The Hole in the Wall

The Cottage Goes To War.

The names recorded on the Town’s memorial to those of it’s citizens who were killed during the Great War were many. On the day of it’s blessing by the Bishop thousands of townsfolk turned out on a hot and humid Sunday afternoon to collectively mourn those they had lost. Mothers and fathers, Grandparents, aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, cousins and friends – all knew someone who had given their life for their country. All found comfort in the knowledge that they were not alone in their grief. The scene was repeated in every town, city, village and hamlet across the country. There wasn’t a corner of the land that had not been touched by the cataclysmic conflict that was supposed to have been over by the Christmas of 1914.  

Lost in the crowd, with a scarf pulled over his face to hide the hideous scaring caused by an exploding shell that had blasted half of his jaw off, stood a solitary figure who had come to say a final farewell to the man he had come to love over the years they had secretly met in the public convenience standing silent and forlorn opposite the memorial to the dead. Before the war he had lived and worked in the Town as an accountant. Most of the great and the good had been his clients at one time or another, but with the coming of war he had been forced to return to his country of origin, not because he supported the bellicose Kaiser and his Generals but for the simple fact that no German citizen was safe living in England once war had been become inevitable. He left his adopted country with great sadness and returned to a land where he knew almost no one and where he felt more alien than he had ever done in the market town he had left behind.

The biggest hurt for him had been leaving without ever professing his love to the man he knew only as Jack. He knew now, after much digging on his behalf by a private detective he had employed before returning, that Jack’s last name was Prescott, and that he had been killed at Ypres during one of the many heart-breakingly ineffective attacks mounted by both sides over those four terrible years. He had been dead since 1915 and the lonely, damaged man who stood silently, wanting to scream and sob and shout his love from the rooftops was forced to hide who and what he was for fear of his life. He knew that with a face that caused people to gasp in horror and turn away in embarrassment he would not be recognised. He was however well aware of the animosity and hated still felt by the vast majority of English men and women towards the ‘bastard Hun’ and that if his identity was revealed he would receive no mercy from those around him.

He looked over at the ‘Cottage’ hoping beyond hope that Jack would appear as by magic. He would laugh at him in that gently mocking way he had, tip his head to the left, smile his lop-sided smile, brush the fringe from his forehead and kiss him with a tenderness he had felt with no one else. In his mind’s eye he heard him – ‘Come on Albert let’s walk round the park. If you’re a good boy I’ll treat you in the bushes.’

The crowd was almost silent as the Bishop began his service of dedication. All that could be heard were the sobs and sniffles of those crying, unable to control their suffering. He looked around him conscious that everyone avoided his gaze, desperate to not acknowledge his deformity. There were other survivors of the monstrous conflict present but like him they had neither the need nor the want to talk to fellow refugees from the mincing machine that had been the trenches of the western front. He looked again at the toilet block this time deciding to make his way over to it. His memories of Jack weren’t to be found in a large stone cross on whose base hundreds of names were listed alphabetically, no, his Jack had been vibrant, funny, irreverent and sexy. If his spirit existed anywhere it was in the place they had first met and where they had both lost their virginity.

As he walked towards the familiar building the world seemed to shift around him, he felt an irritating itch where his missing chin should be. How could that be? How could something that was no longer there need scratching? He reached up instinctively and without thought sought out the offending itch. He stopped short and gasped in shock when he felt a full, solid face under his scarf. He pulled the scarf down and tentatively put his fingertips against the smooth, unblemished shin that shouldn’t have been there.

He heard laughter coming from the Cottage. Familiar laughter. He cried out, ‘Jack?’ He ran to the door. A strangled, tortured sob escaped his suddenly full and intact mouth.

A figure in the uniform of an English Tommy stood with his back to him, facing the urinal. He recognised everything about the man he saw – the hair, the shoulders, the way he stood, the neck, especially the beautiful down covered neck. ‘Jack, is that you Jack?’

‘Well I ain’t Father-bleedin’-Christmas am I?’ The figure turned it’s head and Albert saw it’s face for the first time. He staggered backwards, struggling to breathe.

‘No. It cannot be you.’ He fell against the wall behind him and curled into a ball hiding his face. Sobs of anguish and pain racked his body. This is impossible he thought. It cannot be. Jack is dead. I do not have a face anymore. A hand touched his shoulder, he screamed in fear.

‘Albert, it’s okay mate. They’ve let me come to see you. I’m real right now, just like your face. We’re both ‘ere and we’re both real.’ Jack knelt on the floor next to his friend and lover. ‘Your love’s doin’ this mate, your love for me.’ He put his arms round the cowering form on the floor and held him with the tenderness they both remembered.

Through his fog of fear Albert sensed that the figure he knew as Jack was telling him the truth. His touch, his voice, even his smell told him this was Jack. But Jack was dead. He’d been dead for almost four years. How could this be?

He slowly, fearfully, reached out and touched the man holding him. He was solid, whole……… real. His mind rebelled against the evidence his hand was communicating to it. The figure he saw as Jack spoke again and love washed over him. ‘See Albert, I’m real. You can feel me. I can feel you. I got to come back to love you Albert, to tell you what I didn’t dare before we………’ Albert had moved his body, uncurled from his position of fear and sat in the arms of the man he loved smiling up into his face. Jack gently placed the back of his hand against the jaw that shouldn’t be there, leaned forward and almost without touching him, kissed the full, complete lips that were smiling so beautifully. ‘Will you let me love you Albert? Will you let me show you why I’m here, why we’re both here?’ Albert nodded then kissed Jack in return pulling him into a loving and passionate embrace. He buried his nose in the neck of the man he loved more than life, the warm, sweet, beautiful neck he had missed so much. Tears ran down his face – his complete, whole face. ‘Do you believe me now Albert? Are you okay?’ Again he nodded, speech for him was impossible. The crying he had refused to give in too on the day they had parted five long years ago finally overwhelmed him and he clung to his love, his man, determined to never lose him again.

Time paused for the two reunited lovers. As the service continued outside, whilst thousands mourned their dead, the two men inside the cottage made soft, impassioned, glorious love.

Jack was the first to stand and remove his clothes. His perfect body seemed to glow in the dim electric lights of the Cottage. His skin was flawless, even the small scar he had had on his shoulder from when he had fallen on glass as a child was no longer visible. He looked to be truly reborn. His athletic form was achingly perfect. No single muscle was either too small or too big. His smooth, hairless skin demanded to be touched and kissed, and his rigid, pulsing manhood showed the world how much he loved and desired the man at his feet. Jack held his hands out, Albert took them and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. Jack then undressed the still stunned German, expressing admiration and desire at every limb, every muscle, every inch of flesh revealed.

Albert too was steel hard, longing for the touch of his heart’s desire.

They explored each other’s body, reconnecting with the man they hadn’t seen or touched for what seemed a thousand lifetimes. They marvelled at the feel of the other’s skin and hair. They shuddered with desire as electric bolts shot through them causing a heavenly glow to surround and protect them. When they kissed and with arms wrapped tight around each other gave in to their lust and wanting, their minds along with their intertwined bodies became as one. Each knew instinctively what the other wanted and needed and when Jack lay Albert on the now warm and welcoming floor, putting his legs over his shoulders so that his knees rested on them, both knew that the coupling they were about to enter into would be the greatest moment of their lives.

There was no pain as Jack’s thick, long penis entered Albert’s hot wet love channel. There was no discomfort for Albert as the big, throbbing tool pushed on until Jack was balls deep inside his much loved partner. They moved together as one, sensations only previously allowed to the angels swept through them. They rose on a cloud of love to heights unknown and beyond human understanding. They kissed and stroked each other as Jack’s engorged phallus glided in and out of the smooth, welcoming, loving chute of the man in his arms.

Their climax was over-powering in it’s intensity and duration. They felt sparks fly around them their bodies were so hot and enflamed. Jack pumped shot after boiling shot deep into the gut of his man, he made him his by feeding him his seed. They were now joined forever. He was fully aware of the thick, sweet lake of cum that fired time and again from the spitting eye of his lover’s cock, covering them both in his precious, magic fluid.

Time shifted again. A pulse of energy travelled through the Cottage and through the two exhausted but happy men bringing with it an awareness for both of them that what they had just done was special, spiritual in some way. Something unique and unrepeatable. Something exceptionally beautiful and God given. Albert spoke first.

‘Why are you here Jack? Why am I whole again?’ Jack took him in his arms, kissed his forehead and looked deep into his eyes.

‘I came for you Albert. I came for you.’ He smiled and closing his eyes took a deep breath. Albert felt the room spin, his remaining pain and anguish disappear. ‘I came to take you home mate, so that we can be together forever.’

The Cottage was gone. The lovers were standing on a hill looking down into a greening vale in the first bloom of spring. A small thatched cottage nestled in the lee of a hill surrounded on three sides by woodland. The sky was a brilliant blue with soft white clouds gently gliding across it that were reflected in the river that meandered along the valley floor. A dog barked and two black forms emerged from the cottage running up the hill towards them. ‘Ozzie, Arnie.’ Called Jack. ‘Here boys. Come and meet your other dad.’ The two Labrador type dogs bounced up to them, tongues lolling, tails wagging furiously. Albert bent and fussed the two excited animals. He looked over to the cottage and a memory, or at least a fragment of a memory nagged it’s way into his consciousness.

‘Where are we Jack? Why am I here?’ He looked confused and Jack could see the beginning of panic in his eyes. ‘I was in the park. You’re dead. My face was …….’ He felt his face. Nothing was missing. He looked at his hands. No scarring. Jack took the perfect hands in his, turning them palm up then palm down.

‘Perfect.’ He took Albert to a bench he hadn’t noticed before and bid him sit down. He sat next to the bewildered German, still holding his hands. ‘I’ve brought you home mate. This is where you belong, where you should be – where you should have been for the last four years.’ Albert’s confusion grew, although his anxiety and panic were gone.

‘Please explain Jack. No more riddles. Please.’ He sighed and slumped into the bench.

‘You lived too long Albert. You were supposed to die when I did, at exactly the same time. But the shell that should have killed you didn’t. Instead it went off course or you moved. Anyway, for some reason it missed you, exploded and took half your face. You survived when you should have come here with me.’ He kissed his mate tenderly, lovingly. ‘I’ve waited four earth years for you. Four long, lonely years.’

‘Why so long? Why didn’t you come for me sooner?’ Tears fell from Albert’s eyes. ‘I missed you so much Jack. I so wanted to die. Where were you, why didn’t you come?’

Jack sat back and put his arm over his lover’s shoulders drawing him closer to him. Albert rested his head on Jack’s chest.

‘You had to be in England for me to be able to reach you. I couldn’t come to you when you were somewhere we had never been together, and you never went to France when I was alive so I couldn’t come to you there either. It had to be England. They said the park and the Cottage would be the best, the most powerful place but I never expected you would ever go back. I was resigned to waiting until old age took you.’

‘Who are ‘They’?’

‘The Angels. They run this place. You’ll meet them one day. For now it’s just you and me. You’ve got some mending to do before you’re strong and fit again. Lots of love and walks with these two should see to that.’ He gestured to the dogs who were laying quietly at their feet.

They sat in silence watching the clouds and the birds, listening to the wind gently moving the new leaves on some of the awakening trees.

‘So I am really dead? This isn’t a dream I am about to wake from?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Will we be together forever or just for a little while – till I am strong again?’ Jack raised one of Albert’s hands to his lips and kissed it.

‘We are together, in our little cottage forever Albert. Me, you, Ozzie and Arnie. We will never leave each other again, I promise.’ He kissed Albert’s hand again. ‘I promise.’ This time the tears were his as a euphoric feeling of total, absolute happiness and well-being flowed through him.

‘What’s the cottage like?’

Jack stood, ‘Why don’t we go take a look.’

The ceremony in the park came to an end and the clouds, as if on cue, began to fill the sky. Rain, small and gentle at first fell onto the crowd below. Most hurried home, a few headed to the Public Toilet where they found a body, slumped as though asleep, at the foot of the wall opposite the urinal. It was a man, his face partly covered by a scarf that when removed revealed a tortured mass of scar tissue. At least half of his jaw was missing. And yet those who saw him always maintained he had a beautiful, serene smile on his battered and damaged lips. A smile so calm and peaceful that only Angels could have put it there.