By Mickey S.
This is a fictional story. Most of the characters and events are figments of the author's imagination. However, some of the fictional characters take part in real events and some real characters take part in fictional events. In spite of that, this is a fictional story. My thanks to Tim and Drew for all of their help. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at NJMcMick@yahoo.com.
By the time Terrence and I got back to London a week later there was a real war being fought in Norway. Denmark had fallen to the Germans the first day, but battles raged on up and down the coast of Norway. The Germans managed to take the ports they invaded but the Allies responded with their own invasion. Within a week though, the Germans had repelled most of the Allied troops, except for those in the far north.
The war was the only thing the boys talked about at school. At first it was still like a theoretical exercise. Yes, there was finally real fighting going on, but it was distant, with Britain and France fighting Germany for possession of a neutral country. It wasn't the direct conflict we'd all been waiting for. That wait ended just a few short weeks later when the Germans launched an attack on the continent. On May 10 Germany invaded the Netherlands at Rotterdam and Belgium near Liege.
We were all very confident when the first news came of the continental fighting. We knew how strong the Maginot Line was and the Allies had fortified the area from the north end of the line to the North Sea. There was no way the Germans could break through, although they might capture some territory in the Low Countries. But things went badly in the Netherlands right from the start. The Germans dropped paratroopers behind Dutch lines and so were able to attack from both sides.
We all listened to the radio every chance we could and read every newspaper we could get our hands on, but I got most of my news of the war from Dad. He had contacts everywhere and knew things that weren't released to the public. Of course that meant I had to be careful about repeating what he'd told me. I knew he wouldn't tell me anything that was supposed to be kept secret, but even so I spent most of the time at school listening to the others rather than sharing Dad's news and opinions.
The weekend after the continental attack Terrence and I spent with my parents in Mayfair. Dad was out most of the time but we managed to talk to him at breakfast Saturday. He'd already made several telephone calls that morning.
"How are things going? Are the Allies holding the line?"
"I'm concerned, Woody. Things aren't going well in the Netherlands and the Germans captured Fort Eben-Emael in Belgium yesterday, so the Allies are falling back to the Dyle Line."
"But I thought we had superior numbers and strength, Mr. Cooper."
"Between the Dutch, Belgians, French and English the Germans are outnumbered, but the allied armies aren't well-coordinated. And they weren't really prepared for battle, either."
"How could they not be prepared, Dad? They've had since last September to get ready."
"I think both Britain and France have been hoping that war wouldn't actually come. They haven't been building a war machine the way Germany has. Only recently has industrial policy turned toward military production and that's been slow to start up."
"You Yanks are even worse. Once again you think having an ocean between you will keep you safe."
"Yes, Terrence, we really have our heads in the sand, thinking this is just a European war and it won't affect us. But we got into the Great War eventually and we'll get into this one as well, I think. It's only a matter of time."
"I know you and your family think differently, Mr. Cooper. I didn't mean to criticize you."
"And I didn't take it that way, Terrence. I agree with you that many Americans are isolationists, and very few are eager to go to war, at this point anyway. My own parents and their friends are diehard isolationists."
That night as Terrence and I got in to bed we cuddled, warming up to what had become our weekend masturbatory routine. Routine wasn't really a good word for it. Just holding his hot, hard flesh in my hand made me so excited I found it difficult to breathe. After a week of helping each other out, as Terrence put it, in Somerset and then a month of weekends on our return to London, I no longer worried that allowing myself to enjoy the experience would give away my true feelings for Terrence. He was enjoying things as much as I, so there was no reason for me to hold back.
After we'd both climaxed and rested enough to regain our breath and clean ourselves up, we resumed cuddling. In a way, this was my favorite part. Not that I didn't love the orgasms, but the closeness and affection was just as good. We'd always been affectionate or at least close physically, but now it had a different meaning. For me, anyhow.
Every day brought more depressing news about the war. It was almost as if the Allies were racing in retreat to the sea, with the Germans right behind them. The fighting was all one-sided, with the Germans winning every step of the way. They called it blitzkrieg, or lightning war, and that's exactly what it was. The Allies had assumed it would be trench warfare, a stalemate like the Great War. The Germans had learned their lesson from that and had designed a new strategy to avoid it. And, being the aggressors, they called the shots. All the Allies could do was try to defend themselves, and they did a poor job.
By the last week of May, it was almost all over. The Belgian army surrendered and the Allied forces had been driven back to a small area around the French town of Dunkirk. While the RAF bombed all around them trying to keep the Germans back, nearly every ship and boat of any kind in England crossed the Channel over and over again, evacuating hundreds of thousands of Allied troops. As June began, France was alone on the continent in its opposition to Germany and the Germans attacked from the north and the west. Italy entered the war and invaded from the south tying down some of France's troops there. In two weeks, France surrendered.
Dad had traveled to Dover a couple of days before the evacuation Dunkirk began. He was always going off somewhere, usually after receiving a mysterious telephone call or hand-delivered message. He had so many different kinds of information sources that if I didn't know better I'd think he was a spy not a journalist.
The third weekend of June we had a small party for my seventeenth birthday. It wasn't as large or festive as the one in Coventry the year before. My grandparents came down to London for the weekend but that was it for the family. It was just as well because with rationing we couldn't have a feast anyway. Of course, Terrence spent the weekend.
Mother insisted there be no talk of war during the dinner itself but afterwards the talk in the parlor naturally turned in that direction. Dad was the center of the conversation since he had more information than anyone else.
"How did it all fall apart so quickly, Dad? I thought the Allies had more men than the Germans and were well-prepared to defend themselves."
"More men don't always mean success. Unfortunately, the Allied generals were prepared to fight the last war over again and based their defense on that. The Germans, being the aggressors, chose a different strategy, and we weren't prepared for that."
"That's all too clear now, Mr. Cooper. One thing I don't understand is how we managed to rescue so many men from Dunkirk. I know it was a heroic effort on the part of so many, but it still seemed as if the Germans allowed it to happen. They were so in control for weeks, and moved so fast, but then they just stopped. How were we able to hold them back then but not before that?"
"No one knows exactly what happened there, Terrence. The Germans didn't stop fighting, but they did seem to pause in their advance. There is some thought that they had been too successful, that their panzer divisions got too far ahead of their infantry and support, so they had to wait for them to catch up. And you have to give the RAF a lot of credit too. A lot of those who were evacuated don't realize how much they owe to the air attack. Personally, I think the Germans were just as happy that our troops escaped. I don't think they were prepared to capture over 300,000 prisoners."
"So what now, William? Is the war over? We've lost the continent to the bloody Germans and the French have given up, so what can we do? There's no place left to fight." That was the first time I'd ever heard Granddad use the word bloody, so I knew he was upset, in spite of his quiet tone.
"It's not over, Albert. Churchill is determined to keep fighting. And I wouldn't count the French out completely. The government may have capitulated, but DeGaulle has come here and is as determined as Churchill to keep fighting. And many French troops have escaped to North Africa so there will probably be a lot of fighting there, as the British, Italians and Germans are there as well. But I think for the short term the real fighting will be in the air."
"Can we win an air war, Dad?"
"What do you mean, we?" Terrence grinned at me.
"You know what I mean. I consider myself in this war even if the American government doesn't."
"All of us are in this war a lot more than we intended. But to answer your question about our prospects in the air war, I'm going out on a limb and predicting the English will prevail. On paper the Germans certainly have the advantage - more planes, more and better trained pilots, although the Dominions have promised to send all they have. But the English are fighting to save their home and that's a powerful incentive. And the Germans have a long way to travel just to begin to fight. So maybe we have a chance to stand up to them."
"You don't sound very confident, Mr. Cooper."
"I'm not, but desperation can bring out strengths we're unaware of."
Later that night when we were in bed, Terrence started to talk about how depressing the whole thing was but I cut him off.
"I agree that the war is depressing, but I'm so tired of talking about it. Can we, just for a few minutes, pretend it doesn't exist? Let's talk about something fun, something happy."
"That's fine with me, Woody. Any suggestions?"
"How about Somerset and Cousin Alice? That was the best time I've had since I've been in England. Not that most of the rest of the time with you hasn't been fun, but that was so special."
"I know what you mean. It was like we were in our own world, where nothing mattered but us. We could be anyone and do anything we wanted, with no worries about anyone else." In spite of his words he had a bit of a wistful sound in his voice.
"Do you think we'll be able to go back there this summer?"
"I'd like to but I doubt it. I was planning on working a few hours a day in a local shop for most of the summer holiday, and then maybe we could go to Somerset for a week before the autumn term. But with many young men in my area, even lads I grew up with, signed up for the army, there are so many jobs available. I think I should try to work as much as possible. With the war on there isn't much chance I'll go to university anytime soon, but once it's over it will help to have as much money set aside as possible. Do you have any thoughts as to how you'll spend the holiday?"
By now I was used to Terrence having to take money into account in every decision he made. I had always taken my family's wealth for granted, but spending so much time with him I was beginning to appreciate how privileged my life was.
"I really don't know. Maybe I can spend some time with my father, helping him with his work. I'm sure it would be interesting. But I hope we can still spend weekends together."
"Of course. No matter what job I have I'm planning on seeing you as much as possible."
My prediction for my summer holiday was off by about 180 degrees. I ended up spending several weeks helping my mother, not my father. Since early spring she had been teaching first aid to members of the Civilian Defense Corps and in the summer began giving lessons to Air Raid Patrol wardens as well. She enlisted me to accompany her and pretend to be a wounded victim. So for most of the summer she applied various tourniquets, bandages, splints and braces to every part of my body imaginable. I was used to her wrapping my ribs in the spring, and this was just an extension of that but without the pain. She also taught the class to be alert for signs of shock, concussion and internal injuries. She stressed that what she was teaching was first aid, not complete treatment. The object was to stop bleeding and stabilize the patient so he or she could be safely moved to a hospital.
Mother hadn't been a practicing nurse since before TR was born, but she had volunteered with the Red Cross in New York for years, teaching first aid classes very similar to what she was doing in London. Of course, those weren't for war injuries, but much of the treatment was the same.
After a few weeks of being part of the same presentation over and over again, I was pretty much an expert at it. It would have been easy to tune out Mother's voice, hearing the same lesson repeatedly, but the subject interested me. In the evenings I studied Mother's first aid manual while listening to the radio so I'd be able to make educated comments during the classes. The first few weeks I'd been a silent dummy but once I'd learned from Mother and the manual I felt confident enough to take part in the conversation. And it was as much a conversation as a lesson because Mother encouraged questions and comments.
One day the first week of August Mother woke up with a terrible headache and was going to cancel her morning class but I offered to do it myself. She wasn't sure about that but I talked her into it, an amazing thing for a shy kid like me to suggest. While riding the underground to class, however, I began to get worried. Not so much about the public speaking part of it, since I'd been doing that in class for a couple of weeks, but I realized it was pretty presumptuous to think a teenager with no medical background would be accepted as an expert teacher. And an American, to boot.
Mother's boss, which wasn't really the right term since she was a volunteer, was surprised when I showed up alone, but it didn't take much to convince him to let me go on as a solo act. Usually Mr. Crowley spent only a few minutes in the room when Mother was teaching, but he must have been nervous about how I'd do alone because he stayed for the whole class. I was a little nervous at first as well, but once I got started I relaxed and almost enjoyed myself. I got through it, anyway, and did a pretty good job, though maybe not as good as Mother would have done.
Mr. Crowley seemed to have the same opinion and congratulated me after class.
"You did a fine job, Woodrow. I had a feeling there was more to you than meets the eye."
"Thank you, sir."
"Please, call me John. Would you care to join me for a cup of tea in my office? Nothing fancy, I'm afraid. I just have an electric coil to heat the water and only a tin of biscuits to go with the tea, but you must be thirsty after so much talking."
A glass of water probably would have quenched my thirst better, but tea also sounded appealing.
"Thank you, si-, er, John. I'd like that."
I followed him upstairs to a small office. It was a cramped room with the requisite desk and chair, but also a small settee and another chair for visitors. He directed me to the settee and fussed around, putting on the water and getting the tea pot and cups ready. My mind was re-running the class, remembering every flaw in my performance, not paying too much attention to Mr. Crowley.
He poured out two cups, carefully handed me one and stood in front of me holding the other for a moment. He was an average-looking, slightly pudgy man around forty. He had always been friendly when supervising the classes but he surprised me when he sat, squeezing next to me on the settee rather than taking the chair. There was barely room for both of us and in spite of the fact that I shifted to the end as much as I could, our knees were brushing.
"I'm afraid there's no milk. It's hard to keep that in an office, especially in the summer. Can you make do with just sugar?"
"Sugar will be fine. I don't use milk in mine anyway."
I added some sugar to my tea and took a sip.
"How old did you say you were, Woodrow?"
"I just turned seventeen."
He looked me over. "You look younger but act older. A lovely combination, I think."
"My brother says we Coopers are late bloomers."
"There's another like you at home?"
"No, TR's back in the States. He's going into his second year at Yale University next month."
"You must miss him."
"I do, terribly. It's been nearly a year since I saw him and now that the fighting has started who knows how long it will last?"
"I'm sure he misses you as well. But if he's anything like you he'll be fine. You both will. You're a resilient young lad. I can't tell you enough how impressed I was with the way you handled the class today."
He put his hand on my knee and gave it a pat, a physical familiarity that I found to be very un-English, except for my experience with Terrence, this is. And it didn't end there. After the pat he gave my knee a squeeze, then left his hand resting on my thigh. It was all I could do to keep from choking on the tea I'd just sipped. I tried to move away but there was no room for me to go anywhere. He kept talking, praising me, my teaching skills, my demeanor, my looks, anything and everything about me. As he talked he slowly ran his hand up and down my thigh. I was terrified and had no idea how to get out of the situation. My cup was clattering in its saucer and I was sure my teeth were clattering as well.
He must have taken my lack of movement for approval, because after a minute he moved his hand off my leg and placed it on my crotch. I leapt to my feet, dropping my half-filled cup of tea and stomping on his foot as I got up. The tea spilled on my left leg, soaking my pants. I stood halfway across the room from him, grabbing at my wet leg.
"Oh dear, I didn't mean to startle you. Everything was going so fine, too. Let me get you a towel and help you dry your trousers."
"Never mind, I'll go downstairs to the men's room. Thank you for the tea. Sorry to make such a mess." I turned and headed for the door.
He continued talking, trying to get me to stay but I practically ran out of the office, not waiting to hear whatever else he had to say. My leg was wet and sticky but I didn't mind. It had given me an excuse to get away from the man and that was all I cared about.
As I cleaned up in the restroom the reality of it all came to me. How was I ever going to face him again? What if he said something to Mother? Yes, he had come on to me, but he must have seen something in me to make him think I'd want that. And I hadn't resisted. Not that I'd wanted him to touch me, but I was so shocked and scared I couldn't move. Looking back, I should have made some excuse and moved to the chair as soon as he sat down. Or at least when he first touched me. I should have made it clear I was offended by his touch. But I hadn't wanted to offend him. So now he must think I welcomed his actions, or at the very least was leading him on, teasing him. And he might tell Mother.
I didn't want to stay in the building where I might run into him and I had a couple of hours before the afternoon class, so I went out and walked around. It was embarrassing to have such a large wet spot on the front of my pants, but it was a warm day and that helped dry them. I was too tense to eat lunch and the walking didn't calm me down very much. I was still in a state when I returned to the building.
I nearly fainted when I saw Mother and Mr. Crowley together across the lobby as I entered the building. They both saw me at the same time. Mr. Crowley paled and turned and walked away quickly. Mother smiled and walked toward me.
"Woody! John was just telling me what a wonderful job you did this morning."
"I didn't expect you here this afternoon. Are you feeling better?"
"I'm fine. I stayed in bed most of the morning and felt so much better when I woke the second time."
"I'm glad. So that's all Mr. Crowley said, that I did all right in class?"
"Yes, was there anything else?"
"No, I was just curious if he said the same thing to you he said to me. I thought maybe he was just trying to make me feel better about my teaching."
"Well, he said you were fine." She looked down. "What happened to your pants?"
I also looked down. I was wearing a light-colored summer suit and even dry the tea had darkened the one leg.
"I spilled a cup of tea. It's nothing."
I tried to be blasť about it but from the way she looked into my eyes I think Mother suspected there was more to the story. I was still somewhat on edge. After a moment she realized I wasn't going to say any more so she took my arm and started walking to the classroom.
"It's time for class, Woody. I hope you don't mind being demoted back to being my assistant."
"No, ma'am, that's just fine with me."
Fortunately, Mr. Crowley avoided me as much as I wanted to avoid him the rest of the summer. While he'd talk to Mother as usual if I wasn't right by her side, when he and I came into contact he greeted me in a very perfunctory way and left. He spent almost no time monitoring our classes. While I was still on edge every day when we arrived for the classes, I gradually felt better as time passed and Mr. Crowley showed no sign of bringing up the episode in his office.
The air war Dad had talked about began in mid-July. At first it was over the Channel, with the Germans attacking British convoys and the RAF defending them. These battles differed greatly from the air battles of the Great War. Not only was aircraft technology greatly advanced, but the battles were reported on the radio. We all stayed glued to their radio sets, listening to immediate reports of battle. To me a plane was just a plane, but Terrence had learned all of the different types both sides had, and tried to explain the differences to me when we were able to listen to the BBC battle accounts together. Everywhere one went everyone was talking about the last battle. It was as if we were all a part of it. Everyone was optimistic, in spite of the fact that there were huge losses on both sides and the Allies were not doing well. Finally, the British Admiralty cancelled all convoys through the channel.
The second week of August the Germans switched their attacks to coastal air fields, moving further inland each day. They attempted to take out British radar stations but were unsuccessful. Radar was a new radio technology that enabled the RAF to detect incoming airplanes miles away, giving the British an advantage over the Germans. In spite of that, the Germans were inflicting heavy damage on the British airfields.
Dad's forty-fifth birthday was August 18. Usually he and Mother went out to celebrate their birthdays, but given the circumstances they decided to stay in. Nightlife in the West End hadn't ended with the war but it was severely curtailed. I was happy to stay in with them, regardless. It was just my parents, Terrence and me, and because we were at home and Dad was feeling celebratory, Terrence and I were allowed a bit of alcohol. We each had a glass of champagne before dinner, then a single glass of wine with the meal. I felt no effect from either, but afterwards Dad allowed us to have a brandy with him. It burned going down but I liked the residual warming feeling it gave me all over. When Dad wasn't paying attention I poured us refills so by the time we went to bed I was feeling a little dizzy.
Terrence was acting a bit silly as well and we giggled a lot as we got ready for bed. As usual, we started off in the same bed for our nightly fun. We stroked each other for a few minutes and then, with my courage fortified by the alcohol, I decided to try something I'd had the urge to do for a while. I slid down in the bed until my face was inches from his erect penis and then, after taking a deep breath, I took it into my mouth.
He gasped and we both froze. I was afraid I'd gone too far, possibly ruining not only our bedtime fun but our friendship as well, but after a few seconds I felt his hand on the back of my head, gently caressing me. I relaxed but didn't quite know what to do next. My urge had just been taking him in my mouth, not following up with anything. I had about half of his organ in my mouth and decided to see how much I could swallow. When I tried to take more though, I gagged. I pulled off and after a second tried again. I gagged again, with tears coming to my eyes.
I gave up on that but didn't want to take it out of my mouth, so I wrapped my fist around the base and started stroking, my mouth moving up and down his shaft with my hand. I tried sucking lightly as I moved and Terrence seemed to like that as he began to moan. After only a minute he was breathing heavily and I sensed his imminent orgasm. I was used to the signs by now but was surprised it was happening so quickly. It must have come on him all at once because suddenly he pulled me off him and a second later he exploded all over his abdomen and chest.
I hadn't thought through what we were doing and I wasn't sure if pulling off was what I wanted. The idea of him having his orgasm in my mouth was exciting although a bit dirty and disgusting at the same time. But his action had saved me from making a decision. I did surreptitiously run a finger through some semen pooled on his belly and lick it off and I moved back up in the bed. I'd never tasted semen before and it wasn't bad. Maybe, if we did that again, I'd keep him in my mouth and take it all.
As I got back up to where my head was next to Terrence's though, guilt and anxiety set in again, but his first words were a relief.
"Damn, Woody, I've always wondered what that would feel like and it was even better than I'd imagined."
"You mean you've thought about that?" I thought I was the only pervert who thought things like that.
"Sure, I think every lad must. After we started helping each other out in the spring I wanted to suggest trying it but I was afraid you wouldn't want to. I mean, it is a bit queer. But we're such good mates it's different for us. Would you like me to return the favor now?"
I was shocked. All the times I'd imagined taking Terrence in my mouth I hadn't ever thought he'd want to do it to me as well.
"You don't have to if you don't want to."
"But I do, Woody. And I want you to know what it feels like, too."
So he slid down in the bed and took me in his mouth. I'd gone soft while we were talking but as soon as I felt his warm, wet mouth on me I stiffened up. He repeated the moves I'd made, although I thought he did it much better than I had. In no time I felt my own orgasm building. I gasped out a warning and tried to pull his head off me but he wouldn't budge. The feeling was so exquisite I couldn't control myself and I let loose with his mouth still on me. He still didn't pull off, and sucked even harder, swallowing every drop of my semen.
I was appalled that I had allowed that to happen but when Terrence came back up to the head of the bed he was smiling.
"I'm sorry, Terrence. I shouldn't have done that."
"Don't apologize. I wanted to try that. I always wondered what you tasted like. And if you can't experiment with new things with your best mate, when can you try them?"
"So, how was it?" Now that he had broken the ice I wanted to try it as well.
"It's hard to describe the taste. A lot like the smell, but better, I think."
"Well, the feeling was fantastic on my end. Next time I'll try it, too, and we can both experience something new."
"Only if you want to, Woody. You don't have to just because I did."
"I want to, Terrence. Anything with you is just fine with me."