now he had to find out whether he would be sent to the Pacific to invade Japan. He felt relief mixed with dread for the future. In the meantime he wrote more letters to Vera.

It was eerily quiet, like the week between Christmas and New Year; the time between two parties when people recovered from one hangover whilst preparing for another bender.

The spell in Europe had mostly been a time of tension; he hadn't been a hero shooting Germans around every corner, he had organised his stores and issued equipment against chitties like a good clerk although there was always the chance of an air-raid or counter-attack, like in the Ardennes to keep his dreams from being too contented.

On the whole though it had been an interesting time. He had landed on a beach, ferried from a ship on a landing craft a few weeks after the invasion. There was plenty to see; burned out tanks and shelled gun emplacements. Even some bodies lying around.

There had been action in the break-out from Normandy and a victory march through Paris, when the war had suddenly stopped whilst everyone had to wait for some chubby fat-assed French General that he'd never heard of to arrive and lead the parade. That was typical, he thought. He'd never been so far back from the front that he'd ever seen a real General, not since Eisenhower had given a speech to the Division back in Wales. Ike had yelled at thousands of men all crowded round, from the back of a truck as if anyone could hear him over the engine that was rumbling behind. Typical of armies the world over, probably.

Never mind, at least it was something he could tell his grandchildren.

The Ardennes Forest had been a shithole, the Nazis had mounted a last-ditch counter-attack but they hadn't anything like enough resources to do a proper job, not at that stage with the air thick with Allied planes shooting up anything that moved. He had to duck for cover himself several times when the planes aimed at their own side by mistake.

There was a saying: If the RAF flew over, the Germans ducked. If the Luftwaffe flew over, no-one ducked. If the USAF flew over, everyone ducked. He'd heard that the Air Force had managed to demonstrate their accuracy by actually killing a General in Normandy.

After that it had been a straightforward advance all the way to the Rhine and a couple of weeks later it was all over.

He had celebrated like he had in Paris. Then he had gone out fully armed with some chocolate and a pocket full of army issue rubber goods (cock, for the use of) to find a female. He had found a girl who spoke a little broken English. She knew some tricks and had unbelievably put his penis into her mouth. Inevitably it had been a brief encounter, but well worth the trade. She wore a headscarf and refused to remove it, but it had slipped and he saw that her head had been roughly shaved.

He found out later that women who had been in relationships with the German occupiers had been punished by having their hair publicly cut off.

Now, in a small German town a thin Fräulein with straggly blonde hair had silently removed her drawers and lain down on her back, presenting herself in exchange for a bar of candy. He made sure that he wore the sheath issued to him but had felt dirty afterwards and even felt sorry for the girl who was in such sorry circumstances. The prophylactic had removed any sensation of intimate contact and all in all he needn't have bothered - his hand would have felt better.

As she left, still without saying a word but with tears falling down her cheeks he called her back and gave her the rest of the food in his possession. Her eyes had looked grateful, then she took the items and ran away like the wind.

Before returning to England, he had joined his mates on a trip to Hamburg. The devastation from the bombing was amazing; there was barely a building even half-standing but even in those circumstances there were brothels providing the eternal service. Pete who was a dog chose a shack that housed a handful of ladies with panted faces. He negotiated with a madam, old in years and wearing scuffed men's shoes. Ken waited outside. No thank you very much Ma'am.

However, the most surreal encounter had been on the return trip. He had driven in convoy with the unit cross-country to a Belgian port, stopping for an overnight camp at some village. He didn't know the name of the place and he wouldn't have been able to pronounce it anyway. The language was awful - as bad as Welsh except with vowels.

That was the problem with driving in convoys. Only the officer in the lead vehicle had a map; the rest of the drivers didn't even have a clue what country they were in half the time.

Anyway once they'd eaten, some of the men had been permitted recreation in the village inn. His luck had held true and he'd drawn guard duty. He'd cursed the gods of chance and stood on point whilst the fortunate ones strolled off towards beer. And to be fair, they had lovely beers in this part of the world.

So there he was, standing next to a hedge with a rifle over his shoulder, looking at the view across the countryside. He had heard a noise from the undergrowth, which he'd thought was some animal. Initially his reaction was to see if it could augment the rations, but when he bent down he found a girl crouching in the shadows.

She wasn't like the Parisian or the German girls. This one had fire in her eyes and was determined to undo the front of his uniform. He had started by jumping back when she reached for his flies, but she had given him the benefit of her vocabulary - which was mainly 'Boche' and 'Bastards'.

So as he did his duty, standing to attention with arms sloped protecting the camp from saboteurs, she did her duty and blew him.

He never knew her name; after he had succumbed to her mouth she smiled, wiped her lips with the back of her hand and disappeared into the dusk. If it wasn't for the weak feeling in his knees he wouldn't have been sure that it hadn't been a figment of his imagination.

But now, here he was in England on a windswept field where the horizon was level and unbroken even by anything the size of a tree never mind the Welsh 'mountains'. The village near the camp was tiny, but had the requisite pub, railway station and centuries-old church that equipped every village in the land. The only thing missing was a castle. He wrote another letter.

* * * *

On an impulse, Ken caught the train. He had a pass and there seemed to be no reason at all why it should be wasted. He changed trains in London and settled down to another ride, watching rolling countryside float past to the clickety-clack rhythm of the wheels on the track.

He found the farm, it hadn't moved in the last thousand years and wasn't about to now. As he walked along the lane a familiar figure was walking towards him. It was Doris, the prettiest of the three girls who worked there.

Doris was pleased to see him, but said that Vera was out. No need to worry, Dora was free and could join him for a drink in town. So they strolled and talked, and exchanged stories of the war; tales of battles, things seen and done.

All too soon they were in a pub with a tepid pint of flat ale for him, a pale sherry for her. Dark wood chairs and a wobbly table in a smoky room, paper tape still glued to the windows to prevent the glass from spraying in a bomb-blast. What the hell was it with warm beer?

Doris was fun. She had a ready smile, a slim waist and long legs. The farm work and healthy food of the rations had worked well for her; firm buttocks and breasts made her eye-catching in a crowd.

After another drink they made their way back, arm in arm. She sneaked him into the bedroom that she shared with Agnes and Vera and kissed him. Soon they were undressed and under the overcoats that served as additional blankets for the cold nights in an unheated room.

She was lithe and willing with a softer body than Vera. She had neither the vacant expression of the frightened German nor the brusque efficiency of the shorn French whore. Nor even the triumphant anger of the Belgian. In contrast, Doris was interested, considerate and really happy to fuck. She had gentle hands and passionate lips. Soon he was snuggling into her comforting embrace, those smooth thighs forming a space to lie in; her knees nestling into his arm-pits.

She took his cock and made sure that it was fully stiff before placing it at her entrance and pulling his hips to slide his length into her body. He moved his arms under her knees and then with her legs over his shoulders, her position shifted for maximum penetration. His balls felt the pressure of her butt as he pushed deeply into her.

She showed him how to make love, how to please a woman, how to relax and touch her tenderly afterwards.

All too soon it was time for Ken to return to the railway station. Doris kissed him goodbye with a dirty smile and a promise to see him again before he departed for the States.

* * * *

He didn't have long to wait before he made another long trip back to Wales. The very next weekend he was on the train, this time being met on arrival by Vera, who had a new short red dress that didn't really suit her. She was too stocky and her breasts were too small. Nevertheless she led him back to the farm, where this time Edith was in the yard washing under the hand pump. Stripped to the waist, she didn't hesitate to greet Ken with a hug and press her massive soft chest to him.

He remembered the sight of those breasts against the ceiling light, but Vera quickly dragged him away to her bedroom. The room where he had recently fucked her friend Doris. On the same bed covered with shabby old coats.

She swiftly removed her knickers and pushed him back onto the bed, amongst the coats. As the sharp edge of a coat button pressed into his back, she straddled him and impaled herself on his cock. Without any regard to her vows to remain a virgin, she went at him like the steam hammer that crushed ore at the mine back home.

It took him longer than ever before to reach fulfilment. In fact he was wondering if he would manage it at all. Her red dress that she still wore hid the tiny tits that were placed high on her broad chest. He tried to imagine them bouncing under the material but still couldn't get there. He heaved her around and mounted her in the missionary style and finally found release.

He heard laughing from the doorway and saw Edith standing there. She seemed to have forgotten that she was still topless and was still chuckling as she disappeared from sight.

* * * *

Ken was back at his base in the flatlands. Peace had broken out, the war was over. Unless another started pretty quickly, he was done. And people would have to be dumb to start a war now that America had a bomb that wiped out an entire city in one go.