Chapter 1

Please allow me to introduce myself to you, my beloved and faithful readers.

I know that in this time of jubilation at the close of World War II, England is a land of many conflicts both personal and private. It is a time for great joy and it is a time for great sadness at loss of family members, boyfriends and even random male admirers.

Still, in fine British tradition, we must all carry on with our lives, perhaps as widows or ex-military types returned to a home they no longer recognize. It seems at times that the imbalance of males to females is strikingly similar to those wild years after the conclusion of World War I when examples of fine British womanhood were desperate to find a man. My mum told me that her sisters were both quite happy to be merely sharing a fully functioning man with either a wife in residence or sporadic female types eager to show a horny male the pleasure of throwing their leg over some strange pussy for a one night stand. Of course, mom reassured me she didn’t find that necessary because my dad was there in the house unemployed with only his one remaining leg to tend to her physical needs in the nocturnal hours.

I remember back to those early years between the wars, when the sounds of their love-making drove me bananas with my own frenzied bouts of intense masturbation because I was dreadfully shy around the female gender.

When the war started and my pals all dragged me down to the induction center for signing up I had a moment of panic because I was just barely a man and hadn’t dipped my dick into any female fanny with serious intent.

On the night before our shipping out to the continent for defensive operations, they dragged me down yet again to the local house of pleasure to get my pick of one of the painted whores to start me down the road to perdition.

I selected an older one.

She looked a little confused and was trembling with apprehension as we entered the small room with the big bed and not much else. “Beg your pardon, sir, I am new to this sort of thing and my husband is overseas. It is more the money than anything else and I will do my best to relax you for your duty in the service.”

The woman was hesitant about undressing asking me to start first. I hastened to shed all my clothing and watched her slowly remove her apparel with hungry eyes. She was on the skinny side with tiny little bumps for tits but her lower body held an inviting black nest that attracted me like a magnet to its core. Shortly after, I lay on top of her looking down into her interesting blue eyes thinking they reminded me of my Aunt Polly when she had a few beers.

She held me in her hands and tenderly guided me into her hairy slit telling me, “That’s a good lad. Now give it to me nice and hard and tell me I am bad and need to be punished.” I didn’t like that idea but since she seemed obsessed with being used like that, I followed her orders and even spanked her tiny tits and her firm buttocks calling her a filthy bitch and a dirty whore.

My humping quickly turned into frenzied fucking and we both were united like one single animal like the beasts in the forests. She was in a trance of her feminine orgasm as I deposited my life-long supply of male juice inside her vaginal cavity and she moaned and groaned like a prisoner being tortured in some medieval dungeon.

I placed her fee on the bureau and she thanked me profusely telling me that I had made her cum the best she had ever gotten ever before she got married and during almost a full year of marriage.

“They tell me I have to service at least five customers each night and I don’t know if I can do that because my John only did me on Friday nights. Here is my phone number and if you get back home on leave please call me and we can do it again if my husband is not home. The next time will be for free like we were just out on a date and did what comes naturally.”

I boarded the ship headed to France and it was almost ten months later that I returned as a survivor of Dunkirk in a smelly fishing boat that seemed like a luxurious cruise ship to us evacuees.

The woman answered the phone giving me her full name of Jane Smith and I reminded her she had given me her number after we had met briefly almost a year prior. I heard her gasp of astonishment and she whispered into the phone. “My husband is back but I can still meet you at the pub just down the street from the place of my former employment.”

I set a time and she said simply, “Yes, I will be there.”

My second meeting with Jane was much more subdued because she was worried about being recognized as good old corporal Smith’s missus. She told me that her days at the whore house only lasted about a month, and she had to leave that unsatisfying employment due to her aversion to so many males wanting to use her anally. She told me that it was all right once and awhile, but she got much better orgasms doing it right in her feminine folds.

We went to a picture show and she was crying like a baby about the sad love story on the screen. I felt it was indeed quite sad with a heart wrenching ending that must have had most of the females in the audience shedding tears without any semblance of control.

I assure you that Alfie Brown had no tears in his eyes, but he knew the emotions of his date required immediate attention and he drew her into the alley behind the picture show and had her skirt up and her knickers down in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

Jane’s lovely tail was shaking left and right and in and out in a rhythm that went so far back in time that she would have made a fine cave woman. Eventually, he was unable to contain his heated ejaculation any longer and she did her best to keep his spunk inside her hairy nest pulling up her knickers back into place before it could run down her pale white nubile legs.