tagNovels and NovellasNo Flying Tonight Ch. 06-07

No Flying Tonight Ch. 06-07


Chapter 6

He first met Sophie on a bus belonging to the quaintly named Hamilton Street Railway. It was crowded and, as she struggled to get on with a handful of parcels and a brief case, he got up, took several of the parcels from her and offered her his seat. She smiled and thanked him, before sitting down and arranging the parcels on her lap. From his position, standing directly in front of her, he looked down at her, trying to determine how old she was. In her late thirties or early forties he thought, but with a good figure and an attractive face. Her clothes were good quality and, although probably not the latest style, were fashionable enough to suggest, while she may not rich, she was probably the wife of a professional of some sort. He watched her throughout their journey and was disappointed when she got off before him, although he was mollified to some extent when, as she got off, she smiled and, once again, thanked him.

That night, as he lay in bed, he thought of her. He couldn't understand why as she was almost or even as old as his mother and, since she had worn a wedding ring, obviously married. Nevertheless, there was something about her which attracted him to her. He knew it wasn't just her body; even though she was wearing a coat he could tell her figure, while more womanly than Jane's - her hips and breasts were definitely those of a woman and not a girl -- it wasn't the body of Jane Russell. Her face was definitely attractive, with brown hair and eyes and a radiant smile which, when she smiled, had highlighted the little crease lines around her mouth and eyes. Perhaps it was the fact he hadn't had sex since he had made love to Jane a month ago which made him think about her. Whatever it was, it was enough to make him want to wank. He grasped his cock and started to rub it, picturing himself kissing and playing with her and, as he started to feel his climax approaching, picturing her with her legs around his thighs and with his cock driving into her. When he came the sensation was almost as intense as when Jane had wanked him for the first time.

Over the next two weeks he was subject to the usual red tape beloved by the RAF and then by the Link trainer. The red tape was to be expected. Everywhere he had been stationed he had filled out the same forms, been asked the same questions, given the same answers and had been given a physical -- in this instance the fifth since he had joined up.

When first confronted with the Link trainer, a device to train pilots to fly without taking to the air, he had described the experience, somewhat unkindly, as 'sitting in a box and pretending to be flying'. As a natural pilot with flying experience the trainer didn't feel anything like the real thing.

To Jack, flying was an adventure, a defiance of gravity and a journey into the unknown. The Link trainer was a box with instruments which looked, vaguely, like the real thing but offered none of the joys of flying. Sitting in the trainer he couldn't experience the joy of taking-off, of watching the trees and houses receding below him as his plane slipped the surly bonds of earth. When he banked, he couldn't see land appear under him and the clouds appear over his shoulder. If there was a silver lining it was that, sooner or later, he knew he would get to fly. At first it would be the reliable and sedate Tiger Moth but later, when he was posted to a Flying Training School, it would be a twin-engined aeroplane.

On the Friday of the second week of training both he and many of his fellow British airmen were invited to a reception at the Royal Connaught hotel in downtown Hamilton. Hosted by the Imperial Order of the Daughters of the Empire, the reception was designed to attract the local worthies and induce them to support a fund which provided comforts for air-crew. It wasn't an invitation with an opt-out clause. He and his fellow trainees were ordered to go by their C.O. and so, along with the rest of his contingent, he put on his best uniform and took the bus into the city.

When he arrived at the hotel, it was apparent the reception was seen by the locals as an important affair. They were greeted by the Mayor, the committee of the Order and then by a line of local dignitaries, including judges, politicians and businessmen. By the time he had finished nodding, shaking hands and conducting desultory conversations with the reception committee - mostly about the progress of the war and about which they probably knew more than he did - he needed a drink. He looked around and spotted the bar at the far end of the ballroom. Making his way through the crowd, he reached it and ordered what passed in Canada as beer. A pale, fizzy and tasteless concoction, he wondered how the locals managed to drink it. Still, it was free and, since the alternative was fruit juice or something fizzy and sweet the locals referred to as 'coke' but wasn't a patch on dandelion and burdock, he didn't want to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

Turning away from the bar with his glass in his hand, he bumped into someone -- a woman - with sufficient force that his beer spilled out of his glass and onto the front of her dress. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and started to mop it up before realising the area he was mopping was her breasts.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to" he stuttered, before his excuses were broken by a laugh.

"That's all right it's a long time since I've had someone pay attention to me like that. Think of it as a reward for services rendered."

He looked at the speaker and, as recognition dawned, realised he had been pawing the breasts of his friend from the bus. He smiled at her - she really was very attractive -- and passed her his handkerchief. She dabbed at her dress, soaking up the beer but leaving a wet mark where it had been.

"Hello," she said, "I believe we've met before. My name's Sophie."

"Mine's Jack ... John Robert Lindsey if you want to be formal."

"Well, mine is Sophie Alexandra McLeod if I'm being formal."

"I'm pleased to meet you once again Mrs. McLeod. What brings you here?"

"Sophie, please; the only Mrs. McLeod I know is my mother-in-law. I'm here because I'm a McLeod, even if only by marriage, and, in Hamilton, the McLeods are always at the important functions."

"Well Sophie, I'm here because the C.O. issued a command. It was the reception or the guardhouse; so I suppose you can say we are both pressed men -- or women."

For the rest of the evening they talked. He told her about his life in England, his family and, briefly, about his life in the RAF and she told him about herself.

She had been brought up in Dundas, a small town on the western boundary of the city, had gone to school locally and had studied history, followed by law, at Toronto University where she had met her future husband. She had two children; a nineteen year old son, Andrew, who was in Alberta, training to become a navigator in the RCAF, and a twenty-one year old daughter, Catherine, who was at university, but was talking of joining the forces. She worked part-time as a lawyer in her uncle's law firm, handling mainly real estate transactions and divorce cases. She talked fluently, smiling and laughing and, on occasion, touching his arm to emphasis a point. By the time the evening was over she had told him a lot about herself but very little about her husband. Curious, but not wanting to be seen to pry, he asked,

"You said you met your husband at university - were you in the same course?"

She looked at him, as if sizing him up, and, having made her decision, told him,

"I did, but he was two years ahead of me and in engineering; mainly I think, because his family owns a foundry in Hamilton. We met in my first year and married while I was in law school. He joined the army in 1916, after he had finished university, and served in France. When he came home in 1919, he returned to the family firm and we got married the same year. In 1934 his father died and he took the over the business. He ran it until 1940 when he turned it over to his brother and rejoined the army. He was posted to Canadian forces' H.Q. in London. He was killed in 1941 during a bombing raid."

To Jack her description of her husband sounded almost dispassionate, as if repeating, by rote, a story she had told many times before. But it was more than that. There was something she wasn't telling him, probably had no reason to tell him and, furthermore, was unlikely to tell him. Why, he thought, had a man in his late forties abandoned a successful career and joined the forces?

As the witching hour approached he knew he wanted to see her again and, if he didn't do something about it before she left, he was unlikely to get the chance in the future. As he escorted her to the cloakroom he asked politely and almost formally,

"Sophie, you may think this is very forward of me but I've really enjoyed your company tonight. I wonder if you might consider accompanying me to a dance or, if you don't dance, to the pictures?"

Sophie looked at him; she had also enjoyed the evening, but a request for what amounted to a date, from someone who appeared to be about the same age or younger than her daughter, was something she had not expected. Still, she hadn't been out with a man since her husband had died and the young man was polite, friendly and handsome; perhaps now was the time - and he was only asking her to go to a dance.

"I'd love to, but, I must warn you, I love dancing and, if you want to go dancing with me, you'd better be fit and know how to dance."

"That's wonderful. I do know how to dance and, after the amount of physical training I've been doing lately, I'd classify myself as fit. The only problem is; I don't know Hamilton. Where should we go?"

She laughed; it was just like the young to do things off the top of their heads.

"The Royal Alexander; there's an American band playing next Saturday night. I think it starts at seven-thirty. If you find you still want to go, why don't you call me? My number's Hamilton 1417 and I'm usually in after six in the evening."

Chapter 7

Jack spent the next few days planning the evening as though their date was a military campaign. He took his best blues and shirt to be cleaned and pressed, had a haircut off-camp, to try and get rid of the worst excesses of the camp barber, and shined his best shoes until he could see his face in them. On his way to pick her up he bought a corsage.

When he rang her doorbell his heart was thumping; as she made her way to the door he didn't know whether to stay or bolt; when she opened it, he smiled. The plain, black dress she had worn at the reception, while immaculately tailored, had been demure with a high neckline, short sleeves and a mid-calf hemline; the one she was wearing was certainly not demure. Royal blue, with a small red and white bow, a v-shaped neck and a narrow gathered waist it had a hemline which fell on her knees. She looked stunning.

"Come in. I just need to get my coat and I'll be ready."

As he helped her on with her coat and pinned on the corsage, he couldn't help looking over her shoulder to her tits but was disappointed to find, even from his vantage point, all he could see was a small part of her cleavage. She noticed his pause and guessed what he was doing but, rather than being annoyed, was delighted to think he was so obviously interested in her.

"The dress is my daughter's. She bought it for her high school graduation and hasn't worn it since. I didn't have anything suitable so I decided to try it on. It just about fits me, although it is a little snug around the hips."

He looked at her hips; it wasn't snug at all; it fitted her as though it had been made for her.

They took the bus downtown; she was talkative, but he was pre-occupied. He hadn't exactly told her the truth when he told her about his dancing prowess. He knew how to dance, but wasn't sure he was adept enough to meet her expectations.

The band was an American big-band which was touring Canada with a stop in Hamilton. Although not as famous as Glenn Miller, they played similar music and had a good following and, as a result, the dance hall was packed. He escorted her into the hall and, after looking for a while, found space at a table on a balcony to the left of the band. The table was for four and they were joined a little later by another member of the RAF -- also an officer - who was accompanied by a woman in her mid-twenties.

"Do you mind if we join you?"

"Not at all. My name's Jack, Jack Lindsey and this is my friend, Sophie McLeod."

"Pleased to meet you Jack. My name's Alan Partington and this is my friend Kathleen Redmond."

The two men eyed each other and their respective friends. Alan was older than Jack, in his late twenties or early thirties and, as they found out later, a regular RAF officer seconded to teach at the navigation school at Mount Hope. Kathleen was a nurse at a local hospital who'd met Alan three months before at the same dance hall. Kathleen was talkative and, from the attention she paid him, obviously besotted with Alan. Alan was quieter and, the way he was guarded when talking about himself, made Jack think he may have been married and he saw his relationship with Kathleen as a fling; to be enjoyed and then forgotten when he returned to England.

The band was good. After sitting out the first four of five numbers they all moved on to the dance floor. Sophie was a good dancer; she had natural rhythm and obviously loved dancing; Jack was not as proficient and started out hesitantly but, as he started to get a feel for the way she moved, he started to relax. By the end of the first session they looked as if they were a couple who, if not long-term partners, were at ease dancing together.

At the first intermission they moved back to their table where Alan asked what they would like to drink. When he had realised alcohol was being served Jack had known he would be faced with a dilemma. One of the first things he had discovered when he had arrived in Hamilton was that the legal drinking age in Ontario was twenty-one. At the reception he had assumed nobody would care about his age but he had been told, when it came to commercial establishments, the authorities were vigilant and would have no compunction in prosecuting both the establishment and the drinker. Canada and Canadians were nice; but how could a country refuse to serve a drink to a man who was putting his life on the line for that country? It didn't make sense.

"I'll have an orange juice." All three turned and looked at him, trying to interpret his statement.

"Don't you drink?"

"Sometimes, but I'm flying for the first time tomorrow and want to keep a clear head." His answer satisfied both Alan and Kathleen; but Sophie was not convinced. Then it dawned on her; he was too young to drink, which made him younger than her daughter!

There were three intermissions during the evening and they had three drinks; three orange juices for Jack, beer for Alan and gin and tonic for Kathleen and Sophie. After their third drink it was apparent both Kathleen and Sophie were slightly drunk.

The band's final set featured a number of slower dances; offering a chance for some of the dancers to get down to the serious business of the night. They danced the first waltz at a proper distance but, by the end of the third dance, she had moved closer to him and put her cheek against his shoulder, her body against his and was quietly singing along with the band. Jack was becoming intoxicated by her. Unlike Jane he couldn't feel her nipples but her tits were larger and fuller than Jane's and were now pressed against his chest. By the time they reached the last waltz he was almost in love with her. As the dance came to an end he leaned down, kissed her on the lips and said, "You're beautiful."

The kiss surprised her. It had been a long time since a man had kissed her on the dance floor, but she had enjoyed it. She knew she was slightly drunk but, as she was enjoying herself, didn't care.

"Well, thank you, kind sir. And you are charming and handsome."

When they left the dance hall it was raining heavily and, by the time they had reached the safety of a shop doorway near to the bus stop, their clothes were soaked. On the ride home they sat together, saying little, his arm linked in hers. The weather had not improved by the time they'd reached her stop. Reluctantly leaving the protection of the bus, they ran the four blocks to her house. By the time they reached the front door they both resembled the proverbial drowned rat.

"You're soaked. You had better come in and dry off and wait until it stops."

Jack was surprised. He hadn't expected, on this occasion at least, to be invited in.

"Thanks. I am fairly wet."

She took him up to the bathroom and handed him a towel.

"Take those things off or you'll catch your death of cold. I'll dry them on the radiator. There's a dressing-gown which used to belong to my husband in the wardrobe in the bedroom to the right."

Everything he had on was soaked; right down to his underwear. Feeling uncomfortable he undressed, washed his hands and face, dried them and his hair, sneaked naked into the bedroom, found the dressing-gown and put it on.

When he got downstairs she was nowhere to be seen. He looked around the house, moving from library to living room to dining room to kitchen. It was obvious from the furniture and decor the family had more money than he had thought. Most of the furniture was hardwood and leather of the type found in gentlemen's clubs. There were, however, some good examples of art deco in the living room and the hall, which indicated it had been furnished by different people or to suit different tastes.

When he had finished his tour he waited in the hallway until Sophie appeared, from the direction of the staircase, dressed in a white robe.

"I was soaked as well. I had to change."

He was glad she had; the robe was silk and hung on her body. As he watched her it was apparent, from the way her tits moved when she walked, she had not bothered to put on a brassiere. I wonder if she's got any knickers on, he thought.

"I've put your clothes on the radiator; they should dry fairly quickly. You don't have to stand there Jack - let's go into the living room."

The living room was wood panelled with a fireplace at one end and full of large, overstuffed leather furniture.

"I'll make us a drink - what do you want?"

"Actually I'd like a beer but, if you don't have one, I wouldn't mind a scotch. I felt cheated when I had to drink all those orange juices."

Sophie moved to the sideboard, poured a scotch and a gin and tonic and handed the scotch to him.

"Sorry Jack, I don't have any beer but I do have scotch." She handed him his glass. "Cheers. Here's to a wonderful evening. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun."

"Cheers. Here's to the most beautiful woman in Hamilton."

Sophie blushed, it was the second time he had told her she was beautiful and she liked it.

There were the makings of a fire in the grate and, although it wasn't cold, she found a match and set it alight. In a few minutes the fire was burning brightly and warming the room. They moved to the fire and sat on both sides of it in high-backed leather armchairs.

Needing another drink, and at least three drinks behind her, Jack hurriedly finished his scotch and put his empty glass on the table next to his chair.

"Have you finished? Pour yourself another and one for me."

Jack moved to the sideboard and poured himself a large scotch and an even larger gin and tonic for her. When she saw the size of the drink she giggled in an almost girl-like manner and said,

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