Looking At The Moon

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

The skies were raining fire as he piloted his way through the clouds of smoke and haze … the silver and black Messerschmitts were all over his tail … bullets ripped through the canopy, the fuselage, the engine cover … he was falling from the sky … the stick gave him no control … the heat of the flames, the stench of the fumes, the searing pain of flesh crinkling as it burns … shoving the broken canopy open, he pushes himself up, up higher, feet on the seat … Jump! Now! Tumbling, dazed, disoriented … hand fumbles for the catch … pulling it sharply … phloomp! The parachute opens and fills and he floats … the gentle breeze carrying him back down to earth … so distant now from the war raging in the sky above … and he feels her with him, her hands caressing his body, her lips kissing his, her naked breasts rubbing against his chest, against his belly, against his thighs … eager fingers tugging at his clothes, pulling at his trousers, ripping open his fly … her mouth, her wet luscious mouth finding him, drawing him inside … tongue twirling, teeth grazing, lips sucking hard then harder still … his voice grunts and growls loudly …

“Oh, god, Lizzy! Yes!” he cried out. “God, Lizzy!”

“What? Who’s Lizzy?” Helen spat out.

Robert’s eyes snapped open. “What? Lizzy who?”

“That’s what I was asking, who’s Lizzy?” Helen pushed herself up from between his legs, her long hair tousled from sleep, her sleepy eyes ridden with disgust or was it fear?

“What are you talking about?” Robert said as he tried to find his bearings. He rubbed his hand through his hair. The sheet was pulled off his body, his shorts were down to his knees, his thickened member waggling in the grasp of Helen’s fingers.

“You just called me Lizzy,” Helen said curtly, letting go of his cock to slap against his belly. “I had your … your thing … in my mouth and you called me Lizzy … who was she? One of your French whores? Some floozy you bedded in England?”

“Wait, Helen,” Robert called out as Helen jumped up from the bed and ran to the bathroom. “Come on, you know me.” He watched as her tall lean and quite naked form darted into the bathroom and the door slammed shut with a bang. The lock quickly latched. He climbed off the bed and kicked his shorts off.

“Go away … go … go away … Richard!”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” he protested as he tried opening the door latch. “Helen, come on out. You know how you drive me crazy when you do that … I was out of my mind … I didn’t know what I was saying.”

“You knew what you were saying, all right,” she spat out. “I had your … your dick in my mouth and you called me by another woman’s name.” The sound of gentle sobbing could be heard through the door, and probably accompanied by a veil of tears.

“Come on, sweetheart, open the door and come out,” Robert pleaded. “Come on, let me make it up to you.”

“Go away … Clark!”

“Oh, come on, Helen!” Robert said, tapping on the door. “Come on and unlock the door so we can talk this out. You know that you’re my only girl. I was dreaming for Christ sake! Open this door goddamit!”

His final pounding on the door was met with a heavy silence. He turned and leaned back against the door with a deep sigh. It was now early April and for the past three months, they had been living together, “shacking up” in her cute little apartment just off base at Rogers Dry Lake, quickly becoming known as Muroc Field. By day Robert instructed a dozen young pilots in air combat tactics. P38 Lockheed Lightnings mostly. Rumors were flying around the base on off base that they were all to be reassigned to the Fifth Army Air Corps with in the month. Probably headed for the Pacific.

By night, he squired Helen Worthing around. They were seen at the clubs, at the parties, or just tooling along the highway in his green Packard roadster. The last thing he wanted was to screw up his thing with Helen. She was a feisty spoiled but independent girl who was used to having her own way. And Robert had made her the beneficiary of everything he had learned. Although everyone saw a tall elegant cover girl, Helen had become a fierce lover in the bedroom, discovering everything that Robert loved and delivering it to him ten-fold each night. He turned back toward the door.

“Helen, sweetheart,” he said calmly and gently. “Helen, baby, let me kiss you and make this all go away. I want to kiss you on your neck, just under your ear, where you like it. Let my lips taste your neck and your shoulder … let my hands touch your breasts, feel your nipples grow hard … Come on, honey, don’t you want to feel my mouth sucking on your breasts again … I know you like it when I do … don’t you want to feel my touch you down there, stroke your soft downy fur …”

The door lock unlatched. Robert stood away from the day as it opened slowly. Through the crack of the door, he could see Helen standing there, her naked body backlit by the early morning sun, her hand reaching down between her legs, her proud breasts surging upward, nipples taut in the chill morning air. Robert slowly pushed the door open and backed away. He pulled his undershirt off and backed up toward the bed. He could feel his ready cock dangle between his legs and could see that she was looking at it too.

Slowly she began to move toward him, until their bodies came together at the foot of the bed and they collapsed back onto the mattress, quickly becoming locked in a tight embrace, their mouths hungry for each other, their arms and legs interweaving a tapestry of need and desire. Robert’s mouth worshipped her body, seeking to make amends for his earlier mistake. And when he thrust himself deep into her, Helen clutched him tightly to her lithe body accepting his apology and reciprocating with a fierce wanton lust.

“Helen, baby! Oh Helen, baby!” Robert called out again and again.

When their love reached a climax, their bodies hot and glistening with perspiration, Robert felt her body tremble and quiver intensely. She clawed at him, raking her nails down his back, biting him on the shoulder, and digging her heels into his back.

“Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!” she screamed loudly and often enough to bring the broom handle of the downstairs neighbors into play, pounding on the ceiling over their breakfast table. As Robert let his spent body fall against her, Helen brushed at his hair and hugged him tightly.

“Oh, Roger! You are the best!” she called out.

“What?” Robert said, lifting his head for a moment. The sprightly grin on her face gave her away.

* * * * * *

Robert was surprised at the speed of the mobilization for the war in the US. It was almost as if a switch had been pulled and the States went from a numbingly blind and complacent avoidance to full throttle participation. It was true that the wheels had been in motion for over a year, and contingency plans set into place for use when the conflict came to American shores. Offices in Washington and boardrooms in New York and Detroit and elsewhere had worked behind the scenes in preparation. The people had recovered from the shock and disbelief of early December and had rallied to the cause, as if one. Even doubters like his father were enthusiastic about the effort.

In mid-April, Captain Robert “Bobby” Wilson had received his reassignment to the 1st Interceptor Wing of VIII Interceptor Command and flew with his unit to Selfridge Field north of Detroit. Helen had stayed behind until the end of the month so that her little brother Samuel could take the train out to California and help drive Robert’s Packard back home. She had wanted to go on to Selfridge and join him, but Robert asked her to remain in Gates Mill, his final destination and reassignment remaining a secret. Perhaps even the planners in Washington hadn’t been able to figure out a timetable since events were moving so fast.

Helen had cabled Robert via Western Union, pleading with him: WE MAY HAVE JUST A FEW SHORT WEEKS TOGETHER STOP PLEASE LET ME JOIN YOU BOBBY PLEASE

Robert’s reply: NO CAN DO KIDDO

In spite of his rejection, Helen took Robert’s well-traveled roadster for the six-hour drive from Gates Mill to Selfridge Field and surprised him as she had done before in California. But there was a difference in Robert demeanor and stiffer regulations had been put into place.

“It’s different now sweetheart,” he told her as they stood together at the front gate of the airfield. “We’re on a war footing. This isn’t just some air school for flyboy wannabe’s. This is the real thing, and it’s going to get a whole lot more real very soon.”

“But, Bobby, I need you,” Helen pleaded. “I want you … I love you.”

Her last admission caught him off guard. They had spoken of many things in the past year since he had come home from England. They had talked about likes and dislikes, children and families, and even of a vague nebulous future that they might spend together. But they had not spoken of love. Although his feelings for Helen had grown deep, something had always held him back. Since England, Robert had come to believe that he couldn’t fall in love with anyone again, that he wouldn’t let it happen again, not while he was in the service, not while he had to honor his responsibility and his duty to his country.

“But, Helen, sweetheart … I could be transferred overseas tomorrow, and where would you be then?” Robert said, squeezing her shoulders tightly. “You need to go back to Gates Mill and your family.”

“But I don’t want to be there with them,” Helen protested tearfully. “I want to be here with you.”

Robert couldn’t resist her tears, not at that moment. After spending a couple of idle days waiting by herself in a dingy little one-room camp cabin near the air base, Helen spent two glorious days with Robert on a 48-hour pass. They drove up to Lexington and found a quaint little roadside inn. They wandered the secluded pines and stayed up all night to watch the sunrise on Lake Huron. Though she tried using every one of her womanly wiles, Helen couldn’t pry those three little words from Robert.

Two days later, Helen drove the Packard tearfully back to Gates Mill. Three days later, Robert received his orders to fly with his unit up to Presque Isle, Maine, in what would be the first leg of a more permanent move to England. So, he was going back to England! It wasn’t until they were in the air crossing over Canadian airspace that he allowed himself to think about England. A flood of thoughts sluiced through his head. England, the Blitz, buzzing Messerschmitts, the sound of a proud old Hurricane taking off, and of course, the Lovely Mrs. Fitzmorgan.

Why hadn’t she written him? He was convinced that it was another man, surely one of the dashing young Brit pilots of the 607th, at the likely urging of Hattie or Alexandra, had discovered her and taken her into his life. He was happy for Elizabeth in her new life as he imagined it: a quaint little cottage somewhere in the country, her dashing hero waggling the wings of his Spitfire, rattling the roof shingles as he took off from the local aerodrome. Then Robert’s radio crackled and he was brought back to real life and began his descent into Presque Isle.

The 1st Combat Group that he was a part of was slated to leave the States in early June. Along with the 97th Bomber Group and the 31st Combat Group they were marshaled into Grenier Field in New Hampshire prior to their flyover of the north Atlantic. But while the combat units of the Eighth Air Force in New England studied the problems and procedures of their projected air movement to England, the Japanese fleet steamed toward Midway Island in the Pacific. On the first of June, orders went out from Washington suspending their movement to England and directing that all planes be held on six hours notice for dispatch to a new destination. A critical hour had come in the Pacific, and all available planes were moving west—west from Hawaii to Midway, from Hamilton and March to Hickam, and westward across the North American continent to fill the vacuum created on the Pacific coast by departures for Hawaii and the Aleutians, where the enemy also was expected.

On June 2nd the War Department ordered the 97th Bombardment Group and the 1st Fighter Group to the West Coast on assignment to the Western Defense Command. This began a ragged couple of weeks where they flew across the country, held up for a few days at an over-crowded Hammer Field in Fresno, and then flew back to New England. Along the way, Robert and his wing practiced their formations, sprang a few sneak attacks on the lumbering B17s and nearly lost Jimmy McMaster when a trigger happy tail gunner caught sight of him and panicked, sending a shower of lead at the diving P38.

The physical and mental drain of the long distance over and back took a toll on the pilots and their planes. But they were young and willing and their equipment was brand new. Most of the pilots, Robert included, saw it as an opportunity to shake out any bugs that might plague them later. Upon their return, they found out that the 31st had been spared the Western excursion and had moved on to England ahead of them, going by ship instead of air because all of their B17 support was in the western skies. Over the next three days the squadrons of the 1st and 97th were broken up into smaller groups called elements, each of which contained one B17 and four P38s.

Robert’s group left Grenier Field on June 21st bound for Goose Bay, Labrador. After a stopover for fuel and repairs, they flew on to Iceland. After more fuel and repairs and rest, they moved on to the Prestwick Aerodrome on the west coast of Scotland landing ironically on British soil on July 4th. No one had received orders beyond Prestwick and all were curious as to their final destination. It was on a warm and breezy day that took Robert back two years to when he and Garner first saddled up in their Hurricanes, that Robert fell into a meeting with his comrades for the dispersion briefing by their CO Gen. Chadwick Lewis.

“I’m sure that all of you men are concerned about where you will be stationed,” said the tall lanky Gen. Lewis. “Especially since you’ll begin moving out tomorrow.” He unveiled a large signboard that depicted the British Isles. “The 1st Combat Group is being broken up into smaller commands and stationed at various airfields within a workable distance for the purpose of quick assembly when the time comes to get airborne. Your missions will be in a support role for the B17s of the 97th, intercepting and pursuing any German aircraft that attack our bombers. You have all received training in this and are well qualified for this action.”

Overhead, the sound of more aircraft thundered. New arrivals probably. The General looked up and smiled. “Sounds like I better speed this up so we can get the hell out of the way!”

Laughter rumbled through the hangar where they had gathered.

“Group A will move to Grafton, Group B to Underwood, Group C to Thurleigh,” the General announced, tapping the location of the airfield on the map for each group. “Group D will move to Molesworth, Group E to Kimbolton, Group E to Maisthorpe …”

Robert looked at his orders. He was assigned to Group E. Maisthorpe … Maisthorpe … why was that name so familiar? Maybe it was a town he had passed through during one of his travels.

“A lot of these airfields are new, satellite fields that have been generously carved out of farms and estates by our British friends,” announced the General. “We are to treat them and their property as if it were our own. Your grounds crew will be local boys who have already been trained by our best mechanics. We are here to work together and help them, not help ourselves, so I want everyone of you to be on your best behavior.”

It wasn’t until the meeting was over and he stood out on the flight line chatting with his wing mates about their exciting assignment that the name struck home.

“You know what they say about British wenches, don’t you?” Ritchie Fain chuckled. “Bobby’s been here, he knows, don’t ya?”

“What’s that?” Robert said absentmindedly.

“Aw, come on, Bobby, tell ‘em,” Fain prattled on. “British girls can’t keep their hands off us Yanks, can they?”

“Yeah, sure,” Robert said, waving Fain off as he took a few steps away. Maisthorpe, as in Maisthorpe Manor, southeast of Norwich in Norfolk, the home of Elizabeth’s family. Perhaps her family had given over the lands and moved away for the duration. Perhaps Mrs. Fitz was off with her new man someplace, living her new life, a life that certainly didn’t include him. Robert had nothing to be afraid of, did he? He had his duty and he fully intended to serve to the fullest of his talents and abilities, despite the lingering memory of that sweet British lass with the incredible green eyes.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan.

Elizabeth caught the early milk train into Norwich, with Joan Morris and Ted Roach. Ted grumbled and ran a finger round the neck of his tight collar. The man was in his best suit and the faint smell of moth balls followed him.

“Camps, army camps or airfields or munitions dumps. Happened before, pay you a pittance, saying you can repurchase the land after the duration. Out right robbery..” Ted Roach muttered as the train shuddered to a stop. “And don’t you tell me there is a war on.” The wiry built man of 50 added as he escorted the two ladies off the train.

“I wasn’t going to Ted.” Elizabeth answered as she pulled her coat tight against the bitter wind. Half her mind was back with her son, this was the first day since he was born she had been so far away from him. A whole day. In a way it was nice, in another it was frightening.

The three of them piled into a taxi and travelled the short distance to the council buildings. Joan got out first at looked at the fine Victorian façade, the doors of which were flanked by piles of sandbags “I was wondering if there is a raid….”

“No need to worry Joan, yon councillors will have got themselves a dandy shelter, eh Mrs Fitzmorgan.” Elizabeth nodded in agreement and smiled at the fact that Ted called Joan by her first name but her by her married one. Elizabeth’s father had been a “Sir” a member of the old landed gentry, she herself had never been called “lady” though she supposed she could of. But Ted’s use of her formal name reminded her suddenly that young Robert George was actually heir to the Manor and her father’s title.

“Indeed they would have, Ted, such always do.” Elizabeth answered as she walked into the building.

~

After half an hour the meeting had descended into a sullen chaos. The “Man from the ministry” and his fellows including two servicemen, who sat at the back and whose faces she could not see, though one was wearing RAF blue, had said little that Elizabeth and the others did not know. The government wanted their land, would pay what they believed a “decent price” and give the owners the option to buy the land back after the duration, but only if the government had no further use for the “establishment” they had built. The meeting was really to rubber stamp the purchase and get the necessary paperwork moving without the government officials trundling half way round the county. It was impossible to refuse to sell, as the government would slap a compulsory purchase order on the land. And everyone in the room knew it.

“You may ask questions..” The man from the ministry said and sat.

“For what purpose, this has been a waste of a day.” Ted said moving in his seat. “You want the land, but it just drives me mad that only a couple of months ago the ministry of food was ordering me to plough those meadows.”

“We understand… But things happen fast in times of war…” The ministry of works employee said shifting the papers on his desk.

Elizabeth sighed, it had been a waste of a day and what was more they “government people” were treating the farmers like fools, all this talk of secrecy. Once building started on what ever the land was needed for, you couldn’t hide it from both the local populace and any over-flying enemy recognisance planes. All right people might not know what was going on inside. But an army barracks or an airfield base were impossible to hide.

Elizabeth did something she would not normally do and stood up cleared her throat and spoke. “I understand the need for secrecy, but aren’t you going a bit too far, once you start building these airfields” Elizabeth was going to say army camps as well, but the look in the eyes of one of the men at the back, the gent in the suit on the right of the RAF officer, made her not do so. She had hit the nail on the head. “As I said once you start construction you can’t hide the places. I know, my husband was a fighter pilot with the RAF, I have lived close to RAF bases and now a little of what affect even a small fighter station can have on the local area.”

“But why do the RAF need so many, if you intend to build on all the sites...” A man at the back of the small audience said.

“Yes you will know once the bases are built and occupied. All I can say is that they are needed if we are to win this war.”

“So we have to grin and bare it and cope with a few hundred boys in blue dumped on the doorstep of our communities. How are we to cope with such an influx; these fields are going up next to small villages not towns. Not to mention wives and families, believe me I know. Oh you discourage them from following, but from personal experience I know the women go with the men if they can.” Elizabeth said raising an eyebrow

The gentleman in the suit at the back made to stand, against the whispered protests of the RAF officer and the other military gent. But he did and coughed then spoke..” Miss… Mrs…” The sandy haired man’s accent was American.

“Oh shit, bloody Yanks” Ted Roach groaned.

“Yes… err Americans.” The American tactfully said above the rising tide of voices.

“My name is Elizabeth Fitzmorgan, so we can discount families then? But still a few thousand men… or will it be more? If these bases are bomber ones… the crews alone…” Elizabeth shook her head.

“Mrs Fitzmorgan, I can’t vouch for each man’s character personally, but we will be guests in your country…” The sandy-haired man said, a crooked smile creasing his strong looking face.

“Sir, I know from personal experience what pilots, crew and ground crew get up to off duty. Are you trying to tell me American men are different?” Elizabeth retorted. This brought a gargle of laughter from the RAF officer. “But I see it is a fait accompli our land is being handed over to you to build your bases, nothing we can do about it, just accept it and deal with it as best we can.”

A wave of ayes and claps greeted Elizabeth’s words.

“You make us sound like the enemy Mrs Fitzmorgan; we are your allies, coming here to help you… in this battle against a joint enemy...” The American said his brown eyes marking Elizabeth’s face.

“Yes and we are grateful I assure you, but this is not Kansas Mr…” Elizabeth let her voice drop.

“Harman Baker.”

“As I said Mr Baker, this is a foreign country to you. Our ways are not yours in so many things.” Elizabeth shut her eyes now as thoughts of her time with Bobby flooded through her. She sat down and did not speak again as the meeting broke up with very little more added. The land was being bought, airbases being built. Though it was made clear to all those there that they must not speak of the nature of the meeting. Though this was a moot point, the press some three weeks later reported on the arrival of the “first American planes” in to a base “some were in England.” Though this was just a “show piece” for the news reels and press on both sides of the Atlantic, it brought home the fact that England was being turned into a military staging post of massive proportions.

On making her way to the staircase after the meeting Elizabeth was hailed by the RAF Officer. She told Joan and Ted to go on and she would catch them up and turned to face the approaching man, who was closely followed by Mr Harman Baker and the other military officer, who now Elizabeth realised was wearing an American uniform.

“Lizzy!”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Thomas!” She called and found herself being hugged by her best friend’s husband. “What are you…”

“Bumped me up to a desk job… running out of steam old girl. Getting too bloody old to be flying kites,” Thomas said as he kissed Elizabeth on the cheek.

“Nonsense.” Elizabeth said and looked hard at Thomas. He had lost weight, His eyes shrunk into his head, he seemed tense, nervous. Ill. The strain of nearly three years flying on the sharp end of this war had burned him out.

“True, leave the flying to the younger chaps, me I fly a desk… liaison officer to this bunch of Yanks coming, least will be one of that sort… just showing them the lay of the land and the hostile natives for the moment.” Thomas quipped. Elizabeth could hear both relief and sadness in her friend’s voice, but was glad, for him, for Hattie and their daughter, that a least he was safe now.

“And you are one of the hostiles?” Harman Baker said and held out his hand. Elizabeth shook it and that of his fellow American.

“Not hostile, Mr Baker, just concerned for my home, my village… my small bit of England.”

“I understand, indeed I do.. So are we.. That is why I wondered if you would be a member of a small committee for your area, made up of both your people and ours to help smooth the wrinkles so to speak.”

“I can’t.. I have a son.. I have…” Elizabeth blustered.

“Go on Lizzy you will keep me company when I look in on your lot down round Maisthorpe to make sure you haven’t murdered all the Yanks in their beds or done other things in their beds…” Thomas winked. Elizabeth felt herself flush.

Harman Baker coughed and said. “And I would be glad of your company as well Mrs Fitzmorgan.”

~


The main heavy construction for the airfields was done by local contactors; they ripped out hedges, put in drainage and sewers and laid the long runways of concrete. Then they abandoned the place, leaving just the raw scars on the landscape.

The USAAF, unlike other air forces, did not leave construction of the heart of its airfields to army engineers. Instead it formed its own self-contained engineer aviation battalions. In April and May 1942 Elizabeth watched from horseback as part of one of these battalions swarmed over the Manor land. She had no idea if it was to be a bomber or fighter one or a combined one. She was also aware from her father in law that a large American military hospital was being constructed at Morley, Wymondham.

She was also aware of the tide of mixed public opinion with regard to this “friendly invasion” and had, herself, also earned a reputation, started at the meeting for being a bit of a “problem” in regards to certain things.

For over the next two and a half years more than a million and a half US servicemen arrived in the UK. The lifestyle and values of their homeland were well-known already through Hollywood films and American dance music was very popular.

Nevertheless “oversexed, overpaid and overhere” the GIs provoked friction. Many women were eager to trade their virtue for the luxuries from the PX stores and nights out dancing to the excellent bands which served the US bases.

While the US occupation increased mutual understanding and respect of each others culture it was often a powder keg that exploded with disastrous results on both sides.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

The days moved from one to the other so quickly. Robert often remembered the chaos of the Battle, the sleepless nights, the daily scrambles, the urgent striving to reach the heights, the swarms of Messerschmitts and Folkewolves, yet those days of two years before seemed to have such an order in his memory. Sure, once in the skies chaos reigned, but on the ground there was an order to things. Under the auspices of the US Eighth Army Air Force, everything was chaotic.

The grounds crews and repair crews were mostly Brits, the pilots and command were all American, and try as they would the two had difficulty mixing. There were errors of communication, and not just semantic difficulties. One night a near riot broke out on the flight line. Afterwards no one would admit what had really caused the fracas, but it had ended when Robert and a ruddy-faced Brit mechanic stood at the front, stared each other down and laughed.

“Come on, guys, this is not our enemy … nor yours!” Robert pleaded with his drunken mates and the cross faced Brits opposing them. Robert then pointed across the Channel. “Our enemy is over there … flying under the Iron Cross!” There was a moment of silence followed by a huge uproar and hands were shook and a lot of ale later flowed and things were peaceful for a few days at least.

Each day that Robert walked the grounds at Maisthorpe, he looked for Elizabeth or someone like her. Once he and his squadron had landed here, he began to feel her presence. This was her land, the land of her family, the air that she had breathed. Everywhere he turned he saw her face. And on the night of the 28th of August he looked up at the full moon and could hear the smooth legato voice of Frankie Sinatra singing over the sleek horn section of the Tommy Dorsey orchestra. Where was she? The answer came two days later when he spotted her walking with an English officer, a tall gaunt gentleman with a courtly manner who seemed to defer to her every gesture. Fuck me! Robert thought long and hard and replayed the scene in his mind. Who was I to think that what we had was something special? Look at that! She’s already forgotten about me! He spat onto the ground, disgusted more at himself than at anything or anyone else.

One day Ritchie Fain came upon him as he stood watching Elizabeth wheel the stroller about the lush grasslands of the manor house.

“Oh, Bobby, that lady is out of our league,” Ritchie laughed.

“What do you mean?” Robert replied.

“You don’t know? That’s the Ice Princess,” Fain said in a reverent tone.

“The what?”

“The Ice Princess,” Fain explained. “At least that’s what I hear from the Limey liaison officer. She’s a beauty, that’s for sure, but there is nothing on this island that is hot enough to warm her heart.”

“Think so?” Robert replied.

“Know so,” Fain laughed. “Give it up.” He clapped Robert on the back and led him away. “I know you have an eye for the ladies and we all know what a great broad you have waiting for you at home. But that one … forget about her!”

Robert went off with Fain and by the third double bourbon—or was it the fourth?—they had forgotten all about the sweet English lass. But the real kicker came the next day when Robert wandered over near a small park near the main house and saw her wheeling a baby stroller with a child inside. A swing had been tied to a low broad limb of the tree and Elizabeth lifted the child out and set him into the swing and began to push. Robert was nearly ready to burst from the bushes and greet her when heard her laugh with delight and his heart sank. The stout young lad with the black hair and sparkling blue eyes would have no clue as to who this rambling Yank was, so he hung back and watched for a few minutes longer before moving back through the shadows to his barracks.

The days of Group E of the 1st Fighter Group were spent in the air, flying reconnaissance. There were rules that had to be learned, landmarks that had to become familiar, and tactics that had to be taught. They even practiced with the 97th Bomber squadron and were mostly ready when on August 29th 1942 they flew their first daylight combat mission over the harbor of Le Harve against minimal opposition, thankfully. Robert and his fellows had taken to their assignment with a cool aplomb. This is what they had longed for since Pearl Harbor or before. Their dual-engined P38 Lockheed Lightnings were the equal of anything the Germans could throw at them. Although heavier and slightly less maneuverable, they could climb faster and higher and seeking the high ground was always advisable in a dogfight. Their superior armor and armament made them a daunting opponent for the Luftwaffe.

Yet Robert’s biggest challenge lie on the ground. Once having seen her, Robert suddenly began to see Elizabeth every day, most often with her child and sometimes with the Brit Army officer. Of course, on his off hours he would often wander deliberately around where he had seen her. One day he found himself watching her at the little park near the main house, scampering about chasing down her youngster still just a toddler barely able to walk, though amusingly so; the sweet sounds of her laughter carried on the breeze, haunting and taunting Robert. He turned away and held onto a tree branch for a few moments feeling weak and uncertain. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he exhaled his words were soft but strong. “Damn! God damn!” He turned to go and had taken a step when he heard her voice.

“Bobby? Bobby Wilson? Is that you?”

Robert turned to see her green eyes, the lush auburn hair, the pale clear complexion, and her smile, that damned smile.

“Hello, Lizzy,” he said haltingly. “How are you?”

“I’m well actually, thank you for asking,” Elizabeth replied.

For several moments they stood together facing each other, their eyes locking upon the other, never wavering. For a moment he almost thought he could feel something strong, something that felt like her emotions, but the gleeful sound of her child broke the spell and Robert took a step back. Why hadn’t she written? All she needed to do was write him and tell him that she had found another man … and a child. For the sake of Christ! He would have understood. Robert was certain that she would have at least known that about him. When the youngster peeked around her leg for the second time, Elizabeth looked up at him and grinned strongly, almost defiantly. The tugging of her child made her laugh.

“Guess there is someone here whom you should meet,” she laughed.

Robert looked down at the child who glared up at him with inquisitive blue eyes.

“So what’s your name young man?” Robert asked, trying to sound cheerful.

Elizabeth looked at Robert and grinned.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Elizabeth was fighting her own war that summer. She often felt as if she was between a rock and a hard place. Hattie and Thomas had acquired a small house five miles away. Thomas spent his time flitting from airbase to airbase muttering about Yanks coming out of his ears. But he seemed to be thriving on the challenge and Elizabeth was glad for her old friend.

He wasn’t the only old friend she saw. In the course of her work on various committees, Arthur Crossmore, an old neighbour, if the son of a family would owned an estate some seven miles away could be called that, had appeared. Arthur was a major in the army, his unit undergoing basic training before being shipped out to the Middle East. He and Elizabeth met at a meeting concerning training on local land, though Elizabeth wondered how training in English countryside could help men going to the desert. Not that she mentioned it; nor the fact that she had found out about the Middle East.

From a personal point if view Elizabeth felt the War for Britain was going from bad to worse. Rommel and his Afrika Korps were driving the British forces nearly to Suez. If that happened then Britain would be cut off from her empire and the oil from the Middle East and the war would plummet into a deeper hell. With the loss of Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia and Burma to the Japanese the British people had little to cheer about; even with the fact that now America and also Russia were in the war.

They had their own share of defeats and it seemed the enemy was unbeatable.

Yet small things pointed to hope.

The small island of Malta hung on and the island and its people were awarded the George Cross and in August against all odds the arrival of convoy PEDESTAL signaled the rising of the siege.

A battle in the Pacific in April at Midway had begun to turn the tide there, though the affects had yet to be felt by the public. In July the British forces in the desert had halted Rommel’s attempt to breakthrough to the Suez at a place called El Alamein, this place a few months latter would see the first victory, one that caused Churchill to say afterwards that the Allies never had a “major defeat”.

But for Elizabeth her war was trying to make as normal a life for herself and others. The fact that a few hundred Americans were living within a mile or so of her home did not help her state of mind for it opened her memories of Bobby. She swung from anger to sadness, to acceptance and by July had begun to be able to look at her memories without too much pain, she had her son, their son no matter what.

It came as a shock to learn from Thomas that one, Captain Robert “Bobby” Wilson was stationed at the base. This totally rocked Elizabeth back on her heels. She wanted to go down there, to stand and ask to see him. To tell him. but….. no, she could not. Once or twice she caught glimpses of a man she thought was Robert, she was never sure, never had the courage to cross the street or shout.

It was plain to Elizabeth by August that Robert was avoiding her. She understood, least she tried too, but it hurt.

Then one day as she took time to play with her son, Bobby’s son, in the Manor grounds she heard a voice, a voice she never thought to hear again.

“Damn! God damn!” It was Bobby.

Elizabeth’s heart pounded should she say something? She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She swallowed hard and said. “Bobby? Bobby Wilson? Is that you?”

He turned and looked at her with those dark blue eyes he had given his son. For a moment Elizabeth closed her own eyes; then snapped them open. I want to see him, to see what he looks like now, to have something to add to the memories, she thought. She noticed he was a little sturdier than before. Not fat, but had flesh on his bones. No rationing in the states, she felt a small smile tug her lips. His hair, the way it curled in the nape of his neck. His hands clenched then were shoved into his pockets. Elizabeth could not help herself and remembered those same hands on her breasts, stomach, tracing lazy circles on her skin till she almost cried out in pleasure.


“Hello, Lizzy,” he said haltingly. “How are you?”

He is embarrassed perhaps he got lost on a walk, didn’t mean to be here and is just being polite, the thoughts rattled in her mind, hurting and cutting deep. “I’m well actually, thank you for asking.”

Their eyes locked and Elizabeth felt her mouth go dry wondering what does he see, can he understand that I still feel the same even though I deny it, even though I tell myself its just memories. For a second she wanted to blurt out everything. Then her, their son giggled and blew a large bubble and clasped her leg, butting it and peering round at the man before them. She looked down and laughed, it sounded so brittle to her ears.

Perhaps “Guess there is someone here whom you should meet?” She picked up the boy and held him. Young Robert George decided this was a new game and began to pull Elizabeth’s hair into his fists and eat it, all the time glaring at the man that was his father.

“So what’s your name young man?” Robert asked, trying to sound cheerful.

Elizabeth looked at Robert and grinned or tried too.

“Robert George,” Elizabeth said trying to disentangle her hair, only to find her nose under assault.

“I see…” Bobby said, plunging his hands deeper into his pockets and scuffing the ground with his right foot.

“Do you…” Elizabeth’s smile faded and she began to feel a little angry. No, sorry I didn’t write, no sorry I have been here a few months and not….

“You and your husband must be proud.” Robert said softly.

“My husband is dead as well you know Pilot Officer, no Captain isn’t it? Captain Robert Wilson.”

“Mrs Fritz…”

“Please don’t call me that…”

“I see…”

“No you don’t!” Elizabeth nearly shouted and turned on her heel, her son sticking his tongue out over her shoulder. As she walked back to the house Elizabeth cursed herself for not saying more, but she just couldn’t bare the look on Bobby’s face. How could he think she would have? Maybe that’s how he wants it to be… She had always told herself she would tell their son, but how do you prepare a child for the fact their father might not want to know.

She went inside and put a sleepy Robert George into his crib in the large kitchen. As she stroked the child’s head Elizabeth became aware of a scrape of a boot on the doorstep.

edited to alter a horrible typo....

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

His head was spinning and his heart was pounding as he stood for a moment uncertain of what to do next. He looked toward the figure that was disappearing in the direction of the manor house and then away. Robert began to do the math … he had last seen Elizabeth at Christmas 1940 … he remembered the snow and their jovial hosts and the long nights of love they had shared ... her son appeared to be perhaps a year old give or take a month … nine months plus about a year added up to August 1942!

It couldn’t be could it?! Could this youngster actually be his son? There was a photograph of him and his mother when he was about a year old. They were at the old family cottage on the Lake. His mind quickly recalled the face of the youngster, the curly black hair, and the dark blue eyes as he timidly peered around the skirts of his mother. Never before in his life had he ever felt like such a fool!

It didn’t matter now for in this single revelatory moment, his entire life changed. As the realization dawned on him, a million questions flooded his mind. Why hadn’t I written her more often? Why hadn’t she written me with the news? Why hadn’t I tried harder to visit her before I left? Why had I given up so easily? Why had I been so quick to think that she had taken up with someone else? Why had I been so quick to jump into the sack with Helen? Why hadn’t I …why hadn’t she …

Robert looked up toward the manor house and the figure had disappeared. He knew which direction his next footstep should take. Deep in his heart he knew and had proven that he wasn’t the type to turn and walk away. So he took that first footstep then a second and his footfalls soon became a trot then a full out run. He was out of breath by the time he reached the house. He paused for a few moments to catch his breath. Why have I been such a fool? he asked himself over and over. Damn! Then he climbed the steps and knocked on the door. It was several moments before it opened. It was Elizabeth, her green eyes dark and brooding.

“What do you want?” she asked him in a hushed voice.

“I … I want to see my son,” Robert said, his voice tremulous and shaking like his body.

“You can’t,” she replied curtly. “He’s sleeping.”

“Then can’t we talk?” he asked earnestly.

“What would that prove?” Elizabeth said. “You’ve got your commission … and now I’ve got my own life to live.”

“But Lizzy, please,” Robert pleaded. “I had no idea … I didn’t know … you have to give me a chance …”

“A chance for what?” she cut off. “So you can break both of our hearts when you take off back home?”

“Lizzy, please,” Robert said, taking a step up to the open door. “Let me explain … let me see him, just this once.”

Elizabeth hovered in the door, her eyes welling up with tears. Then she stepped back and let him enter.

“Be quiet, he’s napping,” Elizabeth said as she led Robert toward the crib set up in the kitchen.

When he looked down at the infant peacefully sleeping on the soft blankets, the innocent angelic face, the curly black hair, his miniature hands curled up into tight little fists, Robert began to cry. He felt the shudder well up in his chest as his throat grew tight and the tears began to run down his cheeks. This is my son of my own flesh and blood, he thought. His shoulders began to shake as he tried to stifle his tears. He looked over at Elizabeth and she was crying too. In that moment, he could do no more than reach out to her and pull her into his arms. Her body was warm and quivering.

At first, his arms wrapped around her, then his hands sought to stroke through her soft lush hair. When he cupped her pretty little face in his hands, he wanted to kiss her. As his lips approached her, Elizabeth backed away.

“Don’t, Bobby … don’t,” she said through her tears.

But he didn’t listen and his lips met hers and pressed against them and all of the pent up frustrations of the past year and a half exploded. They huddled and cried together. Robert struggled to speak but his throat felt as if someone had stuffed a sock down it. They held each other tightly for the longest while. When they went to wipe away their tears, they began to laugh.

“Shh,” Elizabeth hissed, trying to shush him. “He’s very crabby when he’s woken up suddenly.”

“Sort of like his father, eh?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Robert George, you say?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered, still fighting off her tears. “Robert George.”

“He’s … he’s beautiful!” Robert said, resting his hand on the crib. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful child before.”

“He is a charmer.” Elizabeth slipped up beside Robert, finding a secure place beside the crib inside the crook of Robert’s arm. When his arm swooped around her to pull her tight against him, his hand captured her breast by complete accident.

“Hmm, Mrs. Fit—er, Elizabeth,” Robert remarked, hefting her firm pliant flesh. “You’ve grown some curves … not that what you had wasn’t nice or anything.”

Elizabeth nestled beside Robert and hooked her arm around him. Robert leaned down to place a kiss on the top of her head. They both looked down at the sleeping Robert Charles who barely stirred in his deep slumber.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Elizabeth watched her son struggle against the need to sleep. His small body shook as he yawned. Then his eyes closed and his small mouth dropped slightly open. She turned and went to put a kettle of water onto the large old fashioned range.

As Elizabeth gazed as the dancing bubbles of water, she had splashed on the hot metal hiss and steam she heard a knock on the door. Bobby she knew it. She had to face him. She did not want too, “Go away… I don’t want this…” But in her heart Elizabeth did. She went to the door and opened in part way, peering through the gap at the man she still loved.

“What do you want?” she asked her voice barely audible.

“I … I want to see my son,” Robert said. His voice trembled and his eyes were dark with emotion. Elizabeth felt a lump come to her throat.

“You can’t,” she snapped, she did not want him to hurt her again, hurt her son. Yes he was the father, the man she had and still desired. “He’s sleeping.”

“Then can’t we talk?” he asked earnestly as his hand came out to her.

“What would that prove? You’ve got your commission … and now I’ve got my own life to live.” Elizabeth sniffed as she said the words. She was trying to hurt him, make him see how much she had been hurt. How much she feared to be hurt again. But Elizabeth wanted the hurt, her body and mind craved to be embraced by this man.

“But Lizzy, please,” Robert pleaded. “I had no idea … I didn’t know … you have to give me a chance …”

“A chance for what? So you can break both of our hearts when you take off back home?” There, the fear out in the light of day. The possible loss that now began to haunt her. A few months a year then gone again. An adventure in foreign lands. Had Bobby seen her as that? In Elizabeth’s darkest moments, in her despair she had thought that time and again.

“Lizzy, please,” Robert said, and took a step up to the open door. “Let me explain … let me see him, just this once.”

Elizabeth was torn. If she let him in it would begin again she knew it. She should be strong, yet….yet…. her eyes filled with tears as her confusion mounted. Then as if she had no control of her movements she stepped back and let him enter.

“Be quiet, he’s napping,” Elizabeth said almost coldly as she led Robert toward the crib set up in the kitchen.

She stood there watching the emotions race across Robert’s face, saw the anger blend with the confusion; watch it slowly turn to understanding, then surprise, interest and love? His whole body shook with emotion as his mind came to terms with the fact he was a father. That the act had had a result neither had expected. Elizabeth began to cry openly, her tears trickling down her soft cheeks.

Robert turned to her, his own face awash with tears. Oh God… Her arms came out, shaking and…. He held her. His strong arms, the arms she had dreamed of, hated and wanted closed round her shutting out the war, the world. It was as before. The need, the longing the all consuming love and heart stopping desire. Elizabeth felt her knees go. She clung to Robert allowing the sobs to shake through her.

His hand came up and ran through her hair, cradling the back of her head, then his other hand joined it as he cupped her face. Elizabeth knew what was coming next. She wanted it so much, but she did not. Part of her was still angry, part was still so afraid. She backed away.

“Don’t, Bobby … don’t.”

He took no notice and his lips touched hers, soft, slightly damp and salty from his tears. Elizabeth responded, pressing her lips to his for a moment that went on for ever. Then the kiss broke and they stood there, trembling as one as the frustrations, need for one another that had been bottled up exploded, leaving them tossed on the winds of their love and desire.

The tears came again and soft laughter.“Shh,” Elizabeth hissed, trying to shush him. “He’s very crabby when he’s woken up suddenly.”

“Sort of like his father, eh?”

Elizabeth nodded, and looked again at the face of the man she loved comparing it with his son.

“Robert George, you say?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered the tears still theatening. “Robert George.”

“He’s … he’s beautiful!” Robert said, resting his hand on the crib. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful child before.”

“He is a charmer.” Elizabeth leant forward and fussed with the light cover on her son Robert arm came round her and pulled her tight to him. Her prushed her breast and Elizbeth felt the nipple tighten as the memory of what his touch could do.“Hmm, Mrs. Fit—er, Elizabeth,” Robert remarked. “You’ve grown some curves … not that what you had wasn’t nice or anything.”

Elizabeth nestled beside him the fear tucked away for the moment. Robert leaned down to place a kiss on the top of her head. They both looked down at the sleeping Robert George who barely stirred in his deep slumber.

Elizabeth sighed and said. “I think we have some coffee.”

“That would be nice.” Robert said and allowed Elizabeth to lead him to the large table. Robert took a chair and turned it round and sat there, his eyes flickering from his sleeping son to Elizabeth and back again. He took the cup of coffee Elizabeth placed before him and blew across the top of the cup. His eyes were dark with questions.

Elizabeth swallowed. His did not write, she did not write. His fault, her fault? But he had not answered her.

“Why did you not tell me, you must have known before I left?” Robert’s words dropped into the room chilling the air.

“I tried, but would you have stayed? Would it have altered anything?” Elizabeth answered a little too sharply as she sat down opposite him.

Robert sighed and looked at her… “No… I had to go back.” As he spoke his eyes closed. Elizabeth wondered what he was thinking.
“So…”

“But you still should have told me, written me.”

“You never wrote me, never replied.” Elizabeth retorted and stood quickly her chair squealing on the floor tiles.

“I did, more than once… I did Lizzy.” Robert said, his cup slamming down on the table. His eyes flashed and his mouth worked. “I had a right to know.”

“Right! Right!” Elizabeth snapped. “I did write, just…. Just never posted it… If I had received one letter from you? One letter telling me that you still….” Elizabeth began then ran up to her room, a sob choking her.

“Lizzy…”Robert called after.

Elizabeth rushed into her room tugging at the draw in her dressing table. She pulled out the letter, the chain of the necklace Robert had given her, falling across her fingers. She turned and moved back to the stairs. She could see Robert standing three steps up looking up. She held out the letter to him as she came down to his side.

“See I did write, I just didn’t post it. I thought you had gone home, made another life. I…..” Elizabeth’s words faded away as Robert took the letter.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

He tried to hold the letter still so he could read but his hands were trembling with an emotion he couldn’t stifle. The pretty and flowing feminine handwriting curving across the page drew his eyes and he tried to give each word its due.

My Darling Robert,

It has been several months since I’ve heard from you. Although the memory of our time together is still fresh, the days and weeks since have grown long.

I’ve moved back home to Maisthorpe to be closer to my family. With the war ongoing there aren’t enough hands to keep the farm going and to meet the requirements of the government.

There is another reason though, one that I had hoped to tell you in person, not one that should be delivered in a letter. I am with child, your child, Robert. We were so much in love I never gave a single thought that this would happen. I am doing well and the good Doctor Travis is helping me with proper diet and exercise and we are doing well. Strange isn’t it that I am now a “we” not the good old Mrs. Fitz you remember.

I think of you often and write only so that you know. Since I haven’t heard from you in so long, I am sure that you have moved on in your life. If I knew that you still loved me as you once said you did, this would be much easier to do. But now, with you a huge ocean away, there is nothing that you can do for us over here except to keep us in your heart. Whenever I look up and see the moon hanging high in the sky, I see your face and remember the love that we once shared. I will keep that love in my heart always, Bobby.

Lovingly yours,
Lizzy

There was a faded trace of lipstick below the signature perhaps where she had pressed her lips. Robert imagined himself reading the letter back home in Gates Mill or perhaps on base in California or New England. Surely his response would be different than it was now, and certainly his life would have been changed in those months. But now as he held the letter and looked at the woman who wrote it, he felt those changes descend upon him.

“Lizzy,” he murmured. “If only I had known …”

“If only you had written …”

“I feel like such a fool,” Robert admitted his eyes drawn to Elizabeth, her shoulders quivering, her eyes reddened with tears. He had turned his back and walked away from the best thing that had ever happened to him. And now that best thing included a child, his child, his son … he reached out to her, pulling her to him, crushing her soft curves against his firm body. The months of not knowing, the weeks of thinking the worst, the days of expecting nothing began to melt away replaced by these moments of passion. He loved her then, he loved her now, he would always love her. His lips wanted hers and sought them out, pressing against them harshly and heatedly.

“Lizzy … Lizzy … I love you,” he said in between his rough kisses. He felt her hands balled up into hard fists pounding on him at first, then her fingers uncoiled and they dug into his flesh. By the time Robert’s lips had found her neck, her hands were clutching at him, and cleaving unto him.

Robert’s hands moved to the front of her dress and tugged at the buttons that ran down to below her waist. His stout fingers worked feverishly to loosen the buttons, pulling open the stiff material. Her breasts had grown over the months, they were fuller and rounder and filled his eager hands completely. He could feel her nipples grow taut and puckered as he touched them, his fingers turning and twisting them, eliciting sharp gasps and moans from her.

“Bobby, no …” she said breathlessly. “No … not here …”

She took his hands in hers and quickly led him upstairs to her room. Once inside, Robert wasted no time in pulling her dress away from her body, leaving her shuddering in just her slip. He scooped her up and practically threw her onto the bed and climbed on after her. He pulled at her slip tugging it down from her shoulders laying bare her breasts to his caresses and kisses. He suckled her breasts, nipping at the puckered rosy buds. Pulling up the hem of her skirt, Robert ran his hand up over her legs until he reached the apex and the warmth and wetness that was her sex.

“Been so long … so long …” Elizabeth jumped when Robert’s hand rudely brushed her mons. She placed her hand on top of his. “Easy … not so hard …”

Robert caught himself and slowed down. For a moment, he remembered making love to her and how that love had haunted his dreams, even after being with Helen. In his eagerness to satisfy a long denied passion, he had what had made their love special. When he softened his touch, Elizabeth responded, her soft moans and sighs growing in intensity as his fingers gently stroked and probed her.

He kissed his way down over her belly and tugged her knickers down. The soft downy auburn fur that covered her sex was just as he remembered it. He parted it deftly and let his tongue explore her sublime wetness. Robert buried his face in her, his tongue probing deep into her, his mouth closing around the hard little nubbin sucking it tenderly.

Elizabeth’s back was arching, her legs splayed wide apart and her hips rocking and rising off the bed. She wove her fingers into his hair and guided him to where she wanted him, soon erupting in a series of wild cries and moans. When her passion reached its peak, she thrust her sex at him, grinding it against his mouth and chin, her voice nearly a scream.

“God, yes! Oh, Bobby! Yes! Yes! Oh, yes!”

As the trembling waves of passion subsided, Robert settled Elizabeth back onto the bed and stood up. He pulled at his uniform nearly ripping it from his body. Elizabeth scooted to the edge of the bed and pulled her slip up and off over her head. Robert gazed down at her pale body, the pert full-bodied breasts, the curvy hips, the downy patch of fur between her legs. As Robert stumbled from his pants and shorts, Elizabeth took his throbbing manhood in her hands and caressed it.

“I’ve missed this, Bobby, I’ve dreamed about it, wanted it so much …”

“Not as much as it has missed you, Lizzy,” he answered.

“We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Elizabeth watched the father of her child read her letter. Intently; her orbs locked on the movement of his under the half closed lids. His mouth tightened. Elizabeth held her breath. Was he going to berate her, storm off, leave her again for her betrayal? For it was no matter how you looked at it, she had betrayed him.

“Lizzy, If only I had known …”

“If only you had written …

“I feel like such a fool.”

The plea, the condemnation, and the self accusation; all hurt. This wasn’t what Elizabeth had wanted nor pictured if they would ever meet again. She had planned to be friendly but cool, to accept Bobby’s choices. Now standing so close to him, her heart thudded and the need held her is such a grip she felt weak and sickened.

He took her in his arms, kissing her roughly. The shock of the touch of his lips made Elizabeth freeze. Her mind swamped with the memories of the touch of his mouth on her flesh. She couldn’t stand it, her fists balled to beat him, then her fingers opened, clung to the fabric of his sleeves, pulling him closer, wanting him closer. “Lizzy … Lizzy … I love you,” Robert’s declaration halted any more protest.

Robert’s fingers moved to the front of her dress, fumbling with the buttons, as each one came loose Elizabeth heard her heart beat louder. Her senses were on fire. She swore her breathing stopped as his hands slipped in and caressed her breasts.

Elizabeth groaned as Bobby found and twisted her nipples through the silk of her slip. She sighed with expectation as she felt the heat of his skin through the fabric, became totally aware of the affect of that heat on her breasts.

“Bobby, no …” she said breathlessly. “No … not here …” She took his hand and led him up to her bedroom.

In a moment her dress was up over her head and flung away. The fabric tumbled through the air and landed on her dressing table, knocking a bottle of rose water over, the blue tinted glass container rattled. Glug, the stopper came out and fell to the floor. The soft drip of the liquid reached Elizabeth’s ears as she was swept into the air and placed on her bed. So lost in the torrent of her desire, Elizabeth never thought on the loss of an item she would be hard pressed to replace.

Robert tugged at her slip, the thin straps protested as they were forced down. Then swiftly Robert’s hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere. Elizabeth was drowning under the waves of his touch. Each lick, bite, twist; plunged her deeper into a pool of need she had not come close to in her memories.

The hem of her slip joined the top in a bunch round her waist as Bobby’s hand came up her leg and claimed her mons. Hard, tight. Possessive. Been so long … so long …” Elizabeth jumped and placed her small hand on top of his. “Easy … not so hard …” She wanted to feel every touch, compare the memory to the reality. The fierce with the gentle. The quick with the slow.

Elizabeth felt Robert shudder as he drew back. His need was as desperate as hers. He turned his attention to her belly, kissing his way down as he removed her knickers. The warmth of his breath tickled into the soft curly hair on her mons. Elizabeth moaned and pushed her self up. Robert’s tongue parted her lips, dampness meeting dampness. Elizabeth trembled; fingers twisting in his hair, hands pushing him in the direction she wanted, no needed, desired him to be. His teeth closed on her hardened nubbin and she screamed, hips bucking. It was so fast, so swift. Her breath hitched, the release sweeping through her made her hungry for more.

Robert stood and removed his clothes. Elizabeth scrambled to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over. Shaking with the lingering tremors of her passion she removed her slip and watched her lover’s reaction to her body. Her eyes noticed Robert had gained weight, not fat, but broader, his skin was tanned. Good living in the states, the thought crossed her mind as he moved forward and she took his throbbing shaft in her hand.

“I’ve missed this, Bobby, I’ve dreamed about it, wanted it so much …”

“Not as much as it has missed you, Lizzy,” he answered.

“We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”

Why did she say that? As she took the weight of Bobby’s manhood in her hands, part of Elizabeth wondered, had there been some one else… She pushed the thought away and reacquainted herself with the feel of him. Her thumb rubbed the thick vein down his length, her fingertips registered the different in texture between the soft skin of his shaft with the strength beneath and the delicate surface of the now exposed head of Robert’s member. A small bead of liquid appeared and Elizabeth wiped it off with a finger tip and put it in her mouth. Oh god, the taste of him, the smell of his maleness. It roared through her.
Elizabeth dropped to her knees before Robert and guided his shaft to her mouth. Slowly, savoring each fraction of the length as it past her lips and slid down the length of her tongue,

Elizabeth began to pleasure the man adored. Her tongue lashed, probed, her teeth closed gently as she tightened her hold on his flesh. Robert groaned, his hands squeezing her shoulders. In out, lick, suck, fast then slowly drawing her tongue along the top, over the glistening tip then down the underside.

She could feel Robert’s passion mounting so she released her mouth’s hold on him and flowed up on to the bed, spreading her legs wide, heels on the floor, fingers opening her entrance. Then she giggled. “No let’s see if this is how I remember it.”

 

[Original_Cyn2]

My apologies...was reading one and writing on the other...
<Deleted>

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

He stood near the edge of the bed and watched as Elizabeth lay back on the sheets, her legs spread, her fingers parting the luscious folds of her sex. He felt a knot form in his throat then his body grow tense and his maleness throb. He had missed these moments of sheer passion and desire. How long had it been? That didn’t matter because of the timeless wanton need that surged up from deep inside him. Robert moved to the bed, between her legs and bent forward, his hands on either side of her shoulders. Elizabeth lay beneath him, looking up with those perfect emerald eyes, her auburn hair tousled and mussed, her creamy skin flushed and glistening.

“Do you remember this?” Robert said softly, his voice little more than a whisper. Elizabeth nodded. He brought his hips closer, the soft head of his hard member bumping against the dampness of her sex. She bit her lower lip when he pressed himself up against her. “How about this?” he asked, thrusting himself just enough to find the entrance and barely push inside. Elizabeth nodded more eagerly, her mouth opening as she gasped. With a gentle rocking of his hips, Robert began to work himself in and out of her, going deeper each time until they were both consumed by the heated sensations of their lovemaking.

“Oh, god!” Elizabeth cried out, reaching up to hold onto him. “I remember, Bobby! Just like this!”

With each thrust Robert lowered his body down closer to her until he was pressing her deep into the mattress. She lifted her legs up from the floor and wrapped them around his waist, her heels digging into the tensed cheeks of his butt. He grasped her shoulders and thrust into her with every ounce of energy he could summon. Elizabeth called to him in breathy whispers and purring animal-like cries. They rolled over up fully onto the bed, her body rising up to ride him madly and grind herself against him while his hands pulled and played with her breasts. And when she reached a shivering, quaking climax, Robert rolled over again, her head falling over the edge of the bed, her auburn hair spilling down to the floor.

He ground himself into her with an urgency he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. And when he felt his seed erupt inside her, he suddenly thought of the sleeping child downstairs and the possibility that this union would produce another. And he didn’t shy away. He thrust himself until he was thoroughly spent and they rolled onto their sides completely out of breath and bathed in the sweat glow of their passionate desire.

“Oh, Bobby!” Elizabeth cried out, her arms clinging to his panting, sweaty body. She held onto him tightly, her nails digging into the flesh of his back and shoulders. “Oh, Bobby, I’ve missed you so … I love you so …”

Robert covered her lips with his own, claiming her breath for a moment.

“And I love you,” he finally replied when the passion of his kiss and the firm clench of his arms had finally lessened. He lay with her for countless minutes. Their breath grew normal, their bodies cooled, but their emotions overflowed. Robert rolled over onto his back in the middle of the bed, and let Elizabeth find a comfortable place.

“I thought …” Elizabeth sighed softly. “I thought that I had lost you … that you had gone on to some new life in America. I never expected to see you again. And here you are.”

“Here I am,” Robert replied, cradling her face in his hands. “Lizzy, I don’t know how or when this war will end, and all we have are these moments and those that have come before …”

“Shhh,” Elizabeth hissed, cupping her hand over his mouth, as if trying to turn off his words. But Robert pulled her hand away.

“I told you before … I wrote you many times … the only thing that can take me away from you is this fucking war … and when this war is over, I will come back to you, I will find you if I have to fly the whole world over … I will come for you.”

Elizabeth lifted her head from his chest; her sparkling green eyes were clouded with tears, her body was trembling despite the strength of Robert’s embrace. Her tears ran down her cheeks and fell onto his chest. She opened her mouth to speak and he kissed it. She smacked at him and again went to speak but the weak cry of a waking toddler echoed from down the stairs.

“Maybe it’s time for you to rightfully meet your son,” Elizabeth whispered as the wail intensified.

They rose from the bed and rummaged through her room for their clothes, stepping into them and pulling them up hurriedly as the cries increased in urgency. Robert caught sight of her embarrassed smile as she pulled her knickers up. It was a priceless look. He knew that she knew he was watching her get dressed, and her smile and the flush of her cheeks melted through him. They hustled downstairs and Elizabeth lifted little Robert George from the crib. His cries quickly subsided but his eyes grew large at the sight of the man lurking in the doorway.

“Robby, Robby,” Elizabeth sang to the boy. “There’s someone special here … say hello to your Daddy.”

Robert slowly walked toward them. He noticed the blue eyes, like looking in a mirror, and maybe the boy did too. Robert held out his arms. For a moment, young Robert clung to his mother, but then he grinned and laughed and Robert took his son and held him for the first time. The laugh continued and grew as Robert held him up high over his head. Then he carried him around the kitchen, making all the sounds of an airplane buzzing about the room. The laughter became uncontrolled giggles of joy.

“Look at this, mum!” Robert exclaimed. “I do believe we have an RAF pilot on our hands!”

“Or an US Army Air Force Wing Commander,” Elizabeth added as her tears began to fall again.

When Robert brought the boy, his son, in for a landing near Elizabeth, he held him with one arm on his shoulder and looped the other around her. He leaned down to kiss her and then lifted up his head to kiss the boy on the cheek. The moment was eternal, a point in time in which his life turned from one phase to the next.

“Will you be staying for supper?” Elizabeth asked.

“I’m off until o’dark thirty tomorrow,” Robert replied.

“Then perhaps you should attend to your first official fatherly duty,” Elizabeth remarked, smacking young Robert on the fanny. Robert looked at her quizzically.

“His diaper … he needs changing …” she said.

Suddenly the smell reached him and Robert coughed. “Oh, sweet Jesus! Surely you aren’t serious.”

“Oh, yes I am,” Elizabeth scolded him with a decidedly mocking tone. “You’ve handled a Hurricane in battle, a most difficult task … let’s see how nimble you are with a diaper and bobby pin.”

“But I … I never … I don’t know … how,” Robert said truthfully, but Elizabeth was not dissuaded and the truth of Robert's change in life was brought home to roost.

“Here, I’ll show you,” she said leading him off, “Daddy.”

“Right … uh … Mum.”

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

OCC; Keeping a promise to get this one through to the end no matter how long it takes.......



Elizabeth watched Bobby fumble the pin as he tried to remove it from the fabric. “I am going to stick him, “Bobby said as his son put his head on one side and watched the man. Then Robert George blew a raspberry and giggled.

“My thoughts exactly.” Elizabeth laughed and reached over and took Bobby’s hand in hers. “You place it so and just use it to block the pin as you remove and put it in to the nappy.” She said easing his fingers into the top of the damp bundle of fabric.

“The what?” Bobby asked and looked round at the wrong moment. The pin opened and slipped out. Robert George sensed freedom and kicked hard trying to roll over. Bobby clamped his other hand quickly onto Robert George's belly. The child protested, screaming defiance

“Son of a B……….phew… and what a pair of lungs.. Is he always so noisy?” Bobby’s nose wrinkled as the nappy flew open and its contents was revealed.

“What goes in has to come out as my mother says.” Elizabeth laughed and gently moved her lover and the father of her son to one side. “This is quiet. Now young man, and you sir take note.” With deft movements Elizabeth soon stripped the baby and had him, much to his annoyance bundled up again in layers of white towelling.

As she worked Elizabeth’s eyes kept straying to Bobby. Her body still tingled with the memory of his recent touch. A small trickle of sweat still lingered in the middle of her back, she could feel it slowly drying, fading away like the ache that hand been in her heart for so long.

“There nice and clean.”

“For how long?” Bobby asked as he took his son from Elizabeth’s arms.

“That depends.” She answered. “I best get him some tea…”

“Tea?” You haven’t got him on that already have you?” Bobby teased as he took his son back into the large kitchen.

“No… I meant.” Elizabeth shook her head; she had forgotten the teasing, the just being together, not just the sex, the love that was in each glance, or touch of the hand.

“I know what you meant. So the lad is on steak and eggs.”

“A soft boiled egg and some bread and butter and an apple cooked and strained. Then a walk and bed."

“For whom?” Bobby said as he sat down and placed his son on his knee and jiggled him up and down. A wicked grin split his face.

“All of us.” Elizabeth replied and felt her heart increase its beat.

“No tea for us?” Bobby said.

“I… well things are a bit easier here at the Manor, but I did not know you.” How could I, she thought… “And mother is away…. We have eggs and bread and…some fruit and….” Damn this war she cursed under her breath. Then immediately took back the thought if it had not been for the war she would not have her lover and his son. They would not be here now together.

“Here…” Bobby said and stood up handing their son to her. “I am going to go get us a feast fit for King George. And while I am away you can see to the lad and…” Bobby winked.

“Oh I see a bedroom feast?” Elizabeth giggled as Bobby leant over and kissed her lips, the pressure of them and the tip of his tongue touching hers promising more.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

“A feast for all of our senses, Lizzy,” Robert replied unwilling to leave her go just yet. “Including the most carnal.”

”Bobby!” she exclaimed in mock surprise. “I’m ashamed. What has being home all this time really done to you?”

“It’s made me realize,” Robert said slowly, “That I never felt more alive than in those weeks we had together.”

“But we’ve been apart longer now than we were together.”

“I know. A bleeding eternity.”

“Bobby, please! Mind your tongue.” Elizabeth shot a glance at young Robby.

Robert laughed. “Right. I’d better get on with it anyway.” He grudgingly relinquished his grip on Lizzy’s soft little body. With a half-dozen more kisses and a couple playful squeezes of her fanny, Robert finally bid her goodbye and hurried back to the barracks.

Their PX, a brand-new steel topped Quonset hut was far from complete in its furnishings and supplies, so he headed straight for the kitchen. Although rationing was strictly enforced, rank does have its privileges and he used veiled threats and mild coercion to wrangle a sizeable tin of beef, some tins of fruit, some fresh vegetables, a tin of real Columbian coffee, and a freshly baked pie from the cook on duty. He stuffed his cache into a canvas sack and hurried back to his barracks. Rummaging thought his footlocker, he scrounged around for his well hidden stash of chocolate bars.

“Say, old friend, where’ve you been?” asked Ritchie Fain.

“Getting a date,” Robert replied. Finally he discovered the foil-wrapped blocks of Hershey’s. “Aha!” Then he found the spare packages of silk stockings that were a legendary but integral part of every pilot’s survival kit. He kissed the packages.

“You have a date?” Fain said, unbelieving at first. “Hey, Chappy!” he called out down the hall to Charles Bell, whom everyone called Chappy for some unknown reason. “Bobby’s got himself a date! So who is it?”

“Your Ice Princess,” Robert replied, stuffing the chocolate and stockings into his sack.

“Get out! That broad is cold as a North Atlantic iceberg. Besides rumor has it that she has a thing for tall English officers with thin moustaches.”

“I’m telling you,” Robert said, slinging his sack over his shoulder. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a stop to make at the officer’s club and I’ll be off. I don’t want to keep the lady waiting.”

“What a way to go!” Fain applauded. “Must be hope for the rest of us.”

“Will jolly old England ever be the same?” Robert replied, clapping his friend on the back. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Fain and Chappy laughed jealously as Robert hustled out the door with his booty tucked under his arm. At the officer’s club, it took nearly a half month’s wages to wrangle a bottle of gin from the bartender. With his sack nearly filled, Robert made his way back over the grounds toward the manor house. Along the way, he stopped near a rose arbor and pulled out his pocketknife to prune off a few lush red blooms. He suffered a couple of thorns in the process but arrived shortly at the manor house, rose blooms in hand.

Robert tapped with the knocker and waited. He could hear the squeals of young Robby. Then the door opened and Elizabeth stood before him, her auburn hair washed and brushed to a lustrous state. Although her slender frame was sheathed in a faded dress, she looked radiant.

“For you,” Robert said, holding out the roses.

“How sweet!” Elizabeth said. “They’re lovely, but you should be forewarned that my mum has warned me about Yanks bearing gifts.”

“Well … um, I could always go back to where I came from,” Robert said apologetically.

“The hell you will,” Elizabeth exclaimed and reached out for his lapel and pulled him in to her, planting a full warm and wet kiss on his lips, her arms snaking around him greedily.

“Careful, love,” he said, protecting the sack with his arm as he stepped inside and followed Lizzy toward the kitchen with young Robby toddling behind. He set the sack down on the table and began to unload the foodstuffs, piece by piece, saving the coffee, chocolate, and pie for last.

“Oh, Bobby!” Lizzy cried out. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Yes, I should. I have a family to provide for. Unless you mean I should forsake my finely honed foraging skills?”

“Not if it would mean giving this up,” Elizabeth remarked passing the chocolate bars under her nose. “Mmm!”

“Oh, and one final thing for milady,” Robert said grandly, reaching into the sack and pulling out the packages of silk stockings. He watched her eyes grow wide with disbelief and stood ready when she practically leapt into his arms.