My Last Virgin Summer (standard:other, 1969 words)
Author: pheonix	Added: Dec 01 2008	Views/Reads: 2598/1834	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A World War II young conscript 'breaks his duck' before enlistment.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


"Well if you aren't a one?" Embarrassed, I removed Jim's gift from my
backpack, 

"I brought you a present." Her eyes widened in happy incredulity. 

"I don't believe this? I've heard some chat-up lines but...!" Her eyes
moved to the offering, 

"And what's this, for goodness sake?" 

"Some Gin and Lime, cigarettes and chocolate." She laughed outright. 

"From your supposed friend I guess? Well! You certainly are different."
Her amiable attitude put me at ease. She soon had the whole story. As I 
spoke, I marveled at Jim's luck in finding such a peach. 

Two soldiers walked by, a girl sandwiched between them had one arm round
the waist of each. These had no sooner passed than another couple hove 
into sight. The young man walked with the aid of a stick. 'War victim', 
the thought flitted through my mind. The couple was forgotten as Gail 
spoke, 

"Let's find somewhere quiet to drink this. This place is more popular
than Piccadilly Circus." I was all for finding some more secluded spot. 
A combination of thirst from earlier exertions, and dry mouth from 
being besotted by the shear radiance of the girl before me, made having 
a drink something of a priority. She indicated the direction to take. 
This led us up off the track, and behind a hillock running parallel 
with it, out of sight of those passing below. 

"Just how are we going to manage this?" She held the bottles up. I
produced my now empty bottle from my pack. 

"Good thinking, cowboy. What's your name?" 

"Frankie." 

"Well Frankie, here goes." Pouring half the Gin into the empty bottle
and topping it with Lime, she handed it to me. She topped the Gin 
bottle up with Lime for herself, and held it to clink against my 
bottle. 

"Cheers Frankie." She took a swig and made to sit. Removing my jacket, I
spread it. Murmuring thanks, she sat on one half, patting for me to 
join her. 

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

Producing cigarettes nonchalantly, I proffered her one. Having both lit
up, we sipped our drinks observing each other - I, rather furtively, 
she, with open frankness and amusement - Night stole upon us. 

She chatted freely in her haunting melodic voice, asking where I lived,
commenting on my new approach to chatting up young ladies. I told her 
it was my last weekend before joining the army. That drew another 
delightfully haunting smile as she softly chided, 

"I know, and your next line is that you are a virgin, and want to break
your duck before you get killed - the times you lads try that one, ha, 
ha - And in your dreams I'm an Angel sent from Heaven to assist in the 
task." I could voice no reply. 

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

The air had chilled, she gave an involuntary shiver, and automatically,
we cuddled closer. Where our bodies made contact I experienced a warm 
glow. My head reeled to the stimulation of her smell and femininity. 

She was patently alive to the effect she was having on me; I dared hope
I presented some attraction to her. After all, she'd attached herself 
so readily to me, and was now cuddled alongside. Moment by moment my 
inner shyness receded, 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 swollen nipple beneath 
her dress. She responded, snuggling closer. Though fully sexually 
aroused, 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 prolonged pause. Rustles and
creaks of nature were all around. The waterfall provided a background 
of low music. No stars were visible, blocked out by unseasonable 
overhead fog. In the distance below, a faint glow of red and flickering 
yellow reflected from this fogbank. It heralded the passing of a 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 blacked 
out. Only the flash of the heated activity of the engine was visible. 

I imagined soldier-packed coaches; every seat and corridor awash with
tired, khaki-arrayed flesh; For surely it was a troop train, carrying 
soldiers to training bases on the scarred moors beyond. Each must be 
contemplating their fate. The train rumbled on, fading into blackness. 

I left my reverie to produce another couple of cigarettes. As the
match-flare illuminated her features I was aware Gail was crying 
silently. The match went out - discarded. At a loss how to react, I 
remained silent, hugging her quietly, in a clumsy effort at providing 
comfort. 

She moved to brush away a tear. Shrugging, she gave a self-conscious
laugh, breaking the silence. 

"Sorry Frankie, silly of me." I gave no verbal reply, only tightening a
protective arm. 

Moments of silence passed, then her hand rose to my face, brushing
gently, warm against my cheek. I sensed her turning slightly, her other 
hand rose. Softly, firmly, the movement resolved into a cradling of my 
receptive features. I felt the warm softness of full lips and a 
precisely placed kiss, firm, and full of feeling. She fumbled with her 
clothing, guided my hand to a naked breast. 

Low murmurs of approval escaped her as I caressed the warm, firm flesh.
I bravely used an exploratory finger to massage the nipple; Her body 
shuddered, and rose towards me. I felt her legs part, and my other hand 
being guided between her thighs. Her mouth found mine again, working 
hungrily, Suddenly I was embarrassingly, unable to control myself. Her 
voice was urgently reassuring, as she pulled me back to my caressing. 

"It's all right Frankie. It's all right." She whispered. 

In the ensuing hour, she encouraged, coaxed, and guided me with delicate
expertise into an extended act of making love. To me, on that 
entrancing summer night, love it surely was. In that period, and 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 beside me.... 

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

"Goodness Frankie, what time is it?" I struck a match to illuminate her
watch, 

"Crikey, it's ten to midnight." She rose, dragging me with her. Grabbing
for my jacket, I hastened along - still in ecstatic shock - with her 
guiding us through the stygian blackness. Almost suddenly, the firm 
flat of asphalt announced our safe arrival on the highway. 

Hurrying hand in hand, I could see almost nothing, as Gail skillfully
guided us through the fog-filled blackness. The church clock began its 
chiming that would end in the twelve strokes of midnight. Gail brought 
us to a halt, whispered softly, 

"I have to go now my love. Thanks for a lovely evening." There followed
the soft touch of rich full lips on mine. Then she was gone. 

The first midnight stroke reverberated, echoing the high heels receding
under the viaduct. 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 was never to see my love again. Searching and enquiring high and low
gleaned nothing. Nobody knew her, or claimed to have seen her - before, 
or after that night. To this day she remains a mystery: Was she some 
holiday visitor taking pity on a would-be soldier? Or indeed a mythical 
Cinderella, that  disappeared on the stroke of midnight into the mists, 
like some angelic Brigadoon? 

One thing is certain: she was my first love, and will ever remain so -
though I never knew her name. 

As for Jim's Gail - she'd waited in vain at the next waterfall... 


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