Bomber's Moon

by Raven McAllan

  It had been Chrissie’s elder sister, Merle, who had—when Chrissie had gone crying to her about the blood in her pants and how Mum would kill her for messing them—explained the facts of life...in a very brief way and not in the best of terms. It was along the lines of, “If you’re a good girl, this will come every month; if you’re not, they won’t, and you’ll have to get married!”

  All of which meant nothing to Chrissie. If anything she was more confused than ever. But if being naughty helped to stop the stomach cramps, then that was fine. Straightaway, she had gone outside and thrown a stone at Mrs. Mulgrew’s window. That had earned her a thick ear from her father, one of the few times he bothered with his family. He mostly ignored them, much preferring the comforts of his club, where his wife couldn’t complain to him about their reduced circumstances.

  But even that minor rebellion didn’t stop the blood. It had taken whisperings in the back row of the classroom to spread a bit more light on the subject. And she’d become resigned to the fact that it wouldn’t matter how may stones she threw, ‘the curse’ would appear. Until, she was told, she went all the way once too often.

  Life as a woman wasn’t easy.

  Her mother’s comments as she went to catch the train with the rest of her colleagues had been, “Now, no smoking, no drinking, and no messing about. Good girls don’t.”

  Well good girls probably don’t pee in the bushes either. Chrissie was unrepentant as she remembered her mum’s words, because needs must.

  “Bloody hell.” Kaye’s agonized cry broke into her reverie. “Some bugger’s gone and locked the gates.”

  “Kaye!” Bugger was Kaye’s new favorite word, and there would be hell to pay if the older women who mothered the pair of them heard her. “Nellie Curle will have your guts for garters if she hears you talk like that. You know she says cussing is the work of the devil,” Chrissie said in a warning tone.

  “Well, what would you have said?” Kaye asked unrepentantly. She tugged at the tall metal gates they had reached. “Sod it, look.”

  Chrissie squinted at them. “You’re right, they’re locked.” They were well and truly fastened with no keys in sight.

  “Just checking in case I made a mistake or hallucinated or something.”

  “Bloody hell.” Chrissie parroted her friend’s remarks and laughed. “Some bugger’s gone and locked the gates.”

  She looked around for inspiration. They had to get back into their room before Tom Hillman, the foreman, who stood in loco parentis, realized they hadn’t returned by lock-up time. Curfew was 11:00 p.m. for them due to their age.

  But the dance hadn’t finished until midnight, and as excitements were few and far between, neither girl had been willing to miss half the evening to get back before lights-out. Therefore they’d made contingency plans. Which, it seemed, had been discovered and scuppered.

  “Look.” Chrissie pointed along the wall from the gates, and her heart missed a beat in her excitement. “The wall dips there. I’ll give you a leg up and then climb over after you.”

  Kaye sounded dubious. “How can you see all that in the dark? I can hardly see you.”

  “I eat my carrots,” Chrissie quipped, urging Kaye toward the dip in the wall. It was a well-known fact Kaye loathed carrots. “Come on, hurry up before someone comes along and asks us that we’re doing.” The fact that the whole county seemed to be in bed wasn’t reassuring. Chrissie had a nasty itch between her shoulder blades, and it wasn’t the sort you could scratch away. The sort you got just before the siren went or the boss caught you having a crafty fag behind the bike shed. As it was unlikely to be a siren on such a dark night, especially out here, and she didn’t smoke, it was obviously something else that would affect them adversely.

  “So do I now,” Kaye said, her voice decisive as Chrissie urged her to the wall with an insistent push in the back. “Eat my carrots. Hey, that hurts; you need to cut those talons you call nails. I’m telling you, if it means I can see where the hell I’m going, bring on the veg. It’s bloody impossible.”

  “Sorry.” Chrissie didn’t mean it, but decided she’d better pay lip service to Kaye’s gripes. There was no way she was cutting her nails. She was proud she no longer bit them. “Well, you know the answer: don’t hide the carrots under the cabbage at dinner. Now get on with it and watch your gravy lines on my skirt and blouse. And take off those damned clogs. Keep them on and you’ll scar me for life.”

  “I reckon most of the gravy lines are rubbed off anyway.” Kaye giggled. “I perspired a lot in that last dance.”

  Chrissie rolled her eyes, safe in the knowledge Kaye wouldn’t be able to see her. Gravy browning was a bit hit and miss, but it was the best they could do in the circumstances. “Well, still, take your clogs off,” she said firmly. “They weigh a ton.” She bent over and braced her hands on her knees. “Right, get a move on.”

  Kaye, obliging as always, threw the offending footwear over the wall and climbed onto Chrissie’s back. She stood, wriggled, huffed and puffed, and Chrissie’s back bowed under her weight.

  “You need to stay off the puddings, Kaye. Honest, you weigh a ton.” Chrissie bit her lip to prevent a groan from escaping. Kaye was no lightweight.

  A few more moans and whispered curses, and Kaye’s weight lifted. Chrissie managed not to sigh out loud with relief as she straightened up and put her palms in the small of her back to reduce the ache. She stared upward to see a silhouette perched on top of the wall.

  “Okay; that’s me up,” Kaye said, stating the obvious. “So now what?”

  “Now it’s my turn.” Longer-legged and slimmer than her friend, Chrissie reckoned she would have little trouble in reaching the top. She was momentarily thrown by the fact she had chosen to wear a straight skirt she’d sewn with some material she had been hoarding. Not like Kaye, whose dress was full-skirted, prewar, and had originally been her mother’s.

  Once she had been able to get a grip, Kaye had no problems making it to the top of the wall. Chrissie felt sure she was going to have more trouble in hoisting herself up. Oh well, in for a penny and all that. Emboldened by the fact it was still dark with no chance of a moon, Chrissie threw her own wooden clogs—the height of fashion—up to Kaye, and the bag with her dance shoes in it after them, and hitched her skirt around her waist. Kaye was looking down on her and Chrissie could see the faint outline of Kaye’s body as she sat astride the top of the wall. Then she heard Kaye gasp.

  “Chrissie!” Kaye said to her, urgency uppermost in her voice. “You’ve got no drawers on.”

  “Bugger.” She’d forgotten. “Well, it’s too late now. At least there’s no one around, apart from you to see my everything.” Or her blushes. “And there’s nothing I’ve got you haven’t.” So saying, she began to climb.

  “Glory, Chrissie!” Kaye exclaimed. “Hurry up. I can hear a car coming.”

  She wasn’t the only one. Chrissie tried to move and was brought up short. In a panic, she twisted, trying to see what was stopping her from moving. “I can’t. I’m stuck. Look, go on down and see if you can open those gates somehow. If you can’t, get back inside and leave the bloody window open for me.” She heard Kaye move down the wall, emitting a few muffled yelps, and a thud was followed by the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps.

  “No key,” came a muffled whisper from the other side of the wall.

  “Well, go, then,” Chrissie whispered back and wondered why on earth she was keeping her voice down. There was no one to hear.

  There was silence from within the gates. The hum of a car engine grew louder.

  Resigned to the fact she was going to be caught in a most embarrassing situation, she shut her eyes, as if doing so meant she were invisible. At least one of them was almost out of the mire. If she could just get her skirt down...As a car door slammed and uneven footsteps sounded, Chrissie shut her eyes in desperation. What now?

  “Can I help?”

  I recognize that voice.

  Chrissie swung her
legs in circles in an attempt to move. The wriggling made her lower body spin around and for a brief second her bare bum scraped against the wall. It scratched. She heard him sigh with obvious delight.

  “What a beautiful view, just a mere hint of blond downy hair,” he said, loud enough to make her blush. Damn, he had to see of course. Obviously the light from the car was enough to give him a peep show. The sotto voiced comment, “Down boy. Don’t explode. Help her down and then explode...preferably in her,” had her giggling to herself. He was nothing if not explicit.

  “For Christ’s sake, Archie,” Chrissie burst out, forgetting Archie had no idea who she was, “stop gawking like a barrow boy at my bits and pieces and help me down! Can’t you see I’m stuck here?”

  “Oh, er, well, now, then. Right, oh...But you’ll owe me. And do I know you?”

  Bugger! Chrissie realized the darkness might hide her identity, but not her body, which he obviously enjoyed seeing. The thought made her go very warm and wet.

  “Well, not all of me. No,” she said in her normal upper-class manner. She forgot the sloppier accent she had deliberately cultivated so as to not seem out of place or snobbish. Her parents may be, but both she and Merle were much more in tune with normality.

  In the dim light from the almost covered headlamps, she watched Archie move to stand right under her, his gait uneven. Had he been injured and she not notified? She hadn’t noticed at the dance, but then she hadn’t really looked at him. Chrissie held her breath as he stood still, looked her up and down, found where her skirt was caught, and swiftly and surely unhooked it. Thank goodness her face was in shadow.

  Taking his time and with a very obvious sigh of great satisfaction, he helped her slide down his body. First her legs and then her behind, rubbed over his erection. Chrissie’s skin tingled, and she began to sweat. His cock was hard and thick—she could feel that even through his trousers. It sent all sorts of hitherto unknown feelings thorough her, and she wanted to twist around and rub it up and down her mound. Whether to increase or end the strange sensations between her legs, she was not sure.

  As her feet hit the ground, Chrissie tensed. Could she make a run for it? Would he even recognize her in the dark?

  He must have guessed what she intended to do, because he took a firm grip of her shoulders, and spun her around as he grabbed her behind and pulled her firmly against him, his erection throbbing between her thighs. Before she had time to do more than open her mouth to remonstrate, he bent his head and fixed his lips firmly over hers. She swayed against him as he teased her lips open and thrust his tongue inside her mouth and deepened the kiss. Chrissie moaned deep in her throat and meshed her tongue with his.

  Her legs opened involuntarily and with her skirt still hitched up around her waist, there was very little between her now damp curls and his throbbing cock. It was a contest of who was the most aroused.

  There was no room for thought. Archie moved his hand to that sensitive spot between her legs. There was a ringing in her ears, and she started to shake as he pressed her bud. Just the way she liked it...

  Chrissie whimpered.

  “You like that, don’t you?” She felt Archie move his fingers and slip one inside her.

  Chapter Two

  Archie Duggan drove at a slow speed and with care in the pitch-black. It wasn’t a good night to be out, with merely the car headlamps behind their slit masks to hopefully keep one on the road. But as head of his family, now that his elder brother had been killed at Dunkirk and due to the farm having a petrol ration, it was up to him to show face at the fund-raising village dance. Although, to be fair, with Patty Pritchard stalking every move he made, it had been a limited visit. He’d given his excuses to the organizers as soon as he could without causing offence and made a strategic move to the pub next door. Archie felt a brief pang of regret at not having approached the stunning girl he’d glimpsed across the room. He half thought he recognized her, but her head was turned away from him, and he didn’t get close enough for a better look. Then she disappeared. It wasn’t likely he knew her anyway. After all he was acquainted with all the local girls and she definitely wasn’t one of them. The only newcomers were those up at the hall, and as far as he knew they were all old motherly types.

  He sat on a chair at the bar of the village local and indulged in a glass or two of the finest whisky he’d tasted in a long time. Not out on the shelves, never admitted to, and for favored guests only, for whisky was a very precious commodity. Regretful though he had been, Tom, the landlord, had to ration it.

  “Two drams for each customer a week. I’m sorry, sir. There’s not a lot left,” he’d apologized to another fugitive from the village hall. The man, the local postman, had scowled but accepted the edict, downed his drinks and left. However, for Archie, somehow those two drams had become three or four. So here he was, driving none too steadily home in the early hours. He adjusted his staff inside his tweed trousers. He had an itch that needed satisfying, and due to bloody Patty Pritchard and her unwelcome attention, he had no chance of doing so. Oh, he was sure Patty would have been more than happy to attend him, but Archie was choosy. There was no way he was being tricked into being lumbered with a wife, especially one who had been ridden by so many others.

  If and when he took a wife, he was going to be the first and the last to saddle her. And enjoy every minute of her tuition. Of course, he mused as he drove with care in his soporific semi-alcoholic haze, she’d have to be pretty special to accept him. He had no illusions; his gammy leg and shrapnel-filled arm would put most young ladies off. Briefly, he thought about the one girl he could have made a life with. Except, in his heart, he accepted she had been too young. They’d been pushed together at every opportunity by both his parents, who thought she might calm him down, and hers, who thought they were on to a good thing.

  He let his mind wander as he remembered her and there was a bump as the car veered off the road and onto the verge, heading for the ditch. He swore, and whistled tunelessly as he turned the steering wheel to bring the car back onto the road.

  Concentrate on what you’re doing, Archie, old boy, not on what you’d like to be. Four whiskies is probably three too many for this lane. However, he couldn’t but help think about some of his earlier escapades, several involving the same spirit and the same lane. He had been a bit of a lad a few years ago—best not to think about the policeman’s helmet.

  Something at the edge of his vision caught his attention, and he halted his tune mid note.

  What the...

  A bare arse.

  He hadn’t drunk enough to be hallucinating, had he? He blinked, took another look and brought the car to a stop outside the gates. It was very definitely a bare bum attached to the longest pair of legs he had ever seen. And whomever they were attached to was frantically trying to climb over the wall into the Grange. He laughed softly in his throat, as the body twisted and he saw soft blond pubic hair over a nicely rounded pussy. The evening had improved in a somewhat dramatic fashion.

  Archie exited his vehicle and stopped at the base of the wall to look up. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, and he supposed to ensure he wasn’t having a whisky-fueled hallucination.

  He wasn’t.

  Stunning. Archie wolf-whistled as he admired the view. He could feel his body harden as he looked at the two beautiful globes of a rear. They were framed by a skirt caught fast on the rough stones. If the front view was as good as the back, his cock was going to burst the buttons on his trousers.

  I need to get laid. If I get this excited over the thought of a naked body. She turned again to face the wall and her buttocks showed cream and smooth just above his eye level in the darkness. Close enough to stretch up and...

  “Can I help?” he inquired. “You seem to be, er, in a bit of a predicament.” Her body jerked, and for one alarmed moment, he worried he’d startled her enough to cause her to fall. Not that he was averse to a lovely woman in his arms, but Archie was practical. In his less-than-
fit state, in all probability, he would drop her. Her legs, which at his voice had started to swing in every direction, stopped their movement, and he waited with amusement to see what would transpire.

  What did blew him away. As her body slid down his, her arse rubbed him from chest to cock before her feet touched the ground. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her to face him. To his frustration, her hair fell forward, hiding her features from view. Groaning in exasperation he moved his hands to grab the luscious globes of her arse, and he couldn’t help but give them a squeeze. As her mound rubbed across him, he could feel moisture seeping out of him, dampening his trousers. He moved one hand to his buttons and began to fumble with the fastenings, as with his other hand, he played with her clitoris.

  She squawked and tried to smack his hand away. “Stop it.” Her voice was low, giving no hint of her identity. “Don’t do that.”

  God, she’s so wet.

  “But you like that, don’t you?” His whole mind was full of her scent, his erection, visions of their coupling. “You’re wet and wanting, sweetheart, coating my hand. Let me sooth the sting. You need it.”

  “Maybe so, but that does not mean I’m letting you feel me up in the road.”

  “Not here, then,” he said, aghast as he realized where they were, and what he had proposed. What on earth was he thinking? “My car. Come on.” He pulled on the woman’s hand, all the while unbuttoning his fly. His hard-on was straining the material of his trousers, and his dick needed to be free and inside a wet pussy.