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Our days took on a familiar pattern. We woke up, messed around, made a hot drink of some kind, messed around some more, collected firewood, explored the Big Brother Hole and of course we made love.
As we explored I made a point of spreading loose earth from under our bed earth via a hole in my trouser pocket just like in ‘The Great Escape’ letting it fall on and around the hard compacted soil of the hole and both Emma and I made a point of not stepping on it.
There was a really hot ‘Indian Summer’ week that we enjoyed, and we spent it naked and getting a bit of a tan into the bargain.
At my request she just wore her panties sometimes, and I’d wear my stretchy black boxers. It was hot and for the addition of underwear, neither of us could keep our hands of each other.
Half way through that week, Emma decided she wanted to suck me again; in our tent the night before we’d talked about men and porn, and women and porn, and that blow jobs were favourite viewing and referred to as a ‘money shot’.
“So that means I have to suck you off every time does it Harry?” she giggled.
“No,” I insisted, “all the time you come and you squirt the way you do, I reckon that will sell as well!”
The sun poured across our camp and for some reason we started to wrestle and as I spun her around to get me face to her puss, and thinking about our audience I introduced her to the concept of the sixty nine.
She was extremely taken with it and we both gave of our best for as long as we could. It was really exciting and the joint passion and mutual contact meant that we couldn’t last long and as she gushed her lady come across my face and tensing up, she raised off of me so that by accident, with her still wanking me, I came not in her mouth but across her face.
This was another first for her and she rolled off of me, laughing and hugging her sides, my sperm running down her cheeks. I lay next to her and whispered, “money shot” in her ear, and she fell about laughing again. Once recovered she sat up and taking one of her long fingers swiped my come from her face and sucked it into her mouth, lowering the stringy drops into her mouth.
She wiped each corner of her mouth and hissed ‘ker’ching!’ to me.
This of course meant we had to relax and cool down, and we just played with each other; eventually a short while later she was on her hands and knees getting wildly fucked by me, even going so far as to slap her bottom every now and again. That turned her on no end after a shattering joint climax we fell asleep in the middle of the wood.
We woke up some time later, and the sun had dropped, and I felt the chill. We’d been gassed again, fuck.
I woke up properly and kissed my lover awake also. She grinned at me,
“That after sex sleep Harry,” she grinned at me – it was Big Brother Hole dweller shorthand for ‘they fucking gassed us again’.
“You got it,” I said. I walked across to the pit and had a pee, noticing that our captors had indeed visited us and there were three partial footprints around the loose soil I’d spread.
I reckoned that this could be the spot that the gas tank was hidden as it was the only point I couldn’t see last time. I’d need to check one more time. After I’d peed I dressed, and helped Emma to do the same. I took her hand and said we should check the fish traps and see what was there, knowing something would be somewhere. There were more signs of activity at the places the cameras were.
Nothing in the stream, over to the snares. There were two more rabbits, big white ones this time, what my Grandpa called Flemish Giants.
“That’s what you get for coming on my face and smacking my arse Harry.” Emma whispered in my ear. On our way back I scuffed over the couple of marks and footprints our captors had left.
As well as this, I also guessed that today must have been Tuesday.
I was getting good at skinning and gutting now and we ate a nice meal, cuddling up to sleep together, in each-other’s arms and loving it.
We both fancied a bath but we knew that we would really need to save our shampoo. So with what little heat there was in the left in the days, we both decided to just clean our teeth and just swim in the pool and see if we could stay clean that way.
It was tremendous fun, and we splashed like a couple of kids. I lay back against the log and Emma came and straddled me. My penis erected of course and she made use of it sliding it into her and pushing down on me. She put her arms around my neck and we just sat there together enjoying the water and the closeness, which after all, was all the entertainment we had.
She slowly rode me up and down enjoying having the control. I put hands on her bottom, rubbed her tits and just generally enjoyed feeling her smooth skin, wet from clear spring water. Clear spring water that was probably being pumped, cleaned and purified in some hidden plant somewhere.
It was a great fuck, and she came, and I followed on just with her pleasure. She continued sitting İstanbul Escort on my lap as I went soft inside her and we just chatted.
I’d already found out that she had no middle name, her birthday fell on New Year’s Day and she was 30 next January.
“So tell me about Emma,” I said.
She came from Salisbury and Mum and Dad still lived there. She had a faint wobble in her voice as she spoke of them; I smiled at her and she continued. She had a sister Ann (with no ‘E’ she was keen to point out) who was her best friend and by the sound of it they lived lives straight out an Enid Blyton book. Mum and Dad were both GP’s and the lived out in the country. They went to church and its adjacent school; they were both Brownies, Guides and Rangers and won all the badges. The baked cakes, rode ponies and I asked if she had friends called Julian, Dick and George and went on long cycle rides.
She threw water at me and swore under her breath, and giggled.
Both her and her sister had won places at Salisbury Grammar and worked through the sixth form there. Her sister went to on to study medicine at Christ’s College Cambridge, while Emma didn’t want to be involved with sick people after watching her parent’s lives. Instead she headed for her mother’s alma mater and studied at Wycliffe College, Oxford.
Leaving with a First in divinity, she spent a few years as a curate working in parishes across the south east, until she was offered a parish with a tiny Anglican church just in the Dales and spitting distance from her sister who was married to an army doctor based at Catterick with her two children.
She’d stayed in contact with ‘good friend’ Nathaniel from Oxford but he never repeated the fumble they’d had at Uni’ or appeared interested in that kind of thing. Life in the dales was very slow and she’d pretty much given up finding the right man and having a family, but was a regular visitor to her 2 nephews just across the A1.
Was she broody?
“Hell yes!” she said, “Only for the last eight years!”
“And good friend Nathaniel from Oxford was a bit of a let-down?”
“Oh, well we snogged a few times at college parties, but he’s a real theologian now as well, I get the feeling his tendencies were verging toward the Roman and women were too much of a distraction from his path to righteousness.”
I started to feel just a faint chill and pulled her closer to me.
“How’s your path to righteousness?”
“It’s just fine,” she said and I felt her goose pimples, not to say her erect nipples brush against my chest hair.
“Vicar called Nathaniel, bound to be a bit of wrong’un, stands to reason.” I said.
“What’s wrong with Nathaniel?”
“War of the Worlds,” I said thinking back not to the classic piece of Victorian Sci-fi but to the brilliant Jeff Wayne album that was a part of Mum’s record collection.
“Uhh?” she said looking at me like I was the one from another planet.
I sang a bit of the song, ‘spirit of man’ which featured the lines ‘No Nathaniel no,” and she completely failed to get it.
“In the book he’s the Parson that the narrator has to keep calm and eventually kills so Martians don’t find them.”
“I’ve only seen the film,” she said.
I sighed, and shook my head, “The character that Tim Robbins played.”
“Oh yeah! That was a good bit!”
“Yes,” I added, “and it was my most tenuous link to vicars called Nathaniel; although he wasn’t called Nathaniel in the book mind you, but you get my drift.”
“Not really,” she shook her head and tried not to laugh, but did anyway and beamed that wonderful smile at me. “Anyway, whether Nathaniel ever goes mad and gets dragged off by the tripods I don’t care.” She kissed me, “I have a wonderful, smart, caring guy that’s really close and is looking after me and once I get out of here, I want to consider all sorts of options with him!”
I put my head to one side,
“Is he bigger than me?”
“You!!” she growled at me, her face a picture of laughter.
We giggled and kissed some more.
“So tell me about Harry Scholes,” she said, “What made him such a fantastic guy and, in his words, a ‘hi-speed life-saving hero?”
For my part, I was a thirty year old only child of an extremely hard working Dad who had died way to early and as a result of the asbestos he’d inhaled working in the Dockyard in Chatham leaving me with his medals, and a few family photos. Not many photos, because any with my Mum in had gone on the fire.
My Mum had left us for to live with another man, who had swept her off of her feet in a whirlwind romance based on her blonde hair and voluptuous figure. Fifteen years younger than Dad, Mum had married him way to early, everyone said it, and all was well until she’d had her head turned by her new boss at the hairdresser she worked at. He’d wined and dined her in the town’s only restaurant, Mum telling Dad she was out with her sister, while whatever he couldn’t do in the restaurant he did in his car.
She came back Bayan Escort from work one day and told Dad that she was leaving him to be with ‘Adam’. Dad was the softest spoken, gentlest bloke you could ever meet and the kind of person that life delights in fucking over the most. He’d worshipped Mum and would have done anything for her.
I still carry to this day the vision of his life collapsing around him as Mum told him how sorry she was but she really wanted to start again with Adam, and while the tears streamed down his face, she tried the ‘I’m just know that you’ll find someone wonderful and in a few years’ time we’ll all be good friends and laughing about all this’ speech.
He begged her to stay, but she just kept repeating she was in love with ‘Adam’ and couldn’t live without him. Dad stood up, walked to the front door telling her he’d be back in an hour; he asked that she reconsider and think about me; he promised that he’d forget all about the conversation she’d just had and they could work things out. If she left then that was it, there was no coming back.
When he got back from the Civil Service Club exactly an hour afterwards I was in bed and crying myself to sleep and Mum was long gone, leaving me on my own in fact the second Dad had left, a terrified eight year old – alone in our big house. She never even said goodbye.
I saw her a couple of times over the next few years at my maternal Grandparents house who I still visited when Dad worked overtime on a Saturday. When she saw me, she simply said “Oh”. No hugs or kisses, or telling me how much she’d missed me. Nothing. My Grandpa said something like, “haven’t you got anything to say to Harry?”
She just smiled an embarrassed and totally false smile and said, “Hi Harry,” only to walk out to the garden to smoke. The next time, about a year later this increased to ‘Hi Harry, how are you?” before going out the garden.
I came home from army cadets five or six years later to find her at the door of the maisonette we’d moved into with a screaming toddler asking if she could stay for a few nights. Adam was shagging someone younger and had beaten up Mum when she’d got cross with him about it.
I stood twenty feet away in the dark cover of the overhead walkways our estate was covered with, and listened.
Dad had dragged himself back together over days, nights, weeks, months and years. Without Mum’s wages he’d had to sell the three bedroom house he’d spent all of my life preparing and repairing and we’d ended up in this shitty maisonette on this shitty housing estate.
“Please Roy,” she said with tears in her voice, “just a couple of nights while I get the council housing sorted out.”
Dad went quiet for a moment, and I could see the tears on Mum’s face, ‘he’s going to give in,’ I thought angrily. I’d grown to hate her over those lonely years.
“No Geraldine,” he said with a faint hint in his voice, “I just know that you’ll find someone wonderful and in a few years’ time, we’ll all be good friends and laughing about all this.” I heard the door slam. Revenge, a dish best served cold and well matured.
I could see Mum banging on the door calling his name; still holding the howling kid she slid down the closed door to sit on the step, weeping pathetically. So I walked away and stood outside the chip shop just for the light and the warmth. Just before closing the owner who had been watching me sat outside still in my uniform, called me in and gave me a huge bag of chips and the remaining sausages and I sat at the bus stop eating them until just gone midnight and I walked home.
Dad was in front of the gas fire looking pale, and I unwrapped the remaining chips and he ate his fill while I made him a cup of tea and buttered some bread. We both knew where I’d been and what had happened. Ordinarily on a cadet night I was allowed to stay out until ten o’clock, and he’d go off on one if I was late. Not tonight it seemed, and we sat there watching the late film drinking tea and eating chip butties until about two in the morning, neither of us saying a word, companionable silence. He got up for work, I got up for school that was that. End of incident.
He was diagnosed with Asbestosis the following year and it killed him three years later, six months after his compensation arrived. He’d left it to me and I saved it – it was the deposit for my first flat.
Dad died and the council tried to kick me out of our flat because I wasn’t on the lease, but I had been accepted into the army and was holding off joining because Dad was ill. After his death, I stayed in the maisonette until the funeral and then joined up. I went through basic training at Caterham, and was a bit of a freak because I never went home for leave. My Dad’s parents had passed away years before and since the arrival of my half-brother I was not terribly welcome with at Mum’s parents, leastways not with my Grandma; To this day I still meet Grandpa in the pub and he’s never told on us.
Having no home to go to I Eskort stayed in camp and saved my money. I would volunteer to do guard duties at weekends so mates could go home, and for this was dubbed ‘keen’ by my instructors. One of them, Colour Sergeant Cray, dubbed ‘Ronnie’ of course, took a shine to me and I spent a couple of nice evenings and Christmas night with him and his family because I didn’t have one. Ronnie was the first aid instructor and I just soaked up his training, and considered being a medic as well as an infantry man.
Once I’d completed my training and passed out I was posted to the Rhineland for eighteen months with my regiment. I made loads of good mates, and became part of the regimental family. Dubbed ‘the orphan’ I spent lots of Christmas’s, Easter’s and bank holidays with mates’ families.
Colour Sergeant Cray was sent back to regiment from the training depot and thanks to his support I was moved into the medical centre as a combat medical technician after some months at the Army Medical Corps training centre in the UK.
While on my training, I was invited to spend the weekend at a friend’s place in Hampshire, and his Mum and his sister looked after me wonderfully. Really wonderfully in fact.
His sister climbed into my bed on that first Friday night and relieved me of my virginity, I told her I’d never done it, and she said ‘guessed as much’. She later confessed that she’d never done a virgin before so was happy to add me to her scrap book.
We all went out to their local social club the next evening and sister buggered off with some spotty youth and that was that. I figured I wasn’t going to get a return bout that evening.
However, not to be outdone his Mum climbed into bed with me that night as well and a good time was had by all. She brought me up breakfast on a tray the next morning and happy that her daughter was still out with the spotty youth we did it again. I was sworn to secrecy of course and Emma was the first person I’d ever told.
I never heard from the sister again but did meet his Mum couple of times afterwards and she always had a knowing smile for me.
I had a great time in the army and regretted nothing, but after nine years I got bored with the constant moving around; six month tour of Iraq, three months in barracks training for a tour of Afghanistan, another tour of Iraq, tour of Northern Ireland and then Afghan again. I left with a chest full of medals, professional qualifications in emergency medicine, and a desire to be in one place again, to call somewhere ‘home’ for the first time since Mum had walked out of my life just around my ninth birthday.
I’d searched around for the right woman; Kim had been great fun and I’d enjoyed our no strings relationship and the five long months since she’d left for Cyprus had dragged by. In fact this weekend had been the first hint of a break or holiday since she’d left.
“Bloody hell Harry,” Emma said, “I’m so sorry.”
“I just sat there and read you a ‘Famous Five’ story while yours would have done Charles Dickens proud.”
“Yeah well,” I said, “I survived and lived to fight another day.”
“I’m so pleased you did,” she said, “shall we get out now?” It was starting to get cold.
I helped her out of the pool and we ran back to the tent and the towel. We dried off with the one towel, and I showed her how to wipe the water off with a hand before using the towel, something you learned as a squaddie because our towels were always so bloody small. We managed to dry off with the one towel and I hung it outside of our tent to avoid any dampness – there was a nice red sky, what I could see of it.
We’d avoided rain so far. We both got dressed and I settled Emma into the tent while I went to check the larder.
I checked the fish traps, both empty; damn, next I walked further down to the hill that was supposedly teeming with rabbits; again nothing.
Shit! I felt quite cross about this – we had put on quite a show for the last week; we’d sixty-nined each other, I’d spanked her, fucked all over the place even the pond. I shaved her pussy for fuck’s sake, I’d even moved her around so she was in shot! Bastards.
Mind you, I did think that it might have been a bit obvious for both sides and there was no way they could have got down into the hole to put the bunnies in the snares. I decided to have a wander around and get some of the greens we had only fallen back on a few times and see if there was any mushrooms. Low and behold there was a crop of mushrooms, and I walked across to the greens and collected an armful. I guessed I could boil them in the tins to improve the flavour and texture.
I noticed a gap in the greens and walked across to see if something had been grazing in there. No tracks or marks but there was a small deer, I approached it carefully and just by the way it was laying I could see it was dead. I raised its head and saw from the tiny tusks that it was a muntjac.
It still soft and pliable so I guessed it hadn’t been dead long. I picked it up and saw that its neck was broken, perhaps from its fall into the hole.
Whatever its cause of death I was thinking about how I might butcher it and how it might taste. I carried it back to our camp.
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