The Second Year - And After...Chapter 100 free porn video

The coal and the logs all brought in, Dad then lit the fire so that it would be going along nicely when we got back. With a couple of Woolworth’s firelighters and a wigwam frame of some kindling sticks under a pyramid of small pieces of coal, it wasn’t long before the coal had caught. Once the sticks had burned through and the pile had collapsed, Dad placed some larger pieces of coal on top, moved the draught control back to closed, and placed the spark guard in front of the fireplace. The room would heat up pretty quickly when we got back from the Remembrance parade and service, and we’d probably be very glad of the radiant warmth by then – my grandparents most certainly would be.

Jen had quickly finished the breakfast washing up and the sink was now clear, so I cracked on with doing the spuds. That task completed, I took the peelings in the bowl of muddy water down the garden to feed the compost heap.

I don’t know about where you live, but Remembrance Sunday with us is always cold and sometimes overcast, but very rarely actually chucking it down, even if the pavement is wet from early or overnight rain. The previous week had been wet, but high pressure was building. Although there had been some rain overnight, but a brisk breeze had swept away the clouds and a weak sun was shining on the world. It was still pretty parky outside, which was why I was going to be wearing my V-neck pullover under my suit jacket.

While Dad and I were waiting for Mum and Jen to finish getting ready to go out, he sharpened his carving knife and I laid the table for seven places, as our grandparents were coming home with us for lunch afterwards.

Mum and Jen came downstairs together, neatly dressed in their smart winter coats and hats, poppies already attached. Mum fussed with a couple of pins as she fastened our poppies to our lapels, and then she picked up Dad’s medal, which he’d polished with Silvo the previous evening while watching TV, and pinned that on him. The purple and green stripes stood out; the single clasp with the word ‘Malaya’ providing a point of reference for Mum to check that it was hanging straight.

“All ready?”

“Yes, Jon and I’ll go and pick up your Mum first, and then we’ll meet you at mine.”

It was going to be a two-car job with seven of us. Dad and I led the way in his car, and Mum and Jen followed in the Mini. It only took a couple of minutes to get to Grandma Shaw’s, and I helped her out to the car and installed her in the front seat before climbing into the back myself. Then we drove on to Dad’s parents, where we found Mum and Jen assisting them. They went into the back seat of Dad’s car, and I held the tipping Mini seat so that Jen could squeeze behind me.

We were early enough for parking not to be too tricky; there was nobody about except for those also headed for the parade. Jen, Mum and I helped my two grandmothers up the slight slope into Broad Street, while Dad and Grandad walked down the hill towards the George and the railway station, where those marching were forming up on Station Road.

The five of us found a good place where we could see the War Memorial and the street, and stood waiting, chatting quietly. Grandma Shaw took Grandad’s five medals out of her handbag and his daughter pinned them on to her mother’s right breast, to show that her late husband had earned them. I suspected that there weren’t going to be many more Great War medals on display that morning; that generation were all now at least 80 years of age, and the passing years were further thinning the ranks of the survivors. Grandad had done pretty well to last as long as he had done, what with being gassed as well.

Stamford’s War Memorial is fixed to the external limestone wall of Browne’s Hospital on Broad Street. The top section of nine bronze tablets with 237 names commemorate the Great War (‘For King and Country, Our Glorious Dead’), and nine smaller panels below list 77 names from the Second World War. A simple tablet underneath those names the local man who was killed in Malaya in 1955, showing that earning the ‘Malaya’ clasp did indeed involve some risk.

The crisp sound of marching feet on tarmac heralded the arrival of the parade of our local old soldiers, cadets and uniformed services, who’d come into Broad Street the long way round. Dad and Grandad were next to each other several rows back, marching proudly upright with their fellows. A word of command brought them to a halt opposite the memorial, almost on the dot of eleven.

Then we watched in silence as a uniformed bugler played the “Last Post”. The only sound for the next two minutes was the odd church clock belatedly striking the hour (Stamford had five medieval parishes, and still has churches to match), and then he picked up his bugle to blow “Reveille”. The came the Laurence Binyon tribute, the fourth verse from his 1914 poem “For the Fallen”:

We all joined in the refrain, “We will remember them.”

Grandma Shaw dabbed one cheek with her hankie; I gently squeezed her hand, knowing that she was remembering the many times that she had stood here watching her husband in the straight ranks of old comrades.

The laying of the wreaths was quietly efficient; dignified and not over-done. One of the local vicars – not old Mr Wells, who Mum said had finally retired – said a short prayer and blessing, and the parade was fallen out. The whole ceremony was short, to-the-point, and entirely fitting.

Dad and Grandad rejoined us. We were all a little chilly and stiff after standing still in the cold, and we walked slowly back to the cars.

My grandparents were pleased to get back to our house. While Jen and I helped them off with their winter coats and hats, Dad removed the spark guard, placed a couple of split logs on the red-hot coals, increased the draught, and, hey presto, we had a blazing and welcoming fire warming the living room. Big smiles from the oldies!

At Mum’s insistence, Dad and I kept them entertained while she and Jen cooked the meal and served up. Most of the ‘entertainment’ was me telling them all about my new job and living in Middlesbrough. They’d appreciated my letters, but enjoyed it even more when they could ask questions.

As ever, the meal was a masterpiece of Mum’s forward planning and preparation. She had turned the oven on even before she took off her coat, and as soon as she had done that and washed her hands, the joint of beef in its roasting tin moved from under a colander on the draining board into the oven. The extra potatoes left over from last night had also gone into the beef tin with a chunk of lard to become roasties; the spuds that I’d peeled that morning were under salted water in the saucepan, and by the time that Mum and Jen had made the batter for the Yorkshire Pudding and boiled the kettle, it was time to light the gas under the spuds. Then they came through for a glass of sherry and a chat, bringing the pinger with them to remind them to check the potatoes in twenty minutes, put in the Yorkshire Pud, and get the frozen peas into the saucepan ready to pour boiling water over them while making the gravy. Multitasking at its finest; Mum just took it all in her stride.

Half an hour later, Mum pronounced everything ready to serve up, and I was put in charge of getting the old folks safely seated while the others dished up and brought everything through from the kitchen. Dad started carving the joint, Mum piled on the vegetables, and I carried the plates round to the recipients. All done, we sat down, except for Jen who was still carefully pouring out glasses of red wine. Dad raised his glass to Grandad Shaw, and then we all tucked in.

Our grandparents were thoroughly enjoying their lunch. Once again I noticed that Mum was sneakily giving them the best bits and trying to fatten them up – these days all three of them were having some difficulties chewing, and Dad had carved the joint as wafer-thin as he could to make it easy for them. The mashed potatoes were yellow with added butter, and there was plenty of gravy to help the food slip down.

There was sherry trifle for pud; again it was easy to spoon, and there was a damn sight more double cream than custard on top. Jen giggled as she teased Dad for helping himself to seconds.

“A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips!”

Grandma smiled as she shook her head.

“He’s always had a sweet tooth, Jen, you’ll never stop him!”

Dad grinned, claiming that he was just being helpful in making sure that the bowl could be washed up rather than cluttering up the fridge!

Dad and I insisted on doing the washing up so that Mum could sit down; Jen made a pot of tea and took it through, and Dad washed while I wiped and put away. He had a point about the fridge being full; there was last night’s chicken cut into portions covered with cold white sauce, which I suspected was destined for my grandparents’ tea, and the beef, gravy, and leftover potatoes took up most of the remaining space.

At three o’clock, Jen and I made moves about heading for the station. We nipped upstairs to change out of our smart clothes and back into our jeans; I was carefully rolling up my suit bag to stop it getting too crumpled on my journey when my sister came into my bedroom and hugged me from behind.

“It was great to see you, Jon – I’ve missed our weekends together.”

I turned round and kissed her.

“Me too! I can’t wait until Friday – I’m really looking forward to having the Six Musketeers together again.”

She grinned cheekily.

“Well, I’d recommend that you start doing some Keep-Fit! We don’t know how much your stamina and endurance has suffered since you started sitting on your bottom all day!”

“I’ll do my best to keep up with you all!”

We shared a long and meaningful kiss, and then finished packing up and headed downstairs with our luggage, ready to leave.

Of course, by the time that Mum had prepared two tupperware containers “just to keep you going” with some cold beef sandwiches, a couple of cold sausages, and some mince pies, and we’d said goodbye to our grandparents, it was much nearer four when Dad dropped us off at the station. I hugged Jen goodbye – we were too exposed and in our home town to kiss as we actually wanted to – and she was walking to the bridge over the tracks for the Birmingham platform, when she stopped and turned back.

“Why don’t I come with you to Peterborough? It’s not a lot longer crossing London than changing at New Street, and we can chat for another quarter of an hour.”

I smiled at her in the harsh light of the fluorescent tubes in the station entrance hall.

“Please! I’d really like that.”

We actually ended up having more than half an hour extra together, including the time waiting for trains. It was great to be with her as normal human beings away from the constraints of being with our parents; we nattered about the past weekend, and in veiled terms (there were other people about) further discussed our hopes for the coming weekend. Best of all was either standing close together with our arms around each other, or sitting on the bench seat in the train with our thighs and shoulders touching, her hand in mine, none of which had been safe to do at home.

It was another of the things that I really missed about being separated from Julie. Apart from my best friend not being around to talk to, nor my lover sharing my bed, nor exploring my new surroundings with my soulmate by my side; the everyday loving physical contact with her that I had grown so accustomed to had suddenly vanished. Holding hands with Jen both calmed and frustrated me – I so wanted it to be the love of my life sitting next to me again, but any loving touch was a comfort, and my sister was another of the three people in the world who gave me that feeling of completeness.

Peterborough station was pretty exposed to the elements, but it wasn’t raining and therefore we walked down the platform to a place where the lighting was pretty poor, so that we could doff our rucksacks and hug properly, just standing there holding each other tight.

All too soon, Jen’s London-bound train rolled in to the platform. It looked fairly crowded, as was only to be expected as people returned to the capital city after a weekend away, but there were some empty seats scattered around, so at least she wouldn’t have to stand or sit in the corridor. I gave her a final hug and a loving kiss before lifting up her rucksack and passing it to her.

“See you on Friday then, darling. Give Mum a call when you get back to Reading. I love you!”

“Will do! Love you too!”

Then she climbed up, I slammed the door behind her, and watched her as she walked down the carriage, put her rucksack up on the rack, and settled into a window seat about a third of the way down. With the guard whistling, the train started moving and I waved as long as I could see her. Then I crossed the platform to wait the ten minutes for my own train.

I had grabbed another half-dozen of my science fiction paperbacks to take back to the Loftus’s with me; I pulled out one of my newer E.E. ‘Doc’ Smith stories, ‘Skylark of Valeron’, which I’d bought on the way home from Cardiff one weekend the previous year, and re-read it. It didn’t hold my attention completely; I wondered what Julie was thinking and doing at this moment, and if I hadn’t had the prospect of seeing her on Friday ahead of me, I’d have felt pretty lonely.

I phoned Mum from the call box down the street from the Loftus’s to report my safe return; she told me that Jen had also got back, and that our grandparents had said again how much they appreciated us taking the trouble to be with them that day.

Mrs Loftus made me a cup of tea and offered me a sandwich; I told her about the tupperware box and she laughed. Then I took my tea up to my room, unrolled my suit and hung it up, ate Mum’s sandwiches and prepared for bed. I’d have very much liked a soft warm loving female to snuggle down with, but it was not to be. I set the alarm clock and switched off the bedside light.

It was foggy and cold on Monday morning; coats, hats, scarves and gloves were the order of the day on the bus going to work.

Armistice Day itself was the Tuesday, at work 11 o’clock was marked by a short burst of the fire alarm to announce the two minutes silence. The office was hushed, although somewhere a phone rang and was answered, and then the bell rang again. It certainly wasn’t as formal as it had been – Grandad had once told me that in the years immediately after the War, everything stopped – trams and buses came to a standstill, as did cars and lorries, and pedestrians stood still on the pavement. Even in the factories much machinery came to a halt for two minutes. Everything had been much fresher in the national memory in those days; almost everyone would have known several men who hadn’t come home again. In the intervening fifty-five years a lot of those memories would have died out, but it was good to see the firm actively marking the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

On Wednesday, Anita informed me that Nigel, the site Emergency Control Officer, was going to be testing some of the fire hydrants; if I wanted to watch and see how the system worked, she recommended that I wear the waterproof coat because it wasn’t unknown for the site fire crew to ‘accidentally’ lose control of the jet of water if there were spectators nearby. I was indeed interested; I borrowed one of the marked-up site plans from her and duly went out to watch at ten o’clock. I’d met the E.C.O. during one of my induction talks; I reintroduced myself and told him that I was currently wearing ‘L’ Plates as a freshly-minted Duty Officer. He grinned.

“So you’re still desperately trying to work out what is where and who is who?”

I laughed back.

“Yup! The maps make it much easier, but I haven’t quite got my sense of direction yet.”

“Have you been up to the Ops Room at Billingham House yet?”

“No, Bernard told me I should, but I haven’t got around to it.”

“Do. You’ll find it very interesting. There are a couple of really good air photos which are well worth studying.”

I said that I would, and we left it at that.

The site fire crew were clearly well trained; one man had the key tool for lifting the iron cover to each hydrant (which was painted yellow and clearly visible in the road or pavement), the next carried the stand pipe which, after a quick visual inspection of the mains riser, he screwed on, and a third passed him the long stopcock key and connected a length of canvas hose. The first member of the team joined the fourth at the other end of the hose, and after a nod from Nigel, they turned on the water and a healthy jet washed down a section of road.

“Water Off!”

The stopcock key was turned until the water stopped flowing, the process was repeated in reverse, and Nigel duly made a note on the paper on his clipboard. Then we all trotted down to the next target, with me carrying the stopcock key, and they showed me how to open the cover and check the riser for damage or dirt. Then they did it all again. And again. After six, I made my excuses and went back to work. When I returned the site plan to her, Anita smilingly asked if I had stayed dry; I admitted that I had bunked off before the end of the testing.

“Good thinking!”

After work on Friday 14th November I took the train from Middlesbrough, headed for Clifton. It was my second journey without my Student Railcard, so again cost me the full adult return fare, but it was going to be worth every extra penny to be with the love of my life again. Having met up with Jen at home the previous weekend, the physical urgency to see Julie wasn’t quite as bad as it had been at our previous meeting, but I’d still really missed her and was very much looking forward to our reunion. Telephone calls and letters were something I was grateful for, but the actual sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell of my beloved were so much more than hearing the distorted sound of her voice through the telephone, or hungrily re-reading her letters for the umpteenth time!

The train journey down to Bristol took almost four and a half hours with a change of train at York; I had borrowed a couple of novels from the local library and they kept me entertained. Yeah, okay, perhaps Dennis Wheatley’s “The Devil Rides Out“ hadn’t been a great choice of book, but I ploughed on with it.

It was almost ten o’clock before my taxi from Temple Meads dropped me at Caledonia Place and I rang the doorbell for their flat. To my surprise, all three of them came down to the front door to let me in, fully dressed. Any questions had to wait until we got upstairs – it was fairly parky in that front hall with its stone floor and walls. The flat itself was much more warm and welcoming, with the gas fire glowing and the kettle beginning to whistle on the hob. Julie and I shared a passionate hug and kiss as soon as I had taken off my anorak; then Sheila demanded a kiss as well. Adrian also hugged me in welcome (but without the kiss) before remembering his duties as my host.

“Have you eaten?”

“Since lunch? One British Rail ham sandwich, semi-stale, with turning-up-corners, one pack of crisps, salt and vinegar, and one can of Pale Ale, warm and over-fizzy.”

Sheila looked horrified.

“Oh Lord! How does cheese on toast sound?”

“Lovely jubbly!”

It had been three hours since the others had eaten, so all four of us had cheese on toast; thick slices of a nice strong cheddar laced with Worcestershire Sauce, browned and bubbling under the grill, washed down with a couple of pots of tea. Real comfort food; you could feel it doing you good as it went down.

“Thanks, Sheila, that was great, just what the doctor ordered! Now, I almost didn’t recognise you with your clothes on; I’d have thought that you’d have started the orgy just as soon as Julie got here, if not earlier? And where are Jen and Hamish?”

My hostess pretended to glare at me.

“Well, after your sister completely cocked it up and ‘forgot’ that they’ve got a swimming match tomorrow afternoon, it was hardly going to be a night of non-stop passion with just three of us, was it? Besides, for some strange reason which I don’t really understand, Julie has insisted that she wanted to wait for you to arrive, even if my pervert Twin has been gagging to get her knickers off since the moment she walked in the door!”

Adrian just grinned at being bad-mouthed yet again. Julie stood up, walked over to the rug in front of the fire, smirked at us, and started the process of taking her own knickers off with a mild striptease. Sheila shrugged expressively and took the plates to the sink before quickly returning with a couple of quilts and pillows.

“As she has been waiting to finally get here, you two had better get started, and then we can all join in second time around.”

So I quickly pulled off my clothes, piled them on a chair, and joined my girlfriend on the quilts while our hosts washed up and then sat watching us. There wasn’t much foreplay (thank you Sheila’s KY jelly) and I didn’t last all that long – no surprise really – but I did just manage to make Julie’s upper body get that deep pink post-orgasmic glow that I loved before I lost control.

The twins let us have a few minutes holding each other tight before a naked and beautiful Sheila tapped me on the shoulder and asked if she could have the next dance. I looked at Julie, who grinned her approval, and I kissed her soundly before releasing her and sitting up. Adrian took my place immediately and I turned my attentions to his sister.

Much as I enjoyed watching her head bobbing on Gustav as she practised her resuscitation skills, it was a bit one sided, and I didn’t have to do much persuading for us to switch to a soixante-neuf so that I too could use my mouth and fingers. She was leaking fluid nicely by the time that Gustav was rigid enough for further use, so she moved round and used him as a cork. He plugged the hole very well, almost as if he’d been designed for the job, but then she started bouncing up and down, so he was less effective.

Beside us, her brother was slowly screwing my girlfriend, both of them trying to make it last. They paused every so often to let him calm down, then changed position. Eventually, once Sheila had panted out an orgasm, I flipped her over onto her back, and then both Adrian and I were racing away between two pairs of legs sticking up in the air to give us maximum access.

That was what I’d have liked to do the previous Friday night at home, but Jen and I had been forced to keep as quiet as church mice, so our coupling hadn’t been as passionate or satisfying as we had both wanted. Tonight the slap of flesh against flesh and the high-pitched squealing of the two girls made me very glad that the twins’ immediate vertical neighbours both went home to their families at weekends; it was a huge shame that Jen wasn’t here to enjoy sharing some really frenzied athletic sex.

Sheila was giving it back to me just as hard as I was handing it out to her; we were both urging the other on. I could feel the tension rise in my bollocks; although after my very recent release I had no fear of premature ejaculation or failure to please, I did want it to be as good as possible for Sheila. We hadn’t made love for almost three months, and although this was more about having a really enjoyable fuck, I wanted her to have a memorable come.

The sweat was dripping off my brow by the time an extra-shrill shriek from my girlfriend told me that Adrian and Julie had won the race; but they had started well before us. Sheila and I finished not long after with mutual grunts of passion, and we all lay puffing for a while, exchanging kisses of gratitude. Eventually Sheila fidgeted in the way that showed me that my weight on her was becoming uncomfortable, so I kissed her once more for luck and pulled away. She reached over for the box of tissues and pulled out a couple, passing one to Julie and using the other to staunch some of the flow of bodily fluids. That done, she grinned affectionately at her brother, and turned back to me.

“Thanks! I really needed that! Twin was lusting after a bit of strange too; he’s had to content himself with just me for the last four weeks. Feel better for that, darling?”

Adrian chuckled.

“You’re doing yourself a disservice, Twin! I’ll never get bored with you, but I have to admit that it’s always fun to ring the changes. Isn’t that exactly what you said last Sunday?”

I pricked my ears up. Had Sheila finally found herself another lover?

She giggled.

“Yes, but it was a matter of luck that Alastair and Catriona had to attend that formal lunch and that Hamish was at a loose end for a couple of hours.”

Oh. False alarm. Just Hamish.

“Have you been a bad girl, Sheila?”

“Not exactly, Julie. I’d been on the rag all week, and although Twin had been his usual lovely self keeping me ticking over, I fancied a really good rogering, and when Hamish phoned and asked if he could eat with us, it was too good a chance to miss!”

“Meaning?”

“We were having shin of beef and jacket potatoes for lunch, so that easily stretched to feed three, and then he had me for pud, and things kind of went on from there. He had to get back home by three, but I got him to perform twice, and Twin kindly stood in while Hamish was getting his breath back the first time, and then helped me in the shower afterwards. Lots of fun!”

“I bet! And Jen took pity on Jon on the Friday night, so I was the only one who didn’t get my leg over last weekend! Boo hoo! It’s not fair!”

Julie tried really hard to make her bottom lip quiver in disappointment, but as we could all clearly see the twinkle in her eyes, nobody believed her. She tried again.

“Call yourselves my best friends! I could be dying of thirst here, and none of you would care!”

Behind that mock-tragedy there was a good idea; I got up and put the kettle on, while Sheila pulled Julie’s head to her breasts and pretended to comfort her with a ‘there-there’. I did notice that there was no more fake-snivelling, and in fact a couple of giggles were audible before very long.

As we sat on the quilts drinking that welcome cuppa, Adrian cleared his throat.

“Mum and Dad have asked if you two would like to spend Christmas with us?”

Ah. That was serious. The Carters thought that Julie and I were their childrens’ other halves, and another invitation to stay meant that they were encouraging the relationships. It would make it even more difficult in due course when they discovered that it was Julie and I getting married.

“That’s very kind of them!”

I looked at my girlfriend for guidance. She was pursing her lips. I’d learned from experience to read that as uncertainty.

“Are you happy for us to accept?”

Adrian realised what I was getting at.

“You mean is this getting too serious? No, I think we’re okay, after all, Twin and I have never had boy- or girl-friends before, and Mum and Dad are simply doing what they think they ought to do. I wouldn’t read too much into this, Dad hasn’t got a shotgun, and they aren’t overkeen for us to get married young, so they’re just thinking that it might be nice for us to have guests at Christmas again. They like you both, so you can take it as a compliment rather than a threat!”

“Do they like us enough to let us share your beds yet?”

The twins both laughed.

“No, not a chance!”

Their parents had been brought up in a seriously Victorian atmosphere; Sheila had once joked that it was very lucky that they were twins, because there was no way they would have had a sibling any other way. Still, there were a lot of middle-class people who hadn’t taken to the sexual revolution, Julie’s parents included. Jen and I were very lucky to have parents who didn’t mind us having Hamish and Julie to stay and sleep with us in our beds. Alastair and Catriona knew that Jen and Hamish were effectively living together at university, so there was no objection from them either.

“Oh well, we’ll have to take what opportunities we get. Anyway, I’m not sure yet how long I get off work at Christmas; I’ve only been building up holiday entitlement for four months, and I haven’t asked how it works yet.”

“Okay, let us know when you’ve found out. It’s not like we’re going to invite anyone else if you can’t make it, but Mum does like to plan her catering well in advance.”

Sheila took the empty mugs over to the sink, and when she came back leaned over to turn the gas fire down to a single bar. I very much enjoyed the view of pink lips in a neatly trimmed patch of short brown curly hair as she bent forward, as did Gustav. She winked as she caught me watching her.

“So, Julie, have you decided yet? Are you going to let the two of them shag you stupid?”

My girlfriend giggled.

“I doubt that just the two of them could do that, but it has been a while, so, yeah, I’m game to give it a go, if you don’t mind me hogging them.”