Lust in Black & WhitebyKsee1971©
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Somewhere on Sicily’s north coast,1943:
With a hearty bounce, the U.S. Army Air Corp C-47 landed on the rutted army airfield. Nose high into the Mediterranean sun, the cargo plane went silent as the pilot shut down her pair of four bladed propeller engines.
Like ants, the Army ground crew chalked the muddied main landing gear of the Dakota transport plane, while others hoisted steel steps to her left rear cargo door. As the cargo door opened the stale air trapped inside the plane was washed away with a hot Sicilian breeze. Inside, the only passenger amongst the piles of spare parts, ammunition and ‘A Rats”, inhaled deeply. Breathing refreshed.
As GIs milled about waiting to unload the cargo,their eyes clasped onto the aft hatch when the lone passenger emerged.
“Zowie!” A young private exclaimed as he watched Special War Correspondent Eva Goode delicately step from the plane.The self confident young reporter knowing the eyes of the G.I’s were upon her, stood silently. Then from behind came a voice.
“Yes?” Eva turned, removing the sunglasses concealing her emerald eyes.
“Miss Goode. I am Lieutenant Carlson, your Air Corp liaison officer.” The young lieutenant anxiously extended his hand to her.
Vigorously, Eva shook Carlsons hand. Around her, GI's stared amorously. It’s not that they hadn’t seen a woman in a long time, Sicily had been fairly fruitful in that respect. It’s just they had not seen a woman that looked as good, as Goode, ever.
An independent, strong willed woman, Eva drew fame from her photo essays on WAC’s and life in British air raid shelters. One of a handful of women accredited to cover the war, Eva relished the distinct and dangerous honor. However, Eva also heard the whispers that the only reason she received the position was only because of her good looks. Before getting behind the camera, Eva spent her late teens and early twenties trying to get in front of the camera as a model. Then as war clouds gathered, Eva decided to rekindle her love of taking photos and become a freelance War photographer. Still, Eva knew that no matter her talent, smarts or skills, she would only be another “doll”. So, she dealt with it.
Taking her bags from the plane, she tossed them in the lieutenant's jeep.
“So lieutenant, where are the boys from ‘Bama?”
Carlson answered with a obvious look of displeasure, “Oh, well the colored units runs operations and billets separately ma’am. We have a nice place set up for you, Colonel Smyth...”
“ Carlson, I was sent here to cover the 99th. So, I will cover the 99th. To do that I have to be close to the unit, not at Headquarters.” Eva cut Carlson off, jumping into his jeep. Sent to Sicily for one purpose, do a photo essay on the 99th Fighter Squadron, the all black flying squadron .
Carlson stood there confused.
Eva peering over, said “ Well lieutenant, let’s go!”
The men of the 99th Squadron, 33rd Fighter Group, waited anxiously for the return of a flight of fighters sent out to escort a daylight bomber run over Italy. They stood abreast on the flight line, shielding their eyes against the unforgiving rays, scanning the sky for the returning fighters. As the sun steadily dipped, a thick Mississippi drawl yelled out.
“I see em!”
On the horizon, six silver dots appeared, the dots turned into outlines, outlines of P-51 Mustangs. Hoots and hollers rose over the airfield as the six gleaming fighters roared overhead, Packard Merlin engines growling at full throttle. One of the sleek fighters shook his wings and peeled off doing a victory roll, getting an even more raucous cheer from the men below. Six left, six returned, that was a good day.
The jeep carrying Eva and Carlson, turned by a large tent as the rumble of pistons filled the air. Eva looked up to see the returning victors. A wry smile crossed her full pink lips. “Is that them?” Eva asked, removing the leather camera cover.
Carlson nodded, “That’s them. The boys of the 99th.”
Eva hopped from the dusty green jeep as Carlson slowed. Putting her camera to an eye, the shutter clicked and Eva took the spontaneous picture of the jubilant members of the 99th Fighter Squadron.
Wearing an odd smile, Eva returned to the jeep.
“Let’s go to the operations tent. I want to meet the C.O.” Eva said, savvy to the military lingo.
Grudgingly, the 99ths commanding officer accepted Eva’s arrival to cover the segregated fighter squadron. His men were also weary of the attention. An arduous task just getting into the Air Corp, the pilots and ground crews secretly worried about what could happen if they received too much attention. They over came many societal prejudices to just get to this point, to fight and maybe even die for a country while imperfect atleast gave them hope for one day treating them as equals. The color of their skin, funny enough, was irrelevant to the Sicilians civilians which they now occupied. When first arriving, the black pilots were greeted and welcomed into the homes of many Sicilian families. But they knew it wasn’t yet like that back home. So in a quiet meeting, all officers were assembled to lay down the “unofficial” standing orders when dealing with Eva. They were simple, be polite, remember operational security and do not think about wooing her. Period!
Eva greeted her the second to last day on the assignment with a sigh. She sat alone in the large tent, on an uncomfortable musty cot. Lighting the lamp, she shuffled around pyramidal canvas enclosure sorting out her clothing. Clothing, that was just as dusty as the floor she walked on. Eva held her clothes to her nose.
“Pew” She recoiled from the smell.
Chuckling, Eva realized what she was using to cover the smell. Eva picked up an almost empty bottle of French perfume, which was full when she arrived three days earlier. Eva nudged her head out into the cool predawn, finding two large pots of steaming hot water, a clean towel and new bar of soap, nestled in the bottom of a burnished aluminum wash tub. Attached was a note,
‘From Sergeant Long and the boys from the Quarter Masters platoon.’
She smirked, dragging the present into her tent. GI’s can be so sweet, she thought.
Sleeping in the clothes she wore the day before, Eva was glad to remove them to get ready for her bath. Quickly, not wanting the water to chill, Eva tossed away the hand made shorts and blouse, leaving her in just a cotton bra and panties. Hating the restrictive garments, she threw the undergarments to the floor. Eva’s nude body was set upon by the cool air, skin becoming alive with goose flesh, her nipples swelling.
Standing in the small wash tub, Eva held the pan above her head. Eva leaned her head back, eyes closed, letting the warm water pour over her face and body.
The warm water covered Eva’s naked body, getting a her to moan slightly. Bar of soap in hand, Eva ran it over the gentle curves and swells of her feminine form. Washing her face and neck, arms and legs, all covered in one pass of the soap. With a thick soapy lather built, Eva relished the feeling dripping from her body.
After a few more passes of the bar, her body was coated in warm soft bubbles. Slowly Eva massaged her heavy breasts, soap dripping from them. As the water cascaded down her stomach, it collected in that patch of dark auburn hair. Her fingers followed the soapy trail into the thick curls.
Washing now became slow and methodical. But, the washing became a massage as Eva ran a finger tip down that crevice of flesh. In a return stroke, it entered her outer folds, which opened like a delicate flower to her touch. Her other hand, ran luxuriously about her body.
Stomach tightening, Eva pushed a finger inside her warmth. She quietly gasped as she drew her fingers to that nub of flesh; which when played with brought her body to a tremble. For minutes more, in small circles, Eva caressed her clitoris.
Eva’s body squirmed, trying to remain standing as the first of several orgasm pulsed inside her body. Biting a lip, Eva stifled the moans that wanted to be free from her lips. As her lone ecstasy built, the visage of a man entered her mind. His face produced another orgasm. Fingers slipping rapidly, Eva now fully imagined that man. A man, shy and aloof to her attention. Eva’s fingers dipped into that warm place, deeper inside the folds, moaning out a name.
Fresh from a more than invigorating bath, with Carslon in tow, Eva entered the black officers mess tent to capture some final photos of the heroic Negro flyers. What she wore was much to the displeasure to the modest and ever present Carlson. Eva walked in, wearing high cut khaki “shorts”, her auburn hair held up in the back by a snood and nearly sheer white knit blouse. Eva took pride in her long legs, rivaling Betty Grables exceptional ‘gams’. Slowly Eva tanned to an olive glow over the few days she’d been on the sun drenched island. “Abundantly” endowed, Eva was told by a talent agent once she would never get modeling jobs because she looked, “like two balloons on a stick, with a crooked nose and average face”. Undeterred by the fickle ways of fashion, Eva persisted in her dream. Then along came Mae West, and suddenly Eva had the much in demand “bosomy” girl next door look.
To a man, eyes and heads turned to the lady’s entrance. Flattered, Eva smirked slightly, thinking to herself.
‘Hmm, for a while I was beginning to think these guys didn’t like girls.’
The black men of the unit had been polite, almost too polite. She was used to rude comments, cat calls and wolf whistles; and was happy to be treated with respect. Eva began to suspect they were being standoffish, on order. With a flash bulbs pop, Eva circled the table taking pictures of the fatigued pilots. She tried not to look at the man in her fantasy. She couldn’t.
Captain Dwayne Bishop, a Northwestern graduate and holder of six downed “Kraut” fighters to his credit, watched Eva cautiously as she walked around the tent chatting with his fellow Mustang drivers. Bishop felt her eyes on him. For two days Eva had been making the rounds interviewing the black pilots, all graduates of the Tuskegee flying school, taking photos of the men and their fighters. Bishop had managed to stay clear of her lens and pen.
Bishop was nudged by Lieutenant Eddie Smalls.
“Damn Cap, she is stacked!” Smalls smiled.
“Knock it off Smalls.” The modest Bishop mumbled back. The handsome black man from Washington had dreamed since childhood about flying and wasn’t going to let any ones youthful libido destroy his chances. And despite his private admiration for Eva’s beauty, Bishop focused on flying and knocking “Jerries” from the sky, not pursuing a white woman, a reporter on top of it all. Sadly, Bishops love of flying sometimes even surpassed his love for a woman.
Bishop caught a scent of perfume. He looked up and saw Eva.
“Smile!” Eva cooed, snapping a picture of the surprised flyer. Eva looked into his deep brown eyes and smooth, almost boyish face with a neat brown mustache lining his full upper lip. Her heart simply pounded.
Carlson leaned in, “ Sir, Miss Goode would like to interview you before todays mission.”
Bishop stood, dabbing the corners of his mouth, “While I appreciate the thought Miss Goode, I must politely decline your request. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
With that the well built black man walked out, nodding to Carlson and Eva.
Eva stammered, raising her hand, but remained silent. She turned to Smalls.
“What did I do?”
“It’s not you Miss Goode. Cap Bishop is in a world of his own.” Smalls laughed back.
Eva just stared out the tent’s entrance, wondering what Bishop was avoiding. Biting her lip, Eva tried to banish any thoughts that didn’t fit in her strictly professional mind, a fantasy that lingered in her head from the morning “bath”.
With Carlson called away to Headquarters, Eva was left to her own devices without being watched in minutia by Carslon. Eva decided she would spend her last day in Sicily doing what she wanted. And that was only one thing, find Captain Bishop. If anything, Eva just wanted to talk to the man that so enraptured her. To maybe gleen what made him so magnetic to her lust. With Leica Silver bodied camera in hand, an excellent and much coveted war prize, Eva stride across the neatly maintained billeting area toward the tent Captain Bishop shared with another Tuskegee pilot.
With a few minutes to walk, Eva’s thoughts wandered to her days in modeling. She once socialized with very liberal crowds and had seen interracial couples. But she learned for the most part they were using each other almost as taboo trophies, to prove how daring they were in a Bohemian way. But Eva did hear the stories of true love emerging. She also heard stories, stories that demure women of the age would never mutter outside the walls of their boudoirs.
They were tales of black males sexual prowess, stamina and natural physical gifts that put most men of any other race to shame. Fleshy pillars of such strength that no other race could match. It excited Eva to wonder how urgent it must seem, stabbing defiantly out. Flustered, Eva fanned herself as she finally approached the tent. It wasn’t Bishop’s body or even chiseled good looks that wrung Eva’s heart; it was his quiet masculinity that drew her heart closer to him ,without him even knowing how he affected her so.
“C-Captain Bishop? “ Eva called out, standing near the entrance to the tent, smoothing out her rich yellow and pocka dot skirt. A slight tremble to her hands.
Expecting to hear his heavy baritone return, Eva was surprised by the appearance of a diminutive elderly woman.
“Hello pretty lady.” The old Sicilian woman said, her smile bright with rows of gold teeth.
“Buon giorno signora. Can you tell me, have you seen Captain Bishop today?”Eva carried on the conversation unerringly in Italian.
The tiny woman,all in black smiled patting her heart.
“Ah Captain Bishop! He’s so handsome. That beautiful skin.”
Eva unknowingly beamed as the old woman went on about Bishop.
“Yes...” Eva breathlessly replied.
“Well,” the old woman pulled Eva down to whisper in her ear,”Captain Bishop, he’s very popular with the young ladies in the village. It’s a big secret, him with the ladies, we know he can get into trouble.”
The old woman smirked, suggesting something with her eyes. Eva was almost flustered, knowing what the old woman was insinuating about the young captain.
“So have you seen Captain Bishop?”
“He’s at the springs.”
“Springs?” Eva head cocked quizzically, looking around the parched airfield.
“Si, the springs, they are in a grotto. It is where the young people go, in secret. No German ever know. Captain Bishop find it flying. He only one who knows. You want to find Captain Bishop, you find him there.”
“Yes.” Eva said anxiously.
For the next few minutes, drawing in the dirt, the old woman in black explained where to find the grotto. Eva thanked the woman, committing the crude drawing to memory. Stopping as she walked away, Eva turned and snapped a photo of the old woman, who hammed it up fluffing her straggly black hair. Laughing, Eva bid the woman goodbye, but heard her call out.
“It is in your eye’s pretty lady.” The old woman pointed to Eva.”You like Captain Bishop, you no hide it well.”
Eva smiled shyly, a blush to her tanned cheeks.
Sweet talking a full canteen and a D ‘rat chocolate bar from the Quartermasters platoon, Eva somehow snuck through the airfields perimeter, setting off on her excursion to find the luxurious sounding ‘Grotto’ and hopefully Captain Bishop. Camera on its strap, sunglasses in place, Eva began the hour walk.
45 minutes into the walking trip along the rough rock strewn road, Eva’s feet ached unmercifully in the white gypsy shoes. Definitely inappropriate footwear for such a jaunt. Eva also emptied the canteen and had finished half of the hefty 4 ounce and 600 calorie emergency chocolate ration. With a nervous stomach, thinking about Bishop, Eva had skipped breakfast, as a result she began to wear down. Sweat pouring, blouse soaked almost into opacity, Eva began to regret her impetuous, adolescent decision. About to give up and turn back, Eva crested a low hill and there it was!
Eva found the natural crater in the earth. Eva edged to the lip of the gotto, a cool, misty breeze swirled up from the spring fed pond below. A deep azure pool that gently flowed deeper into the shallow grotto 20 feet below. Finding the narrow path down the chasm, rung by rich greenery that concealed it from view from above and below, Eva caught the faint echo of laughter and splashing.
The further she traveled the path the cooler it became and the more unbearable anticipation built. She wondered what she would see. Behind a row of bushes, Eva heard a splash, cheers and lithesome giggles of female voices.
Eva gulped, summoning the courage to peek through the bushes. Surviving the Blitz; Eva couldn’t believe the nerves that churned her stomach now, over simply seeing a man. For too long Eva had been consumed with her career, stopping only occasionally for a fling with a man which struck her fancy. But Eva never fully acknowledged how starved her sexual appetite was. And for what ever reason, call it intuition, Eva sensed that Captain Dwayne Bishop could be her perfect sexual match.
Parting the leaves Eva gazed upon a scene of almost innocent, sensuous rapture.
No more than 10 feet away three beautiful Sicilian women, each appearing to be in their mid 20’s, laying naked under the brilliant Mediterranean sun. Their olive toned bodies glistened with sweat. Long thick curls of coal black hair draped over their shoulders and in thick, wild, patchs between their thighs. Two of the three were fairly flat chested with the third being closest, Eva guessed, to her chest size.
Eva was amazed at their simple, beauty. They chirped in rapid fire dialect, obviously enjoying their time together. Not ashamed of their nude bodies, they came from a different world from the one Eva came from, where nudity was considered shameful. She found herself excited by this. Still, while appreciating the girls beauty, Eva looked for the man she hoped would be frolicking with them.
One girl, the shortest of the three stood, waving towards the water.
“Bishop!” She shouted in broken English, naked body animated with her gestures.
Eva’s attention grabbed, she saw a stir in the water. From her voyeurs perch she found him.
Bishops head broke the glassy surface, water beading off his face and tight cropped hair.
Eva’s heart pounded, hard enough to break from her chest, she thought.
Bishop walked forward the water revealed his firm muscled body. Each line and muscle defined. Bishops neck and hands, sinewy. His biceps, long bundles of muscles. Skin, smooth and dark, chest two broad slabs and stomach.
“Like a washboard.” She mumbled.
But all these thoughts would disappear as Bishop walked forward a few more feet, revealing he too was naked. Manhood revealed,Eva panted in astonishment when she saw what dangled from his crotch. Eva shivered with excitement. Bishop's cock was thick and uncircumcised, darker than the skin on the rest of his body.
The girls gushed over Bishop who smiled, with a hint of shyness, as he laid down beside them. Eva glanced to see the way his turgid privates swayed and lain across his solid thigh. What surprise Eva was the innocence which they played with Bishop. They joked, while Bishop tried his haphazard Italian on them begetting giggles and corrections. She waited for a carnal interplay to begin, expecting to catch a glimpse into a hedonistic Roman orgy of the past. After a few minutes more, Eva began to realize nothing was going to happen. Sure she watched the girls stare at Bishops large penis when he wasn’t looking. But just as quickly they would turn away. Eva recognized that to the girls, nudity did not equate to sexuality.