One Shoe Gumshoe Engaged

A 750 word story, a standalone continuation of "One Shoe Gumshoe" when Mary and Edgar meet again after seven months apart. You only need to know that the setting is war-torn London in 1941 and film star Mary, stage name Marcia, is a virgin who married her gay late husband to protect each other from the loose morals of the 1930s movie stars, has fallen in love with mature virgin Edgar Onslow, a New Scotland Yard detective, whose pre-WWI engaged floundered on losing his foot in that conflict, hence the title. In three shorts weeks earlier, Edgar and Mary together endurred drama, danger and murder, in which their relationship blossomed and now, Edgar is ready to commit.

*

At Paddington Station a fresh-faced Mary Jones, her hair pulled into a ponytail, jumped down from the carriage into my arms. She pulled me into a searing kiss, after seven months' separation.

"I love you, Edgar."

"I love you, Mary."

As she collected her valise from the carriage, I drop to one knee on the platform, asking, "Will you marry me?"

She squealed, "Yes!"

As we kissed, people around us applauded, which resounded and increased as I placed my promised ring on her finger.

What is more amazing than her untrammelled acceptance is that no-one recognises Marcia la Mare, the Hollywood actress, originally Mary Jones. Of course, none knew me, anonymous Detective Superintendent Onslow.

I drove us to our flat in Denmark Hill and parked in the yard.

Having travelled all night and half the day from New York to London, Mary needed sleep, insisting that, as a modern engaged couple, we share the same bed.

"Come cuddle me while I relax," she asked, wearing one of my shirts, having travelled light.

"What would you like when you wake?"

"Orange juice and eggs?"

"Sorry, no eggs, but I'll see about orange juice. We haven't seen oranges since 1939."

Soon she slept. I released my arm and closed the curtains. I left the flat with my Ration Book.

Our daily help Mavis caught me as I walked past her hubby Gus's barbershop. I tell her Mary's asleep. Mavis assures me the local shop owners won't reveal Mary's presence or treat her differently while at home here.

"Did you pop the question?"

"Yes."

"And what did she say?"

Yes!"

Mavis gave a whoop and hugged me.

"Pop in for a cuppa later," she said.

I buy a package of powdered orange juice and fresh bread rolls and pop into Gus's barbers.

Gus slips me some condoms on the QT, "On the 'ouse," he grins.

"I won't need them, Gus, we're only engaged."

"Take 'em, save 'em for your wedding day, but I won't be surprised if you need more by Friday."

"But—"

"Mr Onslow, I saw Mary look at you, when her husband died. She's in love, never took her eyes off you. She'll continue loving, because she's your angel, and mark my words, you're perfect together."

When Mary awoke, it's dark. She sensed my presence, "Edgar?"

"Yes, dear."

I moved from the chair where l'd listened to her breathing.

"Why is it dark, should we use the Air Raid Shelters?"

"The blackout curtains are drawn, darling, it's not quite dark. Hungry?"

"Mmm, coffee and orange juice after a hot shower, mouthwash and toothpaste would be nice. Then a kiss wouldn't be amiss."

"Oh, you can have the kiss now."

"But my mouth is prob—" She was silenced by my kiss, long and passionate.

"Ed, darling, I've never been kissed so well."

"Not even by romantic leads?"

"Nothing like," she giggled, "now, this is a camera kiss."

She pressed her lips lightly, coldly, to mine for a moment, barely touching. I could feel the difference.

"But," I said, as she broke contact, "the scent and taste of your lips, your warm closeness, still inflames me."

"Then kiss me, you fool!" she giggled.

She enveloped me in her arms and wriggled backwards, pulling me into the bed, her giggles vibrating through our lips. I broke off to undress quickly.

"Wait," she said, "Open the curtains, I want to see you, see us."

The warm glow showed the start of the long summer twilight. I turned and hesitated, taking in the wonder of Mary's natural beauty minus my nightshirt.

She smiled, drawing me in with hooked finger.

Flesh on flesh we joined, lips mashed as fingertips explored her breasts, her fuzzy mons, her sweet virginal honey pot, repeating my visitation using lips and tongue. Still a virgin myself, I'd used my tongue on my first girlfriend thirty years before, when we kids daren't risk penetration. Now I delighted in pleasuring the "Queen of the Silver Screen", her thighs and clawing hands holding my head in a reactive vice, until she shuddered and screamed my name, "Ed-garrrrr!"

Her thighs relaxed, hands lifeless, only labouring lungs registered life.

I relaxed, pleased and celebrated in her utter pleasure, awaiting her recovery.

"Ed?" She stirred.

"My love."

"Fuck me," she begged.

I did, sheathed by condom. We made love conservatively, gently entering her welcoming, delectable body a quarter inch by quarter inch, our eyes open, sharing wonderment and glorification in our deflowering and deep, eternal love.