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Archive name: herbs.txt (mf-teens, rom)
Authors name: HenryG (spykke_jones@hotmail.com)
Story title : Herbs
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2003. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Herbs (mf-teens, rom)
by HenryG (spykke_jones@hotmail.com)
***
This is a blatant love story, which first appeared at
White Shadow, and received a warm response from many
visitors to the site. I've revisited it and made some
changes, extended it and tweaked it to change the
emphasis.
I make no apologies for laying things on a little thickly
in places. This is a consequence of recent times when my
mood has been rather low. Having said that, I have tried
to give it a "feel good" flavour.
I wanted to explore two ideas. Firstly the amazing way
that a scent or flavour can transport you back many years
to a different place such as that whiff of perfume that
reminds you of your primary school teacher or a previous
girl friend.
The second idea is what constitutes a hero - bravery?
courage? moral purity? I believe that any one of us has
the capability to do something heroic.
***
"Grandpa, why do you have so many herbs in your house and
garden?" Petra asks me one afternoon while we sit on the
balcony enjoying the warm South African sun.
Petra is a gorgeous young lady of 20 with long black
hair, deep green eyes, and a petite figure.
"It's because he likes the scent, silly," Jacqui, her
younger sister interrupted.
At 16, Jacqui is a smaller facsimile of her sister. Apart
from their mother and aunt, these girls are the lights of
my life. Both girls are staying with me for two month's
holiday.
"Haven't your mother or aunt ever told you about your
grandmother?" I asked.
"Only a little," Petra replied in her soft, dusky voice.
"Mum said that she was a very special lady. She taught us
how to make Grandma's special lotion."
"Really?" I was both surprised and delighted, "and do you
use it?"
"Yes," they replied almost in unison.
"It's miles better than any perfume you can buy." Jacqui
add. "All my friends are dead jealous because they can't
get any."
"It has this strange habit of smelling different depend
on your mood. It always makes me feel good when I use it.
Anyone selling it would make a fortune." Petra says.
"Maybe there's a little business opportunity there," I
smile at Petra.
"I think you might be right," she replies with immediate
comprehension.
She is a very smart girl, my Petra.
I take a breath, steeling myself.
"If you want, I'll tell you about your Grandmother."
The girls nod in agreement, and I begin.
***
"Come on Henry, its time to get up."
I heard mum's voice coming up the stairs. It was dark and
cold and it was with reluctance that I climbed out of my
warm bed. Houses didn't have the luxury of central
heating in the years after the second war and the bedroom
I shared with my brother was freezing. I pulled the
curtains open but couldn't see anything out of the window
because of the heavy layer of ice on the glass. I hated
the winter - the long, dark nights were so depressing.
Once in later life I had accumulated enough cash, I moved
to warmer latitudes where winter was nothing more than a
minor inconvenience.
After the initial euphoria of winning the war, life had
slipped into tedium of austerity and hard work trying to
get the country back to normal. London, where I lived,
still bore the scars of the blitz and even 3 years after
the peace many houses awaited demolition. Don't believe
the rubbish told by most older people about those days.
You know the sort of stuff.
"You kids today don't know you're born. When I was a lad
life was tough, we had nothing like the kids today, but
we thrived on it. It made me the man I am today."
Life was tough. Everything was rationed, there were no
real luxuries. And I tell you now, apart from the love of
my family and my friends, I hated it all. There was no
pleasure in the struggle after the war. Anyway, enough
ranting, I suppose should tell you a little about myself.
My name is Henry Jenkins. At the tender age of 16 I lived
with my parents in the east end of London in a small
terraced house. Our community was pretty small - there
were just fifty houses in the 100-yard length of our
street. Everyone pretty well knew everyone else. There
were five of us in the family, Simon my older brother,
Joan my young sister and, of course, mum and dad. Simon
worked in an engineering company and Joan was still at
school. I was also still at school and was hoping to
become an engineer. Simon had already arranged some part
time work where he worked and I hoped to work there full
time in a year or so.
Dad was a postman. He had served in the infantry during
the war and had copped a "blighty wound" in the leg at
Dunkerque. After six months recuperating he had continued
to "do his bit" by serving as an air raid warden. He was
a fabulous dad - always a source of good sensible advice,
we spent many happy days fishing on the river Lea in
Essex. Although he had no real education, dad had read
widely and had great understanding of history and
philosophy. A quiet man, he would puff gently on his pipe
as he contemplated the water.
He rarely spoke about the war. He once told me that the
war was an "unfortunate necessity". He had no time for
the blokes who spent their time in the pub bragging about
what they did in the war. During those quiet days on the
river bank dad gave me more profound insights into the
world and humanity than any of the highly qualified
people who taught me or who I have subsequently met. Not
bad for a postman
Mum was equally pivotal in my life. She worked part time
cleaning at the local hospital but spent most of her time
looking after the family. From her I learned honesty,
humility and tolerance of others. When I look back and
compare myself with others I realise how lucky I was to
have such steadfast role models in my parents.
Simon was a brother and a good mate. Although he had his
own circle of friends, he always had time for me. We
shared a room and he often found time to give me
brotherly advice. Simon was going out with a cute little
blonde who worked in the typing pool at the engineering
works. Apparently she shagged like a rabbit and Simon was
thoroughly enjoying the experience. What was better was
that he shared the sexual expertise he gained with me.
"Never forget Henry, a girl needs time and attention -
never rush her. If you kiss her take it steady, don't try
shoving your tongue down her throat at the first chance
you get. Tease 'em a little and you'll soon get what you
want. Don't rush to shove your hand up their skirt or
blouse. The goods aren't going to disappear and the girls
don't appreciate it if all you want is a quick grope." He
once told me. "And never, never forget to use a johnnie."
We didn't have the AIDs plague in those days but you
could still catch the clap or get a bird up the spout.
Simon always had a supply of johnnies in a drawer in our
bedroom and he was happy for me to use them should I get
the chance.
Joan was a bit of a pest - a typical 10-year-old sister.
She lived in her own little world and rarely bothered me.
I had a couple of particularly good friends. Derek lived
next door. He was a painfully thin guy with ginger hair.
I sometimes thought that if the wind blew hard he would
get blown away. The problem with Derek was that he had a
tendency to act without engaging his brain first. This
frequently got him into trouble but it also meant that
life was usually exciting. Derek had a little sister.
Sophie, who was only 7 years old, had come as a late
surprise to Derek's parents.
Pete, who lived a few doors away, was a true philosopher.
A guy of great intellect who had a knack of immediately
seeing the core of any problem.
There really wasn't that much for kids of our age to do
in those days. Football was an important part of our
lives and we would go to Upton Park to see West Ham play.
We could usually only afford to go the home matches but
we saw all the post war star players.
There was nowhere to go in the evenings so we decided to
get our own. Progress had been slow on the demolition of
bomb damaged houses and buildings in our street and we
took advantage of it. We scavenged a large amount of wood
and built ourselves a large hut with a porch on a piece
of wasteland. We liberated a cast iron fire, some couches
and chairs from damaged buildings and established a
clubhouse. We would meet there regularly in the evenings.
We would drink fizzy pop or beer (if we could afford it),
smoke Woodbine cigarettes and talk about football or our
sexual conquests. Pete grandly christened the gathering
as the 'philosophical society'. Maybe not a particularly
exciting way of passing time by today's standards but
options for youngsters in those days were limited.
***
I knew that mum would have a fire going downstairs so I
washed and dressed quickly.
As I entered the kitchen mum was putting out breakfast.
Some items were still being rationed at the time and food
was normally not very exciting. Her cooking was pretty
good and she made the best of what was available.
I had to eat quickly as I was late for school and rushed
out the door just in time to see Derek walking slowly
past.
"Thank god it's Friday," he muttered. He had had a
particularly fraught week at school. "Are we meeting
tonight?"
It being a Friday the philosophical society would
generally meet to discuss what we would do at the
weekend.
"Yeah, I'll bring some scoff." I replied.
We walked on in silence until we reached school.
After school the three of us gathered at the hut. I
brought a quantity of sandwiches, Derek provided some
bottles of light ale and Pete brought the fags and some
chocolate.
As we settled down in front of the fire we felt warm and
at ease with the world.
"What about Atkins joining the Arsenal?" Pete, the
consummate football fan asked.
"The bloke's a waste of time," Derek replied, "couldn't
catch a cold let alone the ball."
"I suppose you think that Stapleton is a better goalie."
Pete retorted.
The philosophical society had got off to their usual
topic of debate except that evening we were suddenly
interrupted by a tap on the door and the door opening. In
walked Shirley Davis.
Every school or street had it's sad case, someone who had
the world stacked against them. Shirley was ours. A thin
waif-like girl who although our age looked a couple of
years younger. She came from a poor family. Her father
was a drunk who was handy with his fists and loved to use
them regularly on Shirley and her mother. He had been
wounded in the war and had lost a leg. The pain of this
coupled with a limitless capacity for self-pity had led
him to the bottle. This spent most of the income the
family received from his invalid pension. As is usually
the case, Shirley had no friends.
The lack of money meant that Shirley always wore worn out
clothes.
"C.can I come in and get warm?" she asked.
At first we were a little outraged - after all this was a
select male only club.
We then saw that Shirley was shivering. She had no coat
on, just a thin skirt and worn woolen sweater. She had no
socks on her feet and her legs looked blue. Certainly not
suitable clothing for a cold winter.
"Sure, come and sit down," I replied.
She sat down gratefully and warmed her hands by the fire.
Our thread of conversation had been broken we sat in an
uncomfortable silence.
After a while Shirley noticed our supply of food and
drink.
"Could I please have a sandwich?" she asked.
I could see that Derek was about to make some unkind
reply when Shirley stood up.
"I can pay if you want," she added pulling up her skirt
and sweater exposing her naked chest and crotch. This
stopped us in our tracks. For a split second we stared at
her small breasts and panties.
We liked to brag amongst ourselves about our sexual
conquests but the reality was that none of us had seen a
girl in the nude. Derek had once found some black and
white photographs in his cousin Fred's room. His cousin
was in the navy and had got them in Marseilles. The
photos showed naked women in various positions and one
showed a guy with a huge cock getting head.
My eyes were transfixed by Shirley's white panties - the
way they pulled tightly into her crotch allowing her dark
pubic hair to show.
With a shock I realised I was staring. I then saw the
tears and look of embarrassed anguish in her eyes.
We looked away feeling like shits. We had been so
engrossed in gazing at Shirley's charms that we hadn't
noticed the price she was paying. Pete got up and put his
hand on her shoulder.
"Cover yourself up, there's no need for that. Eat as much
as you like," he said kindly.
Shirley sat back down in silence but with a look of
gratitude, which spoke volumes.
"When did you last eat?" I asked.
"I had some bread this morning," she replied.
I was appalled. What sort of father beat the shit out of
his family, deprived them of food and sent his child out
without a coat or warm clothes. Shirley was busy eating
and enjoying a beer so I made a sign to the guys to leave
the hut. Once outside I told them what was on my mind.
"Listen, Shirley needs help and her old man won't give
it. I reckon its down to us to do something about it.
What do you say."
For once Derek was silent. Pete nodded in his slow,
contemplative way.
"Why not, but she won't want charity."
I had an idea.
"We can make her a member of the philosophical society
and invite her to join us for our evening meetings. She
can then join in our meals. I'll see if mum has any old
coats. At least it will mean she gets fed, is warm and
has some friends."
A female member of the group - a radical idea! Why not!
Both my two colleagues grinned in agreement.
We went back into the hut and I put my proposition to
Shirley. I watched tears squeeze from her eyes and track
down her not too clean cheeks.
She sat in silence for a couple of minutes before finally
standing. With astonishing solemnity she approached each
of us, shook us by the hand, gave a kiss and said thank
you. She then sat down with a grin on her face.
"I think this deserves another beer," Pete announced and
four bottles were opened and drunk with relish.
As we sat enjoying the warmth of friendship I couldn't
help but worry. Had Shirley offered her body to anyone
before and had they, unlike us, accepted the offer?
Inviting Shirley to our circle proved to be beneficial
all round. We were able to keep an eye on her and make
sure that she had some comfort and friendship. We
couldn't stop her old man beating her up but we could
provide comfort to her cuts and bruises. Pete became
Shirley's main defender - he had taken to her in a big
way and it was clear that the feeling was mutual. You
might ask why we didn't report matters to the police but
the reality was that in those days the police did not see
the question of home violence as being a problem.
Provided he didn't murder anyone, a man was seen as being
master in his own home.
Shirley gave us a lot in return. None of us had spoken to
Shirley before and we didn't really know her. Once she
came out of her shell we discovered that Shirley had a
sharp and intelligent mind and that she was gifted with
an incisive sense of humour. It made us realise how
limited we guys had been in our scope of conversation.
With Shirley present each meeting of the society proved
to be an hilarious and revealing experience.
***
A couple of months later dad came home from work with a
an uncharacteristically worried look on his face. He
handed mum airmail letter. As she read I could see a look
of concern cross her face.
"Oh, how awful," she finally sighed. "Jack, we must
help." Simon, Joan and I looked on in confusion.
"Are you going to let us in on the secret?" Simon asked.
"This will effect us all so you had better hear about
it." Dad began.
I knew that dad's family on his mother's side came from
Poland. He had been out there before the war but hadn't
been in touch with his family for 15 years. The letter
was from his cousin. It transpired that part of the
family lived in a small village roughly 50 miles from
Warsaw. A bomb put in his car by partisans had killed a
local Gestapo officer and in retribution the whole
village had been rounded up and shot. All of our family
had been murdered except for my cousin twice removed, a
thirteen-year-old girl. She had been shot twice in the
body but had been covered by other bodies so that she
avoided being given the coup de grace by the officer in
charge of the firing squad. She had managed to escape
when it got dark and was found by partisans.
She survived her wounds, but only just, and spent six
months recovering. Now that the war was over, she had no
one to look after her and her future in Poland looked
bleak. The letter asked if my father would be prepared to
offer her a home in England. Doing some quick mental
arithmetic I reckoned she would be the same age as me.
Dad was no fool and had contacted one or two government
offices before deciding. It transpired that the
government was prepared to help foreign relatives of
British citizens who wished to emigrate. Assistance was
available in terms of extra rations and paid support.
"I would like to help her if you all agree," Dad asked.
"Where would she sleep?" Joan asked.
"I'm afraid you would have to share," Mum replied.
Joan gave an exaggerated grimace of disapproval. She
particularly liked the fact that she didn't have to share
her bedroom.
"But she does need our help and I'm sure she'll be good
fun," Mum gave a winning smile.
Joan nodded in acquiescence, when it came down to it she
knew what was right.
I didn't see any real difficulties. With both mum, dad
and Simon working we lived comfortably within the post-
war restrictions. The extra grant would help.
And so it was agreed and Dad wrote a letter in reply.
I found the whole affair very upsetting. We were aware
that a lot of disgraceful things were done during the war
but we had no conception of the atrocities described in
the letter.
***
Everything went quiet for the next few weeks and we all
forgot about the matter until a second letter arrived.
"She's arriving next Saturday," Dad announced. "She's
coming on an RAF flight coming into an airfield near
Luton."
One of Dad's mates at work owned a car and offered to
take him to the airfield to collect the girl.
We all spent the week full of excited expectation. The
girl's story and obvious bravery had captured my
imagination and I looked forward to meeting her. Dad left
early on the Saturday and mum and Joan spent the morning
getting the bedroom ready. The room was quite small and
the only easy way of fitting the two girls in was to
replace the single bed with a double.
"You girls will have to share a bed, I'm afraid," Mum
told Joan. Joan pretended to mind but we knew that she
was looking forward to sharing. For my part, I had the
job of doing last minute shopping tasks.
Mum had been working hard over the previous couple of
weeks. She had scoured the local clothes shops to get
together suitable new clothes for the girl. Although
rationing was in force, it was surprising what a little
persuasion could do to get extra things. All the shop
owners knew Mum and liked her. When they heard about our
guest they all wanted to help. Soon she had a good
collection of underwear, skirts, dresses and sweaters.
She also managed to find a good quality overcoat and two
pairs of shoes.
The day seemed to drag until finally a small black Ford
car pulled up at the house. Dad got out of the car and
helped our guest to the house. We were shocked at the
sight of the girl. Her face was so pale as to appear
almost white. She had long black hair which fell across
her face. She wore a plain brown skirt and a faded blue
woolen sweater. Her body was thin although her breasts
looked full under her tight sweater.
She paused at the door, looked up, gave a wan smile and
said "hello" in strongly accented English.
I'm sure you've all had those special moments in your
lives, never to be forgotten and never repeated. That
moment was one for me. The moment I saw her sad, pale
face with it's green eyes, I knew I had met my life
partner. OK, call me a soft bastard but I do believe in
love at first sight. Her eyes caught mine and I was drawn
into their burning intensity.
Dad had lifted a small leather suitcase from the car and
carried it to the house. It seemed sad that a person's
entire possessions could be held in such a small
suitcase. He introduced us and the girl replied in
strongly accented English. She gave her name but Joan and
I had great problems pronouncing it. She smiled as Joan
struggled to repeat it. Her name sounded a little like
Katerina but with some added unpronounceable bits.
"I give up," Joan finally conceded, "Can I call you Kat?"
Kat smiled.
"Yes of course, but I will teach you how to speak
Polish."
Mum took Kat up to the bedroom and we left them to it. We
knew that Mum would soon have her comfortable.
"Her bullet wounds were in the stomach and although
they've healed she still is in some pain." Dad explained.
"The RAF doctor at Luton examined her. She's a little
under weight but that was nothing that good food wouldn't
cure. He said she'll be fine physically in a couple of
months." He paused before adding in a serious tone, "Her
mental health may take longer."
Soon Mum came down alone.
"I've shown Kat where her clothes are and she's having a
lie down. The poor girl is exhausted. She needs feeding
up."
If anyone would help Kat gain weight I knew Mum would.
Her cooking was fantastic.
***
Our house had no garden as such. Dad had an allotment a
short distance from the house where he grew vegetables.
It was also my favourite place of seclusion where I could
think through problems. It wasn't much, just a large
wooden shed where he stored his tools and seed and a
strip of land 30 yards long and ten yards wide. We had
built a bench outside the hut and there was a spirit
burner so that we could brew tea.
During the few days after Kat's arrival I felt worried
and confused in equal measure. I was worried whether Kat
would adjust and manage to put the past behind her. I was
confused with my feelings for her. Early one evening I
walked up to the allotment and sat down in the sun to
think.
After a short time I heard female voices behind the
hedge. I moved over to listen and realised that it was
Joan and her best friend Ruth.
"What's she like then. Come on, tell me." Ruth's squeaky
voice was unmistakable.
"I like her a lot but she's very quiet and sad." I heard
Joan reply. "She has nasty dreams and sometimes I hear
her crying at night. I give her a cuddle and she goes
back to sleep."
"Have you seen where the bullets went? Have you seen her
undressed? What does it look like/"
"Well, she's quite thin but she has nice big titties. I
hope mine are like them when I grow up. She's quite hairy
under her armpits and on her cunnie."
"Uggh," Ruth interjected. "That's dirty."
"No I don't think so," Joan retorted. "She always smells
nice and clean. She smells of soap but with a nice other
smell sort of like fresh cut grass."
"What about the bullet holes?"
"Oh they look like two big dents in her tummy. There is a
sort of hole in her back where they must have come out.
It's all healed up though."
"What about her titties?"
"Oh big and soft with large pink ends. They're not floppy
at all."
"How do you know they're soft?"
"I feel them pressed against me when I give Kat a
cuddle."
"I wish my titties would start to grow," sighed Joan,
"but I don't want a hairy cunnie. Uggh!"
I sat both fascinated and excited. I felt a pang of
jealousy for Joan wishing I could cuddle Kat and she her
naked. I wanted to see and feel her body hair, smell her
special scent, see and touch her wounds. I wanted her
soft breasts pressed against my body.
I crept away, not wanting to be caught listening.
***
I think the first week following Kat's arrival was
difficult for all of us. Kat seemed to settle but
although she always replied to questions, conversations
were difficult and stilted. Always she seemed to be shy
or deferential and there was a constant, almost palpable,
sense of sadness. Kat seemed to get on well with Joan but
had difficulties when taking to myself or Simon.
Mum took the lead in welcoming Kat. Her solution was
plenty of mothering and good food. It seemed to work in
that Kat was very much as ease with her.
I felt that maybe Kat needed more and it became clear
that mum agreed. She took me on one side one evening.
"I think it might help if Kat met a few of your friends.
Do you think she could join your little society?"
It seemed a great idea and I suggested it to Kat the next
evening.
"Would you like to go for a walk?" I asked.
She smiled shyly and paused.
"Yes please," she finally replied.
It was a pleasant warm evening and Kat took hold of my
arm as we left the house. We didn't talk, I didn't need
to. I just enjoyed the pleasure of feeling this lovely
girl holding on to my arm.
Since Shirley had joined the society, she had made it her
goal to improve the quality of our hut. She had found
curtains and a rug, making the interior tidy and
comfortable. I had moved Joan's old single bed into the
hut - Shirley slept there some nights when he father was
too violent. She had also obtained a large amount of
green paint and had painted the outside of the hut.
As we approached the hut I asked Kat if she would like to
see it and meet the society members. She agreed and we
went in.
Shirley, Derek and Pete were relaxing in the easy chairs.
Pete leaped to his feet, bowed and pretended to doff his
hat.
"Ah, hello stranger, who is this stunning lady?"
I introduced Kat and she looked a little startled at the
warmth of their greeting. Shirley in particular gave her
a big, long hug.
"Kat, these are my closest friends." I told her. "I trust
them in every way and I hope you will feel able to trust
them as well. We are the members of the 'philosophical
society' and this hut is our refuge from the world. We
would be honoured if you would join us."
Kat looked bemused, unsure what to say.
Pete, ever the pragmatist rescued her from her dilemma.
"Don't worry about that for now, do you drink beer?" he
asked thrusting an opened bottle of pale ale into her
hand.
Kat grinned, nodded and took a drink. She settled down on
the couch next to Shirley and I sat down opposite. The
others resumed a noisy argument about football. Kat sat
sipping her beer, trying to follow the rapid speech.
Although her English was good, she found it difficult to
follow if we spoke too quickly.
I felt content to sit and watch Kat. Probably for the
first time I looked really closely at her. Already her
face had more colour and she seemed to have fleshed out a
little. Kat's face could almost be described as elfin.
Her pointed chin and clear complexion gave her face a
certain fragility. Her green eyes glowed from below her
black fringe. She wore a simple plaid skirt and a blue
sweater. Her sweater hugged her chest revealing her
marvellous breasts. The skirt had ridden up a little up
her thighs allowing me a good view of her thin but
shapely legs.
With a shock I suddenly realised that Kat was staring
back at me. Our eyes locked and then she gave a smile
which rocked me to my boots. A smile of warmth and
affection which made me believe for the first time that
maybe she had feelings for me. My heart pounded and I
felt my face flushed with emotion.
"Henry, it's such a nice evening, I would like to walk
some more." Kat's voice sent a shiver down my back.
"We'll be right back guys," I announced. They were so
busy arguing that no one replied.
As we left Kat grabbed my arm again but this time it
seemed much more tightly.
"Can we go somewhere quiet so we can talk?" she asked.
"Sure, let's got up to the allotment."
There is something quite unique about English summer
evenings - a profound tranquility. The sky was darkening
to a violet-blue and the warm air was filled with the
scent of flowers. We sat on the bench beside Dad's shed
and looked across the valley. I didn't speak, there was
no need to. We simply sat for a while in silence.
"Why were you looking at me back in the hut?" Kat finally
asked.
I decided to come clean.
"Because I think you're pretty."
It sounded pretty lame but it was honest.
"Oh from what I could see you were studying my chest I
also got the impression that you were trying to look up
my skirt," Kat replied with a mischievous grin.
How the hell do you reply to a comment like that? Well I
blushed - big time.
"You're blushing," she shrieked with laughter. "I don't
know why you wanted to look at my legs, Brygida always
says that."
Kat stopped laughing, her face creased with sorrow. Tears
flooded her eyes and she began to sob. I didn't really
know what to do other than to pull her head onto my
shoulder. I held her tightly, making soothing noises and
waiting for her agony to pass. As I held her close I
noticed her hair had a scent rather like fresh cut grass.
This had to be the scent that Joan had been talking
about. I found the spell deeply attractive and redolent
of the countryside - fresh and aromatic.
Eventually Kat's sobbing subsided and she dried her eyes.
"I'm sorry." she began.
"Don't be. Who is Brygida?"
"She was my sister and my best friend. I watched as a
German soldier put a bullet through her skull. Why did
she have to die when I live? She was so pretty. She was
getting married in two months. They hung her fianc‚ from
a street lamp with piano wire. They didn't deserve to die
- they did nothing wrong."
I feared that Kat would start crying again but instead
she stared into space with a stricken look on her face.
I'm a reasonably smart guy but I was getting out of my
depth - this was getting pretty tricky. I needed to do
something quick to help Kat out of the hole of depression
and guilt she was in.
"But you nearly did die!" I protested. "It was just luck,
it could just have been the other way around with you
dying and Brygida surviving."
I was taking a chance hoping that I could somehow take
the edge off her grief. She nodded - unconvinced.
"Its right that you grieve Kat but you must also
celebrate."
She looked at me as though I was crazy.
"Brygida and the others contributed to this world. It may
not have been much but I'm sure that the world was a
better place because of them. Those murderers could take
their lives but couldn't erase what they did or meant.
All the things they did or said live on inside you. Your
memories keep them alive. You must celebrate their lives,
tell me all about them. The good, the bad, everything."
That was a pretty creative little speech but I had no
idea what it would achieve.
"Tell me about Brygida and your friends. What you used to
do. Did you have a boyfriend?"
Kat paused awhile, thinking and suddenly without reason
began to giggle.
"Let me tell you about the time that we went hunting for
honey and Brygida fell in the river."
This seemed to open the floodgates as Kat described life
in her village. Her family. her friends. the dirty old
pervert who flashed his cock at the women of the village.
her boyfriend Zarek. Sometimes laughing, sometimes
weeping, she spoke for hours.
I just listened, absorbing the joys and tragedies of life
in a Polish village - sharing some of her burden.
What tore at my soul most was the realisation that the
village was no more - eradicated - "Ganz vernichtet" to
quote the perpetrators of the crime. All of these people
were now so much dust.
"There you are!."
Kat's discourse was interrupted as Dad walked through the
gate.
"Do you realise how late it is? Its after eleven."
We had been so engrossed that I hadn't realised how dark
it had become. I helped Kat to her feet, she seemed quite
exhausted.
"Come on Kat, time for bed."
She hugged my arm tightly and whispered in my ear.
"Thank you for listening."
"No problem kid, we'll finish off another day if you
want."
She grinned and nodded.
Dad hadn't been too worried when we hadn't come home. He
had checked at the hut and guessed that we had gone to
the allotment - he knew it was one of my favourite
retreats. Fortunately I hadn't caused them much grief in
the past and mum and dad trusted me.
Kat went straight to bed when we got home and I settled
down in the kitchen with mum and dad for a cup of tea. I
explained what we had been doing and told them a little
about what Kat had said. I could see that both of them
had got a little moist eyed by the time I had finished.
Dad puffed on his pipe, deep in thought.
"I reckon you've probably found the best way of helping
her my lad. You're not a daft as you look." He told me.
"Now buzz off to bed."
As I laid in bed I thought about all Kat had told me. I
had felt privileged to share her thoughts and memories
and over the coming months I would learn so much more.
The knowledge that she had had a boyfriend gave me some
concern. Would she ever get over his death? Could I ever
replace him? I guessed the only way to find out would be
to take it easy and not push things. She would let me
know when she was ready.
***
I got up a early the next morning. Although it was
Saturday I had agreed to going with Simon to the
engineering works and help him with a rush job he had.
Not only would it mean some extra cash but it would also
keep me in the good books of the managers.
I met Joan as I walking going down stairs.
"Henry! What have you done to Kat?" she hissed.
My heart faltered, I had a feeling of doom.
I followed Joan into her bedroom.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Well, for the first time since she's been hear, Kat
slept the whole night without crying. I was weird, she
wrapped her arms around me and slept soundly. Have you
been misbehaving with her?" Joan was grinning showing an
understanding beyond her years.
"I wish," I replied without thinking.
Joan looked surprised.
"I knew it, you have a thing about her."
In a mild panic I explained all that had happened the
previous evening. I needed Joan to understand before she
began spreading damaging rumours."
"Yes, I do have a thing about her but its difficult."
Probably for the first time ever Joan gave me a big hug.
"I'm glad, big brother, you two are right for each other.
Even an annoying little sister like me can see that.
Don't worry, I'll keep schtum."
Dad, mum, Simon and Kat were sat in the kitchen when I
got down-stairs.
For the three months that Kat had been with us we had
been to concerned with helping her build up her strength
helping her adjust to worry about her education. It was
Kat who raised the issue that morning.
"I think I should start in school," she announced.
Dad had checked with the local school in advance and they
were happy to take her when she was ready. Given that we
were the same age, we would be in the same class.
The local school wasn't big with no more than 100 kids
between the age of 11 and 17. Most kids took a set of
exams called 'matriculation' and then left school to
work. Bright kids who wanted to get to university usually
sat a scholarship exam. I had no real plans to go to
university. If I got through my matriculation OK I would
join the engineering works in the drawing office and go
to evening classes.
"Come on kid, we've got work to do," Simon reminded me.
"So what were you two up to last night?" Simon asked as
we walked the mile to the works.
"Not you as well, Joan has already given me the third
degree," I complained.
I explained exactly what had happened the night before.
"Well Kat was happier this morning than I've ever seen
her. Nicely done my boy, you've learned your lessons
well," Simon grinned.
***
After tea that afternoon Kat grabbed my arm.
"Come on," she commanded as she tugged me from the house.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To the allotment," she replied without any further
elaboration.
We sat on the bench outside Dad's hut. Kat sat beside me
but after a moment she gave an impatient snort, lifted my
arm around her and snuggled down with her head on my
chest.
"Do you always expect your girl friends to make the first
move?" she asked.
I admitted that I hadn't ever had a girl friend. Slightly
nervously I also told her that with what had happened to
Zarek I didn't expect that she would want a boyfriend.
Kat looked up at me.
"I know that Zarek is dead, I also know that he was very
dear to me. That will never change. I also know that you
are very dear to me too and that I must live with the
living. Now are you going to kiss me or must I do that
for you?"
I couldn't refuse an instruction like that and
remembering Simon's advice, I kissed her gently on the
lips. So sweet, so soft, she felt and tasted wonderful.
Kat breathed a heavy sigh and slipped her hand behind my
head pushing he more firmly against her. Her lips opened
slightly, her tongue probing gently into my mouth.
Unconsciously I lifted my hand, putting it on her chest.
For the first time I felt the warm softness of her
breast.
Kat gave a sigh of pleasure but pulled her head back.
"Do you mind if we don't go further than kissing for
now?" she asked. "I don't want us to rush."
Did I mind? Surprisingly, I didn't. I was so delighted
that Kat felt something for me, that was more than enough
- although I did rather hanker to see her naked!
"Not at all Kat," I replied.
I went into the hut and brewed tea and we sat enjoying
the dusk.
"Tell me Kat, when I'm near you I notice a smell of cut
grass. What is it?" I asked.
"Henry, those are herbs," she replied, laughing. "One of
the specialties of my village is the preparation of a
perfumed lotion made from herbs. We would all gather
herbs from our gardens and the woods and mix these with
water and other ingredients to make a special lotion. The
women used it as a perfume. Here..."
Kat opened the top three buttons of her shirt and held it
open, exposing the two globes of her breasts.
"Smell between my breasts," she invited.
I bent forward and sniffed her cleavage. The scent was
subtle but heady, enhanced by her body heat.
"Oh god, that's wonderful," I sighed.
Kat laughed and buttoned her shirt.
"That's why we made it. It always drives men mad."
It felt odd being called a man - I felt about 10 feet
tall.
"Do you know that I've been crazy about you from the
first time I met you," I admitted.
"Yes, I saw the look in your eyes. I have to admit that I
didn't feel the same then but my emotions were still raw.
Over the past few months I have grown to feel the same.
You can never replace Zarek but you are not the same as
Zarek. I love you for different but equally important
reasons. Can you accept that you can never be the only
man in my life?"
"Yes, I can." I replied.
"I'm glad. You might be glad to know that you are the
first man or boy that I have allowed to touch and smell
my breasts."
I didn't reply, I just gave her a hug.
***
"So are you both going to the match tomorrow?" Derek
asked as we walked home after school one Friday.
"I don't know, do you want to go Kat?" I asked.
"Why don't you piss of you Yid scum!"
We were interrupted by a shout. It was Barry Peters, the
local hard nut. When he was at school he was the school
bully, kicking the shit out of any kid who wouldn't give
him protection money. After leaving school he worked for
the local rag and bone man - ideal employment for a
brainless thug.
Kat's face had gone white with shock and fear.
"Ignore him," Pete advised. "He's an ignorant tosser."
Barry crossed the road and stood in our way.
"Are you deaf? What is this Yid doing in this country.
She should have been shot like the rest of 'em."
Derek gave a shout of rage and with a typically impetuous
move threw himself at Barry. His fist smashed into his
face bursting his nose like a ripe tomato. Barry ignored
the pain from his damaged nose and knocking Derek to the
ground and began punching him hard. Derek's head was
hitting the path with sickening thuds. Pete and I charged
Barry. I managed to kick him hard on the side of his head
both stunning and knocking him off Derek. Pete and I
jumped on him, feet first. In spite of his strength Barry
couldn't resist the combined weight of the two of us, at
least for the moment but it would only be a matter of
time before he recovered.
I began shouting, we needed help quickly. Doors in the
street began opening and two neighbours, both burly men,
ran out and grabbed Barry. Luck had it that the local
constable was only a couple of streets away and he
appeared, handcuffs ready.
Derek was lying unconscious. His face was pale and his
head was bleeding. The policeman quickly checked him and
rushed to the police phone box at the corner of the
street to call an ambulance.
Kat was shivering with shock and I hustled her quickly to
our house before getting Derek's parents.
***
"It's not good," Dad told us with a heavy voice. "I've
just spoken to Derek's dad at the hospital. Derek is
deeply unconscious and they fear he might have brain
damage. They're going to operate to check him out."
It was late in the evening and we were sat in the
kitchen.
Kat had been sleeping upstairs but was stood at the door
listening to dad.
"It's all my fault," she spoke in a flat, quiet voice.
Dad walked over and took her hand.
"No it's not, lass. Barry Peters is the worst kind of
scum who has caused trouble for many ordinary and
innocent people. You were unlucky to be his latest
target. Now there's no need to be defensive my girl, we
need you to help."
We were all a little surprised at the firmness of Dad's
but he knew what he was doing. Kat nodded and smiled.
"Sorry, papa, you're right. We should be worrying about
Derek."
"Derek's mum and dad are staying at the hospital so we
need someone to stay with Sophie tonight." Dad continued.
"Her Aunt is coming over tomorrow to look after her."
"I can do that," Kat volunteered, "Sophie and I get on
well."
Sophie who had been sitting on mum's lap, gave a squeaky
cheer and ran over to Kat and held her hand.
Dad nodded in approval, "Good idea lass. You take Sophie
and get her into bed."
Kat slipped up to her room for her overnight things and
left with Sophie.
"Could you keep an eye on them, Henry?" dad asked me.
I went next door and settled down in the living room. I
turned on the radio and tuned into some big band music.
With the warmth from the fire and the music I soon dozed
off.
***
Something, whether a subtle noise or something else,
awoke me. The mantle clock showed that it was two in the
morning. Kat was stood in the doorway, wearing her
pyjamas. She was smiling as she unfastened the buttons on
her top. Her pyjama top fell open, revealing her breasts.
Kat slipped her pyjama top off walked over to me.
Her breasts were breathtaking. Large and full but without
any sag. They moved gently as she walked. Her nipples
were large and had stiffened in the cool air. A tracery
of blue veins were visible beneath her pale white skin. I
could see the two dents in her stomach where the bullets
had hit her.
Kat climbed on my lap, facing me, with her legs either
side of my body. Her crotch pressed against mine.
Wrapping her arms around my neck she gave me the most
amazing kiss. No holds barred, she kissed me with a
passion I didn't imagine possible. I place my arms around
her feeling the hot, smooth skin of her back. Half way
down I felt the exit wound.
Finally she pulled back, panting slightly, her face
flushed. Her breasts were inches from my face, begging to
be touched an kissed. Kat saw where I was staring.
"Yes please," she whispered.
I pressed my lips against her breast. I never imagined
that flesh could be so soft. I took her nipple in my
mouth and sucked gently. Her flesh stiffened in my mouth
and Kat gave a quite sigh. She pushed against me, urging
me to suck at her harder.
"I want you to love me," she whispered.
I pulled back, wanting to enjoy the sight of her body. I
ran my hands over her belly and cupped her breasts. Kat's
eyes were shut as she enjoyed my caresses. As I continued
to move my hands up her body Kat lifted her arms exposing
her hairy armpits. The sight of the heavy bushes of hair
in contrast to her pale body was intoxicating. I ran my
hands over the damp patches of hair relishing the
intimacy of the moment.
The thing I found most exciting was that for the first
time in my life I was being invited to explore the most
intimate parts of a woman's body. It's difficult to
explain but I was being invited to experience something
unique that no other man had done.
Kat must have been psychic for she seemed to read my
thoughts.
"Yes, my love, you are the first to see me this way," she
whispered. "And you will be the only one."
I really wanted to fuck Kat but I hadn't come prepared.
OK, you could say that I should have chanced it but that
just wasn't my style. Simon had told me about what fun
oral sex was so I reckoned we could still have fun.
"Kat, I don't have any protection," I told her. "But I
know something else we can do, OK?"
I guessed that Kat was having too much fun to object, she
just smiled and nodded.
Gently I tipped Kat over onto the couch so that she lay
on her back and eased her pyjama bottoms down. The crotch
of her trousers were wet from her body. Only when she was
fully naked could I fully appreciate Kat's waif-like
slimness. Her lower belly was heavily hairy with a thin
track of black hairs leading up towards her navel. I
stroked her thighs and eased then apart before running my
hand over her hidden slit. Her pubic hair was wet from
her excitement. Kat shivered as my hand brushed across
her lower lips. Following Simon's advice I leant forward
and kissed over Kat's clit. She gasped and pressed my
head against her, mutely begging for more.
Kat had a strong, musky smell - not dirty but very, very
exciting. I slid my tongue into her slit, tasting her
salty juices. I felt her clit between my lips, firm and
erect. Kat began bucking her hips so I gave up any
attempt of control, licking and sucking where-ever her
hands and thrusts guided me.
She began to moan and whimper in Polish. I didn't need to
understand it but I could guess what she was saying and
feeling.
Kat came which a huge gasp, wrapping her legs around my
head and crushing my mouth against her. It was an
incredible feeling to realise that I had inflicted so
much pleasure on her - somehow almost humbling.
Kat relaxed and lay back, breathing deeply. Her face,
neck, upper chest and breasts were flushed deep pink. Her
eyes were closed and she had a small smile on her face.
"You look like the cat that's eaten the cream," I joked.
"Better than that," she replied, "that was wonderful. I
love you Henry."
"Kat!! Is anything wrong?" We were interrupted by Sophie
calling from upstairs. "I heard you cry, have you hurt
yourself?"
We giggled as Kat quickly pulled on her pyjamas.
"It's OK, Sophie, I came for a drink and stubbed my toe."
Kat called back and went upstairs.
"I better go upstairs," she told me. "Sorry we can't
continue."
She stopped and kissed me. My face was still wet from her
juices and she stopped with a smile.
"Is that all me?" she grinned, "sorry but you got me a
little excited. See you later."
My cock was still stiff and aching but it didn't matter
too much - my time would come.
I settled down in the chair and fell asleep.
***
Although there was school the next day, neither Kat nor I
went in. To be frank, we were too tired and worried about
Derek to be bothered with school.
We gathered the next morning in the kitchen for
breakfast. Kat had a certain enigmatic radiance which
only I could appreciate. She sat across the table from me
at breakfast giving me shy looks from time to time.
Sophie's Aunt arrived at around nine o clock leaving one
less job for Kat.
Dad came in a little later and took me on one side.
"I've spoken to Derek's dad at the hospital. Surgery went
well and Derek is doing well. It's now just a case of
waiting until he recovers consciousness. Look Henry, it's
a nice day, why don't you take Kat on a picnic to the
river. It will take her mind off things. There's nothing
either of you can do so you might as well enjoy the day."
"Fine, dada, that will be nice," I replied. "Sitting at
the side of the river Lea was almost top of my list of
fun things to do."
Mum sorted out some sandwiches and dad slipped a few
bottles of beer with them into a rucksack.
"You two deserve a nice quiet day, go enjoy yourselves."
I slipped upstairs and tapped on the door to Kat's room.
"Hey, Kat, get ready, we're off for a day in the
country," I told her. She didn't need telling twice.
I then raided Simon's stash of rubbers - I wasn't going
to be unprepared again.
The journey out to the river Lea took some time. We first
caught the underground out to Walthamstowe and then the
bus to Waltham Abbey. It was then just a walk of a mile
or so to the river. In those days the river Lea was still
well in the countryside - London and the M25 hadn't
expanded to turn the area into a dormitory for commuters.
Kat was delighted by the journey. She had never been on
an underground train and, as a girl from the country
side, she loved the bus journey through the green fields.
We settled down at a secluded spot on the river bank
surrounded by a wooded copse. I had brought my rod to try
a little fishing and I knew that this was an ideal spot.
"What's that place over the river?" Kat asked, pointing
at fenced area of fields and woodland with strange wooden
buildings hidden behind earth mounds. I explained that it
was a government explosives site which had been one of
the first gunpowder factories in the country. She seemed
bemused that something so violent could be made in such a
peaceful place.
I put the bottles in my catch net to cool in the water
and I gave Kat her first fishing lesson.
The day was idyllic. The sun shone from a cloudless sky
making it a perfect summer day. We caught no fish but it
really didn't matter. We lay on the back chatting in that
special intimate way that good friends or lovers do. The
warmth, food and beer soon made me drowsy and I drifted
off to sleep.
I was awoken by the lightest of touches on my chest - the
gentle unfastening of buttons. I pretended to remain
asleep. Slowly my shirt was opened and pulled from my
trousers, exposing my chest. The same gentle touch moved
to my trousers opening my belt and fly buttons. My
trousers were opened and eased down to my mid-thighs. It
was taking all my self control to stay still.
Then came the lightest pressure of lips on my stomach -
coupled with light warm breath blow from Kat's nose.
Slowly she worked across my chest to my nipples where she
gently licked and sucked. My cock was hugely stiff and
pushed against my pants. Kat noticed it and slid her hand
inside and held my cock.
I opened my eyes.
"What do you think you're doing, young lady?" I asked
rhetorically.
Kat kissed me.
"Shut up and enjoy," she whispered.
With a shock I realised that she was nude. The slight
breeze had chilled her nipples making them tight and
erect. She shivered with pleasure was I brushed a hand
across them.
"Did you come prepared this time?" she asked.
I nodded, my dry throat making it difficult to speak.
"Well prepare yourself," she told me as she pulled my
trousers and pants off.
I fumbled in the rucksack and found a Johnny.
Kat had turned her attention to my cock and balls,
kissing and licking every last inch. I had never known
such a sensation. Having a wank is pretty enjoyable but
having a gorgeous woman kiss and suck your tackle is out
of this bloody world.
I ripped open the packet and pulled out the Johnny. In a
matter of seconds it was unrolled smoothly over my cock.
Kat slid up my body and kissed me. Her breasts rubbed
across my chest sending a tingle of pleasure through me.
For me the greatest pleasure is the feeling of a full,
warm, naked pair of breasts pressed against my naked
chest - utter bliss.
Kat's legs were astride me and I felt her ease my cock
into her slit. Kat lifted her head from me giving me a
full view of her face as she pushed herself onto me.
I felt my cock ease into the warmest, tightest hole
imaginable and then stop as it hit a barrier. Kat felt
the obstruction too and pushed down harder. Nothing
happened and she winced with pain. I knew enough to
realise that her hymen was reluctant to tear.
Kat gave what sounded like a curse in Polish. I saw a
look of determination cross her face and she then pushed
down hard. I felt a tearing sensation followed by deep
pleasure as my cock was buried completely inside her.
I saw a flash of relief and pleasure flood across Kat's
face. She sat back making sure I was fully inside her.
"Now you really are my man," she said in triumph.
Kat began to shift her lower body, back and forth,
allowing my cock so slide in and out. She was so tight
that I knew I wouldn't last long - Kat realised it too.
"You gave me pleasure last night, this time is for you.
Later, when we do it again, we will do it more slowly and
we will come together," she smiled.
I was in no condition to argue as I was already coming.
The tightness of her cunt and the Johnny combined to
increase the sensation as my gism flooded out. Kat's face
was a picture as see saw my reaction and felt the pulsing
of my cock.
"I feel you, throbbing inside." she gasped, trying to
vocalise the sensations she was feeling. She gave up,
resorting to Polish to express her emotions, before
leaning over and kissing me all over my face.
Kat insisted on removing the full Johnny from my cock.
She seemed fascinated with the white juice held captive
in the rubber.
"One day you will fill me with this stuff, not a rubber
sock."
And I did, many. many. times.
***
Well many years have passed since those days.
Naturally Kat and I married and we had identical twin
daughters who inherited her dark hair, green eyes and
elfin looks. These features have been passed down,
undiluted, to my grand-daughters. Every time I see any of
them now the memories and feelings flood back. I worked
at the engineering works for ten years before setting up
as a consultant to a charity providing aid to under-
developed countries. Kat became a doctor. Kat had never
forgotten the past and chose to apply her medical talents
to the third world. We spent most of our lives in Africa
applying our skills to helping the poor and deprived.
Dad died when he was knocked off his bike early on
morning by a hit and run driver - they never caught the
bastard. Mum lived in our old house until she died in
1968. I offered to buy her a small flat but she refused
saying that she wanted to die in the house in which she
lived.
Simon rose to the top of the engineering company and
became Managing Director. He married his blonde typist
and they had five daughters. Joan became a journalist and
has had a couple of historical novels published.
It came as no surprise to anyone when Pete married
Shirley. Pete lived up to his intellect by become a
Professor of philosophy and politics as Cambridge. As for
Derek, he recovered from his injuries completely and he
subsequently joined the police. Any sniggers of derision
were soon silenced when he rose to become the youngest
Chief Superintendent in the Metropolitan police.
In all we were all pretty successful in our own ways.
I often think about Kat and the way she was. I like to
see her as a bit of a hero. The way she overcame the loss
of all she knew and loved. The way she recovered from her
injuries. The way she built a new life. OK, you might say
that anyone can get over a nasty injury but most people
would just roll over and creep into a corner to die when
their world collapses. It takes real courage to take a
grip on life and move on. Sure, even in her old age she
remembered her past - I would have been amazed if she
hadn't. She never forgot or stopped loving Brygida or
Zarek but she was content to hold and nurture them inside
her heart. We went back to Poland several times to visit
the stark memorial which listed the names of the
villagers. The village was never re-settled, remaining as
an empty reminder to the horror that men do.
It has been ten years since cancer took my Kat away. On
the day of Kat's funeral I sat with my daughters and told
her story, just as I have now. We had never mentioned
Kat's past before but I felt they needed to really known
their mother completely. I wasn't sure what to expect but
my girls were strangely quiet once I had finished. They
simply kissed me and left.
They came and saw me a week later. They explained that
they needed time to ponder on Kat's story. They admitted
that they sat for hours, thinking and talking and
admitted that there had been some tears. They were
grateful that I had shared Kat's story with them and they
explained how their one overwhelming emotion was a fierce
pride at the courage their mother had shown in dealing
with the tragedy of her early life and the dignity with
which she conducted herself. Somehow I feel that that
courage lives on within them and gives them strength.
***
My girls now have their own lives and apart from visits
from my grandchildren I am left with my herbs. Each time
I smell the basil, Kat is in the room. A touch of the
parsley reminds me of her wonderful hair. Mint reminds me
of those heavenly breasts.
So long as I have my herbs my Kat will always be here.
Johannesburg, March 2002
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 24