The home front
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She wasn’t the only one to arrive an hour early. There were thousands of women and children lined the train platform waiting for their men. She paced the hard wood platform endlessly, willing the train to hurry. The summer heat was unbearable, the wait painful. After twenty minutes she crushed out her fourth cigarette. This time two years ago she didn’t smoke at all. Even though it was 1947, it still wasn’t good form for a lady to be seen smoking in public. She really didn’t care anymore after all she wasn’t the only one.
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The tension and the heat had her reaching the boiling point long before the train was due. Three and a half long years she had waited for him. October 18, 1942, she shuddered inside every time she thought of the day he went away. She begged him not to go. She pleaded on her knees and even tried to get pregnant to keep him home. He shipped out for the Orient nonetheless. She pined for him every moment of that first year. The remaining years were spent in perpetual mourning, waiting for the dreaded telegram to arrive.
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But now the days, weeks, months, and years were down to minutes, less than sixty to be exact. The air was thicker than concrete. The poor little children took more than their share of abuse from their mothers in the hot sunshine. Stoically, they endured the harsh relief from the crippling stress of waiting. Actually it was one such boy who spotted the train about a half-mile out. Frantic panic was the only accurate way to describe the commotion on the platform as the train pulled in to the music of ‘When Johnny Comes Marching Home’ played by the town’s marching band.
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Some women were lucky enough to happen to be waiting by the doors their men came out of. Most, though, milled about endlessly trying to find their soldier boys. She spent thirty-five agonizing minutes of sheer terror looking for him. Finally, she caught a glimpse of him. She fought her way through a million people only to see her targeted soldier go into the waiting arms on his wife and kids. Panic was setting in.
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The crowd was beginning to thin ever so slightly, but she still hadn’t found him. He grabbed her from behind, unexpectedly, as she neared the end of the platform. Her fearful scream, however, drew little notice amid the pandemonium of the milling thong. They stood silent for a full minute before believing the moment was real. Then the furious kissing began. He carelessly dropped his duffel and held her trembling body close to his own. She melted into his arms, their mouths making the sweet, tender love they had been denied all those years. As their lips touched the crowd, the heat, the station, the war, everything evaporated in that moment. Suddenly, the only two people in the whole world were the two of them. Desperate for each other, they stumbled back against the wall of the Porter’s shed, still kissing. Her hands inspected every part of his now muscular body for signs of damage. His hands were busy as well.
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He fondled her exquisite ass, exquisite not only for it’s firm roundness, but for all the love and security it represented. She was proud of her posterior. After all, that was what attracted him to her in the first place. When she didn’t protest, he discreetly slipped a hand under the skirt of her summer dress. The shock of the soft, feminine flesh against his fingertips caused him to shiver with passion. He was enthralled by everything she had on under her dress, the white cotton panties, the elastic garters, and the nude thighs. He felt the curvature of her hips, the nape of her shapely ass. He wanted her. He wanted to be close to her, so close he would almost have to become her. He longed to be sheltered deep within her, within her love, within her moist womanhood. His fingers now strayed into the cleft of her lap. A soft moan and a halfhearted attempt to brush him away only strengthened his resolve.
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She knew it was improper, scandalous even, to be so intimate in such a public place as the train depot in a throng of people. The turbulent sea of human confusion swirled around them. No one seemed to even see them, but she tried to stop him anyway. After she’d made the attempt required by society, she surrendered to the touch she had begged for so long. His hard body pressed hers against the wood shingled wall. He was so much more muscular now, chiseled by the years at the hard labor of war. He was so strong. He was so...sexy. It was with that sexy strength that he now rubbed her soaked pussy. She clamped her arms around his bent neck and hung on for dear life. She moaned as softly as she could in his ear.
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She was so hot, so wet, and so ready for him. His boxers were wet as well, with his own lubrication. Every movement of her body begged for invasion. Every breath seemed to invite him into her. As if by instinct, he tore away the wet crotch of her panties. Both of them moaned audibly and ground against each other. His fingers sought out her womanhood. She didn’t try to stop him anymore. Gladly, she let him into her body.
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She was drenched. He didn’t remember her being so soft, so pliant to his touch. No longer did she worry about propriety. He openly held her dress up to reveal her damp pussy. She even clenched her man’s ass cheeks without guilt. It didn’t even occur to her to be embarrassed when his pants fell to the floor with a ‘chink’.
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They were swept away with almost four years of accumulated passion. Although the crowd had almost abated, it was still an awfully public place for him to lift up his tiny girl and enter her dripping sex. But that’s exactly what he did. He held her by the waist; thighs spread, and slipped right past her lips in one stroke. They made hot, sweaty love against that wall, as if their lives depended on it. On some unspeakable, desperate level it seemed to do just that. Their love, savage, sweet, mental and physical, was the final validating evidence that the war was finally over and they would never be separated again. His thick shaft plunged into her willing body again and again, building to a fever pitch. Her could feel the twitching deep inside her pelvis. She could feel his head swell and his balls tighten. This was it. This was the exact second it had taken a lifetime of war to reach. His erratic stabs produced a steaming fountain of scalding seed. As the orgasm coursed through her body, her inner most secrets flushed away all the fear, the anguish, and the frustration of unsatisfying masturbation in a single, rapacious wave. She screamed as she came all over his erupting pole.
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“Oh Kenny,” she finally spoke. “I love you so much. Please don’t you ever leave me again.”
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“I love you too, Diane,” he panted while he kissed her passionately. “But you’d better be going. My wife will be here any minute. I told her 3:00.”
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The end…e front
end…
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