A Beauty – and a Beast

Part One – Beauty

It was back in the good old days, when I was just eighteen, and had that week received my ‘Call-up’ conscription papers. I figured I would be entering a war to fight for King and Country, whilst still a virgin. That though embarrassed me. Fortuitously, events would shortly prove that my assumption was incorrect.

The war was in its third year. Britain had her back to the wall, fighting on land, sea and in the air. America had not yet decided which side to back, and would not be involved for another year. German planes flew over us nightly it seemed – often in daylight too.

We learned to recognize the Dornier ‘Flying Pencil’ bomber – the drone of the Dorniers contrasted sharply with the more urgent whining screams of the JU 87s. The legendary Stuka’s – terrors of Europe – JU 88s, ME 109s and 110s: all produced different profiles, sounds, and degrees of foreboding. None stirred our souls like the sound of a Spitfire’s Merlin in full pursuit.

For us younger ones, witnessing daily aerial dogfights proved Hitler was not having all his own way, the war literally passed over our heads. I was eighteen, and a real ‘Jack the Lad’, outwardly full of self-confidence. I had a job, a gang, plenty of cash, and the world was indeed my oyster. This façade hid the real me: I was shy, and very insecure. I had a great longing for a girlfriend, but lacked the courage to pursue one myself, or take up obvious invites from more than one comely local lass. Masturbating proved little source of relief.

It was a Saturday, I recall. Jim was a gang member, He was sixteen, and wanted a favor. Jim’s problem was that he had arranged a date with a girl in a nearby village, and needed to let her know he couldn’t make it. (Few had ordinary telephones then, and personal ones had yet to be invented.)

He had been seeing her for a few weeks, and in relating her virtues to me, said she was the hottest piece around, and always obliged him by doing a turn. Jim knew I was going to the village that night. He wanted me to take his girl a present, and explain his absence. I agreed, and he went into details as to time and place of the meeting, giving a detailed description of the girl, including what she would most likely be wearing.

I promised to seek her out and give her his gift of a third bottle of gin, some lime squash, a quarter pound box of chocolates, and a twenty packet of John Player’s cigarettes. I also promised not to give her a tryout myself. That afternoon, following a hasty tea and getting dressed up a bit, I set out to complete my mission of mercy, and then attend to my own business.

In fact, my schedule was a tight one. If the bus reached my destination on time, I would have fifteen minutes to travel on foot to my rendezvous a mile further on. Fortune was kind; the bus arrived five minutes early. I took time out to buy some fizzy drink and cigarettes, before hurrying to meet the girl.

The meeting place was on a popular scenic footpath. This wound with consummate ease along the valley, following the river fed by streams from mountain slopes either side. Here and there, the path provided appreciative observers with a delightful view of assorted waterfalls.

At most times, gentle crystal cascades, these waterfalls could change dramatically, following sudden showers. They often erupted into boiling, spewing torrents that reached far out from rock ledges before falling into fully-fledged maelstroms in the turgid pools below.

Throughout the years, avid viewers had trod a well-worn footpath. Over time, it became a public right of way frequented by lovers of nature, paramours, suitors, and sweethearts.

Gail was sat sidesaddle, on a metal railing erected to protect walkers against falling into the dangerous waters of the adjacent waterfall. It had to be her. She fitted Jim’s description to a tee.

Her long dark shoulder length hair hung in natural wavelets, and ended in an inward rolling continuous curl. There seemed no mistaking her over-sized almond shaped dark brown eyes, or the white high heeled shoes, and the gold wristwatch he said she wore. Her broad white belt, holding in an already trim waist, served to emphasize her prominent bust, and assisted in confirming it was indeed she.

My gait slowed as the distance between us shortened. I wanted to steady my breathing after the somewhat arduous uphill approach. My original intention had been to pass on Jim’s message, dump the presents on her, and be about my business. Having gained a look at her, I half hoped she would offer me some of the drink – and maybe more.

With only feet separating us, she looked older than the age stated by Jim. It was probably due to the make-up she wore so skillfully. My heart raced. I suddenly realized she was the image of my favorite film star, Gail Russell.

I had a crush on Miss Russell – as youngsters do. I’d even written off and got a signed photo from her. Mass-produced no doubt, but at the time it meant a lot to me, and frequently provided stimulation at bedtime. I wondered if this Gail might be named after her. Brushing away the silly notion, I became aware the girl had spoken to me.

“You all right?” she repeated.

“I should sit and rest if I were you.”

I must have been looking a bit odd to her. The confidence of a Jack the Lad left me and I suddenly felt more like an Ickabod the Idiot. Inside I was in an emotional turmoil. Blustering, I assured her I was fine. This look-alike of my favorite film star had completely thrown me. Next thing I knew I was blurting out how much she resembled the film star, added even more stupidly,

“But you have a much better figure than her.”

She spoke again in that rich musical voice.

“Well thank you kind sir. You sure you are alright?” The first part had been said almost mocking me. The last part held genuine concern.

I managed to get my act somewhat together. Her educated voice was something of a surprise, but well in keeping with the rest of her. I felt assured enough to get on with the purpose of my journey. Not sure how to approach it, I ended by asking if she were waiting for somebody.

“Maybe?” she smiled, “Why?”

“Well he isn’t coming.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Cocking her head and laughing she replied,

“I know. So he sent you instead, right?” I found myself once again reacting foolishly by nodding eagerly. Worse, I knew I was blushing, as she looked me up and down.

Sliding elegantly to the ground, she stood legs apart, arms akimbo, head held to the side, and staring right into my eyes. The thrust of her breasts nigh hypnotized me. Her expression changed to one of quizzical mirth as she voiced,

“Well if you aren’t a one?” Searching for composure, I recalled the stuff I had brought in my backpack. Retrieving them, I held them at arms’ length towards her saying,

“I brought you a present.” At this, her eyes widened in happy incredulity, and almost to herself, she said,

“I just don’t believe this? I’ve heard some chat-up lines but…” She shook her head and continued,

“Well you certainly take the biscuit.” Her eyes moved to the offering,

“And what is all this, for goodness sake?” I indicated to her,

“Some Gin and Lime and some cigarettes and chocolate.” At this, she laughed outright.

“From your supposed friend I guess?” Her hands moved to her cheeks,

“Well my God you certainly are different.”

Her amiable attitude, if not her responses, had me feeling more at ease. She soon had the whole story from me. Albeit not delivered with my normal panache. As I spoke, I felt more affinity for her, and took time out to marvel at what she saw in Jim, thinking he was damn lucky to have come by a peach like her.

A couple of soldiers walked by, chatting to a girl who walked between them, one arm round the waist of each. These had no sooner passed than another couple hove into sight. The old man, gray haired, walked with the aid of a stick. His partner hung on to his other arm as if to aid him from stumbling. ‘War victim’, the thought flitted through my mind briefly. I had already lost two brothers in the war.

The couple was suddenly forgotten as Gail was speaking again,

“Let’s find somewhere quiet to drink some of this. This place is becoming more popular than Piccadilly Circus.”

I was not very sure where that particular circus existed, but was all for finding some more secluded spot to have a drink. A combination of thirst from earlier exertions, and a dry mouth from being besotted by the shear beauty and radiance of the girl before me, made having a drink something of a priority. Suiting action to words, she moved past me, indicating the direction she proposed to take. This led us up off the track, and behind a hillock running parallel with it. It left us out of sight of those passing below. The lower reaches of the mountain stretched up in front of us.

“Just how we are going to manage this, I am not sure!” She held the Gin and Lime bottles up before her. An idea stuck me. I had my own empty bottle still in my pack and produced it for her.

“Good thinking, cowboy. By the way, what is your name?” I told her Frankie. She studied the bottles saying,

“Well Frankie, here goes.” She poured half the Gin into the empty bottle and filled the other half with Lime. Indicating I should take it, she topped the Gin bottle up with Lime for herself. Sticking the top on the remaining Lime she dropped it to one side, and held her Gin bottle to clink against my bottle.

“Cheers Frankie.” She took a swig and made to sit down. I removed my jacket and spread it Sir Walter Raleigh-like for her to move over and rest on. Murmuring thanks through lips again working on the bottle, she moved on to one half the jacket, and patted for me to sit next her on the other.

On the other side of the hillock and below, we could hear the muffled sounds of river and waterfall. The light of evening, which had so far held, diminished rapidly. Another couple in animated conversation passed unseen below us. I gazed at Gail marveling at her maturity, ease, and naturalness. She was just so nice to be with.

Producing my cigarettes nonchalantly, I held the open packet for her. She took one. Having both lit up, we sipped our drinks and observed each other – I, rather furtively and feeling embarrassed, her, with open frankness and amusement. Night stole down around and upon us.

She started chatting freely in that haunting educated melodic voice, asking where I lived. She commented on my new approach to chatting up young ladies, and asked how old I was. I lied that I was nineteen. Under her questioning glance, I modified that to being almost nineteen. It drew another delightfully haunting smile from her, just discernable in the last stages before full darkness left us with the light from just the glow from our cigarettes.

It seemed mere minutes from my meeting her to the night casting its all-encompassing net. What with the drink, and her easy manner, I felt relaxed, comfortable, and unusually euphoric.

The air had chilled, and she gave an involuntary shiver, automatically we cuddled closer. My bottle contents were well lowered, and I had a light-headed feeling. At each point that our bodies made contact through the clothing, I experienced a warm glow. My head reeled to the stimulation of her smell and femininity.

For her part, she was patently alive to the effect she was having on me. In turn, I figured that I must have presented some attraction to her. After all, she had attached herself so readily to me, and was now cuddled alongside me. Moment by moment my inner ‘Ickabod’ receded as the more confident ‘Jack the Lad’ in me returned. Placing an arm around her, I eased it so my fingers contacted the firmness of a breast. She moved closer. Her moving brought my fingers in contact with the nipple swollen beneath her dress. She responded by snuggling closer. However, though now sexually aroused, my lack of experience, and feelings of inadequacy forbade my taking advantage. Instead, I chatted about things in general, and the war in particular

A break in conversation lapsed into a more prolonged pause. The rustles and creaks of nature were all around us. The waterfall provided a background of low music in the midst of these other sounds. No stars were visible, blocked out by out of season overhead fog. It was this blanket descending that caused the extra chill.

In the distance below, a faint glow of red and flickering yellow was reflected from this fogbank. It heralded the passing of a railway train. The muffled metallic sounds of iron wheels on steel tracks invaded nature’s sounds. The rhythmic beat grew louder, changing tempo as it sped over the viaduct spanning the valley. The coaches were invisible, blacked out by wartime decree. Only the flash of the heated activity of the engine was visible.

I imagined the soldier-packed coaches with every seat and corridor awash with tired, khaki-arrayed flesh. For surely it was a troop train, carrying both young and not so young men to training bases on the scarred moors beyond. Each must be contemplating their future fate. On it rumbled to fade into the blackness.

I left my reverie to produce another couple of cigarettes. It was only as the match-flare fully illuminated her features that I was aware Gail was silently crying. The match went out – discarded. Being at a loss how to react, I settled for remaining silent, just hugging her quietly, in a clumsy effort to provide comfort.

She moved, and I was aware of her hand being raised to brush away a tear. Shrugging, she gave a self-conscious laugh, which broke the silence.

“Sorry about that Frankie, silly of me.” I gave no verbal reply, only tightening a protective arm. Moments more of silence passed, and then her hand rose to my face, brushing warm, gently up and down my cheek. I sensed her turning slightly and her other hand rose to match the actions of the first. Softly, firmly, the movements resolved into a cradling of my receptive features. Moments later, I felt the warm softness of her full lips and a precisely placed kiss, firm, and full of feeling. She fumbled with her clothing, then guided my hand to fully cover a now naked breast. Low murmurs of approval escaped her as I caressed the warm, firm flesh.

As I bravely used an exploratory finger to massage the nipple, I felt her body shudder and rise towards me. Then I felt her legs part, and my other hand was guided urgently between her thighs. Releasing the hand once it was doing her bidding, her hand found my erection, and released the imprisoning buttons, allowing it to spring free.

Again her mouth found mine, and worked hungrily, as she massaged my shaft. Suddenly I was ejaculating embarrassingly, unable to control myself. Somehow I spluttered an apology, and moved to draw from her. Her voice was urgently reassuring, as she pulled me back to my caressing.

“It’s all right Frankie. It’s all right, you will be fine again in minutes, and then we can make love properly.”

In the ensuing hour, she encouraged, coaxed, and guided me with delicate expertise into an extended act of making love. To me, love it surely was. For in that period, and the ensuing time as we lay cuddled together I drifted into euphoria – filled with the knowledge that every part of my being was hopelessly in love with the beautiful female form beside me….

Part Two – “The BEAST within.”

Later, I aroused more slowly as Gail sat up quickly, exclaiming,

“Goodness Frankie, what time is it?”

I struck a match. The sudden explosion of light was painful, forcing me to squint. She held my wrist, drawing it to her own to illuminate her watch,

“Oh no, it’s ten minutes to midnight? I have to go.” She rose, half dragging me with her. Grabbing for my jacket, I hastened along with her. Somehow our feet kept to the path as we made the trip back to the road. I was still in ecstatic shock. Almost suddenly the firm flat feeling of asphalt announced our safe arrival on the highway.

Walking on, hand in hand, I could see slightly less than nothing, as Gail guided us through the fog-filled blackness. The church clock began its chiming prelude that would end in the twelve strokes of midnight, announcing the birth of a new day. With a small jerk of her wrist and a tightening of her grip, Gail brought us to a halt and whispered softly,

“I have to go now my love.” Moving her body tight up to mine she breathed,

“Thanks for a lovely evening. Tonight is one I will always treasure.” There followed the soft yielding touch of rich full lips on mine. A kiss which in one suspended moment contained all the love and feeling in the world. Then she was gone.

As the last reverberating midnight stroke was swallowed by the darkness, the echoes of high heels receded down under the viaduct. With the fast fading clicks still ringing, albeit muffled by distance I shivered back to reality.

A jumbled multitude of unanswered questions kaleidoscoped through my clearing brain: My first instinct was to chase after those now ceased echoes. Resignedly I turned in the direction of home.

I knew every inch of that roadway, having traversed it umpteen scores of times: Every twist and turn, every ditch, gate, turn-off – and every tree. In the moonless void of night fog, that knowledge was practically worthless. Regardless, I had to press on.

It seemed an age before the odd late sounds of a village at rest had fallen behind me. Ahead lay three and a half miles of twisting lonely country lane. Pulling my jacket collar up tight to protect my chilling neck, my footsteps took me through the stillness. Even the owls were silent. I only had a head full of mixed up thoughts – and maybe Ghosts as fellow travelers.

The bliss of an evening past took second place now to more urgent thoughts of home. Mother of course would be getting more and more anxious as time passed without my return. Father would be seesawing between comforting her and expressing his anger at me.

In the stygian void around me, much of my manliness was shed to reveal the kid beneath: A kid complete with a conscience and guilt. We were a strict Roman Catholic family, with strong adherence to moral values. I was recalling the constant lectures as I penetrated the silent darkness. Lectures couched in vague terms, and hints, with which my older siblings were forever arraigned. Talks of ‘Sins of the body’. ‘Unhealthy habits’, ‘The wicked ways of the flesh’, references to ‘Hellfire’, and ‘Mortal sins: Memory of once, when caught red-handed in the throws of ejaculating in the bedroom, of being told I was sapping all the marrow from my bones, and would collapse and be a permanently blinded cripple.

Things that had previously meant little other than a slight twinge of conscience, now lay heavily upon me. Hunching shoulders more tightly, my thoughts concentrated on my impending compulsory weekly trip to the confessional box. What would I say? More importantly, what would the priest say to me? – And doubtlessly pass on to my parents?

The burden bore down heavily in the night. At this point I became aware of being followed. Worse still, the pursuer was accompanied by the unmistakable sounds of clanging chains…

I had watched with some amusement how my dog’s hairs bristled, forming a raised spiked ridge the length of his back. This was usually on meeting another dog. Right now it was my own hair bristling, as an icy shiver chilled me to the marrow. How often had parent and priest alike warned that the Devil came to collect wicked children in the dead of night – with a rattling of the chains he carried to bind his victims? Having bound them he hurled them down into the flames of Hellfire for all eternity. Any earlier thoughts I may have entertained of being grown up disappeared in a trice. Right then I was one scared boy wrestling with an over-sized guilt complex – and maybe awaiting his executioner…?