by Len Levinson
His dork got harder and finally the pesky thing leapt up and pushed its way through the opening in the bathrobe. Suzanne looked at it for a moment and whimpered. She squeezed his leg.
Mahoney reached down and pushed his stiff dork underneath the robe again. “Sorry about that,” he said.
She sighed. “It’s so lonely here in the country,” she said in a strange, strangled voice.
Mahoney was breathing hard. “I know.”
She snaked her hand into his bathrobe and wrapped her fingers around it. Mahoney thought he’d have an instant orgasm and shoot a hole in the ceiling.
“My God,” she said, looking up at him with frightened eyes. “What am I doing?”
Mahoney wanted to say “We shouldn’t,” but instead he said, “Don’t worry about it.”
She looked down, brushed aside the robe, and brought his dork into the open where she could see it. “My husband’s been gone for so long,” she whispered.
“I’m sure you’ve had a real tough time,” Mahoney told her.
She lowered her head and took the end of his dork into her mouth, moaning softly and making Mahoney curl his toes.
Mahoney looked up at the ceiling and thought, I tried my best, God, but you know the way things are.
~*~
After the blowjob, they had a quick screw on the bed, and then Suzanne went downstairs, and Mahoney fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. He felt as though he was drifting through black space for an eternity and then woke up late in the afternoon. Looking around, he didn’t know where he was at first, but then he remembered everything. A man’s clothes were folded nearby on a chair. Mahoney rolled out of bed, lit a cigarette, got dressed, and went downstairs.
The women were preparing dinner, and his uniform hung near the stove, drying after having been washed. Both of the women were polite and friendly, and he chatted with them as he lounged at the table in Suzanne’s husband’s pants and wool sweater. He asked if there was any danger of Germans coming to the farm, and Suzanne replied that the farm was far away from the main roads, and she didn’t think it likely. Finally, dinner was served, and the main event was roast chicken.
“We killed it especially for you,” Cecile said with a big smile that showed her beautiful white teeth.
“You shouldn’t have done it for me,” Mahoney protested as Suzanne placed the drumstick on his plate. “I’m really not worth it.”
“Of course you are,” Suzanne replied like an efficient housewife and mother. “Besides, if the Germans occupy Belgium again, they’ll take all the chickens and other farm animals anyway, so we might as well enjoy them while we can.”
They ate heartily, and Mahoney marveled at the calm demeanor of Suzanne. She’d fucked and sucked him like a wild woman earlier in the day, but now you’d never dream that she was capable of those things or that there was anything between him and her except the normal relationship between hostess and guest. You just can’t trust any of them, Mahoney thought. They’re all a bunch of fucking actresses.
Throughout the meal, Mahoney regaled them with true and semi-true army stories, and Cecile spoke of her ballet classes in Brussels. Suzanne talked about the happy times she’d had before the war, and they all had a marvelous time. After dinner they repaired to the living room and sat around the open fireplace, continuing their conversation, drinking wine, and laughing. Finally, it became dark, and Mahoney looked at his watch.
“I think I’d better go to bed early,” he said, “because I’ll want to get an early start in the morning.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Suzanne said. “You can’t leave so soon. You’re not even rested yet. Your wound isn’t healed.”
“I’ve got to return to duty,” Mahoney said. “What I’m doing here could be considered desertion.”
“Nonsense—you can stay one more day, and then before you leave I can remove your stitches. If you don’t get them removed, you stand the chance of catching an infection.”
“That’s true,” Mahoney replied. Actually he wouldn’t mind staying another day and getting a little more of that good poontang, in addition to having his stitches removed. “Okay, I’ll stay,” he said.
Suzanne and Cecile appeared pleased. They all drank more wine, told more stories, and then at nine o’clock in the evening, they went upstairs and said goodnight before entering their respective bedrooms and closing the doors.
~*~
Mahoney fell into a deep sleep, but this time he dreamed of New York. Outside, snow fell on the roof of the house and the nearby fields. Occasionally, the faint, muffled sound of artillery explosions wafted through the bedroom, but they didn’t disturb Mahoney. His chest rose and fell evenly, and a faint smile was on his face. He rolled over onto his side and cuddled with his pillow. One would have thought that nothing could wake him up, but he was still a soldier, with a soldier’s instincts, and when his doorknob turned, he opened his eyes.
In the dim light, he saw a wraith-like figure in white enter the bedroom, and he knew it was Suzanne. She closed the door and tiptoed to him, but as she drew closer, he was alarmed to see that she was Cecile. Mahoney closed one eye and pretended to be asleep.
She stood beside the bed and looked down at him for awhile. He could see her shivering underneath her gown. Then she turned and tiptoed toward the door. He’d thought she was going to crawl into bed with him, but evidently she hadn’t the nerve. Mahoney wished she had the nerve. He didn’t want her to go.
“Cecile?” he asked.
She stopped and looked back at him. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she stuttered, alarmed at being caught in his room.
“That’s all right,” he said soothingly. “I’ve been lying here thinking about you.”
“You have?”
“Yes, and then when I opened my eyes, I saw you beside my bed. It was like a dream come true.” He flung off the covers, got out of bed, and moved behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, kissing her neck. “So lovely. How can a man fall asleep in the same house as you?”
She melted in his arms. “I’ve been thinking the same thing about you, but I was afraid to come to you, because you’re—well—a guest here, and besides, I was afraid of you.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you’re so much older than I am. You seem so beyond me, like a heroic figure in an opera or a ballet, a warrior who came out of the night and walked into my heart.”
Mahoney kissed her neck. He wanted to say something pretty and poetic, but he knew he never could top her remark. “Come to bed,” he murmured in her ear.
He urged her toward the bed, and she didn’t resist. He lay her down upon it and then lowered himself beside her, because he didn’t want to get on top of her right away and perhaps scare her. Young girls were as skittish as colts. They changed their minds from moment to moment, and he didn’t want this one to get away.
He didn’t even grab her breast immediately, as he would have done with her mother. Instead, he held her thin waist and kissed her lips lightly, but she dug her fingers into his black hair, pressed her lissome body against his and opened her mouth, sucking his tongue inside.
Mahoney’s brain became aflame with lust. She squirmed against him, scissoring her legs against his erection. He rolled her onto her back and picked up her nightie, running his fingers up her legs and making her tremble. He touched between her legs, feeling how soft and moist it was already, and she reached down and grabbed his joint.
“Oh, my goodness!” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s so big!”
“It’s not that big.”
“Yes, it is! It’s enormous! It’s too big for me!”
“No, it’s not. Relax.”
She manipulated it with her hand. “It’s so incredible,” she whispered.
He inserted his finger into her warm, slippery goodness and moved it around slowly. He realized that all women are magnificent, but there’s nothing like a
young girl. They’re so sweet and loving, innocent and childlike, and crazy as hell.
She moaned into his ear and licked it with her pink tongue. He ran his finger in and out of her, and she relaxed beneath his ministrations, spreading her legs and sighing. Finally, Mahoney decided that the time had come for serious sexual relations. He crawled on top of her, held his dong in his hand, and rubbed it against those silken lips. She grabbed his hips with her hands and pulled him closer.
He slid it in slowly all the way to the hilt, and the poor child nearly fainted with pleasure.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded. He cupped her firm little buttocks in his hands, then pulled his hips back, and she raised her hips because she wanted to keep him inside her. When she could raise her hips no more and it appeared as though he was going to pull it out, he eased it back in again all the way and held her fanny firmly. She was marvelously tight, and he admitted to himself once again that there’s nothing in the world like a young girl. The older ones were nice too because they generally knew more about these things, but there’s nothing like a young girl to make your skin tingle and your heart sing.
He pumped her easily at first, and she met him stroke for stroke. She wrapped her ballerina legs around him, and he fastened his mouth on hers, drinking the nectar and eating the fruit. He struggled to prevent himself from going too wild and making the bed creak, but he worked her like a machine, making her come twice before letting himself blast off.
They didn’t bother resting because neither of them was tired. He rolled her onto her belly, spread her legs, and slipped it into her again. He cupped one of her firm little breasts with one hand and rubbed his finger against her gumdrop with his other hand as he worked her, rolling around on her sweet little ass, making her come two more times but holding himself back this time for the grand finale that he’d planned for both of them.
He rolled onto his back and told her to sit on it.
“How?” she asked innocently, although by now he suspected that she’d done that before and every other weird thing that men and women do.
He showed her how to straddle him and helped her put it in. She rode up and down on it a few times and smiled, touching her lips to his.
“This is nice,” she said.
“Go berserk,” he told her.
She moved up and down and all around. He held both of her breasts in his hands and kneaded them, touching his fingers to her nipples, as she bounced about, moving her arms into exotic ballerina arabesques, leaning her body this way and that, raising her chin high in the air as if she was onstage as the Swan Queen.
His dam broke, and he gushed inside her, as she went into convulsions, collapsing on top of him and moaning softly. Gradually both of them became still, gasping for air, their bodies covered with perspiration.
Mahoney was exhausted and drenched with pleasure, but even at that moment his soldier’s instincts had not deserted him, and he heard the doorknob turning.
“It’s your mother!” he whispered, pushing her off him.
Quick as a gazelle, Cecile jumped out of bed and dashed into the closet. The door to the bedroom opened all the way. “Who’s there?” Mahoney said.
“Ssshhhh,” replied Suzanne, closing the door behind her. “It’s only me.”
“Oh my goodness!” he said. “You scared me! I was having a nightmare, and I’m covered with sweat!”
“So you are,” she replied, touching his arm and getting into bed with him. “What were you having a nightmare about?”
“The war,” Mahoney replied.
“Ah, you poor soldiers,” she said consolingly. “You have such difficult lives.”
She reached for his dingle, but that was the last thing he wanted her to touch. He took her wrist and guided it to his shoulder. They embraced and kissed.
“It’s like a furnace in this bed,” she said.
Mahoney kissed her lips and inserted his tongue into her mouth. She closed her eyes and moaned softly, but Mahoney’s eyes were open, looking past Suzanne’s ear to the closet. He saw the door open and Cecile slip out like a phantom of the night. She flew toward the bedroom door and left silently. Mahoney rolled Suzanne onto her back and ran his fingers up her thigh. She spread her legs obligingly, and her tongue in his mouth flicked around expertly, heightening his ardor.
“Do it to me now,” she whispered.
Mahoney crawled on top of her, and after a while he had to admit that although young girls have nice firm bodies and lots of enthusiasm, the older ones ultimately give you the best sex because of their greater sophistication and finesse.
They wrestled with each other for an hour, and then Suzanne returned to her bedroom, and Mahoney collapsed into a deep slumber.
Chapter Ten
The next morning at breakfast, it was as though the events of the night before had never happened. The three of them carried on conversations like civilized, courteous people instead of total sex degenerates. After breakfast, Mahoney went to the barn with Cecile to help her with her chores, and wound up screwing her on a haystack. In the afternoon Suzanne looked at Mahoney’s wound and gave him another blow job.
That night Suzanne visited him again but not Cecile, who evidently was afraid she might run into her mother.
The next morning Mahoney was scheduled to leave. Suzanne removed his stitches, and he put on his uniform. She told him how to get to Bastogne, and they had breakfast, during which Mahoney had to admit to himself that if they were good actresses, he was a good actor, and if they couldn’t be trusted, neither could he.
After breakfast the women stuffed his pockets, with bread, cheese, and sausages.
“I wish you could stay longer,” Suzanne said. “We could use a man on the farm.”
“I have to return to duty,” Mahoney replied. “I’m no deserter.”
She looked into his eyes. “Good luck, Sergeant.”
“Thank you for everything, ma’am.”
Then it was Cecile’s turn. “I’ll pray for you, Sergeant,” she said.
“I’ll pray for you too.”
The women had tears in their eyes as they waved goodbye. Mahoney slung his rifle over his shoulder and marched through the gray dawn toward the woods.
~*~
The resort town of Spa was the scene of tumultuous frenzy, as its residents packed hastily and fled west. The streets were crowded with civilian and military vehicles, people on bicycles, and horses pulling overloaded wagons. Children cried, and adults had panic on their faces. In the distance, the ominous sounds of battle drew closer.
First Army headquarters was located in the Hotel Britannica, and General Courtney Hodges was sitting at his desk, when the door burst open and General “Lightning Joe” Collins entered.
“Sir,” he said, “I think it’s time that you got out of here!”
Hodges was from Georgia and had the courtly manners of a southern aristocrat. “Have a seat,” he drawled.
Lightning Joe was too excited to sit. “Sir, the enemy is getting awfully close!”
“I still have a few more things to do.”
Hodges sat calmly and signed orders. His divisions attacking the Roer dams would turn south and hit the Germans in flank. The 101st Airborne was on its way to Bastogne. The Eighty-second Airborne would bolster the defense at Wiltz. But the picture of the German attack still wasn’t clear. All he knew was that the Germans had broken through the Ghost Front as if it had been paper.
“Sir,” Lightning Joe said, trying to keep his voice calm, “the Germans are only a mile away.”
“Relax.”
Hodges read more dispatches, and Lightning Joe continued to fidget. Hodges had seen a great deal of war, and nothing fazed him anymore. He continued working until the Germans arrived on the outskirts of town, and then he calmly strapped on his helmet, walked downstairs, got into his jeep, and was driven away.
~*~
Mahoney made his way through the woods toward Bastogne. Suzanne had told h
im it was only about fifteen miles away, and he hoped to arrive sometime before tomorrow morning. She’d given him a road map of the area and her husband’s compass, which was a more sophisticated one than those issued by the U.S. Army. Mahoney was confident that he’d make it.
At noon he sat beneath a birch tree and ate some bread, cheese, and sausage, washing it down with the wine that Suzanne had poured into his canteen. Mahoney felt as though Lady Luck was smiling on him and nothing could go wrong. The sounds of battle were far away. He suspected that the Americans had pushed the Germans back by now. He still had no idea of how widespread the German attack was.
After lunch, he stood and moved out again. He trudged through forests, across valleys, and up the sides of steep hills. Whenever he heard fighting, he circled around it and kept going. At dusk, he checked his map and compass, then continued in the direction of Bastogne.
He continued to move throughout the night because he felt energetic and saw no point in stopping if he didn’t have to. Every hour he checked his compass to make sure he was on course. The temperature dropped to twenty degrees, but he was full of calories, and his constant motion kept him warm.
At dawn he was on top of a high hill and surprised to see a village below. Checking his map, he saw numerous villages scattered throughout the area, and it could be any one of them. He looked through his binoculars and saw American jeeps and trucks in the town. Smiling, he realized that he’d bypassed all the fighting and now had made it back to safety. His worries were over.
Immensely pleased with himself, he descended the hill and approached the village. Two sentries came out of a doorway and challenged him.
“Listen,” Mahoney said, “I’ve been trapped behind enemy lines for the past few days, and I don’t know what the password is.”
“Yeah, sure,” said one sentry, holding his rifle on Mahoney.
The other sentry spoke into his walkie-talkie, then let it hang from the strap around his neck and aimed his rifle at Mahoney. The two sentries eyed him suspiciously. He knew they thought he was a German spy, and he probably would have thought the same of them if they showed up without knowing the password.
