The Aviators

“What’s this then?” Elizabeth greeted Alex at her door with a mixture of surprise, pleasure, and worry. She was dressed in a shift serviceable to go to work in, which is where she had been heading when the knock came at the door. It was almost time for her to leave for her job in the Duxford Aerodrome scheduling office. She looked over her shoulder, toward the kitchen, when she saw that it was Alex, dressed in his everyday khakis, at her door and then turned back to give him a nervous smile.

“I brought these for you. I didn’t think I should give them to you at the office.”

“Nylons and a carton of Lucky Strikes?” She reached out a hand greedily, although the gesture also indicated that it was involuntary, that she shouldn’t touch them. “Harvey,” she then said, with a tinge of worry in the saying.

“Harvey is out in the barnyard. I saw him when I came to the door. He didn’t see me. Give him some of the cigarettes. Say they were given out at the aerodrome--perks of the job, maybe Christmas gifts belatedly arrived. I couldn’t wait to see you. You said he seemed to be at the outdoor work all day.”

“And so he is, I suppose,” she said, taking the gifts, “other than that he’ll come in for the spot of midday meal I prepared for him and put in the frig.”

He put his free hands to use, pulling her to him, clutching her pelvis to his with a strong, squeezing grip on one of her butt cheeks. He knew she could feel that he was hard and the heat of him. He took her mouth brutally in a kiss that took her breath away. When he came out of it, her eyes all glassy, he said, in a low, hoarse, voice, “I want to put the stockings on you myself, and then I want you.”

“You best come in then. We’ll need to do it in the kitchen, at the sink. It has a window where we can see that Harvey is still out there with the livestock.”

They both knew what “it” was.

She was backed up against the sink, her arms bent, the heels of her hands pressed into the edge of the counter beside her, leaving it for Alex to watch out for Harvey through the window behind her. He’d pulled her shift over her head and unhooked her bra and tossed both aside on the floor of the kitchen. She had the presence of mind to be glad she’d mopped the floor just the day before.

She moaned and gripped his curly, blond head hair tightly as he pulled her panties down off her legs, kissed her on the belly, and rubbed his cheek there. He took a deep breath, sniffing in the perfume of her cunt and licking at the edge of where her underbelly went into her strawberry blonde thatch. She was grateful that she had bathed that morning and perfumed herself, anticipating seeing him today, the day before his first mission since he’d been back from convalescent leave. She just hadn’t anticipated that he would come for her before work. It gave her a thrill and shiver that he had.

She panted lightly as he smoothed each nylon hose up a leg and turned her thighs outward a bit, exposing her more to him, and then teasing her hips forward by pressing her buttocks forward with his palms. She moaned more deeply as he buried his face between her thighs and then more deeply yet as he went to work on her clit and cunt with his tongue.

At length he stood up, unbuttoned his fly, and pressed down on her shoulders, coaxing her to her knees. He leaned over, fists on the counter, and watched Harvey puttering about in the farmyard as Elizabeth took him inside her mouth and made him long and thick and shuddering.

He raised her, turned her to where she was watching Harvey through the window too. Alex’s chin was on Elizabeth’s shoulder, his hands were cupping and squeezing her pendulous breasts, and his cock was deep up into her cunt, working her. She groaned and moaned as she watched her older husband slopping the hogs.

They both caught sight of Harvey turning around and coming closer, seeing Elizabeth’s face in the window. But Alex had already withdrawn his head from her shoulder. Harvey waved at Elizabeth and she weakly waved back, trying to control the sway of her pelvis back against the thrusting cock and lowering her shoulders enough so that the breasts and the hands couldn’t be seen from the outside. Harvey turned and walked into a field a good distance from the house and Alex moved his chin back to Elizabeth’s shoulder and maintained the rhythm of the fuck.

At the door, in her shift, but not yet in her panties, she said, “You’re worried, aren’t you? This is because you’re worried. Tomorrow is your first bombing mission since you returned to the aerodrome, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said. He didn’t acknowledge that it was “yes” to everything she’d said.

“You can’t worry. You have to come back. You have to believe that.”

“I know I have to believe that.” And then, suddenly, the need swept over him again, and he slammed the door, still inside, grabbed her, and turned her back to the wall. He hiked her shift up to her waist, quickly unbuttoned himself, and, hiking her left leg on his hip, thrust up into her again, possessing her lips frantically, and banging her hard and furiously against the wall.

Sobbing, she didn’t fight him. She gave him all that he wanted--all that she hungrily wanted too, and when he finally left, reversing direction and nearly running, mostly stumbling on his lame leg, as he saw that Harvey was coming around the corner of the house, she stood there, weeping, and whispering, “You have to come back.”

* * * *

He shook his head and looked up from the desk in the hangar at his new plane. He was told it was a new, improved version of the P-47 Thunderbolt. It had only been here for a week and he’d only been up in it twice so far. Tomorrow he’d have to take it on his first bombing mission since . . . since that last one, when he’d lost Lucky Linda. Since he’d returned from Stanford Hall he had trained back in on the other planes in the squadron when they were available: Got Luck, Lucky Forever, Lucky Louise. He’d give anything to have his old ride back.

He’d give anything to have his old fly buddy, Pete Porter, back.

As he dozed, he’d been thinking of Pete. Not just that last day but all the days they’d spent together. And he thought of the rituals they’d always gone through--until that last day. He’d done, what, one hundred and seventeen over-the-channel missions with Pete before the breakup? He’d heard that the average life of an aviator in this business was ninety missions. They’d been lucky, that was for sure. And “lucky” was part of the ritual. All of the squadron planes that had come back were named some form of “Lucky.” Pete and he had known that. Some of the newer flyers, like Major Flint, didn’t know about that. It hadn’t been spoken of much because no one wanted to jinx anyone else.

Alex looked over at his new ride and at the name that still was painted on her side. Horus. He’d been told that Horus was the Egyptian sky god. Appropriate for a fighter-bomber, sure. But all of the squadron planes had some form of “Lucky” painted on them. Major Flint had promised to have a new name put on the airship before Alex took it into battle. But it hadn’t been done. The mission was the next day. It already was late afternoon here. Alex had, with hope, picked the name Still Lucky. He’d had his fears and worries about this mission--and also thoughts of being tired of it all, with a view to the survival number he’d significantly outdistanced already.

With a sigh, he stood and walked over to the plane. One of the rituals was walking around the plane, whispering encouragement to her, and running his hands over her flanks to bond with her--calling her his lover and that they were in this together.

But his heart wasn’t in it. He felt more of endings than beginnings.

Voicing a disgusted “Fuck it,” he took his hand away from the fuselage, turned, walked out of the hangar, and signed out one of the staff cars.

If he’d been fifteen minutes later, he would have been there for the arrival of the two maintenance men who had been assigned to paint over the name Horus on the new P-47 and paint on Still Lucky.

It was close to twilight when he drove up to Stanford Hall. There was much he was supposed to be doing back at the aerodrome today to prepare for the next day’s mission, but he didn’t really see the point anymore. He had decided--at least that’s what he’d told himself when he’d driven away from the airfield--that he should come see the Taylors and thank them again for putting him up and caring for him through his convalescent period. He hadn’t had any intention of seeing anyone else. Not really.

Stanford Hall was dark when he arrived, however. He’d lived there, so he walked right in. The door wasn’t locked. His “Hello, anyone here?” echoed through the rooms. The furniture in the rooms he looked into while walking down the central hall were all covered with dust sheets.

A housemaid came out of the kitchen.

“The Taylors have gone to Edinburgh, Mr. Alex. Mr. Taylor has a movie to make there. Can I--?”

“No thanks, Chloe. I’m flying tomorrow. I just wanted to drop by to give them my regards. I’ll . . . I’ll see them when they get back.”

He quickly left the house and returned to the car. He already had the driver’s door open when he admitted to himself that he hadn’t come to see the Taylors at all. He let the door click shut, turned, and walked toward the entrance to the path that led to the gardener’s cottage.

* * * *

The conquering pounding fuck was over fairly quickly, with Alex on his back on the bed, his arms pulled over his head, his wrists bound, and tied by a lead to the brass headboard. He was gagged, even though he’d pointed out that there was no need for it. Chloe had said she was the only one at the main house that day and was about to leave when Alex had arrived.

But Toby had his rituals, and he insisted on maintaining them. Alex could understand the importance of rituals.

So, he was fucked naked, his butt on the edge of the foot of the bed, Toby raising and stretching his legs painfully straight to the side, and Toby’s cock pounding the living daylights out of him. For an hour nothing entered Alex’s mind but the pain-pleasure of Toby cruelly using and abusing his body. It was all good for Alex, and the exhausting sex was satiating and cleansing. With Toby, a man knew he’d been fucked.

In yet another of Toby’s rituals, they sat and took tea and biscuits afterward and Toby pulled out a full bottle of whiskey.

“You cried out ‘Peter’ several times when I was in deep and going deeper,” Toby said. “Was that Peter Porter who used to come here with you?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about him. He fucked you?”

“Yes.”

“Many times?”

“Yes. And I fucked him too.”

“Ah, he was your lover.” It wasn’t a question.

“I didn’t know how much he was until he was gone,” Alex answered. “But it was just me who saw it that way.”

“Tell me more about him.”

“If you’ll tell me more about your Danny,” Alex said.

So, they sat through a whole bottle of whiskey, each telling the other of their great love to that point, and of the loss they hadn’t been able to get past. For Alex, though, it was a purging process. He could only hope that it was the same for Toby.

Darkness had fallen when Toby put a hand on Alex’s forearm. “I want to fuck you again and then hadn’t you supposed to be going back to Duxford? Don’t you fly tomorrow?”

“Yes, I fly tomorrow.”

“Isn’t there more you have to do to be ready to fly tomorrow?”

“No, I’m prepared for tomorrow,” Alex lied. “I can drive back at dawn. I want to stay here with you tonight. I want you inside me, but I want your nighttime attention. I want it to be dark and I want you to think of making love to Danny.”

“And you, what do you want?” Toby asked.

“I want to make love to you.”

“Not to Peter Porter?”

“No. Pete’s not here. You and I are here. I want you to be my lover.”

“I’ll do that, but I want you to know that I won’t be thinking of making love to Danny. I’ll be making love to you. I love you, Alex. That don’t mean I love Danny any less.”

The fear of tomorrow’s run hit Alex at that moment. He had a reason to live now. He had a reason to fight to live. He would stay some of the night now, but not all of it. There would be more preparation to do before he flew tomorrow--more than he had intended to do before someone told him he was loved. The tiredness that had bogged him down for weeks lifted. Only now did he realize that the will to live had returned to him.

Toby held Alex into his body, chest to chest, in the dark on his bed until they both could feel their hearts beating as one. Then, before Toby could take the lead, Alex gently rolled the older man on his back. They both were hard. They’d already been stroking each other to erections. Grasping Toby’s wrists, Alex pulled the older man’s arms over his head. Toby didn’t resist, although, as the stronger of the two, he could have taken control and asserted himself. Positioning his buttocks over Toby’s hips, Alex slowly impaled himself on the older man’s thick cock. He moved into the rhythm of fucking himself on the hard shaft.

Lowering his face to where he could make out Toby’s face close below his, he saw that the old man had tears in his eyes.

So did Alex.

- FINI -