A Nightingale Sang

A Nightingale Sang Chapters 17 and 18

Chapter 17 A Change of Plan and a Crucial week.

John sat in a quiet corner of The Kettle Sings. He and Margaret had fallen into a routine of meeting up several times in the two weeks since Bessie's death. Taking a chance of a brief hiatus away from the relentless war they were both fighting. In his eagerness to spend time with her, he had arrived early for this afternoon's rendezvous.

Friendship with Margaret was proving to be bitter sweet for John. The more time he spent with her, the more deeply in love he fell. He could not believe any being had loved more intensely than he did. The morsels of friendship she offered were devoured like a starving man, but ultimately his hunger was never satisfied. The more he shared, in terms of platonic friendship, the greater his desire for intimacy. Each night, in his dreams, she came to him not as a friend, but a lover. He should feel shame at the vivid nature of his imaginings but although he tried he never succeeded. Though not a virgin, he could count the number of times he had slept with a woman on the fingers of one hand, his experiences came nowhere close to his imagined joining with Margaret.

She always came to him with a soft smile, her pink lips, moist and inviting. They always kissed, his mouth gently exploring hers for many minutes, fuelling their mutual desire. Because it was a dream clothing slipped away at the merest touch, no awkward fumbling with fastenings and zips. He explored her body caressing and kissing each inch of her skin. Not that she was a passive partner, her soft hands explored his long lean body at first shyly then with more assurance. Her lips trailed down his neck and across his chest, until unable to stand any more of the intense pleasure and he slowly enter her velvet warmth. t. Holding still for a moment so he could watch her eyes widen with surprise at how good it felt to be joined together, he then started moving with long slow thrusts. Her legs moving to wrap tightly round his waist drawing him further in, her hands at his hips, urging him to move faster and deeper until they both cried out, as wave after wave of pleasure washed over them.

He would wake breathless, his heart hammering, his skin slick with perspiration, sheets tangle around his body. His manhood partly aroused. Trembling and relieved he had a room of his own, he would clean himself up and drink some cold water to cool his burning flesh, before returning to bed and a more peaceful sleep.

"John." Her voice brought him sharply out of his daydream, a flush of red coloured his cheeks, as he realised the object of his desire was in front of him.

"You look hot, are you sickening for something?" she asked.

God, thought John, sickening for something, if you only knew. He wasn't sickening for something; he was dying with need for her. Realising he had to say something, he forced a smile and told her he was just tired with so much flying and because of the heat.

"I know what you mean, September continues to be as warm as August," she said, seemingly satisfied with his response.

He ordered tea and they chatted quietly while waiting to be served. Despite their best intentions conversation turned to the headlines in the papers.

"I see we bombed Berlin again last night John. I know they say we are just retaliating against those few bombs that fell on London, but I cannot help wondering if it is a dangerous game. Like poking a wasp nest with a stick and forgetting what a sting the wasp has," Margaret commented.

John glanced at the headline.

"I can't help wonder if this is not a deliberate ploy be the Air Ministry. Those bombs that fell on London must have been a mistake any intentional bombing would have been on a larger scale. By attacking Berlin we are asking them to come to our cities."

"Why in heavens name would we do that John?"

"To draw them away from the airbases we cannot go on sustaining the losses we are. A new tactic is required to enable us to regroup."