The Scent of Magnolias

"Wait, Beau," I interrupted him. "I need you to understand something and then, perhaps, you will not feel so charitable toward me. You see, I had thought Neville somewhat dashing, and I suppose I was flirting a bit with him, as ladies are wont to do. It meant nothing. But then, after I had an attack of the vapors and awoke, tied to this bed, totally exposed to his sight, I realized that I was in a dangerous position. The servants had the day off, no one was within sound of my voice, you were not due to return until supper, and I knew I had not the strength to resist. All this induced me to physically relax and mentally prepare for the worst.

"To my everlasting shame, and what is sure to be unforgivable, my traitorous body began to respond to his seductive arts in much the way I respond to you. My mind was screaming 'NO!' inside my head, but my body was reacting to his every touch, kiss, and stroke. Beau, do you understand…I GOT WET FOR HIM! Do you know how that made me feel? He was about to rape me and my body was ENJOYING IT! Oh, how you must despise me now." At this, I was overcome with great, heart-rending sobs. I turned my face away and curled into a fetal position.

Beau moved carefully onto the bed and eased his frame down next to me, pressing his chest against my back and enfolding me in his arms. I tried to move away, but he gently but firmly held me close, breathing into my hair and whispering words that to this date I will not forget, nor share directly. At one point I exclaimed, "No, no, how can you still want me; still love me? I am common trash!" Beau persisted, however, whispering his words of love and understanding, trying to break through my shield of self-induced guilt to assure me that none of what happened was my fault. He spoke again of our meeting, our passion, our plans for marriage and a future together. He assured me that in his eyes I was no different than I was that morning when he took leave of me. And then, with a sudden flash of insight, he rolled upright and picked me up bodily in his arms. I could not look him in the eye, but clasped my arms about his neck so tightly he thought he might suffocate. Carefully and deliberately, Beau carried me, totally naked, through the house, across the porch, through the garden, and into the circle of stones. There, he paused momentarily and said to me, "Kate, this is OUR place. He can't touch you here." And slowly, as that strange warm dry mist began to form around us again, I began to relax. I released his neck and indicated I wanted to stand. Turning to him, I gazed deeply and silently into Beau's eyes for long moments and carefully observed every nuance of his face. Finally, finding what I sought, I smiled, and sank to the ground, pulling Beau with me, our eyes still locked.

It had been an emotionally draining day. But now, there in the mist, and in our magic circle, we both knew that one final healing, cleansing thing was needed - a long, slow, delicious fuck. I waited as Beau removed his clothing. I still couldn't get over the size and beauty of my lover's prick. He filled me so completely every time we made love. I turned on my side, so we could face each other. Beau put his hand on my hip, and pulled me toward his cock. The curly mass of hair on my mons tickled the underside of his upright cock, standing stiff and rubbing its glans against his belly.

Beau brought his face closer to mine, and with a sigh, he let his lips touch mine. Gentle, and slow, we had all night…we had forever. Beau closed his eyes, relishing the tender, soft touch upon his lips. He traced a path gently up the slope of my nose to between my eyes with his lips, as my warm breath caressed his chin. He brought his lips over my right eye and kissed the eyelid softly, tenderly, then moved over the high plane of my cheekbone, and down my soft cheek, and then over to my mouth again.

He kissed me softly once again, and then brought his lips over to my left cheek and up the left side of my face. He lavished attention upon me, forgetting temporarily the ache in his balls, the throbbing in his prick, as he concentrated upon giving the utmost pleasure to his love. He brought his lips back again to my gasping mouth, and gently, softly, slowly kissed me again.

I relaxed still more as Beau ran his lips over my face, bringing chills of pleasure to my spine. I held his ass-cheeks in one free hand while softly caressing his chest with the other. My nipples quickly became filled with hot blood, expanding out from her pink-brown aureoles. I delighted at the slow, tender caresses my lover was showering upon my body. It was a stark contrast to the ordeal visited upon my by Neville. As strangely pleasurable as that pain had been, THIS was engaging her heart, mind, and soul as well. I now realized the vast difference and accepted my absolution. As Beau nibbled on my lips, I threw my left leg over his legs, and rubbed my moistening loins against his straining cock. The thick, blood-engorged pole of flesh jutting up from his powerful hips seared her skin wherever it touched with the fire of passion.

Beau softly tickled my lips with his tongue, parting them and opening my mouth slightly with a gentle thrust of his tongue. I countered his tongue with my own, and I felt a shiver run through him as our tongues explored anew, in a wet embrace. It seemed exciting and new; a renewal of love and commitment. He ran his right hand up and down the smoothness of my rounded buttocks, feeling and kneading the soft flesh with his strong fingers. His other hand reached out slowly and began to caress the full mounds of my tits. The nipples strained out, and he tweaked them between his thumb and forefinger. I moaned into his mouth. His prick burned and throbbed against my skin. I moaned again, deep in my throat.

Beau twirled a pink nipple between his fingers, letting its stiff-standing hardness rasp against his skin. He cupped the full tit he was manipulating, and the pap rubbed into his palm, trying to drill a hole in his hand. He drew back from the deep kiss we were sharing, ran his lips quickly over my eyes and then back to my lips again.

I jerked and moaned with each tweak and pull upon my flaming tits, feeling the fire in my loins was starting to spread. The petals of my cunt flowered open, and the fluids flowed freely.

I ran my tongue into his mouth, the sweet taste of his saliva causing a shudder of pleasure to ripple through me. Our hungry mouths sucked and drew. I loved the delicious tide of feelings building up as if behind a dam. Soon, it would come crashing through in a tidal wave of passion.

Beau pulled his lips from my greedy mouth. He let his lips slide down over my cheek to my ear. He licked around the edges, which elicited moans of excitement. He traced the inner curves of my ear with his wet tongue, and licked the tiny, downy hole. "Oh, yes," I groaned.

Beau needed no further encouragement to continue his wet kiss upon my ear. He probed the little opening, then softly sucked the lobe. He brought his hand up from my hip and used both of his hands to knead and caress my tits. My hair tickled the side of his face, long tresses cascading down from the crown of my head.

In the warm mist, I felt filled with peace and joy. I wrapped both legs around Beau's taut, muscular right leg, and began to rub my mons on its surface. The slit of my cunt left trails of fluid upon his bare legs. His nutsack rested against my right thigh and the hairy sac throbbed and convulsed with each move I made.

I could barely move my arms, and so merely ran my palms back and forth across his shoulders as he continued to make love to my ear. The tingle tickled my brain, bringing little shocks of pleasure to my body. I wondered how much longer I could stand it before I had to pull away from his tongue because the sensation would be too much.

As if reading my mind, Beau slowly ran his tongue from my ear down my throat to my chest, lightly caressing first one breast and nipple, then the other, and breathing softly on each in between licks and nibbles, then sucking each one into his mouth. I reached across my body and gripped the smooth shaft of my lover's cock. It was hot and hard in my hand. I squeezed it in time with the licks and sucking on my tits. I dripped and ached with desire. The white heat of our passion had burned all else away, and I had to have him.

"Take me, Beau, make me yours again."

Beau reached between us, and placed the swollen tip of his member against the silky opening, hot and streaming with the juice of desire. Although I knew he was eager to plunge deep inside, he restrained himself, and slid in slowly, almost gently. Then he rested, engulfed inside my tight pussy, feeling the heat and the honey. He opened his eyes, and stared down at the sight of his love lying beneath him. He brushed some hair away from my face, bent forward, hands cupping my face, and kissed me tenderly. As we kissed, I encircled his neck with my arms, and his back with my legs, and then slowly thrust my hips and rhythmically squeezed my pussy in time to the rocking. Soon our passion overwhelmed us, and we were thrusting together, faster and faster. So in tune were we, that as we felt each other getting close to orgasm, we slowed, and Beau withdrew all but the head of throbbing cock from my besodden cunt. Then we would start again, going on this way from one plateau of pleasure to the next. All sense of time was lost. We seemed to be fucking for hours, lost in each other and the moment. Finally, we could stand it no more. Beau's sacks swelled and tightened, his cock grew even hotter and thicker. My love muscles tensed even more and massaged Beau's cock harder, the heat intense. An electric fire burned through us as we exploded into each other. His cock convulsed and spewed forth a huge quantity of jism, his eyes rolling back in his head, my orgasm engulfing me as I heaved and shuddered beneath him, my love juices matching his, until they dripped from me and pooled beneath us. He kept his cock buried to the hilt within my cunt as it wilted, my legs still wrapped around his back. I opened my eyes, caressed his cheek with my hand, and smiled. "I love it when you make me rain…" Then, we fell asleep on the moss, his cock still within my warm cunt, the mist still swirling warm around us as the moon rose.

****

And thus it was that life went on. Nothing more was said that winter about the Neville incident. Beau had what remained of the wreckage removed, and knew that with the Spring, the scars in the field would heal, so that there would be no visible signs to remind us. We rode almost every day, until Beau knew the farm and neighboring countryside almost as well as I did. He was careful, however, to keep me away from the scene of the crash until it had fully grown over.

Beau continued his occasional visits to the aerodrome, though I could not understand how he could still love flying so. He found another plane, and told me that he was now one of the best pilots in Charleston. However, I would not accompany him to the airfield. A vague foreboding pushed its way into my mind when I thought of Beau and flying machines, or when a group of young men talked of the war in Europe. I simply refused to listen to the news, as if I could will it away by denying its existence. Instead, when Beau went flying, I either rode, gardened, or else went into Charleston to assist my mother with wedding plans. My mother, as mother's will do, made sure I was fully occupied and focused on the wedding preparations during those visits. "So much to do, and you always out at the farm!" mother would scold. "Oh, mother, I'm not that fussy about those things, you know that, and besides, the farm won't run itself!" I would retort, only half in jest.

As the days passed, Beau and I did those things that need doing about a farm, and made love, each time as new and as beautiful as the first. Sitting in the garden on sunny days, or lying entwined in our bed, we often mused that these were indeed the happiest days of our lives.

We celebrated Christmas in Charleston with our families, attending a beautiful Christmas eve candlelight service at our Church, and enduring a seemingly endless stream of guests and parties. We suffered silently for the sake of propriety, each of us staying in our parents' homes, although Beau managed a few late night visits to my room, always departing well before dawn. We also managed to steal a few illicit moments together, the thought of discovery adding to our passion and the intensity of our orgasms. It became a sort of game, to find a suitable location, give in to our lust, and then, regain our composure and rejoin the party. We jokingly called it "the art of silent fucking." At one party, I knew there was an upstairs, somewhat out of the way bathroom, which perhaps had been in the servant's wing in times past. I slipped up there first, and a few moments later, Beau joined me. I sat on the commode, and unzipped his fly, freeing his cock, which I took in my mouth and sucked greedily, first the head, then entire shaft, until it was throbbing and dripping with my saliva. Then I stood up, turned around and quickly raised my skirts, and pulled the crotch of my panties aside from my hot wet pussy. Beau, wasting no time, entered me from behind. Kissing my neck, and holding my skirts around my waist, he thrust rhythmically in and out as I stood on my toes, thrusting my hips to meet him, as I bent over the sink. Groaning softly, we soon dissolved into yet another orgasm together. After a few moments, he withdrew, checked the hallway, and slipped back out to rejoin the party. I waited until the flush receded from my face and bosom, smoothed my skirts and hair, powdered my nose and re-applied lipstick, and then I too, rejoined the gathering. We were glad, however, to finally get back to farm after the holidays, and the quiet winter rhythm.

And then came the Spring, with new life, and the magnolias blooming once again…and a terrible revelation.

****

Chapter Ten: Letters from France

The moon was full, just rising over the trees. The day had been unseasonably warm for March, and the heat lingered on in the twilight. The magnolias had just started blooming, their unique fragrance perfuming the air. Beau and I strolled the garden, arms linked, hips pressed together, moving slowly as the first few stars winked into view. It was that night that he told me. He was going to France to join a French flying squadron. He would return soon, he was sure. The war would not last long. In the meantime, all the joy and passion, the plans for a future together, the new life to be…all on hold, aging like a fine Amontillado in its cask…until his return from the duty to which he had sworn allegiance. Tears etched a glistening path down my cheekbones, to collect in the corner of my mouth, lips slightly parted in shock. I knew in a moment of clarity and of horror what would be. "No, no, no, you can't go…not now…not when we have found each other! Not with all we have planned!" I protested, but to no avail. My heart beat wildly in my alabaster breast as I clutched his arms to draw him nearer. Our bodies fit together in defiance of the conventions of the day. Our hands, our lips, our souls intertwined in a frantic desire to merge into one being. Time, for a time, ceased to exist.

Then, when the pale gold full moon was high above the oaks, seemingly receding from the earth, its constant companion, so, too, did my Beau rise from the bed of moss on which we had lain. The hunger in his eyes was momentarily sated, replaced by regret and a haunting sadness. Even the smile on his face as he watched me gather my petticoats and brush the twigs from my skirt…even that wonderful, expressive smile of was tinged with sadness. A last embrace…a tender kiss, as gentle as butterfly wings…and he was gone…and I was alone…in the circle of stones. The mist, too, had vanished.

****

1916, April 3rd

My Dearest Kate,

After the Olympic sailed from New York, I stood on deck a while to observe the skyline, especially the view of the grand old girl, Miss Liberty, in the harbor. Soon, we were out of sight of land and turned toward Halifax as we were called to our boat stations for the first of daily drills. We are due to embark Canadian troops bound for England and then France. We expect to dock in Southampton in 10 days, having to take a more southerly route due to the rules about ice after our sister ship, Titanic, sank in 1912. And then, on to Cherbourg, where I will arrange transportation to Bar-le-Duc.

I miss you more than words can express, my darling, and wonder if I have made the right choice. Still, I could not love you half so much if I loved not honor more. And it is certainly about honor and obligation that impelled me to volunteer where I could do the most to check the dirty Huns. When I heard that an Escadrille américaine was to be formed to fly the Nieuport Scout, I was excited beyond belief. I am confident that America will soon enter the war on the side of Britain and France, and we shall prevail. And then I shall hasten home to you, dearest Kate, and we will begin the family of which we talked, and for which I long so fervently. I remain,

Your Beau

1916, April 13th

My Dearest Kate,

I hasten to finish this letter as we are docking soon in Southampton and I wish this to be posted here. Mail service from France may be spotty, so I hope you will be patient with me, as you know I will think of you constantly, even if unable to write. You may also not receive any of my missives for a time, only to have four or five delivered at once. Such are the vagaries of international post these days. I know you have letters to send to me, but until I have a reliable address to send you, I shall content myself with know you are thinking of me.

I have been talking to some of the Canadian chaps and they tell me that Dr. Edmund Gros (director of the American Ambulance Service) and Mr. Norman Prince (the expatriate flyer) have succeeded in persuading the French government of the value of a volunteer American air unit fighting for France. The aim, of course, is to have their efforts recognized by the American public and thus, it is hoped, the resulting publicity will rouse interest in abandoning neutrality and joining the fight. The Escadrille is now based in Bar-le-Duc, in Lorraine, and as soon as I have joined, I shall write you where you can address your letters to me.

With a tender heart, and constant longings for the sweetness of your adorable self, I remain, as always,

Your Beau

1916, April 28rd

My Dearest Kate,

You cannot imagine the scene here, my beloved. I was immediately drawn into a strange new existence when the ship delivered me and several other flyers to Cherbourg over a week ago. I have had little peace since, being fully engaged in collecting my luggage and arranging transportation to Bar-le-Duc. At least, we shall have plenty of good Bordeaux wine!

Transportation is difficult, with most motorized vehicles used for the war effort. Luckily, I was able to arrange transport in several ambulances being delivered to Dr. Gros's ambulance service. We were forced to stop several times along the way and my companions and I met some of the American nurses serving here. Ellen N. La Motte was one of the first to arrive and she is writing about her experiences here. She showed me one of her vignettes, which I have here copied for you, as it made an impression on me:

"War has been described as 'months of boredom, punctuated by moments of intense fright.' During this time at the Front, the lines moved little, either forward or backward, but were deadlocked in one position. Undoubtedly, up and down the long reaching kilometers of 'Front' there was action, and 'moments of intense fright' which produced fine deeds of valor, courage and nobility. But where there is little or no action there is a stagnant place, and in that stagnant place is much ugliness. Much ugliness is churned up in the wake of mighty, moving forces, and this is the backwash of war. Many little lives foam up in this backwash, loosened by the sweeping current, and detached from their environment. One catches a glimpse of them—often weak, hideous or repellent…This is war. But it goes on and on, over and over, day after day, till it seems like life."