by Geoff Wolak
I sat outside on a bench under trees, observing the crowd wandering inside, most of them pensioners. At 3pm, give or take a few seconds, Trish walked into view. My heart raced, a massive hard-on coming as I stood and walked around behind her. She did not hear me approach, now dressed in skinny jeans and a white blouse under a smart blue jacket.
‘Ma’am.’
She jumped. Then just stared back, looking embarrassed.
I added, ‘You like old country houses as well. And you’re punctual.’
She took a moment. ‘Was hard to think through the clue, then I wasn’t coming, then ... well, bollocks to them.’
‘Ma’am, you swore,’ I teased, cocking an eyebrow.
‘Officers do, you know. We’re just like normal people.’
‘Apart from the fact that you could be court martialled for talking to me.’
‘Well, there is that.’
‘Do you know which lady officer I dated?’
Her eyes widened. ‘No...?’
‘Well there you go, I’m good at keeping secrets.’
‘Is this a date?’
In Russian I said, ‘It is anything you want it to be, my lady.’ I pointed away from the house, to the well-tended grounds, and we strolled, to a stream with ducks.
I said, ‘Whenever I see you ... you always seem so frail, so uncomfortable in the world.’
‘You’re a perceptive man. Yes, I was an awkward child, introverted, a bookworm, then – at thirteen, an uncle tried to rape me. I struggled free, hit him with a poker, almost killed him. I had a counsellor for a long time, and I took up swimming and running and did well, less introverted, and I got a commission before university.
‘But yes, some of that frightened little girl is still there, and I still see his face, but mostly I see myself killing him and going to prison.’ She glanced at me. ‘The men who died because of you..?’
I stared out at the fields, no emotion displayed. ‘When I’m in the boxing ring I want to kill the opponent, I have a lot of anger issues, but when I found out about it ... it choked me up, and I see images of their families at the graveside, and then it stings.
‘In Kenya, as a medic, I treated the wounded, did some village medicine, delivered a baby. That’s the real me, just that the world won’t leave me alone.’
She hooked her arm through mine as we wandered on. ‘So which of us is the most screwed up?’
‘You hide it well,’ I noted.
‘But that’s the whole thing isn’t it, we hide it, we don’t talk about it.’
‘Your secrets are safe with me. I don’t have many mates to chat with, lots of people I know to talk to, have a beer, but none are smart enough for a proper chat.’
We walked on.
She began, ‘In the bar, quiz night, when that man pulled a knife I was terrified. Then you went up to him and I was afraid for you, but you disarmed him like he was little girl. That’s what I need, a big strong man, not an officer who wants to take me the opera.’
I laughed. ‘You want a bit of rough.’
‘Well ... I liked seeing you win the boxing, yes. You were fighting for me against my uncle.’
‘Transposition.’
‘You studied psychiatry as well?’
‘I read a few books.’
‘I spent years worrying that they might lock me up, and my parents were never as supportive as they could have been. I hardly visit them.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘Outside Witney, with a girl that was my roommate in Oxford. And she’s more damaged than I am, still a virgin, terrified of everything – especially men.’
‘You dated anyone from ATC?’
‘Made that mistake once, never to be repeated, RAF gossip is horrid, even for officers.’
We passed a few other people enjoying the grounds.
I said, ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I was in love with your image since that first day.’
‘Image?’
‘A beautiful young lady officer in blue.’
‘I get a lot of attention, but when I look in the mirror I don’t understand it.’
‘When I go on holiday, I strip off, then the girls form an orderly line to come talk to me.’
‘I can imagine, yes. The Greek god. You know, the Greeks used to measure body parts and muscle, they had a scale to measure it by, to measure the beauty.’
‘You like a good male physique, Ma’am?’
‘Less of the Ma’am, it makes me sound like an old lady, and I’m twenty three. And yes, I like a good body, not the opera. And there’s not much gossip about you and girls on the base..?’
‘I dated one or two, had to be careful because of the gossip. Got close to one then she was posted to Scotland.’
‘That’s the problem with military relationships. I made that mistake as well.’
‘We’ll have to compare scars.’
‘You don’t need to treat me like some prim and proper lady, I’m not.’
I stopped and faced her, no one around, and cupped a breast. She did not react. ‘If you were just any old girl, I’d book a bed and breakfast and make you scream for mercy.’
She stared up at me. ‘I have a few overnight things.’
That shocked me. ‘Then let’s find a nice B&B ... where no one will ever find us.’
She followed in her car, and we headed north of Oxford ten miles, to a secluded village, a B&B cottage on a stream, swans stood waiting some bread. They had a room, bags lugged up, and I had my spares for when I drove the Air Commodore.
Bed clothes pulled back, curtains closed, and I stood in front of her as I undressed her, kissing her neck, down to the boobs and making her gasp, pushing her onto the bed, knickers yanked off, and I dived into her pussy, causing rapid breathing.
Fingers in at the right time, and she came quickly, and I worried for her health she was so contorted. Dick inside, and I rolled her onto me, stroking her hair, holding her.
‘We can shag later, I want to hold you,’ I whispered.
An hour later, and after making her scream, we both squeezed into the small shower, washing each other. I rubbed a scar on her hip.
‘A gift from my uncle,’ she said.
‘Good job you hit him then.’
‘He never recovered, brain damage.’
‘When I was thirteen, my Uncle Richard - on holiday – paid an older girl to teach me about sex.’
‘Thank him for me when you see him.’
‘Oh, he died, drank himself to death. Great character he was though. He taught me about girls, and that taking revenge is not only OK – but makes you feel a whole lot better.’
‘I wanted to go back and kill him, but he died when I was eighteen, some nursing home.’
I grabbed shampoo for my hair. ‘Sisters?’
‘One sister, younger than me, in Oxford now. I see her when I can, but she’s gone all Punk and Militant.’ She washed my stiff cock, and slowly, over and over.
‘I’m an only child, but I was never spoilt. My old man spent more time in the garden than with me. I played with the other boys, and fought a lot.’
‘Shock revelation, that.’
I laughed. ‘I went to Cheltenham Girls School.’
‘In a dress?’ she teased.
‘No, really. I was in Gloucester High, and the Girls school was up the road, and they had computers and we didn’t, so two afternoons a week we went there, about ten of us.’
She continued to wash my cock.
‘You do that very well,’ I told her. ‘Future for you after the RAF, pleasure sex slave.’
‘I might be in Heathrow Tower as you fly off somewhere exotic with your latest moll.’
Out the shower, and still wet, I threw her on the bed, diving into her pussy with a purpose, 69 position, and came quickly in her mouth – which she spat out. I made her scream, enjoying it, but then we realised that we had made the sheets wet.
Ten minutes later, and dressed, I headed downstairs to the fat old man wh
o owned the placed. ‘We made the sheets wet.’
He cocked an eyebrow.
‘Not like that, we lay on them wet out the shower ... well ... yes, like that let’s say.’
‘Ten quid to change the sheets.’
I sighed, and slapped the money down, getting new sheets. ‘When you see us next time, spares, or we stop coming.’
I changed the sheets, telling her off about spitting.
She explained, ‘That’s only about the third time in my life I’ve ... you know.’
‘Get used it to, and swallow, cost me £10 to change these.’ She slapped my arm.
Downstairs, we entered the small bar area, and sat, one other couple – pleasant nods exchanged, and had a meal, not too bad, plus a few wines for her, beer for me.
Back to the room for 10pm, I tore her clothes off.
‘What ... again?’ she puzzled.
‘You have dated some odd sorts, haven’t you.’ I made her moan, my lady now self-conscious about other guests and trying to be quiet, and moaning into a pillow. She fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.
I was up at dawn and peeing quietly, a quick wash of the bits that might smell, and I eased back into bed without waking her.
She woke whilst cuddled up to me. ‘My god, I had a one night stand.’
I moved hair from her eyes. ‘Planning on dumping me so soon?’
‘What? No.’
‘Then it’s not a one night stand.’
‘I mean ... I’ve never done that before.’
‘Getting adventurous at the grand old age of twenty-three. Where I grew up ... you’d be on your second kid already.’
She headed to the bathroom – I was not allowed in, and she had a quick shower, soon back in bed as I made tea from the tray.
‘Could you not walk around naked,’ she complained.
‘Why’s that, Ma’am?’ I toyed.
‘You have that Greek thing going on.’
I wiggled my dick with a hand. ‘You mean this thing.’
‘Stop it,’ she hissed.
I stood over her, getting an erection, tea cup in hand. ‘You get your morning tea after you say good morning to Mister Stiffy.’ I moved it towards her mouth, and she took it with eyes closed – and if it was made from something very delicate.
I handed her the tea. ‘OK, better, just remember the rules that go with seedy bed and breakfast places like this.’
‘Seedy? I love places like this.’
‘Then we’ll make this our regular meeting spot, but we need to communicate, so I’ll slip the old man a few quid, you leave a message here, I call here, and vice versa. He’ll be happy of the business.’
‘You are organised about these things.’
‘A few years back I saw my lady off the base in a place like this, to avoid the gossip.’
‘I have some time off coming, two days. Could go further?’
‘Down the south coast,’ I suggested.
After tea was downed we got dressed, a walk along the stream hand in hand, half a mile to a pub, coffee, a long chat, more coffee, then lunch.
A stroll back, and I bent her over a fence, a good shag from behind, but I had not finished inside her this weekend, she was not on the pill yet.
Jeans up, she said, ‘Never done that before either. It’s ... risky and dangerous.’
‘Like it.’
She smiled. ‘You’re a bad influence.’
‘At this rate you’ll be behaving like a normal girl in a few weeks.’
‘I hope so, it took me a while to get where I am, and my housemate, she’s a mirror reflection of where I might be.’
‘Was she raped?’
‘She won’t say and I don’t push it.’
‘Ninety percent go unreported. One in three girls I’ve dated had been raped at some point.’
‘Christ. But that makes me feel a little better, I used to think it was my fault.’
‘You should feel what it’s like when they put you in the van on your way to prison.’
‘I imagined that a great deal, after I hit him. But they treated you OK.’
‘They did, but I never forgave them.’
She gave me a hug, as if maybe I needed one, and maybe I did.
Back at base, on the Monday, I booked time off, and my CO could not decide if they owed me six weeks, or if I owed them ten weeks. I argued that all the trips I took were training - and did he want to meet my legal counsel.
On the Thursday night I met Trish at the Royal Hotel at 7pm, on the front in Bournemouth, reserved in the name of Michael Milton, paid by me so that her name was not recorded anywhere. We had a nice enough room, a partial sea view, part of the pier, the park and the town.
Bags down, we went for a walk, a short few steps to the cliff top path and east along, a commanding view of the beach and the Channel offered to us.
I pointed. ‘See the two piers, I came down here with the PTIs and swam from one to the other and back, about a mile. I trained here for the Channel, then in Dover.
‘Was it freezing?’
‘I had a neoprene vest, then the wetsuit, cap on my head, so it wasn’t too bad.’
‘Cold Monday’s at the base was your idea I heard.’
‘I swam better in the cold.’
‘Me too, I used Monday evenings sometimes.’
We ambled down the zig-zag path to the beach, a few people out with dogs, kids throwing a frizbee, and across to the sand. The stiff breeze was blowing the sand.
I pointed. ‘Looks like the Sahara.’ She cuddled close in the wind. ‘Did you know that Sahara means desert, so the Sahara Desert is Desert Desert.’
‘Smartarse.’
I laughed. ‘Smartarse bit of rough.’
Arm in arm, we walked back towards the pier, the road displaying drifting sand patterns, and inland through the park to the town, a nice wine bar found. And they served food.
At one point I said, ‘You know, seeing you used to make me angry.’
‘Angry? Why?’
‘Because of the whole officer and enlisted men thing. I wanted to ask you out, then I considered I wasn’t good enough, and that pissed me off.’
‘And now...’
I took a moment. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but ... a bit of a letdown.’
Her eyebrows shot up.
‘You were the unattainable princess, loved from afar. Now ... now I’m kind of stumped as to what to do with you, because I can’t let myself care for you too much.’
She stared into her drink for along ten seconds. ‘The head getting in the way of the heart.’
‘The Victorian values of an outdated officer system ... getting in the way.’
‘And if you could do anything you wanted..?’
‘If I stay with the RAF I’ll always be angry, but I’ll also always be pushing myself. I hate to admit it, but the RAF defines me, and being an oddity is the fuel that drives me. If I was working in an office I’d be a nobody.’
‘As the gladiator you feel alive at the roar of the crowd, but would you be happy home on the farm...’
I considered that. ‘Smartarse.’
The sex was great, Trish warming up and practising what went where, and we could not get enough of each other. On the Friday we drove to Swanage in my car, the weather good, and we strolled along the promenade hand in hand, chips eaten from the paper bag – my posh lady teased for sinking so low.
On the headland, the wind having died, we simply sat cuddled up, taking in the view for an hour before a sea gull picked a fight. We ran, we ducked down, Trish laughing as the bird came at us again and again. We passed another couple and knelt behind them, and they looked down at us like we were mad, the sea gull soon targeting them as we ran off.
‘Good tactic back there,’ I commended, and we skipped along like kids.
A long stroll down the promenade, ice cream enjoyed, and we reached the pier, people fishing.
I noted, ‘There’s a world out there, away from the RAF. Go
od to get away.’
‘But you always go back.’
‘Half the time I think it’s just to spite them.’
I placed my jacket down behind a stone wall and shagged her long and hard, making her moan out loud. Trousers up, knickers up, we were just about decent when and old couple walked past.
‘Nice day for it,’ I told them.
‘Perverts,’ came back, Trish shocked and running off. I caught up with her, my lady laughing and blushing at the same time, and we jogged a hundred yards.
She held my hand. ‘You’re a bad influence, but I’ve never had so much fun.’
‘This is what it feels like to be normal, the princess down from the castle tower and with the hoi polloi.’
On the Saturday we walked all the way along the beach to Poole, lunch in pub, a taxi back – her feet were hurting. Back at the hotel, we headed down to the bar at 8pm, a few people in, just as the band came in.
The manager, seeing the band, asked if they had decent clothes to wear, and therein started a problem. The band, some of them smelling of marijuana, had no change of clothes - and were a tad pissed off. The manager cancelled their gig, and sent them packing to loud curses.
There was a piano, and Trish suddenly lifted up and walked a few steps to it, her wine down on the top. Lid lifted, she sat as I stood near her, and she started to play, a classical piece. People moved closer, and others entered the bar, the manager returning half an hour later, and when Trish finished a piece she got a round of applause.
I told him, ‘Fifty quid for the set,’ Trish shooting me a look.
‘A free drink each.’
‘Done,’ I agreed, Trish laughing.
She played on for twenty minutes, but as the applause started her wine was knocked by a punter onto the keys. The barman was not impressed, the manager soon not impressed.
I faced Trish. ‘How many times have I told you about that!’
She squinted at me, hands on hips.
‘We still get that free drink, right.’
‘No!’
I was tempted to hit the guy, but someone in the doorway beat me to it. The band was back, eight of them, the barman soon hit, and when a chair was smashed down onto the piano Trish screamed for me to stop them damaging the lovely piano.
