No Flying Tonight Ch. 13-14

During operations he had been home twice. Other than to see his aunt, he had had no reason to go home since the day he had received the telephone call from Jane telling him she was sorry, but although she still loved him, she needed someone who wasn't likely to die tomorrow. She hadn't used those words, but that had been the sentiment.

The first time he managed to get home was a month after Jane had dumped him and just after he had completed his third mission. It had been unexpected as he had intended to use his seven day pass go to London with his navigator who had proceeded to get the flu and so he had changed his itinerary and headed for Lancashire. Nobody was expecting him, but he knew he would be welcome.

When he walked up the front path, he knew immediately someone was home since Nigger, the family's black Labrador, was snoozing on the front step.

"Hi there boy, have you missed me?" The dog looked at him, decided he recognised him and got up and came to him, wagging his tail.

"That's a good boy. Anyone at home?"

The dog looked at him, wagged his tail twice more and getting no response, returned to the step and resumed his nap.

Jack opened the front door, walked down the hall and called out,

"Anyone home? It's me, Jack." There was no reply.

"Anyone home? It's the prodigal son, well nephew then, returned."

Again there was no reply. He looked in the living room and then the kitchen. He knew there must be somebody home as the front door was unlocked and Nigger was outside. He went to the kitchen window and looked out. There was somebody at home; his aunt was in the back garden working on the rose bed.

Realising she hadn't heard him, he opened the back door and walked, silently, to where his aunt was dead-heading the roses. When he reached where she was working, he leaned over and put his hands over her eyes.

"Is that you, Jack?"

How could she possibly know it was him? He hadn't let anyone know he was coming. He took his hand away and she turned to him.

"Oh Jack, I'm so happy to see you; it's been quite a while. But you could have let me know."

He could have told her, but it wasn't until the last minute, when his planned trip to London and to High Wickham to see his parents had fallen through, he had decided to go home.

"It was a last minute thing auntie and I really didn't have the time. How are you keeping? How is Sheila? Have you heard from mum and dad?

"They're all fine and I have. How are you?"

"I'm all right; except I've lost a few pounds since I've been on operations and I was hoping you would take in my Best Blues. But it doesn't look as if I'm the only one to have lost weight - golly auntie, what have you been doing? "

He was right; in the previous two months she had lost weight and while no one could accuse her of being svelte, she looked younger and less like the chubby aunt he knew and perhaps, more like Sophie. Her face was thinner, her hair still had no grey in it, her tits and hips appeared smaller and, while her nascent, middle-aged pot had not totally disappeared, she looked, if not ten, at least five years younger than when he had last seen her.

"I've got a job with the NAAFI. I got fed up with having nothing to do and as I also needed the money, I decided to do my bit for the war effort. I'm working at a canteen at the station, serving cups of tea to troops and offering a motherly ear for them to talk to."

"Well, it's certainly done you a world of good. I almost didn't recognise you."

"Flattery will get you everything - well at least a cup of tea. Do you want one?"

"Please."

Jack was mildly astonished by the change in his aunt; perhaps it was his relationship with Sophie and a heightened appreciation of older women but she didn't look like the aunt he used to know. The last time he had seen her she had been chubby and while not dowdy, could have been described as 'comfortable looking'. Now she looked more like a desirable woman and less like his aunt. The more he looked and thought about her, the more he appreciated the changes she had made to her body and as he did, he started to experience feelings about her which he had never felt before.

They went in and she fussed around, making the tea. As she poured him a cup, she said,

"Jack, it's not only your parents who worry about you. I worry about you too. You've answered only one of my letters and you made it seem as if you're flying for the fun of it and that nothing much ever happens. I know that's not true."

"It's the censors, auntie. You know I can't tell you about everything I do. Some of it's a secret; although I can't imagine an operation which, I suspect, sometimes involves ten thousand people, can ever be a secret. I tell you what I know will pass the censors."

It wasn't true; he always downplayed the danger, choosing to write about the hum-drum and occasionally humorous details of life on the camp.

For the next twenty minutes they talked. He related some of the details of camp life while she filled him in on his sister. His sister had a boyfriend who was a junior officer in the Royal Engineers, stationed near Carlisle.

"I know that your dad has some reservations about him, particularly since he's a Yorkshireman, but she seems happy."

She had also seen Jane with her new boyfriend, a Royal Navy lieutenant stationed in Grimsby, but wasn't sure if she was happy.

"I think she may still be holding a candle for you."

He ignored the obvious suggestion in her statement.

"How about mum and dad?"

"I saw them three weeks ago and they seemed all right, but I know they worry about you."

She got up from her chair and took the tea things into the kitchen. For the next five minutes he could hear her moving about washing the pots and then four or five minutes of silence. When she came back into the living room she looked apprehensive, her smile had disappeared and looked as if she was carrying all the troubles of the world on her shoulders. She looked at him, paused for a moment, and then started to speak.

"Jack, I'm glad you came to see me. It's lonely, sometimes, on my own."

It must be lonely he thought. He knew there had been long periods when she had been separated from his uncle but during that time she'd had the support of the other men's wives. She had lost that support when she moved north and while she knew a few people in Shaw, none of them were more than acquaintances.

"Why don't I take you to the pub this evening? I wouldn't mind an evening out myself."

"That would be lovely, Jack. Thank you."

For the rest of the day they went their own way. Mrs. Neville came and went, bringing her a copy of the Parish Magazine and all the gossip and a little later, she went to the post office; a normal weekday for her. Jack read the local paper and then decided to go down to the factory. He hadn't been since he joined up and was eager to see what, if anything, they were doing for the war effort.

His uncle was there and pleased to see him as his son, Jack's cousin, had just joined the RAF and was in Canada training to be a wireless operator. He wanted to pump Jack and find out what was happening to his son. As his cousin was in Alberta learning to be a w/op and Jack had been in Ontario learning to be a pilot, he couldn't tell him much. He told him what he knew and what he didn't know, he made up. It wouldn't matter since, by the time his cousin got home, his uncle would have forgotten most of what he had been told.

It was after six-thirty when he arrived home to find his aunt sitting in the living room, wondering where he was.

"Jack, where have you been? I've been waiting to start tea."

She was starting to sound like his mum. Perhaps sleeping in his mother's bed had started to rub off on her.

"Sorry, but Uncle Arthur wanted to know about Canada. Roger is stationed there."

They had dinner together. It wasn't much, egg, beans and chips with bread and butter and apple crumble for dessert, but it was still more than the normal ration.

Once they had finished, his aunt went upstairs to get ready, leaving Jack to clear the table and wash up. Forty-five minutes later she re-appeared, looking very un-aunt like in an almost straight, relatively short, grey, box pleat skirt along with a square-shouldered red blouse, high-heeled shoes and silk stockings! She had make-up on, the red of her lipstick matching her blouse, and her hair had been curled, almost peek-a-boo style.

"Is this the same auntie that disappeared upstairs a mere forty-five minutes ago?"

She blushed, but was happy to see the look of surprise on his face.

"It is. Will I do?"

"You will. I think I'm going to be the envy of the place when they see you. You'd better look out if you go in the snug; those old men in there will be after you."

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

"Come on, you can flannel me as we walk to the pub. It won't upset me."

They walked together arm-in-arm. She answered his question as to the source of her silk stockings – she had bought them from a spiv outside Piccadilly Station – and he told her about his trip to see his uncle at the factory.

The pub was full, even for a Friday evening, and they had to share a table with a middle-aged couple whom Jack recognised by sight but didn't know. Jack went to the bar for their drinks and when he returned, found his aunt in conversation with the couple.

"Jack, this is Robert and Elsie Lawson. They live on Fraser Street. Their son is in the RAF in Norfolk."

The couple was good company. Robert was a supporter of the local football team and remembered Jack playing for the town. Elsie had been a housewife who, in the previous year, had gone to work in the Ferranti factory in Chadderton, soldering parts for aircraft radios. The men talked football while the woman talked about rationing, men and Elsie's son. By closing time the men had covered the world of football from A to Z while the women had moaned about every aspect of rationing and men and had planned the future of Elsie's son. They had drunk steadily, the local bitter for the men and gin and tonic for Elsie and Jack's aunt, and all of them were feeling slightly inebriated.

They left together, the Lawsons heading for Fraser Street and Jack and his aunt heading for home. Once again his aunt linked her arm in his, but this time there was a far greater feeling of intimacy about the contact. Twice, as they made their way tentatively through the blackout, she stumbled and pressed her breasts against him. It was almost as if she was replaying the incident with Angela. Jack liked it, but couldn't tell if it was deliberate or the effect of the alcohol.

When they reached home he opened the door and stepped in. His aunt followed but as they made their way to the kitchen, she grabbed hold of his arm, turned him to face her and kissed him on the lips.

"Thanks, Jack; it was a wonderful evening. I really enjoyed myself. Can we do it again?"

"Of course. Anytime you like."

His aunt filled the kettle, put it on the oven top and lit the gas.

"I'm making a cup of tea. Why don't you go in the living room? If you light the fire it will be warmer than the kitchen."

Jack lit the fire and waited while his aunt disappeared upstairs and then returned to make the tea. She came into the living room with the teapot, a milk jug, sugar bowl and two cups and saucers on a tray. She was also wearing a nightgown. Either silk or rayon, it must have been bought from the same spiv as the stockings and did little to hide her figure which, as Jack had noted earlier, while slimmer than it had been, was closer in size to Angela's than either his mum or Sophie.

She sat down and poured the tea, passing him his cup, then the milk and then the sugar. They drank in silence; Jack wondering whether changing into her nightgown meant anything, his aunt wondering what it would be like to sleep with someone again.

Jack broke the silence.

"Auntie Susan, would.."

"Jack, I think, by now, you are old enough to drop the auntie – besides, when it's being done by a handsome RAF pilot, it makes me feel really old."

Jack smiled. He thought he could read between the lines and he didn't mind what he was reading, but saying and doing the right thing was important. If he was too forward he might turn her off but if he didn't encourage her, she may not have the courage to tell him what she wanted.

"All right. It will be a pleasure...... Susan."

He paused and then started on his seduction.

"You said you were lonely. Do you miss Uncle Ray?"

Her reply was unexpected, but a clear indication of her state of mind.

"I know this may sound hard but in truth, over the years I had learned to do without him. In the last few years we had drifted even further apart; although it wasn't all your uncle's fault.

"Whenever we were living together before the war, and, as you might remember we had long periods of separation when your uncle was abroad, things were all right between us. Your uncle wasn't an overly affectionate man – what Englishman ever is – but he was always told me he loved me and our ..... intimate life was all right."

She blushed as she told him. It wasn't the 'I love you' she missed most, but the love-making and 'intimate life' was the least embarrassing way she could think of to describe it to Jack.

"It was after Dunkirk that it all changed. When he got back he was a different man. He didn't want me. He had no interest in intimacy. At first I could understand as I could see the effect Dunkirk had had on him, but I still expected him to recover.

"I waited for almost a year but he didn't show any indication that he wanted me. In the end I couldn't wait for him any longer and decided, if he wasn't going to..... make love to me, then I was going to make love to him."

She had tried to be coy but intimate did not describe to what she was referring. 'Fuck me' was what she had really wanted to say but she couldn't bring herself to use the words. Make love was the compromise.

"I won't say it was a disaster but I will tell you that he didn't seem to want to or perhaps couldn't respond to my approaches. We managed in the end, but all the time we were making love, it was as though he was going through the motions. He kissed and hugged me, but there was no warmth. It was as though he was performing an obligation. I didn't say anything to him but, then again, what was I going to say? I knew he was unhappy but I was also worried that he was ill, or was bored with me, or had found another woman.

"The last time I saw him was in the summer of 1941; about three weeks before he went to North Africa. He had been on manoeuvres in north Yorkshire when he telephoned and told me he had a three day pass. I wanted to make the most of it and so I suggested we meet in Shaw and stay with your parents. I had told your mother something about the situation and she suggested that it might help if we could have a day together, away from the war and on our own. She had saved some of her petrol ration and suggested we borrow the car and go for a drive to Pendle Hill, as she had remembered we used to go there when we were courting.

"It was a beautiful day, quiet, no sounds of planes or guns. It was as if the war had ended. We walked for a while and then had a drink and lunch at a country pub we used to drink in. I really thought he was enjoying it. When we got back into the car I leant over and tried to kiss him - just a peck on the cheek thanking him for the lovely day I'd had - but he shied away from me. I couldn't believe it. I was really hurt, but I said nothing. The journey home was dreadful. He didn't say a word although, on a couple of occasions, I thought he was about to say something, but, each time, he uttered a couple of words and then stopped.

"We got home around six and, for the rest of the evening we sat with your parents and talked about nothing of any consequence. I wanted to talk to him about the manoeuvres, about how he was feeling, but every time I tried to get him to talk about either, he shut me off. In the end I went to bed early and was almost asleep when he came up."

She had rushed through her narrative as though she was trying to get it off her chest; now she paused, looking at Jack, as she thought what she was going to say next. She continued, this time more slowly and in a voice just above a whisper.

"Jack, I'm going to tell you something I've told to nobody; not even your mother. That night was the worst I have ever experienced. When we were in bed we usually slept like spoons with his front to my back. That night, when he got into bed, he turned away from me. I turned over and put my arm around him, but he just moved further away from me. I didn't know what to do. He had been cold before but now he was rejecting me outright and so I did something I normally didn't do, even when we were in bed - I reached round him and stroked his manhood. His reaction frightened me. He grabbed hold of my wrist, pushed my arm away and almost shouted at me, 'That's enough. Stop it. Can't you see I'm not interested?'

"I was devastated. All the time we had been married he had never done anything or said anything as hurtful as he did that night. I had always loved him and he was totally rejecting me. I couldn't understand why he was doing it to me. I started to cry and I think he understood what he had done because he turned to me, put his arm on my shoulder, and told me,

'Susan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say what I did; it was just a reaction. I know you've been upset about the way I've been treating you, but it's not because I wanted to ..... it's because I'm embarrassed. You must know that, until recently, there was nothing I've enjoyed more than making love to you, but since what happened at Dunkirk, something has gone wrong. In my mind I still want to make love to you, but my body won't let me. Even when we are in bed and even when I see you naked, I can't get excited. I've tried, but I can't get an erection.........my cock just won't get hard.'

He had never used the word 'cock' to her before; they had used euphemisms which, they thought, only they understood. This time he had rejected them; not wanting to disguise the depth of his concern.

'It won't go hard. It's never happened before and now I'm embarrassed. You have to understand, it's not because I don't love you, it's because I can't love you.'

As she spoke the last sentence she started to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto her blouse.

Jack moved to her, sat on the arm of her chair, put his arms around his shoulder and kissed the top of her head. She leant down and put her head in his lap. He stroked her hair and spoke to her.

"I'm sorry Susan; I had no idea. But it isn't as if Uncle Ray didn't love you."

"I know he did and I loved him but don't you see, since Dunkirk our marriage had been a marriage of good friends. Jack, I'm forty-seven and I need more than that."

The same age as Sophie would be now, he thought.

"Making love is an important part of life; at least it is to me."

Jack was surprised by what she had told him. Until recently he hadn't thought of his aunt as a sexual person and now she was confessing to him that sex was important to her and by the sounds of it, she hadn't and wasn't getting any. Did she play with herself like Angela, Jane and Sophie or had she become a nun? He was amazed how quickly he had sexualised her.

As she continued to talk she became more animated and as she did, she started to move her head, snuggling deeper into his lap so that her cheek was pressing against his cock. Slowly at first and then, more rapidly, it started to fill with blood. He tried to think of something other than the pressure of her head on his cock. His choice - fighter plane recognition - had no effect.