by K D Grace
A sudden roar; both metallic and prehistoric, rents the night. She jerks awake, the taste of sleep in her mouth, her vision blurred and this cacophony in her ears.
She lies for a moment, disorientated, desperately trying to identify this alien noise. It is not the owl that asks its eternal question, it is not the far away yap of foxes as they play on the moon bathed hills. It is man made thunder. It roars into the night like a fierce animal tearing itself from the earth. It roars for blood though it has none of its own, it roars for freedom though it has no soul to feel it.
Slowly, like breaking dawn, she comes to realise what it is, though she can’t believe it. She can even identify this beast, sprung from the fog of time, and name it. What she cannot explain is why it is heard now, on this silent night over 60 years since it last shattered the world with its voice.
But that is wrong, she tilts her head, fanning dark hair out on her pillow, for there is more than just one. There is an entire squadron of them, challenging the night like so many hunting hounds.
The sound abruptly stops. It echoes away across the sleeping world; some stir in their beds with its passing yet most do not hear. She has heard and wonders.
From her single bed, past her desk containing the disembodied limbs of a great flying machine, past the bookshelf heavy with volumes of war and out on to the thick carpeted landing she moves as a ghost moves, stealthy, silent and yet there is no need. The house is empty and void of life except for her. She remembers when it was otherwise, when Sammy used to live there. It was a strange love they had, timid yet fierce, withdrawn yet insatiable.
Sammy was a girl from a wealthy and well to do family and the concept of having sex with other women was foreign and slightly repulsive to her. The concept may have worried her, but, after that night on the beach when concept became practice, her fears soon slipped away.
Sammy gently mocked her for her hobby. She sat in her room making airplane after airplane, a fascination taken from the nights she would sit in her father’s study and watch him do the same.
And then Sammy would come in, complaining of the smell of paint and doping fluid, yet still sit primly on the edge of the bed. They would talk about this and that; the sort of conversation that leaves the gaps where the real meaning sits, unseen. An awkward silence would fall and, putting down her paint brush, rubbing her hands clean of paint, she would go to the bed, and to Sammy.
Despite her solitude, she walks silently down the stairs, past a row of expectant shoes and boots and to the door. On bare feet she steps into the night.
The night is neither cold nor warm, the seasons are on the turn and vestiges of one melt with the next. A soft breeze, a lover’s breath, ruffles her nightshirt. It is long and comes to mid thigh. A rock star glowers from in-between her breasts, the dip making the singer look cross eyed.
Fields lie sprawled and silver with busy networks of hedges patching them together like God’s own quilt. The stitched blanket of fields could run away into infinity, or so she thinks, after it has folded over the horizon.
She has reached the old road when the sound rises again: a pack of iron hunting-dogs bay into the night. The ground beneath her bare feet trembles with their fury. One of the animals rises in an urgent scream burning away the tranquillity. It crescendos and she looks to the east where, incredibly the thing rises into the air, materialising from behind fat black trees. It is vast and glints with malevolent purpose. It turns laboriously and comes toward her.
She cannot remember stopping, yet she finds her hand gripping the wire mesh fence. She wonders if they, the spectral pilots in that vast machine, have seen her. Do they know her to be an intruder in this time?
The B17 passes low overhead, so low she feels that if she jumped she could touch its expectant underbelly like touching a pregnant woman’s belly, though here it is not life that is harboured but cool, metallic death.
She turns her head; following the iron dragon and then … it is gone; vanished for the moment taking its bestial roar with it. The rest of the pack have silenced also from somewhere beyond the dark trees.
After a moment … two moments, she releases the cool metal and continues along the perimeter fence.
Dreams within dreams, she thinks as she walks. She recalls her dream before waking, clutching at elusive tendrils of memory and maybe, as is with all memory, a little fantasy.
The beach on which they had met blooms in her mind, spreading and unfurling. The sand was coarse beneath her feet, and the touch of the girl’s hand, Sammy’s hand, on her sex was hesitant yet so good. Gentle fingers exploring. There was a wonder in Sammy’s eyes that seemed to reflect all the wonders of the universe from the night sky.
Sammy’s scent was that of vanilla, lavender, the tang of sweat and the sweet undertone of tobacco. As she held Sammy, running her hand over her thigh, up past her hip, over the curve of her belly and on to the comforting weight of her breasts, she could feel the skin radiating heat as if the sun, taken during the day, was seeping back out of Sammy’s skin. It was a perfect moment, she had never believed in them, but here one was, clutched in her arms, sighing with pleasure as somewhere out in the darkness the whistling frogs celebrated with a song of lust and desire.
She almost passes the old gatehouse, so lost is she in thought. She is very aware of her lack of underwear and now the loving breath of the night cools moisture upon her thighs.
Beneath the moon cast shadow of the gate house and into the city she walks on silent feet.
The old prefabricated homes stand with blind windows and gaping doors. She has been here at night before, with Sammy. In this place their cries of passion could be heard by none but the most secretive of night creatures who, by their secretive nature, never tell.
They had broken into the old cinema. It had smelled of dust, thousands upon thousands of hours of habitation by airman, soldiers and their lovers. Kissing, fondling some simply holding hands. Sammy had become aroused with the concept of making love on the high stage before the old dead screen.
‘Think if they were all watching,’ she had whispered in her ear.
With their bodies entwined; exploring one another, tasting one another, they made the old boards creak with their lovemaking. The flickering candlelight played swift shadows over Sammy’s naked body and her curled dark hair which lay heavy over both of them.
Like the blushing dawn sped up tenfold, light grows about her. She is illuminated by lights of the past. Windows, no longer blank and staring, twinkle and gaze with the happiness of habitation. The old cinema glows invitingly and now a crowd appears.
Women stand hip to hip with officers; dashing in their white uniforms; the women with masses of curled hair, blonde, black, red, brown and every tone in-between. They whisper excitedly as the queue moves slowly forward.
On the front of the building, imprisoned in glass, a long dead movie star smiles at his patrons, his teeth stark in the black and white photograph.
One man turns his capped head and glances back down the street. He is alone and by the way he bites his nails it seems he waits for a date. Perhaps the officer is worried that she will not come.
The officer’s eyes pass blindly over her as she stands, in this bubble in time. Something stirs within her, the fact that she is mostly naked may be the cause. Crossing her arms beneath her breasts she tugs off her nightshirt, her blonde hair tumbles down her back as the shirt comes free. She casts it away and stands naked before this group. Is it her imagination or do eyes flick to her and away again, as if they glimpse something though reason dispels it?
The waiting officer removes his cap and turns it nervously through his hands and then a smile infuses his features.
She turns to look back down the road of store fronts of which some still blaze with light, others are shut for the evening. A woman appears, running awkwardly, her high heels making little clipping noises that ring off the buildings.
The woman’s hair falls in dark waves about a face with large bewildered b
lue eyes, a small nose and a mouth curved down in concentration. Her dress is green and the twin mounds of her breasts seem enormous, thrusting high and forward.
She watches the woman pass and feels a jolt of recognition. It is Sammy, incredibly it is Sammy, her erstwhile lover, yet lost.
The shock leaves her standing watching the woman pass and go to the officer. It is Sammy’s walk, her legs, her waist, her flared womanly hips.
Her momentary paralysis passes and she moves closer to this woman who looks so much like her dead lover yet cannot be. The wind gusts, sending discarded cinema tickets spinning into the air and a chill racing across her naked skin.
The officer opens his arms to the girl he has been waiting for. They embrace and kiss deeply.
As she watches, unseen from her bubble in time, she is aware of a jealousy rising within her. Though all sense says this cannot be Sammy, this must all be some strange wandering of imagination, it seems so real.
‘Sammy?’ she says in a cracked voice. ‘Sammy, is that you?’
Again there is but a flicker of the eyes, Sammy continues to talk with the officer though a slight frown has appeared on her brow, as if she’s uncertain of a lost memory.
‘Sammy?’ she says again and moves closer. This time there is no response.
Now she is closer, she can see that it is Sammy, though not precisely. This woman is a little younger than Sammy had been when she died. This woman is slightly plumper, not to a great extent but her cheeks are slightly fuller, her breasts a little heavier and hips a little wider, though these were always her favourite parts of Sammy and …
She looks at Sammy’s lips as she speaks to the officer; full lips, painted red and ever so glossy. She recalls the press of those lips on her own, on her nipples, on her sex.
‘Oh Sammy,’ she says again, but it is to herself. This woman cannot hear.
‘There is a chill in the air tonight,’ Sammy is saying and rubbing her bare arms.
‘Is there?’ the officer asks. He drapes his jacket around Sammy’s shoulders, the white lapels making a V over her bust.
‘Thank you,’ she says, tugging it close about her and looking around.
‘Can you feel me?’ she asks Sammy. Again the eyes flicker, those blue eyes, and that plump mouth, so mischievous, even in repose, twitches.
Sammy glances back at the officer who has returned to biting his nails. Even with Sammy’s arrival his air of unquiet remains.
‘What’s wrong,’ Sammy asks as she looks up at him.
‘Oh nothing,’ the pilot says in a clipped English accent.
‘You can tell me,’ she pleads and rests her hand on his shirt sleeve. Her nails are short, her hands business-like.
She remembers the feel of Sammy’s hands upon her, stroking the inside of her leg, or trailing slowly and deliciously down her back. She shivers as if phantom fingers have reached out and touched her.
‘I think it is going to be soon,’ the officer says with no elaboration, though it appears there needs to be none. Sammy nods with understanding and her fingers momentarily squeeze his arm before falling away.
‘Come on,’ she says briskly, taking his hand. ‘Lets go in, you can buy me some popcorn.’
He smiles down at her and they pass under the garish arch of the cinema.
Inside it’s the same as she remembers from her and Sammy’s, nocturnal visitations, though now it is alive with people, colour, sound and lights. The officer, having bought the tickets, is buying popcorn while Sammy happily chatters away.
Into the velvet shades of the cinema they pass. The place is large and less than a quarter of it is filled, with few people left in the line in the foyer. They select a seat far back from the screen which is, from her experience, tiny. They slip in, one by one, the officer, Sammy and finally her, the ghost in this time, and settle into seats.
She watches Sammy as she speaks, popping knobbly pieces of popcorn between her lips. She has a nervous aspect, eating without tasting as a sort of reflex.
There is the scent of Sammy all around, the vanilla, the lavender, the scent which is her own. She wants so much to reach out and touch Sammy’s lips, her pale throat, cup a breast …
Sammy is timidly touching the officer’s sleeve, but he stares at the blank screen and doesn’t appear to notice her.
There, in the cinema, there is a tension. All around, lovers sit, cuddle and spin out their uncertain lives. They know this could be their last night together. Some sit immobilized by fear and what may come to pass, others live just for the moment; embracing the present and submitting to its wanton lusts.
She can see the panic in Sammy’s eyes; the usual blue of a warm summer sky has turned cold like the hard depths of winter. She leans forward and presses her lips to the corner of Sammy’s mouth. Her breath expels in a rush. Sammy’s skin, in life, was warm, but now it is hot, though not uncomfortably so.
Maybe it is me, she thinks. Maybe it is me that is cold.
She sees Sammy’s eyes flick toward her but not focus. Sammy’s lips curve a little in a smile and a blush rises.
Somehow she knows Sammy feels a little better, for here and now is only created by what is around her, what happens to her, and here and now everything is fine.
‘Live for now,’ she whispers in Sammy’s ear.
Sammy leans across and kisses the officer, hard and passionately. The widening of his eyes suggests he did not expect this, but the motion of his hands up her sides suggests he doesn’t disapprove, not at all.
‘The lights lower and a flickering image comes on to the screen, jerky and washed out. From somewhere the opening bars of distorted music begin to play.
‘Make love to me,’ Sammy implores in a deep and desperate voice.
She is almost certain that Sammy’s blue eyes flick to her.
‘Are you asking me?’ she enquires, but Sammy does not respond as she returns her attention to the pilot.
The officer looks surprised and gently presses her away from him.
‘We can’t do it here.’ It is half statement half question. The officer looks awkward.
Sammy’s eyes flick toward her, the unseen presence, and she knows, in that instant, that Sammy is speaking not just to the pilot, but to her too.
Unperturbed by his reticence, Sammy slides over to sit on the officer’s lap, her large breasts hover buoyantly below his face. She takes his head in confident nurse’s hands and presses his face into her cleavage. Over the top of his blond head Sammy looks directly at her. With a slight flush of self conscious embarrassment she crooks a finger in the air, smiling as if she knows this is a ridiculous thing to do.
But it is not. She slides across the seats to where Sammy is astride the officer. She presses her lips to Sammy’s. She tastes of tobacco and popcorn with a hint of burned sugar. Sammy presses into her, lips soft and supple beneath her own.
‘Yes I’m here, Sammy,’ she whispers into her former lover’s mouth.
Below, the officer is tenderly kissing the valley between her breasts which rise and fall with her building passion.
She rushes quick ticklish kisses across Sammy’s cheek, dancing for a moment on the delicate folds of her eyelids before moving down to her earlobe which she takes in her mouth and toys between her teeth.
The officer moves up to Sammy’s mouth and, unseen, she takes her opportunity.
Hands pass through the officer and yet land on the soft swell of flesh beyond. Like a blind woman she feels and traces her way across the contours of Sammy’s large breasts.
She can feel the nipples, crackling against the brittle material of the corset which Sammy wears. She wants to kiss and rub those points of pleasure. She wants to make Sammy forget the future as Sammy makes her recall the past.
She kisses Sammy through the dress and runs invisible hands down the slopes of her hips to land on her thighs, which are slightly parted, the dress making a cradle of cloth between them.
She works her hand beneath the hem, between the so
ft and sensitive skin to find Sammy’s panties. They are softly cushioned with a puff of pubic hair.
She hooks a finger beneath one elasticated edge. Feeling the motion, Sammy raises herself from the seat. She pulls the garment away and Sammy is exposed. Her dress has ridden up and the soft flesh of her legs is in direct cool contact with the vinyl seat. She feels Sammy shiver.
She reaches behind her and squeezes, gentle at first an orb of one buttock. Sammy again gasps, this time into the pilot’s mouth who is fumbling for the hooks of her corset.
She applies a little more pressure to the yielding flesh, a tightening balanced on the cusp of pleasure and pain. With her other hand she seeks Sammy’s sex, gently parting hair and lips. She thought that Sammy’s flesh was hot to the touch before, now she feels it is an inferno in a cauldron. Yet she continues to press in with her finger, feeling that Sammy is already slick in anticipation. She teases further into Sammy, hooking her finger upward.
This time Sammy groans, low and hard in her throat, her body trembles with it.
There is an expanding and filling as Sammy’s corset sloughs away leaving her in a natural feminine state, still curved, still bountiful yet realistic in her proportions.
She feels the softness of Sammy’s skin, running her forefinger up the girl’s spine, pressing and feeling the give of her flesh.
‘Oh, Sammy, I miss you,’ she sighs. Her hand still works busily inside Sammy’s heat, pressing exploring, feeling her engorging. Her other hand rises to cup one round breast, her thumb flicks over the nipple, which is hard and to attention. She presses forward until her own naked breast presses into Sammy’s, nipples teasing one another.
Closing her eyes against what she may see, she passes her head, lips poised, through the officer’s body. It is as if he is not there at all. No sensation until her mouth touches Sammy’s scorching skin. Her lips kiss across the tender flesh, around the areole and graze the stiff nipple which she presses with her tongue.
‘Give it to me,’ Sammy demands with her head thrown back.
The pilot is quick to act, opening his trousers and allowing Sammy to guide him in. Sammy leans forward as he enters, increasing pressure between breast and mouth. She continues to stroke Sammy’s lips, in and out, occasionally drifting a finger up to stroke her bud. Each time this happens Sammy’s belly contracts with the sensation.
